by Mather, Anne
‘He’s seventeen years older than I am,’ said Rachel quietly, and Stephanie arched a speculative brow.
‘So you got around to ages, did you? Not such a casual conversation, after all.’
‘Stop it.’ Rachel sighed. ‘Oh, Steph, do you think he feels—well, sorry for me?’
‘Sorry for you?’ Stephanie blinked. ‘Why should he feel sorry for you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Rachel shifted a little awkwardly. ‘I suppose because he’s used to dealing with much more glamorous women than me.’ ‘Stop fishing.’ Stephanie laughed. ‘You know as well as I do that you’re just as good-looking now as you were when you married Larry.’ ‘Which isn’t saying much.’
‘It’s saying a lot.’ Stephanie was adamant. ‘You’re an attractive woman, Rach. Blonde hair—’ ‘Light brown hair.’ ‘—green eyes—’ ‘Hazel.’
‘—and slim.’ Stephanie patted her own generous hips with a resigned hand. ‘Mike calls these my love-handles, but I bet he wishes I looked more like you.’
‘That’s not true.’ Rachel pulled a face. ‘Mike thinks the world of you and you know it.’ She pulled a crystal container down from the top shelf and put the flowers on the counter. ‘Anyway, when are you going to let him make an honest woman of you? It must be six months since you told me he’d asked you to marry him.’
‘We’re okay as we are,’ replied Stephanie firmly, helping her to sort the blooms. ‘I like our arrangement. We live together, we share the house, and I don’t have to worry about his mother breathing down my neck, grumbling because I’m not pregnant like Tom’s wife, Lesley.’ She picked up a rich red carnation and sniffed its delicate fragrance. ‘Mmm, these are gorgeous, Rach. And don’t think I don’t know you’re trying to change the subject. I’ll shut up—I will—so long as you stop kidding yourself. Gabe Webb didn’t buy all these flowers for you to decorate the cafe with them. I’m telling you, it’s you he’s interested in. Just don’t let him hurt you, right? I haven’t forgotten that if it wasn’t for him you and Andrew might still be together.’
We wouldn’t.
But Rachel didn’t say the words out loud. She had no desire to arouse her friend’s sympathy by telling her what Andrew had said about Hannah, or that Gabriel had had nothing to do with his son’s prejudices. She might never need to do so, after all. This casual liaison with Gabriel was never going to lead anywhere, and, as Stephanie had said, she had no intention of allowing either of the Webbs to hurt her again.
‘You know,’ Stephanie added, just when Rachel had thought the subject was closed, ‘you do have to wonder what he’s playing at. He stopped Andrew from seeing you, yet he seems to see nothing wrong in pursuing you himself.’
On Saturday, Rachel took the afternoon off so that she and Hannah could attend the craft fair at St Agnes’s Church. Her daughter loved these fairs, where you could buy anything from home-made cakes and pastries to handcrafted ornaments and embroidered quilts. And, because the stalls were all low enough for her to see from her wheelchair, they had an added appeal.
They were trying to decide which coloured sweater Hannah liked best when Rachel became aware of someone standing behind her. Her daughter was of a similar colouring to herself, and the two patterned woollens, one in blue and one in green, were each a work of art.
‘I’d go for the green one if I were you, Hannah,’ remarked a familiar voice, and Rachel glanced round to find Joe Collins smiling at the little girl.
‘Do you think so?’ For all her usual reticence with men, Hannah was not above a trace of vanity. Holding the green sweater against her chest, she drew her long braid of hair forward so that it lay against the emerald-green wool. ‘It is pretty, isn’t it, Mummy? Do you like it?’
‘I like them both,’ said Rachel candidly, hoping Joe hadn’t got some intention of joining them. A hope that seemed to be dashed when he squatted down beside the child’s wheelchair.
‘So how are you, Hannah?’ he asked, and the little girl looked doubtfully up at her mother.
‘Urn-I’m fine,’ she said at last. Then, ‘Can I have the green sweater, Mummy? I think I do like it best.’
‘You’ve got good taste. Just like your mummy,’ said Joe, undaunted by Hannah’s indifference. ‘So—are you going to splash out and spend some of your pocket money?’
Hannah’s smile was diffident. ‘Mummy buys my clothes, not me.’
