by Mather, Anne
All the same, it wasn’t easy keeping up her spirits when her mother came downstairs to have breakfast with them and proceeded to tell her once again what a fool she was being for letting that man into their lives. Mrs Redfern had already made her feelings clear at supper the previous evening, when Hannah had blithely told her about how they’d met Gabe at the craft fair and how he’d come to the cafe to have tea with them.
Thankfully, she’d saved the worst of her comments until after Hannah had gone to bed, but this morning she had evidently decided that the little girl deserved to know that her grandmother did not approve of this outing. Refusing the scrambled eggs Rachel had prepared, she poured herself a cup of coffee before launching her latest tirade.
You do realise he’s only using you, Rachel, don’t you?’ she demanded. ‘As soon as he’s fit again hell be beating a path back to London, and you’ll be left high and dry. I can’t believe you can’t see it for yourself! After your experience with Andrew, I’d have thought you’d have steered clear of any member of the Webb family.’
‘Oh, Mum!’ Rachel sank down into the seat opposite, the slice of toast she had prepared for herself suddenly too much for her to swallow. ‘He’s not like that.’
‘Who? Gabe?’ Her mother said his name with scornful emphasis. ‘Why don’t you use his name? Obviously that’s what you call him when you’re together.’
‘It—’ Rachel broke off. She had been about to say, It isn’t, but she refused to give her mother that satisfaction. ‘It’s my life,’ she said instead, and Mrs Redfern glared
at her.
‘It’s not just your life, Rachel. It’s Hannah’s and mine, as well. You can say what you like, but it isn’t fair to let her think that the kind of life Gabriel Webb leads is normal. Taking her to that big house, letting her feed his damn horses! She’ll be getting big ideas that you can’t possibly satisfy, and then I’ll have to pick up the pieces. Again. It’s crazy, and you know it.’
‘What’s crazy?’ Hannah was looking anxious now, and Rachel heaved a sigh.
‘Nothing, sweetheart,’ she said reassuringly. Then, to her mother, ‘I don’t want to talk about it any more. Not here; not now.’
Mrs Redfern shrugged, but thankfully she didn’t pursue it, and Rachel checked that Hannah was getting on with her breakfast before getting to her feet. ‘I’m going to get ready,’ she said, encompassing both of them in her tight smile. ‘I won’t be long.’
In fact, she was longer than she’d intended. It wasn’t easy trying to choose something to wear, and she dressed and undressed a dozen times before deciding on a deep brown linen trouser suit that she wore with a thin yellow shirt. The colours gave warmth to her fair skin, and with her hair pushed back behind a matching linen band she thought she looked reasonably ready for anything.
Except for the man who had invited them, she amended tensely, painting her mouth with an earthy-tinted pigment. She doubted she would ever be ready for him, but her stomach clenched with an excitement she didn’t want to feel.
Downstairs again, she saw that Hannah had been crying, and she looked accusingly at her mother, waiting for an explanation. But, although Mrs Redfern was wearing a guilty expression, it was the little girl who spoke.
‘Grandma says that I’ll have to go in—in Mr Webb’s car,’ she said tearfully. ‘I don’t want to go in Mr Webb’s car. You said you would be coming, Mummy.’
‘I am,’ said Rachel urgently, sinking down onto her haunches beside the little girl’s chair. ‘And I told you, we’re going in our car.’ She looked up at her mother with angry eyes. ‘Grandma’s got it wrong.’
‘D’you mean to say he expects you to make your own way there?’ exclaimed the older woman scornfully. ‘I would have thought the least he could do was send a car for you. Still, I suppose it just goes to prove what he really thinks about—’
‘He offered,’ Rachel broke in sharply, getting to her feet and handing Hannah a tissue to blow her nose. ‘But I said I preferred to drive us. For obvious reasons,’ she added, as the child emitted another sob. ‘I wish you’d mind your own business, Mum, I really do.’
‘Oh, I will.’ Mrs Redfern got to her feet now, and wrapped the dressing gown she was wearing closer about her. ‘From now on I won’t say a word about it. If you want to make a fool of yourself, go ahead! It won’t be the first time, will it?’
