A Rich Man's Touch

Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘HEY, isn’t that Gabriel Webb sitting over there by the window? Wow!’ Stephanie’s eyes were wide with speculation. ‘What’s he doing in here? Slumming?’

‘Do you mind?’ Rachel bent to take a tray of golden-brown scones from the oven, hoping her friend would attribute her reddening face to the heat emanating from the cooker. ‘Coming into my café is not slumming!’

‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ exclaimed Stephanie ruefully, tying the ends of her apron about her waist. ‘But I’ve never seen him in here before, have you?’ She grimaced. ‘You have to admit, Rachel’s Pantry is not his usual hangout.’

‘I don’t know where he usually has his morning coffee,’ retorted Rachel, refusing to admit that she had spent the last twenty minutes wondering much the same thing herself. ‘So long as he pays his bill. That’s all that matters.’

Stephanie gave her friend a wry look. ‘Oh, right. And it doesn’t concern you at all that he should choose to come into this particular café. I mean, Kingsbridge is not a big place, I know, but it does have a couple of good hotels, and I know for a fact that when any of the executives from Webb’s Pharmaceuticals are in town they usually stay at the County.’ She glanced surreptitiously over her shoulder. ‘What did he say?’

‘I haven’t spoken to him,’ said Rachel shortly. ‘Patsy took his order.’

‘Which was?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Steph!’ Rachel gazed at her friend with disbelieving eyes. ‘A pot of tea, if you must know. There: are you satisfied now?’

‘Tea!’ Stephanie cast another glance towards the occupant of the window table. ‘Not coffee?’

‘Tea,’ repeated Rachel in a low, forbearing tone. ‘Now, do you mind starting on the lasagne? It’s going to be lunchtime before we know where we are.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Stephanie held up her hands in mock submission. ‘I’m starting right now.’ She turned to take a pile of dishes from the shelf behind her. ‘And I’m sorry if I’m a bit late but I ran into Mrs Austen in the High Street and she couldn’t wait to tell me all about her trip to see Mark and Liz in Australia. I couldn’t shut her up, honestly, Rach. According to her, they’ve got this really lovely house in a Sydney suburb, and Mark’s going into business with someone who makes power boats, jet skis, that sort of thing.’ She glanced at her friend as she started unfolding sheets of pasta. ‘Pretty exciting, huh?’

‘What? Oh, yes.’

Rachel managed a suitable response, but in all honesty she hadn’t really been listening to what the other woman was saying. Despite her protestations to the contrary, she was supremely conscious of Gabriel Webb’s presence, and the uneasy suspicion that perhaps he had come here to talk about Andrew couldn’t be denied.

Her lips tightened. Surely that was ridiculous. She hadn’t seen Andrew for over a year. As far as she knew he was living in London, and although she’d heard recently that his father had come back to the mansion the Webbs owned in Kingsbridge, she hadn’t associated his return with herself.

Nor did she wish to, she acknowledged grimly. Andrew had hurt her, in more ways than one, and she wanted nothing more to do with him or his family. His mother was dead, of course, but if Gabriel Webb had some idea about warning her not to try and contact his precious son again, he was wasting his time. Rachel had no intention of letting the younger man back into her life.

‘So how long has he been there?’

Stephanie’s head was bent over her task but Rachel knew exactly who she was talking about. However, she didn’t intend to get involved in another discussion about Gabriel Webb, and, being deliberately obtuse, she said, ‘About five years, I think. He and Liz emigrated the year after Hannah was born. Did Mrs Austen say if she had any grandchildren yet?’

Stephanie turned her head. ‘Oh, very funny,’ she exclaimed. ‘You know I wasn’t talking about Mark Austen. What is it with you? Are you afraid of the man or something?’

‘Afraid of Gabriel Webb?’ Rachel’s face suffused with colour. ‘Of course I’m not afraid of him. I just don’t understand what all the fuss is about. He’s just another customer, for God’s sake! Just because I once dated his son—’

‘You make it sound like a one-night-stand,’ protested Stephanie, sprinkling cheese on top of the pasta. ‘You and Andrew went out together for months. Everybody thought he was serious about you until his father got heavy and broke you two up.’

‘It wasn’t—’

Rachel bit off her words before she said something she shouldn’t. It had been easier to let her friends think that Gabriel Webb had split them up than admit that Andrew had been to blame for the breakdown of their relationship. Kinder, too—to herself as well as Hannah, she conceded bitterly. No way had she been willing to involve her daughter in that sorry mess, and she had no doubt that Andrew’s father’s relief would have been as great as his son’s.

‘I’d rather not talk about it,’ she said at last, aware that Stephanie was waiting for her to finish her sentence. ‘Oh, Patsy.’ She turned with some relief to the teenager who had just returned from clearing tables. ‘Can you clear these dishes away, please? And then go and ask—that gentleman by the window if he wants anything else.’

