A Rich Man's Touch

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.