She turned then and left the room, and Rachel heaved another sigh. All she really wanted to do now was abandon the whole outing. The day had started so badly she couldn’t believe it could possibly improve, and the prospect of meeting Gabriel’s mother loomed large on the horizon. What if she was just like her own mother, only worse? What would she do?
‘We really are going in our car?’ Hannah asked, tugging her sleeve, and Rachel realised that she couldn’t possibly change her mind. Hannah was looking forward to this, God help her, and she had to remember she had only agreed to it for the child’s sake. Or, at least, that was what she had been telling herself ever since she’d accepted Gabriel’s invitation.
It took Rachel about twenty minutes to reach the gates of Copleys. They were closed at first, but they opened at their approach, and she guessed there was a hidden camera somewhere, whose operator monitored all visitors.
Which didn’t give her any encouragement. What kind of people were these, who lived behind electrically operated gates and who employed personnel whose sole occupation was guarding their security?
She swallowed hard, and as they progressed up the long winding drive even Hannah began to look a little apprehensive. They suddenly seemed a long way from home, and her mother’s warnings were all too relevant.
The house itself reassured her. Although it was every bit as big and impressive as she had expected, it was also built of a mellow Cotswold brick that was liberally laced with climbing wisteria. Long casement windows flanked a centre entrance that was approached up a shallow flight of steps, and above them tall chimneys were familiar and homely against a sky that had cleared as soon as they left Maple Avenue.
‘It’s a big house,’ said Hannah doubtfully, as the Mondeo crunched over a gravelled forecourt, and Rachel thought that was the understatement of the year. ‘Some people have big houses,’ she said, in the hope of diminishing its importance in Hannah’s eyes, but it didn’t work. ‘I’ve never seen such a big house before,’ she declared worriedly. ‘Do lots of people live here?’
‘I hope not,’ muttered Rachel inaudibly, and then, for the child’s benefit, ‘Not a lot.’ She stopped the car and sat for a few moments, trying to gather her composure. Then, thrusting open her door, she said, ‘Okay. Let’s do it.’
‘Do what?’ protested Hannah, frowning as her mother went round to the rear of the estate car to get her wheelchair, and Rachel forced a smile.
‘Go and knock at the door, of course,’ she said brightly, wishing she’d never agreed to come here. She hoisted out the chair and, adjusting it, wheeled it round to Hannah’s door. ‘Here we are. Let’s get you out.’
‘I can do that.’
Gabriel’s breath was warm on the side of her neck and Rachel turned in surprise to find he was standing just a few inches away. ‘Where did you come from?’ she asked, before she could stop herself, and his lips twitched.
‘Well, I didn’t materialise out of the air,’ he remarked drily. He gestured behind him and now she saw the heavy door was standing open. Another black-clad figure was standing at the top of the flight of steps, and Rachel realised she had been so intent on getting this over with that she hadn’t been aware of anyone else. ‘I—was waiting for you.’
You mean someone else was,’ mumbled Rachel ungraciously, and Gabriel gave a careless shrug.
‘I’m not going to argue with you,’ he said, bending to speak to the child. ‘Hello, Hannah. How are you today?’
‘I’m all right.’ But Hannah still looked anxious. Then, uncertainly, ‘Is this really your house?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ Gabriel gave a ha
lf smile. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘It’s very big,’ said Hannah doubtfully. ‘Are there lots of rooms?’
‘Lots,’ agreed Gabriel good-humouredly. ‘Now, are you going to let me lift you out?’
Hannah hesitated, looking up at her mother for guidance. But Rachel wasn’t about to say anything in their host’s favour, and after a moment the little girl said, ‘All right. But Grandma says I’m very heavy.’
Gabriel exchanged a brief look with Rachel then, and she was fairly sure he was thinking Grandma would. But courtesy won out, and without another word he bent and plucked the child, who was anything but heavy, from her seat and deposited her in the wheelchair.
There we are,’ he said, straightening and flexing his spine. He grimaced. ‘I don’t think I’ve done any permanent damage.’
Hannah giggled. ‘I’m not that heavy!’ She glanced up at her mother, expecting to include her in the joke, and noticed her tight face. ‘What’s wrong? Why are you looking so cross?’
