as she steamed toward them.
He took his hat off, wanting to make sure that he was conspicuous, and tapped it against the side of his leg.
He did not move. He ran his fingers through his short hair, trying not to let his mind run ahead of events once again. During the long nights here, hope had been his enemy, his imagination turning over a thousand times what her reaction would be to this city, to a life of freedom.
He could see her laughing—that was how her face always appeared to him now—her hand cool in his as they walked together.
Sometimes he even thought about what he was going to do with the boy. He’d need to be educated, of course. Field wondered what his mother and Edith would make of what he’d done, and how they would take to Natasha.
They would love her, of course.
If she came.
He put his hands in his pockets.
“The
“Shit,” Field whispered.
She was slowing, turning, and Field could see now that some of the passengers were gathered on deck.
He scanned their faces, trying to hold his nerves in check, but unable to see Natasha or the boy.
The
Field took a few paces back and waited.
He watched as the ropes were thrown down and secured, and a gangplank raised.
The passengers began to disembark, his eyes fixed upon each face. He saw no sign of her.
The last vestiges of hope drained slowly away, until there were no more faces. The passengers who had disembarked were now talking to the relatives who had greeted them, leaving the liner empty, save for the crew.
She had not come.
Field bent his head. He had known it was impossible.
He took another step back and looked up once more.
A Chinese in a dark suit and fedora stood at the top of the gangplank, his eyes upon him. He stared at Field for a long moment, then moved back.
And then Natasha was coming down toward him, Alexei behind her, holding up a small brown suitcase and waving.
The Chinese disappeared.
For a moment Field stood motionless.
A gust of wind caught his hat and sent it spinning toward the water, and he was running toward her outstretched arms.
PUBLISHED BY DOUBLEDAY
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DOUBLEDAY and the portrayal of an anchor with a dolphin are trademarks of Doubleday, a division of Random House, Inc.
All of the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bradby, Tom.
The master of rain / Tom Bradby.
p. cm.
1. Police—China—Shanghai—Fiction. 2. British—China—Fiction. 3. Shanghai (China)—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6102.R33 M37 2002
823'.914—dc21
2001042199
eISBN 0-385-50410-1
Copyright © 2002 by Tom Bradby
All Rights Reserved
May 2002
v1.0
About this Title
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