Quite a Ride : An Alex Rider Story: a Penguin Especial from Philomel Books (9781101195871) by Anthony Horowitz Read Free Book Online

 
    I T WAS ANOTHER PERFECT DAY in the south of France. Once again, the mistral—that irritating wind that pokes in from the northwest—had decided to stay away and the sky was a huge, empty blue. In London, the summer had gotten off to its usual shaky start. It was pouring with rain and, with Wimbledon just a week away, everyone was watching the forecasts with a mixture of gloom and resignation. But the French Riviera, the famous Côte D’Azur, knew nothing of that. Here the sun rose early, shone all day, and only crept behind the horizon reluctantly and with the promise that it would soon return.
    Alex Rider stood on the terrace of the villa at Mont Boron, just outside Nice. From here he had a stunning view of the entire bay, with the beaches of the Promenade des Anglais sweeping around in a great curve that reached all the way to the airport at the far end. Even as he watched, a British Airways jet took off, tiny in the distance, rising steeply before banking left and corkscrewing up into the sky. It was a reminder that tomorrow he too would be returning home. The visit would be over all too quickly.
    This had been a stolen weekend. A school friend of his—James Hale—had an incredibly rich uncle and aunt with a villa perched on the rock face: a couple of living rooms, three bedrooms, and a series of terraces, one above the other, with a circular swimming pool at the bottom and a vertical drop to the Mediterranean far below. James had been invited out and he had taken Alex with him—five days of luxury and a welcome break from school.
    Andrew and Celestine Hale were pleasant enough, elderly with no children of their own. He was English. She was French. The two of them ran a gardening and maintenance business looking after vacation homes. If there had been one fly in the ointment, it was that Celestine was always worrying about the boys. She had watched in horror as they’d jumped off the terrace and into the pool. She didn’t want them to go out on their own—she was afraid they’d get lost. When they had gone snorkeling near the old port, she had been hunched up on the beach, certain they’d be run over by one of the ferries heading out to Corsica. She was a real tantine , Alex thought. Not so much an aunt as an auntie, with a touch of the granny thrown in too.
    But she was also a wonderful cook, and in the evenings, after a few glasses of wine, she seemed more relaxed. Most nights they’d eaten in. Andrew Hale insisted that the restaurants in Nice were mainly overpriced and strictly for tourists. And with the views from the villa—the sea glowing red and the city ablaze with pin-pricks of light—there was nowhere else that Alex would rather have been.
    â€œSo, what are you doing this morning?” Alex hadn’t heard Mr. Hale step out onto the terrace behind him. James’s uncle was wearing a white jacket and a panama hat. He was on his way to visit a relative at Villefranche just down the coast, and for some reason James had to go with him. Until mid-afternoon, Alex would be on his own.
    â€œI’m happy staying here,” Alex said. “I can hang out by the pool.”
    â€œNonsense!” Andrew came over and stood beside him. “This is your last day. You ought to do something memorable.” He thought for a moment, then a gleam came into his eyes. “Have you ever been parasailing?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWell, it’s great fun. You’re not scared of heights, are you?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œThen you should give it a go.” He called back into the kitchen. “Celestine! Why don’t you take Alex down to the Blue Beach?” Celestine appeared in the doorway. She was holding a plate, wiping it dry. “He wants to go parasailing,” Andrew explained.
    This wasn’t quite true. But that was the way with Andrew Hale. Once he got an idea in his head, he always assumed that everyone would