‘I’m not cross.’ Rachel gave an inward groan. There was no chance of being subtle where Hannah was concerned.
Your mummy is having doubts about coming here,’ said Gabriel with equal candour. ‘Perhaps she doesn’t like my house either.’
‘I like it,’ protested Hannah staunchly. ‘I do. I think it’s lovely.’
‘And so do I,’ put in Rachel shortly. ‘I just don’t know what we’re doing here.’
You’re here because I invited you,’ replied Gabriel mildly. ‘Now, come on. We’ll join my mother for morning coffee before I take Hannah to see the stables.’ Rachel hesitated, her mouth drying. ‘Your mother!’
‘I do have one,’ agreed Gabriel lightly. ‘And I used to have a father, too, believe it or not. Don’t worry. You may like her.’
Rachel shook her head a little dazedly, her fingers moving revealingly from the hem of her jacket to the seam of her trousers, and Gabriel’s eyes softened. Y’ou look beautiful,’ he said huskily, his eyes on her mouth. ‘You both do,’ he added, taking in Hannah’s pretty flowered trousers and pink denim jerkin. I’m a very fortunate man.’
Rachel pursed her lips, meeting his gaze with mutinous eyes, but once again Hannah saved the day. ‘May Gabe push my chair, Mummy?’ she asked, and there was no way her mother could refuse.
‘Why not?’ she conceded, but there was still an edge to her voice and Gabriel heard it.
‘Relax,’ he advised gently, before taking charge of the wheelchair and starting towards the steps.
It was all right for him, thought Rachel irritably, crunching over the gravelled drive after them. This was his house, his land, his territory. He was perfectly at ease here. Even the black silk shirt he was wearing, the sleeves rolled back over forearms lightly covered with coarse dark hair, fairly screamed its designer label. It exposed the unexpected width of his shoulders, too, his close-fitting trousers and laced deck shoes giving him the kind of unconscious sophistication that was impossible to simulate.
Not that he needed to simulate anything, she reflected edgily. As Stephanie had said, he was a millionaire several times over, and inviting her and Hannah to lunch at Copleys was probably just his way of salving his social conscience.
The man who had been waiting for them at the top of the steps came down to help Gabriel lift Hannah’s chair into the porch. He was obviously an employee of some kind, and Rachel wasn’t surprised when Gabriel introduced him as Joseph, his butler.
‘Joseph’s been with me more years than I care to remember,’ he added ruefully, slapping the other man affectionately on the back. A few years older than his employer—and considerably heavier—Joseph was evidently more than just an employee, and Rachel felt a twinge of shame for her own cynicism. She had to ignore what her mother had said and start being a bit more positive about—about everything.
Beyond the double doors, which Joseph had opened to admit Hannah’s chair, an enormous reception hall awaited them. Its cream-painted walls rose more than two floors to an arched atrium which slanted sunlight down on the many paintings that were hung there. Carved oak pillars supported the galleried landing above a curving staircase, and the polished floor was partly covered by a glowing tapestry rug.
‘Gosh!’
Hannah, at least, was not ashamed to show her admiration and Rachel murmured, ‘Very nice,’ with total banality. But what was she supposed to say? she asked herself emotively. Just because it was even more impressive than even she had expected.
‘My mother’s in the conservatory,’ said Gabriel, propelling Hannah’s chair across the rug, and Rachel was grateful that he didn’t seem to expect any response from her. But, nevertheless, her knees felt a little unsteady as she followed him, and she hoped Joseph, who was closing the doors behind them, wouldn’t notice.
The hall might have seemed huge, but they managed to cross it in double-quick time. Although, for the most part, Rachel kept her gaze on Gabriel’s back, when her eyes dropped to the tight curve of his buttocks she forced herself to look away. That was not why she was here, she reminded herself, and determinedly glanced about her.
Several doors that opened into the hall were closed, but one was open, exposing a spacious drawing room. A bank of windows gave a glimpse of lawned gardens, while inside the room matching bisque-coloured velvet sofas were set at right angles around a low splay-legged occasional table, where a delicate bronze sculpture glinted in the sunlight.
