Читать книгу A Rich Man's Touch - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

‘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?’