Читать книгу A Rich Man's Touch - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

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.