They left the hall to cross what appeared to be a morning room. A round table and half a dozen matching chairs held a central position, the shining surface of the table reflecting the bowl of fruit that sat in the middle. Side windows gave light to the room, but its main illumination came from the large glass-walled conservatory that adjoined it.
Glass-leaved doors had been folded back, and beyond the green foliage of various palms and climbing plants a dark-haired woman was sitting on a cushioned rattan sofa, reading a newspaper. Several other chairs and sofas flanked a glass-topped table where Rachel guessed it would be fun to have breakfast. But right now she was more concerned with the woman who put the paper aside at their approach and rose to her feet.
Her first impression was that Gabriel’s mother was much younger than she’d expected. Or perhaps it was simply the fact of her foreignness. Rachel knew that Mrs Webb had been born in Italy, and it was evident in the vivid colours she wore and in the fact that she hadn’t allowed her age to dictate her appearance. Her hair was still as dark as her son’s, though it was probably tinted, and her slim-fitting scarlet trousers and paisley-printed shirt accentuated the voluptuous curves of her shapely body. She wore lots of jewellery, too: at least half a dozen gold chains about her neck and several gold bangles on her wrist.
It wasn’t easy for Rachel to get her head round the fact that this was Andrew’s grandmother, and she was feeling a little dazed when the woman took her hand.
You must be Rachel,’ she said, her accent giving the words a delightful intonation. ‘I may call you Rachel, si? Gabriel has told me so much about you.’
Has he?
Rachel managed to make some polite response, but her mind was buzzing with the realisation that Gabriel had discussed her with his mother. What in God’s name had he said?
‘And you are Hannah,’ continued the older woman, bending to take the little girl’s hand in greeting. ‘Cara, you are so pretty! So sweet!’ And, as Hannah blossomed, ‘But what a pity you have to use this ugly wheelchair! I am sure you must have some other means of getting around, no?’ ‘Mamma!’
Gabriel spoke warningly, but Rachel cast him a dark look. She didn’t need anyone to fight her battles for her, however well meaning he meant to be. Putting a reassuring hand on the child’s shoulder, she said, ‘Hannah has some crutches, but she prefers not to use them.’ Which was a huge understatement. Rachel had spent weeks—months—trying to get the little girl to try them. But it had invariably ended in tears and eventually Rachel had given up. Now, changing the subject, she said, You
have a lovely home—er—signora.’
‘Ah, it is not my home, Rachel,’ their hostess replied at once. ‘My home is in Tuscany. Did my son not tell you this?’ She looked to Gabriel for confirmation, but then shrugged. ‘I am a ‘visitor here, just as you are.’
Rachel doubted that. But at least the woman appeared to have taken the hint, because her next words were harmless enough. ‘Come, sit down, cara. I will ring for coffee, si? And what will the little one drink?’
Hannah’s jaw was wobbling, as it did when someone had upset her, and Rachel wished again that she had never accepted Gabriel’s invitation. Hannah wasn’t used to anyone making comments about her disability, let alone a total stranger, and her voice was barely audible as she said, ‘A Coke? Could I have a Coke, Mummy? Would that be all right?’
You can have whatever you like,’ put in Gabriel, before Rachel could answer her. He gave his mother a warning look before adding, You can even have a strawberry milkshake, if you’d prefer it.’
‘A Coke will be fine,’ declared Rachel tersely, not wanting to put anyone to any trouble on their behalf. She moved to take hold of Hannah’s chair and Gabriel obediently stepped aside. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure,’ he said drily, as his mother rang the bell to summon a member of his staff, but Rachel avoided his eyes as she wheeled Hannah’s chair across the marble-tiled floor of the conservatory.
Gabriel’s mother retreated to the sofa she had been occupying when they arrived, and she indicated that Rachel should come and sit beside her. However, Rachel had no desire to get that close to the woman, and, pretending not to see her outstretched hand, she stationed Hannah’s chair beside the sofa opposite. Then, subsiding onto the soft cushions, not without some relief, she armoured herself for the inquisition she was sure was to come.
‘E cosi, we get to meet you at last, Rachel,’ the older woman began as soon as Rachel was seated. ‘It is a pity we did not meet you before.’