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.

A Rich Man’s Touch
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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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.

On Sunday morning Joe Collins, who ran his own small electrical business, arrived to take a look at the faulty cooker. A divorcee, in his late thirties, Joe had expended considerable time and energy over the years trying to persuade Rachel to go out with him. But although he was kind and good-looking—and extremely good with Hannah—Rachel had no desire to get involved with anyone else. Her experience with Andrew Webb had made her wary and, despite her mother’s assertion that she’d never find anyone more suitable than Joe, she continued to turn down his invitations.

And, as Mrs Redfern had surmised, he considered that Rachel ought to think about replacing the oven. ‘The trouble is, it’s not easy to get the spares for these old machines,’ he declared, after making a temporary repair. ‘It’s okay for the time being, but I can’t guarantee how long it’ll last.’

Rachel sighed. ‘Well, I can’t think about getting a new oven at the moment,’ she confessed, as she made them both an espresso coffee. ‘They cost the earth, as you know, and I’m going to have to wait until my overdraft is a little more healthy before asking Mr Lawrence for another advance.’

‘Well, I might be able to get you a second-hand one,’ offered Joe, propping his hips against the counter and spooning two sugars into his coffee. ‘You’ve probably heard that Chadwick’s bakery is closing? Yeah? So, I’ve been offered the job of stripping out the old ovens. I’d make sure you got a good one. And I’d give it a full service before installing it here.’

Rachel gave him a rueful smile. ‘That’s really kind of you, Joe, but even a second-hand one is beyond my means at the moment. Maybe in six months’ time…’

Joe’s fair skin reddened. ‘You wouldn’t have to pay me straight away, Rach. We could say you’d taken it on approval and go on from there.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Rachel knew exactly what he was saying and she couldn’t agree to it. ‘Besides, if you pulled the old oven out, goodness knows what else might need doing. Those tiles above it are bound to need renewing, and then we’d need a whole new paint job. No, for the present I’m just going to have to make do. But thanks for the offer. I appreciate it.’

‘Do you?’ Joe regarded her without conviction. ‘I thought we were friends, Rach. Friends do stuff for one another. They don’t always have to have a reason for offering their help.’

‘I know.’ Rachel felt uncomfortable now. It wasn’t often that Joe stood his ground, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. ‘Well—I’ll think about it.’ She picked up her coffee and sipped the steaming liquid. Then, seeking an outlet, she added, ‘How’s your mother?’

‘She’s fine.’ Joe appeared to accept the diversion. ‘How’s yours? And Hannah, of course.’

‘Oh—they’re okay, thanks.’ Rachel relaxed a little. ‘Hannah’s doing really well at school. She got a gold star earlier in the week.’

‘Clever Hannah.’ Joe grinned. ‘She’s a good kid. Larry would have been proud of her.’

‘Yes.’

Rachel didn’t argue, but privately she wondered. Larry had never wanted children, despite what he’d said to other people, and Rachel sometimes wondered how he’d have reacted to his daughter’s disability if he’d lived.

‘I suppose you’ve heard that Gabe Webb is living at Copleys again,’ Joe said suddenly, and Rachel wondered which was worse: talking about her late husband or discussing the man who had been in her thoughts far too often during the past week.

‘Um—yes, I knew,’ she answered, disappearing into the kitchen to rinse her cup at the sink. She hesitated, and then called back, ‘Do you know why?’

Joe came to the kitchen door, watching her as she worked. ‘I’ve heard he’s been advised to take things easy for a while,’ he said, handing over his cup when she reached for it. ‘Andrew’s not with him. Well, not as far as I know.’

‘Do you think I care where Andrew Webb is?’

‘I thought you might.’

‘Well, you’re wrong.’ Rachel was surprised to find she meant it. ‘After the way he behaved—’ She broke off, realising she’d said too much, and continued less emotively, ‘Anyway, it was all a long time ago now. I’ve moved on.’

‘Have you?’ Joe’s mouth twisted and there was scepticism in his tone. ‘I don’t see you letting any other man into your life.’

‘I don’t need a man in my life,’ retorted Rachel shortly. ‘I don’t want one.’ She coloured. ‘I’m sorry if you think that sounds arrogant. It’s just the way I feel.’

Joe’s mouth compressed. ‘Are you still in love with Larry?’

‘No!’ Rachel knew she sounded too vehement, but she couldn’t help it. She doubted she’d ever been in love with Larry Kershaw. She’d thought she was when they got married, but she’d soon found out that Larry’s prime concern was for himself and it was still hard for her to forgive him for causing the accident that had paralysed their daughter. ‘I don’t think I believe in love any more.’

Joe shook his head. ‘Oh, Rachel!’ he exclaimed. ‘I know you’ve had a rough time with both Larry and Andrew, but there are men, like myself, who don’t consider the world owes them anything. I care about you; you know that. You and Hannah. And I would do my best to make you happy.’

‘I know you would.’ Rachel felt awful now. She’d never wanted this to happen. ‘I just don’t think you should waste your time with me.’

‘It wouldn’t be a waste of time.’

‘It would.’ Rachel was adamant. ‘Believe me.’ She put the teatowel aside and squared her shoulders. ‘How much do I owe you?’

The following week was busy. The weather was warmer and Kingsbridge’s proximity to both Cheltenham and Oxford meant it got quite a few tourists in the season. The ruined priory at Black Ford and the Norman church of St Agnes attracted visitors, and Rachel’s Pantry benefited from the increased traffic.