‘Who said anything about clothes?’ asked Joe, getting to his feet and looking at Rachel. ‘I was thinking of an ice cream.’ He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of change. ‘Here you are. You go and get us all a sugar cone. I’m sure Mrs Miller’s daughter will carry them back for you, if you ask her nicely.’
‘No...’ Rachel’s hand cut between them, blocking any attempt Hannah might have made to take the money. ‘Hannah’s just had an ice cream, haven’t you, sweetheart? She doesn’t need another one.’
Joe mouth tightened. ‘It’s only an ice cream, Rachel. Even if she has had one already, I doubt if another will make that much difference.’
‘It wasn’t an ice cream,’ put in Hannah, though she seemed unaffected by her mother’s decision. ‘It was an ice lolly, wasn’t it, Mummy? You had one, too.’
‘So I did-’
‘Well, if you won’t let me buy the child an ice cream, perhaps you’ll let me take her across to see my mother,’ suggested Joe doggedly. ‘She’s running the hat stall over there.’ He waved somewhat vaguely in the direction of the door. ‘I know she’d love to meet her.’
Rachel wanted to say no, but she didn’t want to offend him, so, bending down to Hannah’s level, she said, ‘Is that what you’d like to do?’ ‘Just go to another stall?’ asked Hannah anxiously. ‘We wouldn’t have to go in a car or anything, would we?’
‘No,’ said Rachel gently. ‘Joe’s just going to wheel you across the hall. He wants to introduce you to his mummy. Is that all right?’
Hannah still looked doubtful, but Joe was so eager Rachel didn’t have the heart to refuse. It’ll be fun, darling,’ she said, hoping no one would jump to the wrong conclusion. The last thing she wanted was for people to link her and Joe together.
He wheeled her daughter away, but not without a telling glance in Rachel’s direction. She knew he was thinking that she was to blame for Hannah’s reticence, that it was she who was afraid of allowing another man into either of their lives.
If he only knew!
Rachel paid for the green sweater and then, deciding there was no point in worrying over it, she drifted on to the used bookstall. Although it wasn’t the usual thing to find at a craft fair, St Agnes’s had so many books donated for their jumble sales that they inevitably inserted a book stall whenever possible, using the funds earned to sponsor beds at the town’s hospice. Some of the books were so old and dog-eared that Rachel was loath to touch them, but here and there were vintage editions of the classics and moderately new paperbacks.
She was flicking through the pages of an old Rupert Bear annual that she thought Hannah might like when, once again, she got the feeling that someone was watching her. Lifting her head, she glanced around, half expecting to see Joe and Hannah coming back. But they had disappeared into the throng. Instead, her eyes were drawn to the double doors that led into the church hall—and the man who was standing just inside them, looking in her direction.
It was Gabriel Webb, and even as she felt the familiar flutter of panic in her stomach that his appearance always evoked, his attention was distracted. Father Michael, one of the priests from the hospice, had recognised him and, judging from the way he was smiling and shaking Gabriel’s hand, his arrival was not unexpected.
Which was just as well, thought Rachel firmly, returning her attention to the book in her hand. She could do without the aggravation that seeing him again would cause, and with Hannah present there would be no way she could keep it a secret.
Not that she’d made a very good job of keeping things secret so far, she reflected wryly, han
ding the annual to the volunteer who was running the stall for pricing. When her mother and Hannah had come into the cafe, after her daughter’s physiotherapy on Thursday afternoon, the first thing Mrs Redfern had noticed were the flowers. And, of course, Rachel hadn’t been able to explain their appearance without admitting that she’d had a drink with Gabriel on Wednesday evening after work. Which had caused another argument with her mother. She’d been almost relieved when he hadn’t returned on either Thursday or Friday to check on their delivery. Life became far too complicated when he was around.
But what was he doing here?
‘Mummy, Mummy!’ Hannah’s excited voice made the question irrelevant, and Rachel turned to see that her daughter was now sporting a wide-brimmed straw boater. A red and white striped scarf encircled the crown of the hat and trailed down onto the little girl’s shoulder. ‘Look what Mrs Collins gave me!’ she beamed. It’s very smart.’ Rachel smiled, her eyes drifting up briefly to Joe’s wary face. ‘Did you thank Mrs Collins?’
