A Rich Man's Touch. Anne Mather

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      ‘Don’t do me any favours, Mrs Kershaw,’ he said, his features cold and withdrawn.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