Thankfully, Stephanie hadn’t referred to Gabriel Webb again, and Rachel was grateful. In her opinion, far too much had been said about him already, and she was more than willing to put the man out of her mind.

Then, on Wednesday morning, he returned. He came into the café at about half-past ten, and seated himself at the same table in the window. He didn’t look in Rachel’s direction, but she was perfectly sure her presence had not gone unnoticed and her stomach tightened in unwelcome anticipation.

As luck would have it, she’d just sent Patsy to the bank for some change, so unless she asked Stephanie to serve him she would have to do it, and she wondered a little uncharitably whether he had deliberately chosen that moment to make his entrance. But that would imply that he’d been watching the café and, realising she was being paranoid, Rachel picked up her order pad and crossed the room.

‘Can I help you?’

Gabriel Webb looked up at her with dark enigmatic eyes. He looked no less haggard today than he had done on that other occasion, and she wondered how she could still find him attractive when he had obviously made no effort to shave that morning. A dark layer of stubble shadowed his jawline and the collar of his black overcoat enhanced the olive cast of his skin.

‘Yes,’ he said, after a moment’s disturbing appraisal of her face. ‘I’d like a pot of tea, please.’

Rachel made a point of writing his order down. Anything to avoid the piercing scrutiny of his dark eyes. ‘Anything else?’

His hesitation was deliberate, she was sure. ‘What would you suggest?’

Rachel moistened her dry lips. ‘Oh—I don’t know. A cream cake? A doughnut? A scone?’

Gabriel Webb’s lean mouth took on a sardonic curve. ‘Thank you, but I don’t think so.’ He paused. ‘I don’t suppose you’d care to join me?’

‘Me?’ Rachel almost squeaked the word. Then, clearing her throat, ‘I’m afraid I can’t. I—I have work to do.’

Gabriel Webb inclined his head. ‘Of course. I shouldn’t have suggested it. I’m sorry.’

So was she, but Rachel squashed the treacherous thought. Instead, she allowed a faint smile to indicate her approval and hurried away to get his tea. But her hands shook as she added milk and sugar to the tray she was preparing and Stephanie, who had been loading the dishwasher in the other room, noticed her agitation.

‘What’s the mat—? Oh, it’s him again!’

Stephanie had noticed the new arrival and the censure in her voice was unmistakable. But Rachel was determined not to get into another argument over Gabriel Webb. ‘Would you like to deliver his order?’ she asked, putting the teapot on the tray, trying to keep her voice expressionless, and her friend gave her an old-fashioned look.

‘Why me?’ she asked. ‘It’s obviously you he wants to see. I wonder why?’

Rachel stifled a groan. ‘Steph! Don’t start that again. Okay. I’ll take it to him myself.’

Somehow, she managed to deliver the tray without any mishaps, but when she would have turned away again Gabriel Webb’s voice stopped her. ‘How are you?’ he asked. ‘How’s that little girl of yours? Hannah, isn’t it?’

Rachel’s jaw dropped. ‘How do you know I have a little girl?’ she demanded, her voice rising slightly before she determinedly controlled it. ‘Oh, I suppose Andrew told you.’

‘He did, actually. But I already knew,’ replied Gabriel Webb evenly. ‘I have—employees—who make it their business to keep me informed about the women my son goes out with.’

Rachel’s face flamed. ‘Spies, you mean?’ She was furious with him for embarrassing her like this. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Mr Webb, I have work—’

‘You didn’t answer my question.’

‘And I don’t intend to.’ Rachel wanted to rush away, but she determinedly stood her ground. ‘Don’t insult me by pretending that either you or your son care about me or my affairs. You didn’t approve of me a year ago, and I doubt very much that you approve of me now.’

Gabriel Webb’s mouth tightened. ‘I don’t recall having an opinion either way a year ago,’ he told her steadily. ‘And I can’t speak for Andrew, of course, but my enquiry was sincere. I only recently discovered why your relationship with my son ended. I was—I am—appalled at his behaviour.’

Rachel’s expression was scornful. ‘Do you really expect me to believe that you didn’t know what he thought about Hannah?’ she demanded. ‘When you freely admit that you keep tabs on the women in his life?’

‘Believe it or not, no one saw the need to inform me that the child was disabled,’ he replied, his dark eyes intent and compelling. ‘After all, the affair with Andrew was soon over.’ His lips twisted. ‘As his affairs usually are, I have to admit.’

Rachel held up her head. ‘Hannah isn’t disabled,’ she declared stiffly. ‘She’s a perfectly normal little girl who happens to be—temporarily—confined to a wheelchair.’

‘Temporarily?’

‘We believe so, yes,’ insisted Rachel, crossing her fingers behind her back. ‘Her doctor seems to think there’s nothing physically wrong with her. She just doesn’t—want to walk.’

Or get into a car with a man, or talk about the accident, Rachel added to herself. But that was no concern of his.

Gabriel frowned. ‘Who gave you that prognosis?’

‘Does it matter?’ Rachel disliked the knowledge that she wanted to confide in him. ‘Now, I really must get on…’

‘Of course.’

This time he accepted her assertion and Rachel turned quickly away. For a moment she’d half expected him to argue with her, and as she made her way back to the service area she realised with a pang that she had not only said more than she’d intended, but she was sorry their conversation was over.

‘Well, that looked fairly painless,’ remarked Stephanie drily when Rachel returned to installing plastic-wrapped packs of sandwiches into the refrigerated display. ‘I gather the two of you found you had something in common, after all. Let me guess: Andrew!’

