THERE were times in the days that followed that Rachel wished she had Gabriel’s phone number. Not to encourage him to reissue his invitation to dinner, she assured herself firmly, but simply to thank him for arranging for George Travis to examine the oven. The electrician had told her that there was little wrong with it that he couldn’t deal with. One of the elements was worn, he conceded, and would need replacing eventually, but it would last a few months yet. And the switch, which had been causing all the trouble, had been repaired there and then.
Rachel had hardly been able to believe it. The realisation that Joe had been lying to her for reasons of his own was bad enough, but to put her business in jeopardy in the process was unforgivable.
Of course, when she’d told her mother what had happened Mrs Redfern had been predictably suspicious. Her opinion was that as George Travis worked for Gabriel he had probably been told to effect a repair, however temporary it might be. She wouldn’t listen when Rachel tried to tell her how unpleasantly Joe had behaved and she persisted in believing that her daughter had exaggerated the whole thing.
Rachel hadn’t argued with her for long. There’d been no point, not when her mother refused to even countenance the thought that Gabriel might have had Rachel’s best interests at heart. As far as Mrs Redfern was concerned he wasn’t to be trusted, and she took every opportunity to persuade Hannah that they were better off not seeing him again.
Then, on Thursday afternoon, just when Rachel had convinced herself that Gabriel had decided he was wasting his time with her, he phoned.
She was in the kitchen of the café at the time, loading dirty plates into the dishwasher, and Patsy came to the open doorway, stretching the cord of the phone behind her.
‘It’s for you,’ she said, and Rachel could tell from her expression that it wasn’t her mother. ‘It’s Mr Webb.’
Rachel nodded, incapable for a moment of making any rational response. Instead, she grabbed a teatowel from the nearby rack and hurriedly wiped her hands.
‘I can ask him to ring back,’ offered Patsy innocently, but Rachel only gave her a retiring look.
‘I’ll take it,’ she said, putting her hand out for the receiver. Then, with her hand over the mouthpiece, ‘Will you finish putting those dishes in the machine?’
Patsy looked put out. ‘It’s not my job,’ she protested.
‘Do you want to take it up with your union representative?’ asked Rachel shortly, and Patsy pulled a face.
‘I don’t have a union representative.’
‘And you don’t have exclusive rights to clearing tables either,’ retorted her employer, moving past her. ‘Right?’
‘All right,’ muttered Patsy sulkily, and Rachel heaved a sigh before removing her palm and saying, ‘This is Rachel,’ into the receiver.
‘Hello, Rachel,’ said Gabriel mildly. ‘Did I ring at a bad time?’
‘You might say that,’ said Rachel, glancing back at her junior employee. ‘But I’m glad you’ve rung. I’ve wanted to thank you for what Mr Travis did, and to ask how much I owe you.’
‘You don’t owe me anything,’ Gabriel replied, his tone crisping a little. ‘It was done in company time. The company will absorb it.’
‘Well—thanks.’ Rachel was grateful. She hesitated. ‘Was that why you rang?’
‘To collect your thanks for the repair of your oven?’ Gabriel was sardonic. ‘Oh, right. It’s been on my mind.’
‘Don’t be sarcastic!’ Rachel spoke unthinkingly, and then grimaced, thankful that Stephanie had left early; she could imagine what her friend would have made of that. ‘I mean—it has been a few days since—since—since it happened.’
‘You can’t bring yourself to say since I’ve seen you, can you?’ he accused drily. ‘But at least you noticed. That’s something, I suppose.’
Rachel drew a breath. ‘Have—have you been busy?’
‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been away for a couple of days,’ he told her flatly. ‘I—well, Andrew had got himself into a situation he couldn’t deal with, and I—had to bail him out.’
‘Oh.’ Rachel swallowed. ‘Not—literally, I hope?’
‘No.’ Plainly Gabriel would prefer not to discuss it with her. ‘But I’m back now and I wondered if you’d had any second thoughts about having dinner with me.’ He paused. ‘As I said a few days ago, I would like to talk to you.’
Rachel wanted to say, About what? but she knew that would sound crass. And why not admit that she wanted to have dinner with him anyway? At least that way Hannah wouldn’t be involved.
‘When?’ she asked, her palm growing slippery where it gripped the phone. But what would she do if he kissed her again? she was wondering. Could she trust herself not to lose her head as she had before?