‘Of course.’ Hannah was indignant, twisting her head to see her reflection in a hand-painted mirror on an adjoining stall. She preened for a moment and then her eyes widened and she lifted her hand to wave at someone she could see in the glass. ‘Look, Mummy,’ she pointed. There’s Mr Webb.’
‘Webb?’ whispered Joe in Rachel’s ear. ‘God, Rachel, Andrew’s not come back, has he?’
‘It’s his father,’ said Rachel in a hurried undertone, aware that Gabriel was now advancing on them from across the hall. She hoped she’d be able to control her expression. You know—Gabriel Webb. You knew that he was back.’
‘What the hell’s he doing here?’ snapped Joe, but thankfully Rachel wasn’t obliged to find an answer. The older man, tall and disturbingly familiar in his dark trousers and jacket, a fine grey cashmere sweater exposed by the hands he’d pushed into his trouser pockets, had joined them, and she had enough to do handling her own reaction to his presence.
‘Have you come to buy some more flowers?’ asked Hannah at once, with unexpected candour, and Gabriel looked down at her with amused eyes. ‘No,’ he said gently, his gaze flicking speculatively between Joe and Rachel. ‘Did you like them?’ ‘I did. I think Mummy did, too,’ replied Hannah artlessly. ‘But Grandma was cross. She said—’
That will do, Hannah.’ Rachel interrupted her before she could say anything more embarrassing. ‘And—and they were lovely, Mr Webb, but you shouldn’t have bothered.’
‘It was no bother,’ Gabriel assured her, his eyes raking her flushed face. He paused, and then added politely, ‘I hope you’re enjoying the fair.’ ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was your thing, Mr Webb,’ remarked Joe a little belligerently, evidently resenting his familiarity with Rachel, and Gabriel shrugged. ‘I told Father Michael I’d call in,’ he said mildly, though he must have sensed the younger man’s antagonism. ‘I see you’ve found something you like, Mrs Kershaw.’
‘Oh, yes...’
Rachel was about to tell Hannah about the annual when the little girl surprisingly intervened. ‘Do you like my hat, Mr Webb?’ she asked, apparently feeling no threat from his direction. ‘Joe’s mummy gave it to me. She’s got a hat stall, you see.’
Gabriel’s lips tilted. ‘It’s very—sophisticated,’ he said at last. ‘I like the scarf. It suits you.’
Hannah turned back to the mirror again, content to admire her reflection, and for a few moments there was a strained silence. Then, as if he’d decided that his presence was causing a problem, Gabriel excused himself on the pretext of promising to speak to the volunteers. He strolled away, and he hadn’t gone more than a few yards before he was joined by two of the women from the Young Wives Group who had organised the event. His courteous smile appeared, encompassing them in its warmth, and Rachel suddenly felt an entirely different emotion: jealousy.
‘Good riddance,’ said Joe harshly, as soon as Gabriel was out of earshot, and Rachel remembered belatedly that Joe’s father had worked for the pharmaceutical company before being made redundant. It probably explained at least some of his antipathy towards him, and she tried to be charitable when he continued, ‘And what was all that about him sending you flowers? I didn’t know you knew him that well.’
‘I told you he’d come into the cafe,’ protested Rachel defensively, and then chided herself for allowing him that privilege. ‘In any case, I don’t know why you were rude to him. He was only being polite.’
‘Polite, my—’ Joe bit off the expletive for Hannah’s sake and scowled. You’re not telling me he gives a damn about you?’
Rachel glanced swiftly in her daughter’s direction, afraid she might have heard what he’d said, but happily the little girl was now talking to the woman who was in charge of the mirror stall. Hannah had no trouble talking to women, but Rachel had been surprised when she’d spoken to Gabriel. ‘Anyway, if he turns up again I’d tell him to get lost, if I were you,’ Joe continued, and Rachel heaved a sigh.
‘But you’re not me,’ she said shortly. ‘I run a cafe, Joe. I can’t pick and choose my customers.’
‘What?’ Joe stared at her. ‘Are you saying you’ve never refused to serve anyone?’ He paused. ‘What about those two youths who rolled out of the Golden Lion as you were closing that afternoon? You refused to serve them.’