‘You’re wrong.’ Rachel gave her friend a defensive stare. ‘He was asking about Hannah, if you must know.’

‘Hannah?’ Stephanie was surprised. ‘How does he know about Hannah?’

‘How do you think?’ Rachel refused to tell Stephanie that Gabriel Webb had had her investigated. In fact, the more she thought about that aspect of the situation the less she liked it, and she chided herself for allowing him to manipulate her as he had. Unknowingly, her fingers crushed the egg and mayo sandwich she was holding. ‘Dammit, how much longer is Patsy going to be?’

‘Too long to stop you from mangling that sandwich anyway,’ observed Stephanie, taking the plastic container from her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to say anything. The way you choose to deal with your affairs is nothing to do with me.’

Rachel’s shoulders sagged. ‘I’m sorry, Steph. I’m being bitchy again, aren’t I?’ She grimaced. ‘It’s that man! He brings out the worst in me. If he comes in here again, you’ll have to serve him. Or Patsy. If she ever gets back from the bank.’

Stephanie pulled a wry face. ‘He hasn’t left yet,’ she pointed out ruefully. ‘And, judging by the way he was watching you as you walked back here, he’ll be back.’

Rachel made sure she was in the kitchen when Gabriel came to pay his bill. But although she assured herself that she didn’t care what he said, she found herself straining to hear his exchange with Patsy, and her nerves tightened when she heard the younger girl laugh at something he said.

Which was ridiculous, she knew, but that didn’t make a blind bit of difference to the way she felt. Somehow, some way, Gabriel Webb had got under her skin, and if she was totally honest with herself she’d admit that she’d found challenging him an exhilarating experience.

After what Stephanie had said, Rachel half expected Gabriel to return to the café the next morning. But he didn’t. An overcast sky heralded a change in the weather, and by late afternoon it was raining quite heavily. Rachel was relieved when her mother and Hannah came into the café at a quarter to five, shaking the dampness from their umbrella. It signified that the working day was almost over.

‘I want a banana split,’ announced Hannah, almost as soon as her grandmother had pushed her though the door, and although there were few patrons still left in the café, Rachel gave her a reproving stare.

‘I want never gets,’ she said, quoting one of her mother’s favourite sayings. Then, transferring her attention to the older woman, she asked, ‘How did she behave today?’

‘I was good, I was good,’ cried Hannah, but her mother waited for Mrs Redfern to confirm that the weekly visit to the physiotherapist had been a success.

‘She—worked quite hard,’ admitted the child’s grandmother dubiously. And then, in an aside to her daughter, ‘I just wish we didn’t have to deal with that woman. She’s so—unsympathetic. I sometimes think Hannah would do much better with someone else.’

Rachel sighed. She’d heard this complaint before. ‘What can we do?’ she asked. ‘Dr Williams arranged for Hannah to see her. And Mrs Stone is supposed to be one of the best physiotherapists around.’

‘Who said that?’ Mrs Redfern wasn’t convinced. ‘Stone by name and Stone by nature, if you ask me. Not to mention the fact that she makes me feel like I’m an unnecessary encumbrance.’

‘Oh, Mum, you’re exaggerating!’

‘What is Grandma ’xaggerating?’ asked Hannah, getting impatient. Then tugging on her mother’s skirt, she pleaded, ‘Can I have a banana split, please? Can I? I promise I’ll eat all my supper.’

‘May I?’ corrected Rachel automatically. ‘I don’t know how many times I’ve told you that.’ She sighed again. ‘Oh, I suppose so. But I’ll have to get it myself. Steph’s already gone home.’

‘So early?’ murmured Mrs Redfern, waiting until the last two customers had left the café before wheeling Hannah’s chair across to the counter.

‘She had some shopping to do,’ said Rachel levelly, not rising to the bait. Her mother considered that Stephanie didn’t pull her weight in the café. And it was true that the other woman was inclined to take advantage of the fact that she and Rachel were friends.

‘Shopping!’ Mrs Redfern snorted, but, seeing that her daughter was not in the mood to bite, she changed the subject to one Rachel liked even less. ‘By the way, you’ll never guess what I heard this morning: there’s a rumour that the reason Gabriel Webb is living at Copleys now is because he’s seeing a consultant neurologist at a hospital in Oxford.’

Rachel was stunned at her reaction to this news. Anxiety blossomed in her stomach, and she didn’t know how she controlled the urge to demand that her mother tell her where she had heard such a thing. God, she thought, turning away to take the ice cream out of the freezer, giving herself time to recover. Was that why he looked so pale and drawn? Because he was ill? Dear Lord, what was wrong with him?

‘Can I have some of the fluffy cream that comes out of a can as well?’ Hannah’s request was sobering. She had wheeled herself round to the other side of the counter and had dipped her finger into the sauce her mother had poured over the fruit. ‘Ooh, that’s lovely, Mummy. You make the bestest banana split ever!’

‘You’d better not let Stephanie hear you say that,’ said Rachel, forcing herself to put her concerns about Gabriel Webb to the back of her mind. But she was aware that her voice wasn’t quite as playful as it should have been and she felt her mother watching her with shrewd eyes.

‘I always like the things you do best,’ declared Hannah staunchly, clearly sensing that she was on to a winner. ‘Do you think I could have a milkshake as well?’

Rachel pulled a wry face. ‘Don’t push it, sweetheart,’ she advised, handing the dish containing the banana split to her mother and guiding Hannah’s chair to the nearest table. ‘There we are.’ This as Mrs Redfern set the dish down in front of her granddaughter. ‘Now I’ll go and make us a nice cup of tea.’

