Morelli's Mistress. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ met Harry Laurence at a friend’s wedding, and when they’d first started going out together, Abby had felt she was the luckiest girl in the world. Harry had made her feel special, spoiling her with expensive gifts, taking care of her in a way that, being the only child of a single parent, she’d never experienced before.

      But after their marriage things had changed. She’d realised that the character he’d adopted when other people—particularly her mother—were around was totally different from the man he really was.

      She’d learned, almost from the start, not to question his whereabouts. She suspected he saw other women, but when she’d been foolish enough to challenge him on it, he’d flown into a rage.

      She knew she should get a divorce. She used to tell herself that if he ever laid a hand on her, she would leave. But then, two years ago, when Abby was seriously thinking of filing for a divorce, her mother fell ill.

      Annabel Lacey had developed a serious physical condition that required twenty-four-hour nursing. She needed the professional services of a comfortable nursing home, one which only Harry with his stock-market salary could provide.

      And Abby had known then that, until her mother was well again, her life was on hold...

      ‘We’re leaving,’ Liz Phillips said now, bringing Abby back to the present. She looked admiringly at Abby’s companion. ‘Who’s this?’

      ‘Um—this is Luke,’ murmured Abby awkwardly, as he got politely up from his stool.

      ‘Nice to meet you,’ Luke said, smiling in Liz’s direction.

      ‘Likewise.’ Liz gave him a flirtatious look. ‘Well, we’re going on to the Blue Parrot. Do you two want to come along?’

      ‘Oh...’ Abby slipped down from her stool, too, smoothing the short skirt down over her hips as she did so. ‘I don’t think so. I might just call it a night, if you don’t mind?’

      Liz’s eyes drifted irresistibly back to Luke. ‘I don’t blame you,’ she said as one of the other girls pushed to the front of the group. ‘He’s gorgeous!’

      ‘Liz!’ said Abby in embarrassment, but she wasn’t listening.

      ‘Hi. I’m Amanda,’ said the other girl eagerly. ‘No wonder Abs has been keeping you to herself.’

      ‘I haven’t—that is—’ Abby looked at Luke in some consternation. ‘We’ve only just met.’

      ‘What she means is, she didn’t know I was coming,’ Luke amended lightly. ‘But in the circumstances, I’m sure you’ll understand that I’ll be taking—Abs—home.’

      ‘Oh, sure. Lucky Abs,’ remarked a third girl with a knowing grin. ‘But if you ever need a shoulder to cry on.’

      ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said, ignoring Abby’s expression, and, after a few more embarrassing quips, the half-dozen or so members of the hen party departed.

      After they’d gone, Abby glanced anxiously about her. ‘Why did you let them think we were together?’ she demanded, bending to pick up her handbag, which she’d wedged beside the stool when she sat down. ‘We hardly know one another.’

      ‘That can be remedied,’ he replied, helping her extract the strap of her bag from the footrest. His hand brushed hers as he did so, and Abby felt an electric shock of awareness shoot up her arm. ‘Come on. I’ll give you a ride home. It’s the least I can do.’

      ‘How do you know I don’t have a car?’ she countered, knowing she should refuse his offer, and he arched a lazy brow.

      ‘Do you?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘So why are we arguing? I promise I’m not a thief or a pervert.’

      ‘And I’m expected to take your word for that?’

      Abby looked up into his lean dark face. Liz was right, she thought. He was gorgeous. Tall, with a lean yet muscular body, dark-haired and olive-skinned, with curiously tawny eyes that were presently assessing her with a certain amount of amusement as well as interest.

      ‘You could ask my friend over there,’ he said, indicating the man he’d bought a drink for.

      ‘And he’s going to disagree, isn’t he?’ said Abby drily.

      Then, with a fatalistic shrug, she said, ‘Okay. I’ll get my coat.’

      ‘Give me the ticket and I’ll get it for you,’ said Luke. And Abby, who had been seriously considering slipping out the back way, expelled a resigned breath.

       CHAPTER ONE

      ABBY TOOK THE last batch of blueberry muffins out of the oven, inhaling their delicious fragrance as she set the tray on the counter nearby.

      She unloaded the muffins onto a cooling tray and checked that the coffee machine had been filled that morning. The scones she’d baked earlier were just waiting to be transferred into a basket.

      She still had to fill the small pots with jam, but the creamers could wait until she had her first customer of the day.

      She also had cupcakes to bake, but they were mixed and ready. She had only to separate them into their cases before popping them in the oven.

      She wondered when she’d developed such a love of baking. Not while she was married to Harry; that was for sure.

      In those days, she’d spent all her free time working, saving for the day when she could support both her mother and herself.

      Unfortunately that day had never come.

      She sighed.

      Nevertheless, she felt a pleasant sense of satisfaction as she looked about her. The small café, with the bookshop she’d introduced, was everything she’d hoped it would be. Her mother would have loved it, she thought wistfully. But she’d died of motor neurone disease just two years after entering the nursing home.

      Abby had discovered the small café, which had previously been run by two sisters, now retired, when she’d been trawling the Internet. Until then the idea of moving out of London had only been a pipe dream. But the café in Ashford-St-James had been available for rent, and it had seemed an inspiration. When she’d learned it also had living accommodation, Abby hadn’t hesitated before applying for the tenancy.

      Then, when her divorce from Harry had been made final, she’d bought herself a bottle of Pinot Noir and had a private celebration. Before packing up the bedsit, where she’d been living since she’d left Harry, and moving herself and Harley, her mother’s golden retriever, to this small Wiltshire town.

      She supposed she must have always dreamed about running her own café. And the owner, an elderly man called Mr Gifford, had had no objections to her desire to modernise the interior to suit her needs. She’d used what little money she’d saved to give the place a makeover. It looked much different now from the rather dingy tearoom she’d first encountered.

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