Crocodile Tears by Anthony Horowitz

over them. “How is the article?” he asked.
    “It’s finished.”
    “I hope it won’t contain any unpleasant surprises.”
    “You won’t have long to wait. It should be out next month.”
    “Have you delivered it?”
    “Not yet.”
    “I’m looking forward to reading it.” McCain examined the journalist as if it was his mind that he was trying to read. For a moment neither of them spoke. Then McCain blinked as if he had suddenly lost interest. “But now you must forgive me,” he said. “I have a speech to make. Thank you so much for coming to Kilmore Castle. It was very good to see you again. And a pleasure to meet you, Alex.”
    He swept past them in the direction of the banqueting hall. Edward Pleasure was looking puzzled. “What was all that about?” he asked.
    Alex shrugged. “I don’t know.” He hesitated. “I thought he looked upset about something. . . .”
    “I thought so too.”
    “Maybe he’s worried about what you’re going to write.”
    “He shouldn’t be. I’ve already told you. I had nothing bad to say. Actually, I think he’s quite a remarkable man. Take tonight for example. All these people have come here because of him. And it’s all for charity. He never rests.”
    He stopped as Sabina appeared, hurrying down the corridor toward them. “Dad!” she said. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
    Edward Pleasure put an arm around her. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Mum’s still awake. We can toast the New Year when we get in.”
    They had no choice but to leave through the banqueting hall. By now all the guests had assembled and were standing together, champagne glasses in hand, facing the gallery where the bagpipe players had been performing and where McCain was about to make his speech. At least nobody would notice the three of them as they left early. Alex and Sabina followed Edward Pleasure and they made their way down the side of the buffet table—which had been partly cleared—on their way out.
    There was a sudden fanfare, a single trumpeter standing at the back of the hall, his instrument glowing golden in the candlelight. The notes echoed across the chamber and the guests stopped talking and looked up expectantly. McCain appeared on the gallery. Two of the Highland pipers walked behind him, flanking him, a guard of honor. Alex couldn’t help wondering if they were about to burst into tune. But they stood back as McCain reached the front and looked down on the crowd.
    “I want to thank you all for coming,” he began, his voice booming out. “I’ll be brief. It will turn midnight in exactly twenty minutes, and that’s when the party really begins. For those of you who stay the course, we’ll be serving haggis, neeps, and tatties, then a traditional Scottish breakfast to see you off. And the champagne will be flowing all night.”
    A few people cheered. The invitation had made it clear that everyone was welcome until sunrise.
    “We’re here to enjoy ourselves,” he went on. “But at the same time, we can’t forget the many terrible things that are happening around the world and the many millions of people who need our help. I want you to know that tickets sold for tonight’s party, along with raffle tickets, our silent auction, and private donations, have raised a fantastic $875,000 for First Aid.”
    There was another burst of applause. Hearing it, Alex felt ashamed of himself. Whatever mistakes he had made in the past, McCain had more than redeemed himself. The whole evening was about helping other people, and in his own small way Alex had inadvertently spoiled it.
    McCain held up a hand. “I have no idea how that money will be spent, but thank God it’s there.” He stressed the word God as if the two of them were personal friends. “This year, we had those terrible floods in Malaysia, the volcano eruption in Guatemala, and most recently, the incident at the Jowada power station in India, which could have been much, much worse. We were there