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man, huh?’ Stephanie’s sardonic voice in her ear made her realise her unguarded interest had not gone unnoticed. ‘What did he say?’ the other woman added. ‘You seemed to be having a pretty intense exchange.’

      ‘That’s not true.’ Rachel was aware that she had no excuse for her flushed cheeks this time. And, despite her misgivings, she gave in to her own curiosity, ‘Do you think he looked all right?’

      Stephanie arched inquisitive brows as they walked back to the serving area. ‘Is that a serious question?’ she asked drily. ‘Yeah, I think he looks all right. As all right as any man with a bank account that runs into millions can look, I guess.’

      Rachel gave a frustrated sigh. ‘That’s not what I meant.’ She glanced back over her shoulder. ‘I just thought he looked as if he’d been ill, that’s all. He was very pale, and he had these deep grooves in his cheeks.’

      ‘My heart bleeds,’ exclaimed Stephanie unfeelingly. ‘For goodness’ sake, Rach, you sound as if you feel sorry for him. If he’s looking under the weather, it’s probably because he’s had a heavy night. Men like him are always having heavy nights. That’s what they do.’

      ‘You don’t know what they do,’ retorted Rachel shortly, and was glad when several customers chose that moment to come into the café. It gave her the excuse to end the conversation and attend to them, and she hoped that by the time the midday rush was over Stephanie would have forgotten all about Gabriel Webb and Rachel’s ill-advised interest in him.

      Rachel’s mother brought Hannah into the café as they were closing. She sometimes waited until her granddaughter got home from her school to do her shopping, and then she and Hannah usually called in Rachel’s Pantry for a pot of tea and a cream cake, if there were any left.

      Rachel was pleased to see them. Although Stephanie hadn’t said any more about Gabriel Webb, there had been a certain tension between them all afternoon and Rachel was relieved to find that it was almost five o’clock. The small café, which opened at eight-thirty most mornings, closed at five, and she wouldn’t be sorry to get home tonight.

      ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ she said, bending to give her small daughter a hug, and Hannah’s pale cheeks filled with becoming colour.

      ‘’Lo, Mummy,’ she answered, clinging to her mother’s arm when she would have drawn away. ‘May I have a Coke today, please? Please?’

      ‘I’ll think about it,’ said Rachel lightly, taking charge of her daughter’s wheelchair and fitting the wheels under the edge of the nearest table. ‘How about you, Mum? Tea, as usual?’

      ‘That would be wonderful,’ agreed Mrs Redfern, subsiding into the chair beside her granddaughter. Then, with her usual perception, ‘Is anything wrong?’

      ‘No.’ Rachel’s response was rather too hasty. ‘What could be wrong?’ she added, heading towards the counter. ‘One Coke and one tea coming up.’

      ‘I’ll get them,’ said Stephanie, meeting her as she rounded the end of the counter, and Rachel met her diffident gaze with some relief.

      ‘Oh, would you?’

      ‘Hey, I’d do anything for my favourite girl,’ Stephanie exclaimed more confidently, exchanging a wave with Hannah. ‘Hi there, honeybun. Have you had a good day at school?’

      ‘I got a gold star,’ Hannah called back proudly. ‘Do you want to see it?’

      ‘Can I?’ Stephanie made the tea and set two cups on the tray. Then, flicking the cap on a bottle of Coke, she carried the order to the table. ‘My, aren’t you the clever girl?’ she went on, admiring the stick-on gold star Hannah was exhibiting on the lapel of her blazer. ‘What was this for? Talking in class?’

      ‘No, silly.’ Hannah giggled, and, dropping into the spare chair at the table, Rachel was grateful to her friend for not allowing their differences to interfere with the attention she always showed towards her daughter. ‘We did some spellings and I got all mine right.’ She beamed at her mother. ‘Twenty out of twenty!’

      ‘Goodness!’ Rachel pretended to be amazed. ‘Well, I think that deserves a special treat. What would you say to a banana split? I think I’ve got some ice cream left in the freezer.’

      ‘Ooh, yes.’ Hannah loved banana splits. ‘And can I have some of those sprinkly bits on it, too?’

      After Hannah was served, and Mrs Redfern had accepted a vanilla slice, Stephanie said her goodbyes and left them to it. Rachel turned the sign on the door to ‘Closed’, dropped the blinds, and then came back to her chair.

      ‘You look tired,’ said her mother consideringly. ‘You’re working too hard, Rachel. You really should take a day off now and then.’

      ‘I take every Sunday off,’ replied Rachel, sipping her tea. She smiled at Hannah before adding, ‘Remind me, I need to speak to Joe Collins before the weekend. That second oven isn’t working properly, but I’m hoping we can manage until Sunday.’

      Her mother nodded. ‘He’ll probably say you need a new one. This isn’t the first time it’s let you down.’

      ‘If it can be repaired, he’ll repair it,’ declared Rachel firmly. She watched her daughter for a moment. ‘I can see you’re enjoying that.’ There was ice cream smeared all over the little girl’s mouth.

      ‘Hmm.’

      Hannah was too intent on the sundae to offer more than a mumbled response, and, taking the opportunity to speak to her daughter uninterrupted, Mrs Redfern murmured, ‘Have you and Stephanie been having words? You could have cut the atmosphere between you two with a knife when I came in.’

      ‘Oh, don’t say that.’ Rachel groaned. ‘People come in here to relax, not to be greeted by a wave of hostility.’

      ‘So you and Stephanie have had words.’ Mrs Redfern grimaced. ‘Well, you needn’t worry. I doubt anyone else would have noticed. It’s just that I know you so well. What happened? Was she late again?’

      ‘Well, she was, but that didn’t matter.’

      ‘So? Rachel?’

      ‘Oh, if you must know, Gabriel Webb came in this morning.’

      ‘Gabriel Webb?’ Mrs Redfern was taken aback. ‘Andrew’s father?’

      Rachel’s mouth compressed. ‘Do you know any other Gabriel Webbs?’

      Her mother shook her head. ‘What did he want?’

      Rachel sighed and gave Mrs Redfern an old-fashioned look. ‘What do people usually want when they come into a café? He wanted a pot of tea. What else?’

      Her mother looked nonplussed. ‘I wouldn’t have thought this was the kind of place someone like Gabriel Webb would frequent.’

      ‘No.’ Rachel spoke resignedly. ‘You’re the second person who’s said that today.’

      ‘Stephanie,’ guessed Mrs Redfern shrewdly. ‘Is that what you fell out about?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Well, I hope you let him see what you thought of him and his family.’

      ‘Mum!’ Rachel stared at her. ‘This is a café. Where would I be if I adopted that kind of attitude with my customers?’

      ‘Not all customers,’ retorted her mother shortly. ‘Just those you don’t like.’

      Rachel shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’

      ‘Of course you can. Isn’t there some law about the management of an establishment reserving the right to refuse to serve unwelcome visitors?’

      ‘This is a café, Mum, not a public house.’ Rachel picked up a paper napkin and wiped her daughter’s chin before adding, ‘In any case, I had no reason to say anything. He was

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