‘Okay.’

Patsy was a willing helper and Rachel hoped her intervention had put an end to Stephanie’s gossip. Her eyes flickered reluctantly towards her unwelcome customer and then, squashing any doubts that still lingered, she took down the menu board to amend the day’s specials.

‘How much do I owe you?’

His voice was low and attractive, deeper than Andrew’s had been and possessing a warm sensuality that prickled Rachel’s startled nerves. Despite the fact that she had gone out with his son for several months, Andrew had never introduced her to his family. And although most people in Kingsbridge knew who Gabriel Webb was, apart from seeing his picture in newspapers and magazines, this was the first time Rachel had seen him face-to-face.

Her mouth dried. This close, she realised he was younger than she’d imagined. Probably mid-forties, she guessed, though he didn’t look well. His dark hair, which was shorter than his son’s had been, was liberally spliced with grey, and there were dark rings around eyes that were so dark as to appear almost black in this light. She wondered if he’d been ill and then chided herself for even caring. Just because there were hollows in his cheeks and his clothes hung on his lean, angular frame, he wouldn’t welcome her sympathy. Wouldn’t welcome anything from her—or her daughter.

‘I—’ Aware that Stephanie was probably listening to their every word, Rachel wished she could just tell him it was on the house and ask him to leave. But after spending the last few minutes trying to convince her friend that his presence didn’t bother her, she had to try and behave as if she had complete control of the situation. ‘Um—one ninety-five, please.’

‘One ninety-five?’ He nodded. ‘Right.’ He fumbled in the pocket of his trousers and came out with a five-pound note. He put it on the counter and turned away. ‘Thank you.’

‘Wait!’ Rachel wanted no charity from him. And when he turned to see why she had spoken she held up her hand. ‘Your change,’ she said, ringing the money into the till and extracting the necessary amount. ‘You forgot your change.’

‘I didn’t forget,’ he said flatly, heading for the exit, but Rachel went after him. Ignoring the fact that Stephanie was now staring after her with a look of disbelief on her face, she went round the counter and caught up with him at the door.

‘The service charge is included,’ she told him tightly, holding out the money. ‘If you’d wanted to leave a tip, you should have given it to Patsy.’

Gabriel Webb’s gaunt face wore a resigned expression as he took the coins from her. ‘Is this necessary?’ he asked, and she was relieved that he spoke so quietly that even Stephanie’s sharp ears could not have heard his words. ‘I realise you probably don’t like me, Rachel, but I’d have thought you might control your antagonism for the sake of your staff.’

Rachel was taken aback. Not just by his use of her name but by the fact that he evidently had expected her antipathy. ‘I don’t know you, Mr Webb,’ she declared when she could find her tongue, and he inclined his head.

‘No, you don’t,’ he conceded drily. ‘Which is why you might have given me the benefit of the doubt.’ Thick lashes veiled the glitter of those dark eyes. ‘I am sorry if you think my intention was to offend you. It wasn’t.’ His shoulders moved in a dismissive gesture. ‘But anyway, if I did, my apologies.’

Rachel took an involuntary backward step. There was something about him that disturbed her and she didn’t know what it was. But it inspired a momentary feeling of panic inside her, as if her body sensed a connection she didn’t want to feel. She didn’t know why she should feel that way. His appearance was unexpected, that was true, but could that be responsible for her sudden unease? She decided rather tensely that it must be his resemblance to Andrew that was upsetting her.

Yet she sensed it was more than that. They were both tall men, with dark hair and the olive skin of their Mediterranean forebears, but she could hardly compare this man’s haggard looks with his son’s handsome features. Besides, Gabriel Webb’s face had a much harsher cast than Andrew’s; less conventionally handsome, she conceded, even without the obvious aftermath of some shock—illness?—she didn’t know what. But compelling, even so.

‘It was good meeting you at last,’ he remarked now, but although Rachel managed a polite acknowledgement she doubted Gabriel Webb’s sincerity. He could have no positive thoughts about a woman whom he and the rest of his family had obviously never desired to meet.

He left then, flicking up the collar of his overcoat as he stepped out into the crisp spring air. April had been unseasonably cold, but Rachel wouldn’t have thought an overcoat was necessary. Almost irresistibly, she stepped closer to the window, drawing the Roman blind aside to watch him stride away along the street. It had been a disturbing encounter and she wished she didn’t have to go back and face Stephanie’s grilling. Her friend was bound to want to know chapter and verse and she wondered why she felt so reluctant to discuss him with anyone else.

‘Some man, huh?’ Stephanie’s sardonic voice in her ear made her realise her unguarded interest had not gone unnoticed. ‘What did he say?’ the other woman added. ‘You seemed to be having a pretty intense exchange.’