‘How about tomorrow night?’ he suggested, nothing in his tone to indicate that he was especially excited by the prospect. ‘I can either pick you up or meet you at Dalziel’s. We can have a drink in the bar before the meal.’
Rachel expelled her breath, hardly aware she’d been holding it. Dalziel’s was a country club, and its restaurant was probably the most exclusive in the area. Situated on the outskirts of town, it was a select leisure complex that had been built a few years ago. Membership of the sporting facilities which included golf and tennis and squash, was prohibitively expensive, but it was just the sort of place she’d associate with the Webbs.
‘You’re not changing your mind again?’
His voice had sharpened and Rachel realised she had been silent for far too long. ‘Um—Dalziel’s,’ she murmured doubtfully. ‘Isn’t that a bit—well, public?’
Now Gabriel was slow to answer her. ‘You’re ashamed to be seen with me, is that it?’ he asked, and she expelled another shaky breath.
‘Not at all.’
‘It sounds like it to me.’
‘Oh, all right.’ Rachel gave in. ‘What time shall I meet you there? Seven o’clock? Half-past?’
‘Make it half-past,’ he essayed quietly. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll try not to embarrass you.’
He rang off before she could make any rejoinder and she stared at the dead handset with some frustration before putting it down.
‘Can I go now?’
Patsy’s defiant enquiry came too close on the heels of Gabriel’s cutting their conversation short for her not to have been eavesdropping from the kitchen, and Rachel gave her an impatient look.
‘Did you finish filling the dishwasher?’
‘And turned it on,’ agreed Patsy, taking off her apron. She paused. ‘Are you going out with him?’
Rachel was about to say that that was her business, but she didn’t want to fall out with the girl. ‘As if you didn’t know,’ she remarked drily, meeting Patsy’s indignant gaze with a knowing smile. ‘Dalziel’s. Have you ever been there?’
‘Me?’ Patsy squeaked. ‘You’ve got to be joking. Do you know how much it costs to be a member?’
‘I can guess.’ Rachel was resigned. ‘Oh, Lord, what am I going to wear?’
Patsy frowned, evidently taking her question seriously. ‘Something sexy,’ she said at last. ‘The sort of gear that that new shop sells.’
‘What new shop?’
‘Looking Good,’ said Patsy at once, mentioning the name of a new designer outlet that had opened in the precinct. ‘They’ve got some really gorgeous clothes in there.’
‘For women a lot younger than me,’ said Rachel flatly, remembering the scantily clad models she’d seen in the window. ‘I couldn’t wear that sort of thing.’
‘Why not?’ Patsy regarded her critically. ‘If you were fat or overweight I might agree with you. But you could wear anything. Honestly.’
Rachel gave a small smile. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’
‘It’s not flattery.’ Patsy hesitated. ‘I’ll come with you, if you like. I know exactly what you need.’
‘Well…’
‘Of course, if you don’t want my help—’ began Patsy huffily, and Rachel suppressed a groan. It seemed to be her afternoon for offending people, and she knew Patsy meant well.
‘Okay,’ she said, once again giving in, in spite of her misgivings. ‘If you want to hang on until closing time, I’ll be glad of your help.’
But as she drove herself to the country club the following evening Rachel had the uneasy feeling that instead of defying her mother and wearing it, she should have taken her advice and consigned the outfit Patsy had persuaded her to buy to the trash bin. It was much too young for her, and imagining what the other women at the restaurant would be wearing brought her out in a cold sweat.
Yet when she’d looked at her reflection in the mirror back home she’d been pleasantly surprised at how attractive she looked. The thin voile handkerchief top and scallop-hemmed skirt, patterned in shades of blue and green, looked both trendy and elegant. And, teamed with several gold chains and strappy sandals, it gave her a height and sophistication she’d never had before.
It wasn’t until she’d gone downstairs and faced her mother’s censure that she’d begun to have doubts, especially when even Hannah had regarded her with worried eyes.
‘You look—different, Mummy,’ she’d said, and it hadn’t been a compliment.
Now, a few hundred metres from her destination, Rachel was convinced she’d made a terrible mistake. But it was too late to turn back now. She would just have to go on and hope Gabriel didn’t get the wrong impression. But as she changed gear to turn into the gateway, and noticed how far up her thighs her skirt was riding, she didn’t hold out much hope.
She wondered where she was supposed to park her car, but before she could make any decision a uniformed attendant directed her to stop before the impressive entrance and then proceeded to explain that they would park the car for her. Of course, that was after she’d told him she was meeting Mr Gabriel Webb. They didn’t just let anyone enter the hallowed portals of Dalziel’s, she thought cynically.