‘All right.’

Hannah accepted her mother’s decision good-naturedly, and Rachel was leaning down to give the little girl a swift hug when the café door opened behind her.

A draught of damp air issued into the room, but it wasn’t the sudden drop in temperature that caused Rachel to straighten and glance round in wary understanding. It was her mother’s sharp intake of breath and the shocked expression that had crossed her face.

‘Am I intruding?’

Gabriel Webb stood just inside the door, his dark hair sparkling with drops of rain, the familiar overcoat hanging open over black jeans and a V-necked cream sweater. Ironically enough, he looked less drawn today, his eyes surveying the scene he had interrupted with narrow-eyed consideration.

‘Oh, Mr Webb.’ Rachel was aware of feeling totally out of her depth. Aware, too, that her mother was watching her reaction closely and probably not liking what she saw. ‘I— I’m sorry but we’re closed.’

Gabriel turned and flicked the card that still displayed the ‘Open’ sign. ‘Is that right?’ he murmured. ‘I didn’t realise. When I saw you still had customers…’

Rachel couldn’t look at her mother. She was fairly sure Gabriel Webb knew exactly who her ‘customers’ were, and she could sense Mrs Redfern’s antagonism from across the table. But, short of calling him a liar, she had no choice but to introduce them.

‘Um—this is my mother and my daughter, Mr Webb,’ she said awkwardly. Then, with a hopeful glance in her mother’s direction, ‘Mum, this is Mr Webb.’ She hesitated a moment before adding reluctantly, ‘Andrew’s father.’

Mrs Redfern didn’t get up. ‘Yes, I know who Mr Webb is, Rachel,’ she declared stiffly, without offering him a greeting. ‘Hannah, watch what you’re doing. You’re dripping ice cream all over the table.’

‘Who’s Mr Webb?’ Hannah hissed to her grandmother in the kind of stage whisper that had to be audible to their visitor, and Rachel stifled a groan.

‘Hannah!’ she reproved, before Mrs Redfern could say anything more provocative, and then caught her breath when Gabriel left his position by the door to approach the table where the older woman and the child were sitting.

‘Hi, Hannah,’ he said, squatting down beside her chair and regarding her with warm approving eyes. ‘That looks good.’

Hannah cast a nervous glance up at her mother and then, apparently deciding there was no harm in answering him, she said, ‘It’s a banana split.’

‘Yeah, I know what it is.’ Gabriel grinned, and Rachel realised it was the first time she had seen him so relaxed. ‘I used to love them when I was younger. Banana splits and strawberry milkshakes! I think those were my favourite things.’

‘Do you like strawberry milkshakes, too?’ asked Hannah, wide-eyed. ‘They’re my very favourite drinks. Only Mummy says that having a milkshake as well as a banana split will spoil my supper.’

‘Well, I guess Mummy knows best—’

‘Eat your ice cream, Hannah.’ Mrs Redfern had evidently had enough of this interruption to their routine. She looked at Gabriel. ‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than waste time talking to a six-year-old, Mr Webb. As Rachel told you, the café’s closed. It was my fault. I forgot to lock the door.’

Gabriel got to his feet. ‘No problem,’ he said easily, his eyes moving from the older woman’s tight closed face to Rachel’s embarrassed one. ‘You’ve got a very pretty daughter, Rachel,’ he appended. ‘I envy you.’

Rachel’s lips parted. She didn’t know what to say. Or, at least, she knew what she ought to say, what her mother was expecting her to say, but she couldn’t do it.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured instead, conscious of him in a way that was totally personal, totally inappropriate. ‘I’m sorry about—about the sign.’

‘Yeah.’

He held her gaze for a moment longer than was necessary and Rachel felt as if the world around her had shifted on its axis. Then, with a murmured word of farewell for Hannah and a polite nod in Mrs Redfern’s direction, he started towards the door.

Rachel hesitated only briefly before going after him. She had to lock the door, she defended herself, but she could tell from her mother’s expression that she wasn’t deceived. Mrs Redfern looked as if she knew exactly what her daughter was thinking, and Rachel wished she wasn’t so transparent.

It was still raining, heavily, and Gabriel halted in the doorway. ‘Do you have transport?’ he asked, his eyes on her averted face, and Rachel quickly nodded.

‘Oh, yes,’ she assured him, wondering what he would have done if she’d said no. ‘Um—do you?’

It was a stupid question and she knew it. The Webbs owned a fleet of cars. They employed a chauffeur, for heaven’s sake. He would think she was a complete idiot for asking.

But instead of answering her, he asked her a question. ‘What would you do if I said no?’

Rachel’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I don’t know.’ She moistened her lips. ‘Offer to call you a taxi, I suppose.’

‘Ah.’ His mouth took on a sardonic curve. ‘I imagine it would be awkward if you suggested anything else.’

Rachel’s hand sought an unruly strand of her honey-streaked brown hair and tucked it behind her ear. Then, ‘Like what?’ she asked rather breathlessly, and he smiled.

‘Well, it’s obvious I’d not be your mother’s favourite choice of travelling companion,’ he remarked drily. ‘That is, if you were thinking of offering me a lift home.’ He paused. ‘Which, of course, you’re not.’

Rachel straightened her spine. ‘I think you’re teasing me, Mr Webb. I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey—’

‘It wasn’t a wasted journey,’ he contradicted her softly. ‘It gave me the opportunity to meet your charming little daughter.’