‘That’s not true.’ Rachel was aware that she had no excuse for her flushed cheeks this time. And, despite her misgivings, she gave in to her own curiosity, ‘Do you think he looked all right?’

Stephanie arched inquisitive brows as they walked back to the serving area. ‘Is that a serious question?’ she asked drily. ‘Yeah, I think he looks all right. As all right as any man with a bank account that runs into millions can look, I guess.’

Rachel gave a frustrated sigh. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ She glanced back over her shoulder. ‘I just thought he looked as if he’d been ill, that’s all. He was very pale, and he had these deep grooves in his cheeks.’

‘My heart bleeds,’ exclaimed Stephanie unfeelingly. ‘For goodness’ sake, Rach, you sound as if you feel sorry for him. If he’s looking under the weather, it’s probably because he’s had a heavy night. Men like him are always having heavy nights. That’s what they do.’

‘You don’t know what they do,’ retorted Rachel shortly, and was glad when several customers chose that moment to come into the café. It gave her the excuse to end the conversation and attend to them, and she hoped that by the time the midday rush was over Stephanie would have forgotten all about Gabriel Webb and Rachel’s ill-advised interest in him.

Rachel’s mother brought Hannah into the café as they were closing. She sometimes waited until her granddaughter got home from her school to do her shopping, and then she and Hannah usually called in Rachel’s Pantry for a pot of tea and a cream cake, if there were any left.

Rachel was pleased to see them. Although Stephanie hadn’t said any more about Gabriel Webb, there had been a certain tension between them all afternoon and Rachel was relieved to find that it was almost five o’clock. The small café, which opened at eight-thirty most mornings, closed at five, and she wouldn’t be sorry to get home tonight.

‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, bending to give her small daughter a hug, and Hannah’s pale cheeks filled with becoming colour.

‘’Lo, Mummy,’ she answered, clinging to her mother’s arm when she would have drawn away. ‘May I have a Coke today, please? Please?’

‘I’ll think about it,’ said Rachel lightly, taking charge of her daughter’s wheelchair and fitting the wheels under the edge of the nearest table. ‘How about you, Mum? Tea, as usual?’

‘That would be wonderful,’ agreed Mrs Redfern, subsiding into the chair beside her granddaughter. Then, with her usual perception, ‘Is anything wrong?’

‘No.’ Rachel’s response was rather too hasty. ‘What could be wrong?’ she added, heading towards the counter. ‘One Coke and one tea coming up.’

‘I’ll get them,’ said Stephanie, meeting her as she rounded the end of the counter, and Rachel met her diffident gaze with some relief.

‘Oh, would you?’

‘Hey, I’d do anything for my favourite girl,’ Stephanie exclaimed more confidently, exchanging a wave with Hannah. ‘Hi there, honeybun. Have you had a good day at school?’

‘I got a gold star,’ Hannah called back proudly. ‘Do you want to see it?’

‘Can I?’ Stephanie made the tea and set two cups on the tray. Then, flicking the cap on a bottle of Coke, she carried the order to the table. ‘My, aren’t you the clever girl?’ she went on, admiring the stick-on gold star Hannah was exhibiting on the lapel of her blazer. ‘What was this for? Talking in class?’

‘No, silly.’ Hannah giggled, and, dropping into the spare chair at the table, Rachel was grateful to her friend for not allowing their differences to interfere with the attention she always showed towards her daughter. ‘We did some spellings and I got all mine right.’ She beamed at her mother. ‘Twenty out of twenty!’

‘Goodness!’ Rachel pretended to be amazed. ‘Well, I think that deserves a special treat. What would you say to a banana split? I think I’ve got some ice cream left in the freezer.’

‘Ooh, yes.’ Hannah loved banana splits. ‘And can I have some of those sprinkly bits on it, too?’

After Hannah was served, and Mrs Redfern had accepted a vanilla slice, Stephanie said her goodbyes and left them to it. Rachel turned the sign on the door to ‘Closed’, dropped the blinds, and then came back to her chair.

‘You look tired,’ said her mother consideringly. ‘You’re working too hard, Rachel. You really should take a day off now and then.’

‘I take every Sunday off,’ replied Rachel, sipping her tea. She smiled at Hannah before adding, ‘Remind me, I need to speak to Joe Collins before the weekend. That second oven isn’t working properly, but I’m hoping we can manage until Sunday.’

Her mother nodded. ‘He’ll probably say you need a new one. This isn’t the first time it’s let you down.’

‘If it can be repaired, he’ll repair it,’ declared Rachel firmly. She watched her daughter for a moment. ‘I can see you’re enjoying that.’ There was ice cream smeared all over the little girl’s mouth.

‘Hmm.’