Feeling terribly conspicuous, she wrapped the folds of her cashmere scarf more closely about her and mounted the steps to the foyer. Thankfully, it was a warm evening, and she hadn’t had to worry about what coat she should wear. And from what she could see of the other guests, her scarf—which, ironically enough, had been a Christmas gift from her mother—was perfectly acceptable. Well, adequate, anyway, she conceded, hoping desperately that Gabriel wasn’t going to keep her waiting.
Then she saw him. He was standing at the other side of the foyer, one of a group of more than half a dozen people, all of whom looked perfectly at ease with their surroundings. Most of the women were older than she was, she thought, and their smart suits or silk gowns looked so much more sophisticated than Rachel’s simple outfit. She shouldn’t have taken Patsy’s advice, she fretted. She should have worn something less revealing; something more mature.
Gabriel himself was wearing a pale grey three-piece suit over a dark blue shirt, the colours accentuating the deep tan of his skin. He had never looked more Italian than he did at that moment, she thought, more alien, yet at the same time more attractive. Looking at him across the width of the foyer, which was already floodlit despite the earliness of the evening, she knew a sense of disbelief at her own audacity for being there. And, had he not turned his head and seen her, she might well have taken fright and fled.
But he did turn his head, and, meeting his eyes, she was instantly incapable of moving from the spot. Even with more than a dozen people milling between them, she was aware that, however she looked to anyone else, she had found favour in his eyes. The warmth of his approval reached her, surrounded her, left her feeling out of breath and vulnerable.
With an ease she could only admire, he quickly detached himself from the group and strode towards her. He moved with a lithe unconscious grace that attracted more than her attention, and, looking beyond him for a moment, she saw that his departure, and the reason for it, had not gone unnoticed.
‘Hi,’ he said, reaching her, and Rachel knew a quite outrageous desire to reach up and cover his smiling sensuous mouth with her lips.
That would certainly give his friends something to gossip about, she thought defiantly, but she couldn’t do it. ‘Hello,’ she responded instead. ‘Have I kept you waiting long?’
‘Dare I say you were worth waiting for?’ he asked, taking one of her hands and raising it to his lips. She felt the heated brush of his tongue against her palm and her gaze flew to his, but his eyes were enigmatic. Then, keeping her hand imprisoned in his, he said, ‘You look beautiful. I’m very flattered.’
Rachel swallowed. ‘Flattered?’
‘That you should go to this trouble just for me,’ he told her drily. ‘Come. I’ll introduce you to the president of the club.’
‘Oh—no.’ Rachel hung back when he would have drawn her across the lamplit foyer. ‘I mean—it’s not as if—well, I wouldn’t like your friends to get the wrong impression.’
‘The wrong impression?’ Gabriel’s broad shoulders blocked her view of the group of people he had been heading towards. ‘How?’
‘Oh, you know.’ Rachel pulled her hand away and twisted her fingers together. ‘What are those people going to think?’
‘That I’m a very lucky man?’ suggested Gabriel, swaying back on his heels. ‘Are you saying you’d rather not be introduced as my—companion?’
‘No!’ Rachel gazed up at him and then wished she hadn’t when she saw the sudden emotion darken his eyes. With a dry mouth she added, ‘Oh, Gabriel, I shouldn’t be here.’
His mouth twitched. ‘Well, at least it got you to use my name,’ he remarked softly. ‘Come on, Rachel. Tell me how you really feel. Do you wish you hadn’t come?’
‘I—didn’t say that.’ Rachel sighed and then, giving in to a totally uncharacteristic burst of vanity, she whispered, ‘Do I really look all right? Patsy helped me choose this outfit and—well, I’m sure it’s too young for me.’
‘It’s not.’ Gabriel was terse.
‘My mother thinks it is.’
‘Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Gabriel blew out a breath. ‘You’re going out with me, aren’t you? That hardly warrants her approval.’
‘No, well—’ Rachel realised this was the moment she had to confess. ‘That’s because she thinks you were the reason Andrew and I split up.’
‘Me?’ He stared at her uncomprehendingly.
‘Yes.’ Rachel was flushed. ‘Oh—if you must know, I was too ashamed to tell her what Andrew had said, so I pretended you had broken us up. Because I wasn’t good enough for him.’
Gabriel didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘God,’ he said at last. ‘No wonder she doesn’t like me. Don’t you think you should tell her the truth?’
