Morelli's Mistress. Anne Mather
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glanced at his watch. It was after ten. He supposed he could legitimately call in for a coffee. The place was called Harley’s, and there was an appetising array of scones and cakes visible on trays at the counter.
There was also a number of bistro tables and chairs, several of which were already occupied. Clearly, despite the chain coffee shops in the high street, some people preferred a more intimate café. Or perhaps it was the fact that it sold books that attracted them here.
The bell made a muted sound as he opened the door. Clearly it was in need of attention. But Luke quickly found an empty table and subsided onto a chair. The smell of cakes and pastries was appetising, and, picking up the menu, he used it as a shield as he surveyed the interior of the café.
It was tastefully decorated, one wall covered with a mural of muffins and cupcakes that fairly oozed with fruit and cream you could almost taste. A huge Italian coffee machine bubbled away in the background, giving the place a contemporary feel, and away to the right an archway led into the bookshop.
‘What can I get you?’
He’d been so intent on studying his surroundings, Luke hadn’t heard anyone’s approach. Putting the menu aside, he looked up at the young woman standing beside the table.
‘Um—an Americano, please,’ he was beginning, and then broke off in disbelief. ‘Abby!’ He got automatically to his feet. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’
* * *
‘I own the business,’ Abby said, feeling amazingly calm.
She’d gone through the whole gamut of emotions in the last few weeks since she’d read the solicitor’s letter, but at no time had she ever imagined that Luke might come into the café.
Alone.
She moistened her lips. ‘I don’t have to ask you why you’re here, of course. I assume you’re evaluating your latest acquisition.’
Luke stared down at her. He hadn’t changed at all. Tall, dark-haired and olive-skinned, he was just as attractive as ever. Dangerously so, she acknowledged, wishing she were able to put the past behind her.
As he had evidently done.
She’d changed a lot, she was sure. An aborted love affair and a bitter divorce could do that to you. Not to mention discovering that what little money she’d invested in the café was now lost.
‘You run this café?’ he asked, as if he hadn’t believed her the first time. ‘I assumed you were still working in London. I had no idea you’d moved out of town.’
‘Hadn’t you?’ Abby wondered if she believed him. If that were so, then the Morelli Corporation buying these shops was not the vindictive action on his part she’d thought it was.
‘Of course, I hadn’t,’ muttered Luke, as if aware of her scepticism. ‘I wouldn’t have thought your husband would give up his job so easily. The stock market, wasn’t it? Not much use for an investment broker around here.’
‘Harry and I are divorced,’ said Abby, aware that their prolonged conversation was attracting the attention of her other customers. ‘I’ll get your coffee.’
‘Wait.’ As she would have moved away, Luke’s low voice arrested her. ‘How long have you been divorced?’
‘I don’t think that’s anything to do with you,’ replied Abby, glad there was no tremor in her voice. ‘Is that all?’
Luke scowled. ‘Is this how you treat all your customers? Because if so—’
‘You’re not really a customer, Mr Morelli, are you? You’re on a fact-finding mission. And I can always refuse to serve you. I have that right.’
Luke blew out a breath. He glanced about him, as if recognising there was no privacy here. ‘Well, tell me a good place to eat and I’ll buy you dinner this evening instead.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr Morelli.’ Abby refused to allow any trace of the temptation his words offered to show. With some relief she saw that two of her other customers had moved towards the till. ‘I’ll get your coffee.’
Luke had no choice but to let her go, and Abby hurried across to the counter. She had a few words with her departing regulars, rang up their tab, and then set about preparing the Americano Luke had asked for.
Her hands were shaking a little, but the machine did most of the work. She set his cup on a tray, added a small jug of cream and a sugar bowl containing both real and artificial sweeteners, and then turned back to deliver his coffee.
But Luke had gone. The table where he’d been sitting before their exchange was empty.
Setting the tray on the counter, she couldn’t deny a sinking feeling in her stomach. Although she’d been shocked to see him, she’d never expected him to leave so precipitately.
So what? Did she want to see him again? After everything that had happened, was she fool enough to believe anything good could come of this encounter?
The day stretched endlessly ahead of her. It was an effort to think of anything but how unnerving it had been to see Luke again.
She’d thought about him many times, especially after her divorce was made final. But she’d known that, as far as he was concerned, she was still a liar and a cheat.
So why had he offered her dinner?
The café—and the bookshop—closed at four o’clock most days, and Abby wasn’t usually eager to return to her flat upstairs where Harley was waiting for her.
Today, however, she couldn’t wait to put on her coat, grab Harley’s leash, and escape from the building. Luke’s appearance had been a damning confirmation that his plans were going ahead.
Until then, she’d clung to the hope that they might not get planning permission, or they’d discover the ground was too damp for a development of that kind. But those hopes had now been shattered.
At the back of the row of shops, there was a stretch of open land, and Greg Hughes had said that that was another reason why Gifford’s son was selling the properties. His father had owned the land, too, and, together with the shops that faced the street, the developers would have room for not only a car park, always useful in a town, but possibly a movie theatre, as well.
Still, for the moment, the land was unoccupied, and Harley really appreciated the opportunity to be let off the leash.
He wasn’t a young dog, but he still had plenty of energy and Abby bent and picked up a twig and threw it across the grass.
Straight into the path of a man who was coming from the opposite direction.
Luke Morelli.
* * *
Abby reached the outer door and peered outside. Fortunately the floodlights were still on and she could see the dark green Aston Martin standing in a pool of light.
To her relief, its occupant didn’t appear to have got out of the car. No doubt the rain—or perhaps the fact that he didn’t know the address he wanted—was giving him pause.
Was it Luke Morelli? The rain made it difficult to see clearly. It certainly looked like him, so she had to take that chance. She couldn’t allow her husband to come home and find him here.
She remembered too well the bruises on her breasts and stomach Harry had inflicted weeks ago when he’d discovered she’d had lunch with one of the professors from the university.
The fact that she could no longer wear her wedding ring, because he’d twisted her fingers so badly that the swelling was taking ages to go down, was another reason to turn on her. He was absurdly possessive. Particularly as God knew how many times he’d been unfaithful to her in the past.
Something she’d never even thought of.
Until now.
And