They were drunk,’ cried Rachel impatiently. She caught her tongue between her teeth. ‘Gab—Mr Webb wasn’t drunk. I had no reason to refuse to serve him.’ ‘Not even the fact that he didn’t consider you good enough to go out with his son?’
‘Oh, Joe!’ Rachel stifled a groan. ‘I told you the other day, I don’t care about Andrew or his—his—’ She had been going to say prejudices, but now she thought again. ‘Or his father,’ she declared, not altogether truthfully. ‘Now, can we change the subject, please?’ ‘Suits me.’ Joe shrugged. ‘I was only thinking of you.’
‘I know.’ And she did. But Rachel decided it was time she and Hannah left. Putting her hands on her daughter’s shoulders, she bent to bestow a light loss on the top of her head. Time to go, sweetheart,’ she said. ‘I told Steph I’d be there before closing time. I have to collect the keys. I need them to open up on Monday morning.’ ‘Oh, Mummy...’
‘I’ll walk along with you, if you like,’ offered Joe at once, but Rachel had no intention of fuelling his illusion that they could be more than friends. ‘No, you stay, Joe,’ she said firmly, her eyes reinforcing the message in her words, and he exhaled heavily. ‘I’m leaving anyway.’
‘We’ll see you later,’ insisted Rachel, grasping the wheelchair tightly and propelling it away across the floor. ‘Bye, Joe.’
It wasn’t easy to make a dignified exit, with the aisles between the stalls busy with customers, but somehow she made it. She breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged from the building, and not even Hannah’s complaint that she hadn’t seen half the stalls deterred her.
She hadn’t seen Gabriel as she’d manoeuvred Hannah’s chair through the throng of visitors, but several people had recognised her and stopped what they were doing to speak to Hannah. Conscious that Joe might be right behind them, Rachel had cut these exchanges short, making her excuses with a guilty tongue.
It was only a matter of a few hundred yards between the church hall and Slater Street, where the cafe was situated. Although the sky was overcast, the rain had held off, and it was a fairly warm afternoon for early May. Hurrying along, Rachel was glad she was only wearing a cropped sleeveless top and a short khaki skirt. Her hair, which was slightly longer than she usually wore it, had been looped back behind her ears, but damp tendrils escaped to brush her cheeks and invade the corner of her mouth.
She became aware of the car beside her almost at the same moment that Hannah noticed it, too. The sleek grey Mercedes matched its pace to theirs, and Rachel knew without looking who it must be.
‘It’s Mr Webb,’ said Hannah anxiously, as the chauffeur stopped the car and Gabriel got out. She looked up at her mother with wide nervous eyes. �
�He’s not going to ask us to get in the car, is he?’
Rachel shook her head. ‘No,’ she said definitely. Then, glancing sideways, ‘I don’t know what he wants.’ ‘I think he wants to speak to you, Mummy,’ declared Hannah, chewing on her lip. ‘He’s following us.’
Rachel sighed. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to speak to him again either. After the way Joe had behaved, she was loath to give anyone, particularly her mother, any more ammunition to use against her, especially as she still wasn’t sure if she trusted him. But Hannah was bound to mention that they’d spoken to Gabriel at the craft fair, and Mrs Redfern might get suspicious if she heard that Rachel had been stand-offish now. So: there was no harm in speaking to him. Was there?
CHAPTER FIVE
RACHEL’S feet slowed almost automatically, making it easy for Gabriel to catch up with them, and he looked down at Hannah with a very different smile from the one he’d given the women at the craft fair. ‘I bet you’re going to your mother’s cafe to have another of those delicious sundaes, aren’t you?’ he said lightly. ‘Do you think she’d mind if I came, too?’
Hannah hesitated, and Gabriel looked at Rachel then, his eyes challenging her to refuse him. And, although she tried to kindle her anger and accuse him of using the child to gain his own ends, she couldn’t do it. Despite his confident words there was wary uncertainty in his dark gaze, and she felt her stomach quiver in unwilling anticipation.
You’re welcome to join us if you want to, isn’t he, Hannah?’ she asked, including the little girl in her decision, and Hannah’s smile appeared again.
You—you can even push my chair, if you like,’ she offered cautiously, and Rachel wondered if Gabriel was aware of the importance of that concession. Hannah had rarely, if ever, volunteered that anyone but Rachel, her mother, or one of the care-workers from her school should push her wheelchair.