‘And why would you want to meet Han—my daughter?’ asked Rachel tensely, aware that her mother was getting more and more irritated with this exchange. With good reason, she acknowledged wryly. She should have avoided any attempt to prolong this conversation.

‘I didn’t say it was my prime objective,’ he retorted now, turning up his collar against the rain and contemplating the weather with resignation. ‘Meeting Hannah was a bonus.’

Rachel stared at him then. In profile, his face had a harsh beauty despite its strength. Narrow cheekbones hollowed beneath heavy lids and his lean mouth had a sensual appeal. His appearance disturbed her and she knew again that unwelcome twinge of panic at the realisation. She didn’t want to feel the emotions he aroused inside her.

‘I think you’d better go, Mr Webb,’ she said stiffly, scared she might betray herself in some way, and flinched when he turned his narrow-eyed gaze upon her.

‘Call me Gabriel—or Gabe, if you’d prefer it,’ he said, his eyes on her mouth. Then, before she could object, he added, ‘There’s my car,’ and strode purposefully across the street to get into the back of a silver-grey Mercedes that had been idling in the ‘No Parking’ area. He raised his hand as the car drove away but Rachel didn’t respond. She was still trying to come to terms with the fact that it was she he had wanted to see.

CHAPTER THREE

‘HAVE you seen that man again?’

It was Sunday evening and Rachel was in the process of bathing her daughter. Hannah loved being in the tub, and although Rachel knew it was wishful thinking, she sometimes thought the little girl actually moved her legs in the soapy water.

Mrs Redfern had come to stand in the bathroom doorway and Rachel glanced briefly over her shoulder. She and her mother and Hannah shared this house in Maple Avenue, which had been the Redferns’ family home for the past twenty-five years. Her father had died over ten years ago, and when Larry had been killed in the car accident that had paralysed their daughter it had seemed sensible for Rachel to move back in with her mother. The house was big enough to accommodate a family, goodness knew, and Rachel had never regretted her decision.

Without her mother to look after Hannah she could never have returned to college or gone into business for herself. She wouldn’t have had the security she enjoyed now without the older woman’s help, and she felt instantly guilty for the resentment that swelled inside her at her mother’s words. Mrs Redfern had said little about Gabriel Webb since she’d offered her opinion of his character after he’d left the caféon that Thursday afternoon, but Rachel realised she had been waiting for her to refer to him again.

‘What man?’ asked Hannah at once, ever alert to any gossip, and Rachel gave her mother a telling look.

‘No one you know,’ she said shortly, justifying the lie to herself. Then, with another warning glance in her mother’s direction, ‘No, I haven’t. Have you?’

Mrs Redfern’s lips pursed. ‘There’s no need to take that attitude, Rachel. It was a perfectly reasonable question. But, if you insist on burying your head in the sand—’

‘Why would you bury your head in the sand, Mummy?’ Hannah was puzzled. ‘Does Grandma mean at the seaside?’

‘Something like that,’ said Rachel shortly, soaping the sponge and applying it rather aggressively to the little girl’s shoulders. Hannah protested, and Rachel was instantly contrite. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Well, I think the truth is that you were,’ retorted Mrs Redfern tersely, going out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind her, and Rachel expelled a weary breath.

That was all she needed: for her mother to get it into her head that she was interested in Gabriel Webb. It was ridiculous! Ludicrous! He was Andrew’s father, for God’s sake! He had to be at least twenty years older than she was.

‘Is Grandma cross?’

Hannah’s anxious question reminded her that she had a sensitive child to deal with, and Rachel quickly rescued her expression. ‘Grandma’s not cross with you,’ she assured the little girl with a bright smile. ‘Now, come on. Let me lift you onto the seat and we’ll shower you off.’

It was comparatively easy to divert Hannah’s attention, but later that evening Rachel was forced to face her mother’s censure again. With her daughter safely tucked up in bed there was no third party to provide a distraction, and although Rachel had got out her account books in the hope of avoiding a confrontation she soon found she had wasted her time.

‘Stephanie tells me Gabriel Webb has been into the café more than once in the last two weeks,’ Mrs Redfern remarked, carrying the cup of coffee she had just made herself into her late husband’s study, where Rachel was working. ‘That’s without that evening he came after the girls had gone home.’

Rachel knew a momentary twinge of anger towards her friend for relating something so potentially explosive to her mother, and then chided herself for blaming anyone else for this situation. ‘So?’ she said managing to adopt an indifferent tone. ‘I told you he’d been in.’

‘Not three times,’ retorted Mrs Redfern, taking the chair across the desk. ‘What does he want?’

Rachel was glad the lamplight shone down on the account books and not on her face. ‘Why should he want anything?’ she protested. ‘Other than a decent pot of tea, of course. You won’t deny that I serve one of the best cups of tea in the area?’

‘Oh, Rachel!’ There was a wealth of impatience in Mrs Redfern’s voice. ‘I know you’re not as naïve as you’d like me to think. I saw the way he was looking at you the other afternoon. I find it hard to believe, I admit, that a man like him—a man with his money, with his background,’ she amended quickly, ‘should be interested in someone his son—’

‘Don’t,’ said Rachel shortly. ‘Please don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t say anything more,’ said Rachel, aware that her nails were digging into her palms. ‘It’s not true, so why torment yourself over it? Gabriel Webb is not interested in me.’

‘Then why is he always in the café?’