Hannah was too intent on the sundae to offer more than a mumbled response, and, taking the opportunity to speak to her daughter uninterrupted, Mrs Redfern murmured, ‘Have you and Stephanie been having words? You could have cut the atmosphere between you two with a knife when I came in.’

‘Oh, don’t say that.’ Rachel groaned. ‘People come in here to relax, not to be greeted by a wave of hostility.’

‘So you and Stephanie have had words.’ Mrs Redfern grimaced. ‘Well, you needn’t worry. I doubt anyone else would have noticed. It’s just that I know you so well. What happened? Was she late again?’

‘Well, she was, but that didn’t matter.’

‘So? Rachel?’

‘Oh, if you must know, Gabriel Webb came in this morning.’

‘Gabriel Webb?’ Mrs Redfern was taken aback. ‘Andrew’s father?’

Rachel’s mouth compressed. ‘Do you know any other Gabriel Webbs?’

Her mother shook her head. ‘What did he want?’

Rachel sighed and gave Mrs Redfern an old-fashioned look. ‘What do people usually want when they come into a café? He wanted a pot of tea. What else?’

Her mother looked nonplussed. ‘I wouldn’t have thought this was the kind of place someone like Gabriel Webb would frequent.’

‘No.’ Rachel spoke resignedly. ‘You’re the second person who’s said that today.’

‘Stephanie,’ guessed Mrs Redfern shrewdly. ‘Is that what you fell out about?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I hope you let him see what you thought of him and his family.’

‘Mum!’ Rachel stared at her. ‘This is a café. Where would I be if I adopted that kind of attitude with my customers?’

‘Not all customers,’ retorted her mother shortly. ‘Just those you don’t like.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’

‘Of course you can. Isn’t there some law about the management of an establishment reserving the right to refuse to serve unwelcome visitors?’

‘This is a café, Mum, not a public house.’ Rachel picked up a paper napkin and wiped her daughter’s chin before adding, ‘In any case, I had no reason to say anything. He was served—Patsy served him, not me—he drank his tea, paid his bill and left. End of story.’

‘Then why did you and Stephanie fall out?’ asked Mrs Redfern irritably. ‘I bet she doesn’t approve of him coming here.’

‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Hannah suddenly, belatedly realising she might be missing out on something here, and Rachel gave her mother an impatient look.

‘No one you know, sweetheart,’ she assured the little girl firmly. Then, ‘And I don’t care whether Stephanie approves of him or not.’

‘Ah.’ Mrs Redfern sniffed. ‘I knew he’d have something to do with it. Honestly, Rachel, you haven’t seen any of the Webbs for years, but no sooner do you get involved with them than they’re creating trouble.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Rachel didn’t honestly know why she felt the need to defend Gabriel Webb, but she did. ‘If you must know, Stephanie annoyed me because she made a comment about his appearance.’ She sighed, and then went on stolidly, ‘The man looked ill, Mum. And I don’t think a few late nights would do it.’

Her mother looked offended now. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you’d care, one way or the other.’

‘Did I say I cared?’ Rachel was growing weary of this exchange. ‘For heaven’s sake, you’re worse than Steph. The man’s entitled to take a break when he feels like it, and if he chooses to come in here for it, who am I to object?’

‘Well, I never thought I’d live to hear you defending one of the Webbs,’ replied Mrs Redfern tersely. ‘I’d heard he’d come back to live at Copleys, but I would have hoped you’d have more sense than to have anything to do with him.’

Rachel gasped. ‘I haven’t had anything to do with him,’ she protested. ‘I hadn’t even spoken to him before today. In any case, my quarrel wasn’t with him. It was with Andrew. And you’re right; I never want to see him again.’

‘Andrew only did what his father told him,’ retorted her mother impatiently. ‘I just wish I knew why the man’s suddenly decided to grace Kingsbridge with his presence again. The last I heard, he was spending some time in Italy. He should have stayed there.’

Rachel didn’t say anything. If Gabriel Webb had been staying in Italy recently, it certainly wasn’t evident from his appearance. Far more likely that he’d been staying at the apartment he owned in London. But she doubted that would account for the pallor in his face.

Although the original laboratory had been built at Kingsbridge, there were branches of Webb’s Pharmaceuticals all over the continent now, but the head office was still in London. She knew because Andrew had told her, and, knowing also what Andrew had said about how hard his father worked, it seemed much more probable that his strained look was due to exhaustion and not, as Stephanie had implied, from burning the candle at both ends.

Whatever, she was more than content to change the subject, and when Hannah distracted her attention by proudly displaying her empty dish, Rachel hoped that, like her, her mother would consider the subject closed.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE were a couple of occasions during the remainder of that week, when customers came into the café, that Rachel’s eyes were drawn to the door. Particularly if a man entered alone. But, although once she had thought it was him, her apprehensions were not realised. Gabriel Webb didn’t come back and she told herself it was just as well.