‘I will. Soon.’ Rachel shook her head. ‘Do you forgive me? I know it seems pretty pitiful now, but it seemed a good idea at the time.’
‘Well, I think we should go and get a drink,’ said Gabriel drily. ‘And, by the way, you do look beautiful. Does that go some way to answering your question?’
Rachel’s lips parted, but before she could say anything else Gabriel moved aside and she saw to her relief that the others had disappeared. Probably into the bar, too, she thought uneasily, but she didn’t object when Gabriel put his hand in the small of her back and guided her into the reception area.
‘The bar’s this way,’ he directed, and Rachel went with him almost automatically. But she wondered if he was as aware of his fingers against her bare flesh as she was. Unfortunately the cashmere scarf didn’t cover much more than her shoulders, and the string ties of her top were no barrier to her smooth skin.
The bar was discreetly lit and intimate, small tables flanked by plush armchairs set on an equally plush carpet. An army of white-coated waiters attended to the needs of its exclusive clientele, and after they were seated Rachel agreed to a glass of white wine before looking nervously about her.
‘Relax,’ advised Gabriel, loosening the buttons on his jacket and leaning forward, his forearms along his thighs. ‘If anyone’s under scrutiny here, it’s me.’
Rachel permitted herself to look at him. ‘Because of me?’
‘Indirectly.’ Gabriel was ironic. ‘They probably think you’re the reason I collapsed at my desk.’
Rachel felt her lips tilt upward. ‘You don’t mean that,’ she said, but she could feel herself relaxing anyway. She glanced round again. ‘Do you come here a lot?’
‘Now there’s an original line.’ He grinned. ‘I wish I’d thought of it.’
Rachel found herself smiling at him. And, because it would be so easy to delude herself into thinking that he really was attracted to her, she hurried into the reason why she was there. ‘You—said you wanted to talk to me. About what?’
‘I’ll get to it,’ he said, and then was forced to sit back when the waiter arrived with a Scotch and soda for him and the white wine she had requested for her. He lifted his glass, regarding her over the rim. ‘Okay?’
Rachel made a dismissive movement with her shoulders, but she obediently lifted her glass and took a sip of her wine. It was good. Smooth and fruity, with just a taste of dryness, it slid effortlessly down her throat and she thought she could get used to this. After all, he had invited her here, and why shouldn’t she enjoy it?
Because it was out of her league, the voice of her conscience reminded her sharply. She shouldn’t run away with the idea that she belonged here. Without Gabriel, she wouldn’t even have gained entry.
‘Mr Webb?’
A waiter was standing diffidently at his elbow and Gabriel looked up in surprise. ‘Yes?’
‘There’s a phone call for you, sir,’ the waiter told him. ‘Will you take it in the office or shall I bring the phone to your table?’
Gabriel frowned, glancing ruefully at Rachel. ‘Do you mind?’ He paused. ‘If I leave you for a few moments, I mean?’
‘I—no.’ She did, but she doubted her opinion would make any difference.
‘Right.’ Gabriel pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘I won’t be long.’
He followed the waiter out of the bar and Rachel was immediately conscious of how isolated she felt. Maybe it would have been better if they’d been sitting with other people, she thought. As it was, she was painfully aware of the fact that she knew no one else here.
‘Has he abandoned you?’
The voice startled her. She had been playing with the stem of her glass, her eyes glued to the table in an attempt to dissociate herself from her surroundings. But now she looked up in surprise to find a slim dark-haired woman standing beside the table. Rachel guessed she was only a few years older than herself, but her poise and elegance gave her a maturity that Rachel could only envy.
‘Um—there was a phone call,’ she said, and the young woman dropped gracefully into Gabriel’s seat.
‘You don’t mind?’ she murmured, but it was a rhetorical question. She held out her hand. ‘I’m Louise Paterson. And you are…?’
‘Rachel Kershaw,’ answered Rachel, shaking Louise’s hand. ‘How do you do?’
‘Oh, I do reasonably well,’ replied Louise easily. ‘I haven’t seen you here before, Miss Kershaw.’
‘It’s Mrs Kershaw,’ said Rachel automatically. Then, because she wanted there to be no speculation, ‘I’m a widow. But, please, call me Rachel. And, no, I haven’t been here before.’
‘Well, I must say we’re all grateful to you,’ remarked Louise surprisingly. ‘Gabe’s been such an unsociable creature recently. We were beginning to think that nothing would shake him out of his shell.’