Rachel gasped. ‘He’s not always in the café,’ she exclaimed frustratedly. ‘As you said, he’s been in three times in as many weeks. That’s hardly a record. I have customers who come in two or three times a day!’

‘Well, according to Steph—’

‘Look, I don’t care what Steph thinks,’ replied Rachel, wishing her friend would mind her own business. ‘Ask yourself the question, Mum. Why would someone like him feel anything but—but curiosity about me?’

‘Curiosity?’ Mrs Redfern considered this possibility seriously, and Rachel had the feeling she’d said the wrong thing. But then, discarding that thought, her mother returned to her original opinion. ‘You’re an attractive woman, Rachel. If you had more confidence in yourself you’d see that I was right.’

‘Oh, Mum!’ Rachel was weary of this conversation. ‘I’m too tall, I’m too thin, and I have a hairstyle that was in fashion ten years ago. I’m not beautiful or sexy. I appreciate your loyalty, but I fear it’s misplaced.’

‘That’s the trouble with you,’ responded her mother at once. ‘Always putting yourself down. You’d never have married Larry Kershaw if you hadn’t had such a low opinion—’

‘No more, Mum.’ Rachel groaned. This was an old argument and one she had no wish to get into tonight. Then, because she had to, ‘If I hadn’t married Larry I wouldn’t have had Hannah. And even you can’t deny that she’s been a delight ever since she was born.’

‘If Larry hadn’t spent as much time in the pub, Hannah would still be a normal little girl,’ retorted Mrs Redfern tightly. And then, seeing Rachel’s shocked face, she hastily recanted. ‘I know, I know. Hannah is a normal little girl.’ She took a sip of her coffee. ‘I just wish—I just wish—’

‘Don’t we all?’ said Rachel flatly, determinedly picking up her pen. ‘I’ve got to get on, Mum. I mean it. It’s nearly nine o’clock and these accounts won’t calculate themselves.’

Monday and Tuesday passed without incident, and Rachel was beginning to think that both her and her mother’s fears had been groundless when Gabriel Webb turned up again. He came into the café on Wednesday afternoon, just as she was about to close. Stephanie and Patsy had already gone—thank goodness, thought Rachel fervently—and as it wasn’t a day that Hannah and her grandmother were coming to meet her Rachel was on her own when he appeared.

He was wearing dark trousers and a leather blouson jacket this afternoon, and a dark blue tee shirt that highlighted the olive cast of his skin. His face was still drawn but Rachel was uneasily aware of the hard strength in his lean features. It was an awareness that had come to her gradually, but she couldn’t deny he possessed a sort of magnetism that no amount of self-denigration on her part could dismiss.

She didn’t want to notice these things but she couldn’t help it. It was her mother’s fault, she thought crossly. And Stephanie’s. They had put these thoughts into her head. Yet in her heart of hearts she knew that it wasn’t anything either of them had said that had reduced her to this state of nervous apprehension every time he came into the café. And she was very much afraid he knew it, too.

‘I understand,’ he said, when she recovered herself sufficiently to glance at the clock. ‘You’re closing.’ He paused. ‘I hoped you might be.’ He pushed his fingers into the waist-line pockets of his trousers and she instantly noticed how his thumbs pointed to the taut fabric that shaped his sex. ‘I wondered if you’d like to have a drink with me for a change.’

Rachel swallowed, dragging her eyes away from that part of his anatomy and avoiding his disturbing appraisal by straightening a chair at a nearby table. Then, because she had to say something and she couldn’t possibly accept his invitation, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Webb. I’m just on my way home.’

‘My name’s Gabe, as I believe I told you,’ he said, standing squarely between her and the door. ‘And I’m sure you could spare me a few minutes of your valuable time. The Golden Lion’s just across the road.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’ His impatience was carefully controlled. ‘Have you got another appointment?’

‘No.’ Rachel sighed. ‘I’ve just told you. I’m on my way home.’

‘So why can’t you humour me and save me from a lonely half-hour in the pub?’

Rachel caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I can’t believe you have to rely on a perfect stranger for company,’ she said, and saw the way his jaw compressed. She was angering him, she could tell that, and she thought perhaps that was the way to go. Whatever impulse had caused this unexpected petition, it couldn’t possibly survive a blank denial. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You still haven’t given me a convincing reason why not,’ he persisted. Then, harshly, ‘Am I trespassing on another man’s property? Is that it?’

Rachel’s jaw dropped. ‘I just don’t want to have a drink with you, Mr Webb.’ She picked up the navy jacket she had dropped over the back of a chair and pushed her arms into the sleeves. ‘I’m tired and I’m looking forward to having a long soak in the bath. Does that answer your question?’

Gabriel didn’t move. ‘You don’t like me,’ he said flatly. ‘I had thought, after our conversation the other afternoon, that you’d realised that I am not my son.’

‘Oh, I do realise that, Mr Webb.’ Rachel was getting angry now. ‘But what you don’t seem capable of grasping is that I run a café. I have to be polite to all my customers, even those I—I—’

‘You don’t like,’ he finished for her drily. ‘Yes. I get the picture.’

Rachel doubted that he did. And there was such a look of defeat in his night-dark eyes now that she felt dreadful. When he’d come into the café there’d been a different expression on his face, but that anticipation—that expectation—had all been extinguished now. He looked greyer, older, and when he turned abruptly towards the door she wanted to flay herself for destroying his mood.

‘Wait…’

Without giving herself time to have second thoughts, Rachel went after him. Her hand reached for his sleeve, but her fingers brushed his wrist instead, the leather strap of his wristwatch so much warmer than his chilled skin.

