Read Online Sheltering Rain by Jojo Moyes - Free Book Online Page A

louder. “It’s very nice.”
    Some nine minutes late, the clock in the hall announced that it was eight o’clock. An unseen dog let out a shuddering sigh.
    The old man turned his face toward his wife. “Is she talking about the soup?”
    Her grandmother didn’t even look up.
    â€œShe says it’s nice,” she affirmed loudly.
    â€œOhhh. What is it?” he said. “I can’t taste it.”
    â€œVegetable.”
    Sabine found herself listening to the clock ticking in the hall. It seemed to be getting louder.
    â€œVegetable? Did you say vegetable?”
    â€œThat’s right.”
    Long pause.
    â€œIt doesn’t have sweet corn in it, does it?”
    Her grandmother looked up and shook her head. She dabbed at her mouth with her linen napkin.
    â€œNo, dear. No sweet corn. Mrs. H knows you don’t like sweet corn.”
    He turned back to his bowl, as if examining the contents.
    â€œI don’t like sweet corn,” he announced slowly to Sabine. “Horrid stuff.”
    Sabine, by now, was fighting an almost hysterical urge to laugh and cry at the same time. She felt like she was trapped in some terrible third-rate television program, where time froze and no one ever escaped. I’ve got to go home, she told herself silently. There’s no way I can put up with nights and nights of this. I’ll wither up and die. They’ll find me mummified in a room with turquoise carpet, and they won’t be able to work out whether I died from cold or boredom. And I’m missing all the best telly.
    â€œDo you hunt?”
    Sabine glanced up at her grandfather, who had finally finished his soup. A thin opaque trail of it was visible at the side of his mouth.
    â€œNo,” she said quietly.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œNo. I don’t hunt.”
    â€œShe speaks very quietly,” he said loudly to his wife. “She should speak up a bit.”
    Her grandmother, having gathered the empty plates, walked diplomatically out of the room.
    â€œYou speak very quietly,” he said. “You should speak up. It’s very rude.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” said Sabine, loudly, and not a little defiantly. Stupid old sod.
    â€œSo who do you hunt with?”
    Sabine glanced around her, wishing suddenly for the return of her grandmother.
    â€œI don’t,” she half-shouted. “I live in Hackney. It’s in London. There’s no hunting.”
    â€œNo hunting?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOhhh,” he looked rather shocked, as if no hunting were an entirely new concept. “So where do you ride?”
    Oh, God, but this was impossible.
    â€œI don’t,” she said. “There isn’t anywhere to ride.”
    â€œSo, where do you keep your horse?”
    â€œShe doesn’t keep a horse, dear,” said her grandmother, reemerging with a large silver tray, covered by the kind of silver dome Sabine had thought was restricted to comedy butlers. “She and Kate live in London.”
    â€œOhhh. Yes. London, isn’t it?”
    Oh, Mum, come and get me, Sabine willed. I’m sorry I was so mean about you and Geoff and Justin. Just come and get me. I promise I’ll never moan about anything ever again. You can have endless streams of unsuitable boyfriends and I’ll never say anything. I’ll stay on and do A levels. I’ll even stop stealing your perfume.
    â€œNow, Sabine. Do you like it rare or well-done?”
    Her grandmother lifted the silver dome, so that the sizzling, brown mound of beef released its aroma into the still air. It was surrounded by a ring of roast potatoes, and squatted in a shallow lake of rich, brown gravy.
    â€œYou can have either, dear. I’ll carve. Come on, I don’t want it to get cold.”
    Sabine stared at her in horror.
    â€œMum didn’t tell you, did she?” she said, quietly.
    â€œTell me what?”
    â€œWhat?” said her grandfather, irritably.