Sheltering Rain Read Free

tight, white collars. A naval officer. Or two. She couldn’t be quite sure. Either way, one of them had her arm and was steering her gently through the crowd toward the balcony.
    â€œDo you want to sit down? Take deep breaths. I’ll get you a glass of water.” He sat her on a wicker chair and disappeared.
    Joy gulped in the clean air, as if it were water. It was getting dark, and the mist had descended on the Peak, shrouding the house from the rest of Hong Kong Island. The only clues that they were not there alone were the distant, rude honking of barges traveling through the waters below, the rustle of nearby banyan trees and a faint waft of garlic and ginger, whispering through the still air.
    It was this smell that suddenly did Joy in. “Oh, God,” she muttered. “Oh, no . . .”
    She glanced behind her, noting with relief that the last of the partygoers were disappearing into the room with the wireless. And then she leaned over the balcony and was lengthily and noisily sick.
    When she finally sat up, her chest heaving, and her hair stuck sweatily to her temples, she opened her eyes to find, to her horror, the naval officer standing in front of her proffering a glass of ice water.
    Joy couldn’t speak. She simply looked at him in mute horror, and then buried her face, now flooded with embarrassment, in her glass. Perhaps, she prayed, suddenly, uncomfortably sober, when she looked up, he would be gone.
    â€œWould you like a handkerchief?”
    Joy kept her face down, staring grimly at her too-tall shoes. Something unmentionable was stuck in her throat, refusing to descend despite her repeated attempts to swallow.
    â€œLook. Here. Take it.”
    â€œPlease go away.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI said, please go away.” Oh, God, if she didn’t leave soon, her mother would come out to find her, and discover her. And then all hell would break loose; she could hear the chapters ahead: 1. She Was Not Fit to Be Taken Anywhere; 2. The Shame of Her Behavior, or Why Couldn’t She Be More Like Stella?; 3. What Would People Think?
    â€œPlease. Please just go.”
    Joy was aware that she sounded rude, but the horror of possible discovery, as well as being stuck there having to make polite conversation while there might be goodness-knows-what splashed on her blouse—on her face —made it seem a lesser ill.
    There was a lengthy pause. The sound of loud exclamations, overlapping, rose and fell from the dining room.
    â€œI don’t think—I think it would be better if somebody kept you company for a bit.” It wasn’t a young voice, not the excitable braying tones of most of the officers; yet it didn’t have the basso profundo of a lengthy association with power. He couldn’t be higher than officer rank.
    Why doesn’t he go? thought Joy.
    But he just stood there. His immaculate trousers, she noted, had a small splash of something orange on the left shin.
    â€œLook, I’m much better now, thank you. And I really would rather you left me now. I think I might go home.” Her mother would be furious. But she could say she had felt ill. It wouldn’t be an outright lie. It was only this man who would know the truth.
    â€œLet me escort you,” he said.
    There was another buildup of noise from inside, and some high, slightly hysterical laughter. A jazz recording began and ended just as abruptly.
    â€œPlease,” he said. “Take my hand. I’ll help you up.”
    â€œWill you please just leave me alone?” This time her voice sounded harsh, even to her own ears. There was a brief silence, and then, after a never-ending, breathless pause, she heard the sound of his footfall on the terrace as he walked slowly indoors.
    Joy was too desperate to feel ashamed for long. She stood, took a long draft of the ice water, and then walked briskly, if a little shakily, toward the house. With a bit of luck, she could tell the staff