And, instantly, she wanted to take him into her arms. To hold him and warm his cold flesh with her body that was suddenly hot and pulsing with life. But of course she didn’t. Instead, her hand fell awkwardly to her side, and when she met his guarded stare she wondered what in God’s name she had been thinking of.

‘Yes?’ he said, and now it was her turn to face his closed gaze.

‘I—perhaps we could have a drink together,’ she said with difficulty, and his mouth took on a mocking curve.

‘Don’t do me any favours, Mrs Kershaw,’ he said, his features cold and withdrawn. ‘I don’t need your pity.’

‘It’s not—it’s not pity,’ protested Rachel, wondering somewhat incredulously why she was persisting with this. Why hadn’t she let him go when she’d had the chance? ‘However, if you’ve changed your mind…’

‘I haven’t changed my mind,’ he said heavily, his hand resting on the handle of the door. He paused. ‘Do you want to follow me over?’

‘I—no.’ Rachel realised he was giving her one final chance to escape. ‘I can come now. Just let me turn off the lights and set the alarm.’

He was waiting outside when she emerged from the café and locked the door. He was standing, staring across the road at the warm brown stone of the Golden Lion’s walls, his hands pushed into the pockets of his jacket. It wasn’t a cold evening, but there was an errant breeze that whipped tendrils of dark hair across his temple and he lifted his hand and raked long fingers through his hair as she joined him.

They crossed the street in silence and entered the public house beneath the creaking sign of King Richard’s lion. A carpeted foyer with swing doors opened into a discreetly lit bar that at this hour of the afternoon was virtually deserted. Only a couple of regulars occupied stools at the counter, discussing racing form with the bartender, and Gabriel indicated that Rachel should find a seat while he got their drinks.

‘Just an orange juice for me,’ she murmured when he asked what she wanted, and he raised a resigned brow before approaching the bar.

Windows overlooking the street outside were set high in the walls, giving privacy to anyone seated in the booths below. Rachel chose a corner location, sliding onto the padded banquette with a feeling of mild disbelief. What was she doing here? she wondered. And with Gabriel Webb! Her mother would never believe it.

Or rather she would, Rachel acknowledged, glancing towards the bar to find her companion exchanging a casual greeting with the bartender. Evidently he was not unknown here, and Rachel wondered if anyone had recognised her as well. Oh, God, she should have insisted on them going somewhere where they weren’t immediately recognisable.

‘One orange juice,’ murmured Gabriel, sliding into the booth opposite, and she was glad he hadn’t attempted to sit next to her.

Not that he would, she assured herself, once again aware that she was attributing far too much importance to the situation. He had invited her for a drink. So what?

He had got himself a beer and now he raised the bottle to his lips and drank some of the foaming liquid. Unwillingly, her eyes were drawn to the strong column of his throat and the way his muscles moved under his dark skin. Everything he did caused a quiver of awareness deep inside her, and she wondered why he affected her this way. It couldn’t only be pity, could it? No! Pity had never felt like this.

He lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before saying softly, ‘What made you change your mind?’

That wasn’t easy to answer, particularly after her thoughts of a few moments ago, and she bent her head, seeking inspiration in her glass. The truth was, she didn’t know why she had abandoned all her principles and accepted his invitation. It was far too complex for her to understand.

‘I—I suppose I was curious,’ she said at last, confessing the least of her sins. ‘Why did you invite me?’

Gabriel’s mouth twisted. ‘Why does a man usually ask a woman to go out with him?’ he asked lightly, and Rachel’s skin feathered with apprehension.

‘You don’t mean that,’ she said, her fingers nervous on the base of her glass. ‘If Andrew put you up to this—’

‘I haven’t seen Andrew in weeks,’ retorted Gabriel harshly. ‘He and I have little in common. And why would you assume I must have some ulterior motive for my invitation?’ He paused. ‘Unless you think I’m too old to enjoy your company.’

Rachel caught her breath. ‘Your age has nothing to do with it.’ She moistened dry nervous lips. ‘I just find it hard to believe that you’d have any interest in me. And I’d rather you didn’t insult my intelligence by pretending you were irresistibly attracted to my womanly charms.’

Gabriel gave a small smile. ‘You don’t have a very high opinion of yourself, do you?’

‘So my mother is always telling me,’ replied Rachel tightly. ‘Shall we talk about you instead? Like why have you come back to Kingsbridge, for example?’

‘That’s not important.’ He cradled his beer between his palms. ‘For the moment I’d like to explain why I wanted to see you again. I realise this is an unusual situation, and I understand that you might be suspicious of my motives.’

‘I didn’t say that—’

‘As good as,’ he insisted softly. ‘After all, my son did a pretty good job of making you despise him, and because my name’s the same you probably think I’m just like him.’

‘And you’re not?’ Rachel sounded sceptical.

‘You don’t believe that?’ He shrugged. ‘No, why would you? I’ve done nothing to prove otherwise. Not yet, anyway.’ His eyes narrowed on her soft mouth. ‘But if you’ll let me, I will.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘Why would you want to?’

‘Because I like what I know of you,’ he said steadily. ‘Because I admire you. Because I’d like to get to know you better. Does that answer your question?’

It did, but Rachel didn’t know if it was what she wanted to hear. Her reaction to Gabriel Webb troubled her, and she had the distinct feeling that he could hurt her far more than his son had ever done.

