Sheltering Rain by Jojo Moyes Read Free Book Online Page A

had last been to the Irish house. She had only the most distant memories of it, but the picture showed a dark-haired woman, high-boned and handsome, smiling reservedly down at her as she patted a small gray pony.
    What if I don’t recognize her? she thought, anxiously. Was she likely to be offended? Her birthday and Christmas cards were always short and formal, not the kind of writing to suggest a sense of humor. From the little her mother said it was all too easy to do the wrong thing.
    Then she spotted him. Standing, leaning against a desk that may or may not have been the information point, holding up a piece of card with the word “Sabine” on it. He was medium height, wiry-looking, with thick, dark hair cut close against his head. Probably the same age as her mother. He also, she noted as she walked slowly over, had only one arm. The other extended into a semiclawed plastic hand, in the kind of unrelaxed pose more commonly seen on shop display dummies.
    She put her hand unconsciously to her hair, checking that it hadn’t flattened too much on the journey, and then walked over, trying to muster as much insouciance as she could.
    â€œYou’ve changed, Granny.”
    He had looked at her quizzically as she approached, as if assessing whether he had the right girl. Now he smiled, and held out his good hand. This involved putting the card on the desk first.
    â€œSabine. I’m Thom. You’re older than I thought. Your grandma said you would be . . .” He shook his head. “Well. She couldn’t come because the Duke’s got the vet in. So I’m your chauffeur.”
    â€œThe Duke?” she said.
    He had the kind of lilting Irish accent she thought only existed in television series. Her grandmother didn’t have an Irish accent at all. She tried not to look at the plastic hand. It had the waxy complexion of something dead.
    â€œThe old horse. Her boy. He’s got a problem with his leg. And she doesn’t like anyone else looking after him. But she said she’ll see you at the house.”
    So her grandmother, whom she hadn’t seen for nearly ten years, had chosen not to come and meet her but to look after some mangy horse. Sabine felt her eyes prick unexpectedly with tears. Well, that told her all she needed to know about how her visit was viewed.
    â€œShe’s a bit odd over him,” said Thom, carefully, as he took her bag from her. “I wouldn’t read anything into it. I know she’s looking forward to seeing you.”
    â€œSome way of showing it,” muttered Sabine. Then glanced quickly up at Thom to see if he thought her sulky.
    She cheered up briefly when they walked outside. Not so much because of the car—a huge, battered Land Rover (although it was obviously cooler than Mum’s)—but its cargo, two huge, chocolate-brown Labradors, as silky and sinuous as seals, squirming around each other in their passionate attempts to greet the returning.
    â€œBella. And Bertie. Mother and son. Go on, get over, you daft animal.”
    â€œBertie?” she couldn’t help grimacing, even as she rubbed the two adoring heads, trying to steer the wet noses from her face.
    â€œThey’re all Bs. Down the line. Like hounds. Except the hounds are all Hs.”
    Sabine didn’t like to ask what he was talking about. She hoisted herself into the front of the car, and strapped herself in. She wondered, with a little concern, how Thom was going to drive without his arm.
    Erratically, as it turned out. But as they careered around the gray streets of Rosslare, and then onto the main road toward Kennedy Park, she realized she couldn’t be entirely sure whether that was down to his insecure grip on the gear stick. His hand clasped it like an ill-fitting hard hat, rattling quietly against the plastic cover as the car bumped along the rough roads.
    As a route home, she decided, it was less than promising. The drizzly, cramped