Rachel wished she didn’t embarrass so easily. ‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating,’ she said, taking a reassuring sip of her wine. ‘Um—are you a friend of—of Gabriel’s, Miss Paterson?’
‘We both are. My husband and myself,’ said Louise, subtly asserting her status. ‘Are you involved in the pharmaceutical industry, too, Rachel?’
‘She doesn’t work for me, if that’s what you’re trying to find out, Louise,’ said Gabriel drily, and Rachel looked up at him, the relief evident in her face. She hadn’t been aware of his approach and her breath caught in her throat when he casually eased his thigh onto the arm of her chair. ‘I gather you’ve introduced yourselves?’
‘Well, as you’ve been so selfish, keeping her to yourself, I had to do something, darling,’ declared Louise, not a bit perturbed at being caught out. Her lids narrowed in knowing speculation. ‘Am I intruding?’
‘Would I tell you if you were?’ Despite the fact that Rachel thought his features were a little more drawn now than they’d been before he’d gone to take the call, Gabriel was perfectly adept at this verbal fencing. ‘Where’s John? Or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘Oh, he’s networking, as usual,’ exclaimed Louise carelessly. She glanced across the room. ‘Why don’t you and— Rachel—come and join us?’
‘Because, as you said, I want to keep her to myself,’ replied Gabriel, his hand curving possessively over Rachel’s nape. ‘Maybe some other time, hmm?’
Rachel’s pulse quickened, and it wasn’t just because of his hand resting warmly against the back of her neck. Did he mean it? Did he want there to be another time? Did she?
‘Oh, well…’ Louise hid her disappointment behind a mask of mockery. ‘I can’t remember the last time John said something like that to me.’
‘That’s probably because you never have time to listen,’ remarked Gabriel shrewdly, and she grimaced.
‘You men! You always stick together.’ And then, realising that someone else had come to join them, ‘Oh, there you are, darling. I was just telling Gabriel and his—friend—how you neglect me.’
A much older man stood looking down at them and Rachel realised that this must be Louise’s husband. ‘Don’t you believe it,’ he protested heartily. ‘She’s got me completely under her thumb.’
Gabriel got to his feet to shake the other man’s hand. ‘Good to see you again, John,’ he said politely. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘I wish I could say the same for you,’ replied John Paterson rather tactlessly. ‘I suppose this is the elusive Mrs Kershaw? I’d heard that you and she have been seeing one another. How do you do, Mrs Kershaw? I hope my wife hasn’t been making a nuisance of herself.’
‘No more than usual,’ said Louise in a clipped voice, standing up to tuck her hand through her husband’s arm. ‘Come along, darling. Gabe and Rachel want to be alone.’ She arched a mocking brow at Gabriel. ‘He said so.’
‘Oh, well…’
John Paterson huffed, but although Rachel half expected Gabriel to retract what he’d said, he didn’t. Instead he offered them both a smile and then, as they moved away, dropped gratefully down into the seat opposite.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said, glancing briefly over his shoulder. ‘Louise didn’t upset you, did she?’
‘No.’ Rachel was eager to reassure him, as aware of his pallor as John Paterson had been. ‘She was very nice, actually.’ She paused. ‘Is everything all right?’
Gabriel frowned. ‘What? Oh—you mean the call. Yes. Yes, everything’s fine. Can I order you another drink?’
Rachel refused, sure that everything was not fine, but not confident enough to demand that he share whatever he was concerned about with her. And the arrival of the waiter with their dinner menus halted any further conversation for a while.
‘The smoked salmon pâté is good,’ Gabriel offered at last, and Rachel gave him a nervous smile.
‘Is it? Is that what you’re having?’
‘No.’ Gabriel frowned. ‘I think I’ll just have salad and a steak.’
‘Then I’ll have that, too,’ declared Rachel, putting the menu aside. ‘Um—have you known the Patersons long?’
‘Because he’s more my age than yours?’ Gabriel suggested wryly, and she gave an impatient shake of her head.
‘He’s much older than you,’ she protested. ‘Besides, what does that matter?’
‘You tell me.’
Gabriel shrugged and emptied his glass just as the waiter returned to take their order. ‘You can go through whenever you’re ready, Mr Webb,’ he said, retrieving the menus. ‘I’ll send the wine waiter to your table.’