She had gone out with Andrew for over three months, it was true, but although she’d been distressed when he’d let her down, her feelings of betrayal had had more to do with Hannah than herself. She couldn’t believe she’d let a man like him get close to her, and it had been pride as much as anything that had allowed her to let her friends think that Andrew’s father had broken them up.

‘You can’t expect me to believe that you had any of—of this in mind that first time you came into the café,’ she said at last, and a shrug of his shoulders conceded the point.

‘No, that’s right,’ he agreed. ‘I don’t deny it. I had some time to kill, the café was there, and I’ll admit to being curious to meet the woman who had made such a lasting impression on my son.’

Rachel’s lips twisted. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘It’s true.’ Gabriel studied her disbelieving face. ‘Andrew doesn’t usually remember his conquests, but you evidently had quite an effect on him.’

‘Hannah did, you mean,’ said Rachel tersely. ‘I’m surprised he told you about her. I wouldn’t have thought it was something he’d want to brag about.’

‘Did I say he bragged about it?’ Gabriel sighed. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘And he suddenly told you this, out of the blue, just a few weeks ago?’ Rachel sat back in her seat. ‘Why would he?’

‘Because I’d told him I was coming back to Kingsbridge,’ said Gabriel heavily. ‘If you must know, he was drunk at the time, or I doubt he’d have said anything.’

‘That figures.’ Rachel was sardonic. ‘So that’s why you came into the café: to find out if he’d been telling the truth.’

‘That was not why I came into the café,’ insisted Gabriel. ‘All right; I’ve told you I was curious to meet you. But, believe me, I felt nothing but disgust when Andrew told me how he felt about Hannah. Until then I’d had no idea that my son was such a—a—’

‘Bigot?’ suggested Rachel wryly, but Gabriel only shook his head.

‘Such a bastard,’ he said forcefully. Then, because this was evidently not the way he wanted the conversation to go, he put his beer aside and regarded her with those disturbing dark eyes. ‘I can only apologise for my son and hope that you can forgive his ignorance. As far as I’m concerned, I’d like to put the past behind us.’

‘Behind us?’ Rachel felt slightly incredulous. ‘There is no us, Mr Webb.’

‘Not yet.’

‘Not ever,’ she declared unsteadily, suddenly in a panic to get out of there. ‘I have to go,’ she added, sliding to the end of the booth. ‘Thank you for the drink—’

‘Rachel!’ Before she could get to her feet, lean brown fingers closed about her wrist. ‘Please. Hear me out.’

‘I can’t.’ Her agitation was too great to allow her to accept his request. ‘I’m sorry. I—my mother will be expecting me. She gets worried if I’m late.’

‘I’ll take you home,’ he said flatly. ‘Don’t ask me how, but I know your mother uses your car to take Hannah to and from her school. You either walk home or take the bus. Am I right?’

Rachel stared at him. ‘You’ve been following us?’

‘Not me, no,’ said Gabriel reluctantly, releasing her arm and sagging back in his seat, as if the effort of restraining her had exhausted him. ‘Now I suppose you’ll accuse me of stalking you?’

Rachel didn’t know what to say. The panic that had appeared so abruptly had given way to a curious sense of anticipation, and although she knew she ought to be angry with him, there was something about his sudden capitulation that was oddly appealing.

‘Why?’ she asked helplessly. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘I wish to God I knew,’ he said in response, a mocking twist to his mouth. ‘Believe me, I’m not in the habit of pursuing my son’s ex-girlfriends. And, although I was curious about you, I had no intention of making a nuisance of myself.’

‘You haven’t…’ Rachel spoke impulsively and then wished she hadn’t. ‘I mean—I didn’t say that.’

‘But you probably thought it, hmm?’

Rachel shrugged. ‘I don’t understand what you—what you want of me.’

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is it so inconceivable that I might find your company enjoyable?’

‘Frankly, yes.’ Rachel was honest.

‘Because you think I’m too old to have a sexual relationship?’

A sexual relationship!

Rachel swallowed, too shocked to offer a rational defence. Falling back on platitudes, she murmured, ‘You’re not old.’

‘I wish I could believe you meant that.’ He paused. ‘How old are you, Rachel? Twenty-four? Twenty-five? I can give you twenty years at least.’

‘I’m twenty-eight,’ said Rachel shortly. ‘Andrew is three years younger than me.’

‘And I’m seventeen years older.’ He arched a dark brow. ‘Twenty years! Seventeen! It’s still an awfully long time, isn’t it?’

‘Who are you trying to convince?’ she asked, forced to argue with him, and then flushed at the familiarity in her tone. ‘I’m sorry. But you did ask.’

‘Hey, don’t apologise.’ Gabriel was unconcerned. ‘I’m encouraged that you feel able to relax with me.’ He lifted his beer to his lips, watching her the whole time. Then, after putting it down again, he added, ‘I like it.’

Rachel felt totally out of her depth. ‘You know, I really do have to go,’ she said at last, glancing at her watch. ‘There’s a bus that leaves in exactly five minutes—’

‘I’ve said I’ll take you home,’ Gabriel reminded her. ‘Please. Let me. I want to.’

Rachel’s limbs melted. It was all too easy to imagine him using those same words in an entirely different context—an entirely sexual context, she acknowledged unsteadily—and it was incredibly difficult to remember that this man was—could be—her enemy.

‘It’s not necessary,’ she began, but he was already out of the booth and offering her his hand to help her to her feet.

‘Let me be the judge of that,’ he said, the expression in his eyes telling her that he knew exactly why she’d pretended not to see his gesture. ‘Shall we go?’

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