The Rain-Soaked Bride Read Online Free PDF Page A

folder, ‘and walk out of here alive, my masters will consider the contract accepted.’
    The passenger looked out of the window. The troops outside had encircled the hut, their rifles raised.
    ‘Stupid,’ the passenger said, closing his eyes and beginning to mutter under his breath. He spoke for no more than thirty seconds, then sat down at the table and took a sip of his drink. It made him wince.
    ‘You find it distasteful?’ the old soldier asked.
    ‘The drink,’ the passenger replied. ‘The rest is just business as usual.’
    Outside, the screaming began.

CHAPTER TWO: THE RAIN
    a) The Laurels, Kempton, Bedfordshire
    Sir James Lassiter lay awake, staring into shadows.
    His sleep had been uneasy for days. This wasn’t unusual. The heavier his workload, the harder he found it to turn his mind off at the end of each day. It had been his custom to self-medicate with a decent brandy and hope for the best. Tonight, even the alcohol hadn’t settled his mental chatter and he lay there in the dark wondering if there was really any point to him staying in bed.
    He felt his wife stir next to him and turned to look at her sleeping face. She wore a blindfold, used to his sitting up in bed reading past the time she wished to sleep. With her mouth open and her arms splayed out on the covers, he decided she looked like someone who had been executed by a rifle squad. The thought was enough for him to finally give up on sleep. He got out of bed, doing his best not to disturb her. He stuck his feet into his slippers, pulled on his dressing gown and shuffled out onto the landing.
    He moved towards the stairs, pulling the belt of his dressing gown tight and wondering if another brandy might be the ticket. He decided not. He checked his watch: it was half past three in the morning. He would only end up waking with a heavy head in a couple of hours. He had an early start and the last thing he needed was to make his brain even more sluggish. Perhaps some cocoa, or even a snack. At least his wife, being asleep, could hardly add her bitter seasoning to a round of sandwiches. She was always complaining about his damned waistline, as if he wasn’t old enough to do whatever he liked.
    He switched on the kitchen light, wincing slightly in the brightness. Damn place was like a hospital operating room, all white tile and chrome. His wife would insist on the shiniest things.
    His mobile phone was sat charging on the sideboard and he glanced at it, as was his habit. Things were better when they couldn’t get you at every hour of the day and night, he thought, but the habit was well ingrained by now, he was always to be found dangling at the end of a 3G signal.
    He’d received a text message. The number wasn’t one he recognised. He swiped a finger at the touchscreen so he could read it. The entire message was a string of bizarre graphics, no letters he recognised. Some kind of stupid error in the software he imagined, staring at it.
    As if to prove him right the phone screen suddenly cracked. In surprise he dropped it to the floor where it clattered on the tiles.
    ‘Bloody thing,’ he muttered, shaking his hand. It felt burned, as if the phone had suddenly heated up while he had been holding it. Maybe it was some kind of fault with the battery?
    Outside it began to rain.
    He stooped down to pick up the phone, tapping at it carefully in case it was still hot. It wasn’t.
    He’d have to submit a claim for a new one. An irritating faff. Maybe he could call Sonia in the morning and see if she could bring him one to use in the meantime. As much as he hated the thing, he could barely function without it.
    The screen was blank now, no doubt irreparably broken by the fall or the sudden heat.
    He put it back on the sideboard and moved to the window, trying to decide what to eat.
    He looked out on the garden he had paid a fortune to have landscaped. A prim collection of box hedging and ornate borders. He considered it sterile but his wife liked its