Their table was in the window of the restaurant, overlooking the impressive sweep of the eighteenth tee. It was a beautiful golf course, mused Rachel, the lake she could just see in the fading light and the many trees giving it the ambience of a country park.
‘What a lovely view,’ she said, hoping to divert Gabriel from whatever was troubling him, and he glanced out of the window briefly before nodding.
‘I suppose it is,’ he agreed, scanning the wine list. ‘Tell me, do you prefer red or white wine?’
‘Whatever you like,’ said Rachel, sure he must know she was no connoisseur. ‘Whenever we have wine, Hannah usually chooses it.’
‘Hannah.’ Gabriel said her daughter’s name slowly, as if she’d reminded him of why they were here, and, after giving the wine waiter his instructions, he leaned back in his seat and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Tell me, how long is it since Hannah had a psychological evaluation?’
Rachel frowned. ‘Why do you want to know that?’
Gabriel shrugged. ‘Humour me.’
‘Well…’ Rachel considered. ‘I don’t remember her ever seeing a psychologist.’
‘Never?’
‘No.’ Rachel was beginning to feel apprehensive. ‘She was only three when the accident happened, you know.’
‘I know that—’ Gabriel broke off for a moment. ‘But after what happened on Sunday…’
Rachel pressed her lips together. ‘I knew you were going to say that,’ she said tensely. ‘Is that why you really brought me here? So you could exercise your amateur psychology on me?’
Gabriel scowled. ‘You know better than that.’
‘Do I?’
‘You should.’ His mouth tightened. ‘And if you’d rather not talk about it, then—’
‘Talk about it?’ Rachel exclaimed. ‘Talk about what? The fact that for a few short seconds you got her to stand on her own feet? I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I’ve noticed her moving her legs when she’s in the bath. As Dr Williams says, it’s only a matter of time before she realises she can walk.’
Gabriel expelled a weary breath. ‘If you say so.’
‘Well, do you know better?’ she demanded. And when he didn’t answer her she, too, sighed. ‘I’m sorry. I know you mean well, but—oh, I suppose it’s a sore topic after—after—’
‘After what I said last weekend?’ he suggested ruefully. ‘Look, it’s obvious this is neither the time nor the place to discuss your daughter. I suggest we enjoy our dinner and stop stressing about something that obviously upsets you.’
Rachel wanted to say that it didn’t upset her, but she doubted he’d believe her. Yet it was true. She didn’t object to him talking about Hannah. She’d got over that. It was just that for years she’d prayed, without any success, that Hannah would regain the use of her legs, and she didn’t think she could bear to have her hopes resurrected, only to have them dashed again.
The meal was delicious. The bread was warm and crusty, the salad was crisp, and the steaks were grilled to perfection. Unfortunately, Rachel couldn’t do the meal justice, and she found herself drinking more of the wine than she should. But the waiter kept filling her glass and the rich burgundy was giving her a confidence she’d never felt before.
‘Tell me something,’ Gabriel said, after their plates had been taken away. ‘Do you think I brought you here to meet the Patersons?’
Rachel was taken aback. ‘Why would I think that?’
‘Why not?’ Gabriel was watching her closely. ‘The older man and his much younger wife.’
‘Oh, Gabriel!’ This time it was she who reached across the table to capture his hand. ‘I don’t care about anyone else.’
Gabriel turned his hand so that their fingers were linked together. ‘What does that mean? Are you saying you care about me?’
Rachel’s tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. ‘I—of course I care about you. I care about a lot of people.’
‘That wasn’t what I meant and you know it.’
She moved her head restlessly from side to side. ‘You shouldn’t ask me that.’
‘Not even if I tell you that I care about you?’ His eyes darkened. ‘More than I should; I know that.’
Rachel didn’t know what to say. ‘Is—is that possible?’ she asked foolishly, and then realised she was treading deeper and deeper into a veritable minefield of emotion. But she couldn’t seem to stop herself.
‘That depends on you,’ he said now, and then bit off a curse when the waiter reappeared to ask if they would like coffee or pudding. Ignoring the man, he added harshly, ‘We could have coffee at my house, if you like.’
‘At your house?’ Once again Rachel spoke almost involuntarily. ‘But I can’t. My car—’
‘I don’t think you should drive home,’ declared Gabriel at once, and she wondered briefly if he had had this in mind all along. But when his eyes were pleading with her it was hard to think rationally. ‘You’re not used to drinking so much wine,’ he continued persuasively. ‘Please. I’ll have my chauffeur collect your car and drive you home again afterwards.’