LITMIR.BIZ

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      ‘Yes. They’ve got to pay me something for the eighteen months that are left on my lease. Until they do, I won’t know what kind of replacement premises I’ll be able to afford.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘’Course, you won’t have that problem, will you?’ he went on smugly. ‘By the time you get your marching orders, your lease will have run out.’

      ‘How do you know that?’

      ‘You told me you only had six months left.’ Greg was unrepentant. ‘I just wondered, as you seemed to know the guy, if he’d given you a heads-up.’

      Abby was tempted to lie and say she didn’t know Luke. But she couldn’t be sure that someone hadn’t seen them last week on the waste ground behind the shops.

      ‘I think I said I knew of his company,’ she said, hiding her crossed fingers. ‘I—well, I believe he was round here the other day, checking out his investment. Anonymously, apparently.’

      ‘Really?’ Clearly Greg hadn’t heard anything about this, and Abby realised belatedly that she’d virtually admitted recognising Luke.

      But Greg didn’t pick her up on it, evidently assuming someone else had told her the news. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘I wish I’d seen Morelli. I’d have felt like giving him a piece of my mind.’

      ‘Would you? That’s interesting.’

      Abby started in surprise. She’d been so intent on not giving Greg any reason to suspect she knew more than she was saying that she hadn’t heard the door open. Which wasn’t surprising because the bell was definitely on its last legs.

      Greg started, too, eyes turning apprehensively to look over his shoulder. But, he didn’t recognise the newcomer and a certain look of belligerence crossed his face.

      ‘Do you mind?’ he said, before Abby could say anything. ‘This is a private conversation.’

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Luke closed the door and crossed the café with lithe, easy grace. ‘I thought I heard my name mentioned. Something about giving me a piece of your mind, wasn’t it?’

      Greg’s jaw dropped. ‘You’re Morelli?’ he exclaimed disbelievingly, and Abby couldn’t say she was surprised.

      In jeans and a navy turtleneck, a leather jacket looking distinctly as if it had seen better days, Luke looked nothing like the successful entrepreneur she knew him to be.

      Evidently, Greg was taken aback, as much by Luke’s appearance as by what he’d said. He turned back to Abby, raising his eyebrows in stunned inquiry, and she made an involuntary movement of her shoulders that she hoped Luke hadn’t seen.

      ‘So...?’ Luke joined Greg at the counter. ‘Do you want to tell me who you are? I don’t believe I caught your name.’

      ‘It’s Hughes. Greg Hughes,’ the man muttered unwillingly. ‘I own the photography studio next door.’

      ‘I see.’ Luke nodded. ‘So, Mr Hughes, what did you want to say to me? I’m listening.’

      Greg’s jaw jutted defensively. Then, as if realising he had to say something, he said, ‘I just don’t agree with—with people—’

      ‘Like myself,’ put in Luke helpfully, and Abby sensed he was enjoying this.

      ‘Well, yeah.’ Greg sniffed. ‘I don’t think you realise how old this parade of shops is.’ And when Luke didn’t answer, ‘And you’re just going to pull them all down and put up a supermarket. It’s sacrilege, that’s what it is. Sacrilege!’

      Abby saw Luke give her an inquiring look. ‘Is this your opinion, as well, Mrs Laurence?’

      Abby flushed. ‘It’s Ms Lacey,’ she said, aware, with some irritation, that Greg was regarding her curiously now. ‘I—well, I resumed my maiden name after—after buying the business.’

      ‘Ah.’

      Luke’s dark eyes assessed her with disturbing intensity, and she was instantly aware that the ponytail, with which she’d started the day, was now shedding strands of damp hair onto her shoulders. She also still had on the apron she’d worn to clean the equipment, and she was sure it looked definitely the worse for wear.

      Dammit!

      ‘But you didn’t answer my question—Ms Lacey.’

      Luke was speaking again, but before she could respond Greg answered for her.

      ‘Of course she agrees with me,’ he exclaimed belligerently. ‘How do you think we all feel? This is our livelihood. And in Abby’s case, her home, as well.’

      ‘Really?’ Abby saw Luke absorb this piece of information and could have slapped Greg for giving out her personal details to a man she’d hoped never to see again.

      ‘Yes, really,’ Greg continued, apparently unaware of—or indifferent to—Abby’s feelings. ‘At least I had the sense to buy another house while property was cheap.’

      ‘I’m sure Mr Morelli isn’t interested in our problems, Greg,’ Abby inserted, glaring at him. She straightened her spine. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Morelli? Or did you just come here to sample my coffee?’

      ‘Hey, that’s a good idea,’ broke in Greg again, much to her frustration. ‘And you should try one of Abby’s blueberry muffins. If they don’t persuade you to think again about the development, nothing will.’

      ‘Greg!’ Abby was horrified. The last thing she wanted was for Luke to think that she and Greg Hughes had been conspiring against him. ‘I don’t think anything we say—or do—will change Mr Morelli’s mind.’

      * * *

      Luke crossed his arms, tucking his hands beneath his armpits. He was tempted to say ‘You got that right’, but, despite his feelings towards Abby, he was loath to embarrass her in front of this oaf.

      ‘Perhaps I will have a coffee, after all,’ he said, aware that his words were probably just as irritating to Abby’s ears as what Hughes had said had been. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

      He saw Abby’s lips tighten. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible, Mr Morelli,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’ve just closed the machine down for the night.’

      Greg Hughes snorted. ‘Looks like you’re out of luck, Morelli,’ he said, not without a certain amount of satisfaction. He paused. ‘I guess you’ll just have to tell us what you’re doing here without one of the perks of the job.’

      Luke’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t believe I invited you to hear what I had to say to Ms Lacey,’ he remarked neutrally. ‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than stand around here talking to me.’

      The photographer scowled. Then he looked at Abby. ‘Do you want me to go, Abby?’ he asked pointedly. ‘I can stick around for a bit, if you’d rather.’

      Luke could tell Abby had mixed feelings. He sensed she was no friend of the photographer, but then she was no friend of Luke’s either.

      ‘That’s okay, Greg,’ she said after a moment. ‘I’m good. I’ll let you know later if Mr Morelli has any news.’

      She was anything but good, thought Luke grimly, as, with some reluctance, Greg Hughes let himself out of the café. And now they were alone, she was evidently eager for him to be gone, too.

      As soon as the door had closed, she said, ‘I was of the opinion we had nothing more to say to one another, Mr Morelli. And as I was about to close the café, I’d be grateful if you could get to the point of this visit.’

      In truth, Luke wasn’t absolutely sure what the point of his visit was. Okay, his father had phoned and said he’d got a touch of flu, but that wouldn’t normally have been reason enough

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