A Rich Man's Touch

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 (#ulink_ce1fb466-908b-5868-a4ca-c45901d86687)

‘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.