The Inheritance (15 page)

He wondered why Angela Cranley put up with it.
Like one of those kidnap victims who fall in love with their captor.
Then again, Max was old enough to understand that one could never really know anything about another person’s marriage. There were those who’d thought that he and Susie weren’t right for each other. How very, very wrong those people had been. Max still missed his wife every day, even if the sharp agony of eighteen months ago had dulled now to a slow and steady ache.

‘The Lord be with you.’

‘And also with you.’

Five rows back from where Max Bingley was sitting, Dylan Pritchard Jones said a silent prayer that the Lord might do something about his hangover. Dylan’s wife Maisie was away visiting her parents, which had left him free to spend a leisurely Saturday evening at The Fox last night. He didn’t remember having drunk so very much. Then again, he didn’t remember anything at all after about ten o’clock, when Chris Edwards, the local bobby, had suggested a round of ‘I have never’. The next thing Dylan knew he was waking up fully dressed in his marital bed at five o’clock this morning with a sandpaper-dry mouth, a stomach that churned and curdled like a vat of cottage cheese and a headache that felt as if it might at any moment burst through his skull and run around the room shrieking like some mad leprechaun. Four Alka-Seltzers, a hot shower and a fried breakfast later, he’d felt well enough to put on a clean shirt and stagger to church. He’d only come to support Tatiana, but so far she’d failed to show up, to the entire congregation’s immense disappointment.

Almost the entire congregation. Logan Cranley, wedged between her father and brother in the disputed front pew, couldn’t have cared less about Tatiana, so delirious was she with happiness that Gabe Baxter had decided to come to church this week. Logan had to turn around and crane her neck to get a good look at him, which was annoying. And of course there was his wife, looking pretty but (in Logan’s opinion) far too old for him, selfishly imposing herself on Logan’s fantasy by sitting next to him and occasionally whispering things in his ear that made Gabe smile. Still, if she pretended that Laura Baxter wasn’t there, Logan found it was easy enough to lose herself in Gabe’s mesmerizing blue eyes and to imagine his strong arms beneath his Thomas Pink shirt wrapped tightly around her. Thank God she’d vetoed that hideous, babyish dress Mummy had picked out for her and gone for jeans and her new blue top with sequins from Zara. That looked far more teenager-ish. Obviously she was too young for Gabe today. But if she wanted him to notice her in a few years, she needed to plant the seeds of romance now. She was hardly likely to do that in a smocked number with pink bows that made her look about six.

Four rows back, on the other side of the aisle, Laura whispered in Gabe’s ear. ‘I think you’ve got a fan in the Cranley pew. And I don’t mean your buddy Brett.’

It had been a tough few weeks in the Baxter household. Gabe had ignored Laura’s wishes and bought the land from Brett Cranley, raising the money through a combination of a second mortgage on their house plus a hefty bank loan. Laura, whose parents had lost their own home back in the early Nineties and had almost lost their marriage as a result, was horrified by the scale of their debts, and even more horrified by Gabriel’s devil-may-care attitude to their finances. They’d had some bitter, horrible rows. But last night they’d made love again for the first time since the sale went through. Laura was trying hard to put both her fear and resentment behind her.

Looking up, Gabe saw Logan staring and winked, prompting a blush that could have earned a place in the
Guinness Book of World Records
.

‘She’s a sweet kid,’ he whispered back to Laura, squeezing her possessively around the waist. Gabe had also felt miserable and unglued after all the fighting and was deeply relieved to be back in Laura’s good books.

‘She is,’ said Laura. ‘You shouldn’t encourage her though.’

Gabe grinned. ‘I can’t help it if all females find me irresistible.’

The congregation stood up, preparing to shuffle up to the front for communion. Dylan Pritchard Jones was just thinking that this might be as good a moment as any to slip away unnoticed – Tatiana had clearly thought better of a confrontation with Brett Cranley at the Sunday service, which was no bad thing – when the rear doors of the church swung open.

‘Bloody hell,’ Will Nutley whispered to Santiago de la Cruz, who’d been dragged to church by his fiancée Penny. ‘Talk about an entrance!’

Dylan almost didn’t recognize Tatiana. With her long hair swept up elegantly beneath a veiled, pillbox hat, and her to-die-for figure modestly encased in a 1930s-style skirt suit, exquisitely cut in ultra-fine lightweight wool, Tatiana looked like a vision from another time. Serene, mature, effortlessly classy, radiating that unique confidence and entitlement that only the true upper classes seemed to possess. Every head swivelled to gawp as she glided up the central aisle towards the altar, meekly bowing her head in front of Reverend Slaughter as she took the first host.

‘The body of Christ,’ the vicar intoned pompously, handing the wafer to Tatiana.

‘Amen.’

A line of parishioners had formed behind Tati as she made her stately way to the front of the church. Turning around she paused, giving all of them a chance to get a good look at her chilly composure, before turning sharp right into the first pew and sitting down right next to Logan Cranley.

Oh my God
, Dylan Pritchard Jones winced.
She’s sitting right next to them!
The entire congregation held its collective breath.

‘Miss F-H!’ said Logan in an awestruck voice, loud enough for the entire church to hear. She knew Tatiana from school and the two of them had always got along well. ‘I didn’t know you came to church. You look so pretty!’

‘Thank you, Logan,’ Tati smiled. ‘You look very pretty too. I love your top.’

Logan grinned like the Cheshire cat. At the other end of the pew, Brett Cranley looked as if someone had just pissed in his champagne. Nostrils flared, lips drawn into a tight line of loathing, he seemed unprepared and had clearly been caught off guard by Tatiana’s bold assertion of her ancestral rights.

‘Can you scoot along a bit and make room?’ Tati asked Logan sweetly.

‘Of course.’ Unaware that there was anything amiss, the little girl did as she was asked, bumping into Jason, who in turn squeezed up against his mother. In order to give Angela room to breathe, Brett found himself being pressed uncomfortably against the wall.

Aware that he looked like a fool, he stood up, muttering expletives under his breath and indicating with an angry jerk of the head that the family should do the same. One by one they filed out to take communion, right past Tatiana. To Brett’s immense irritation, Logan gave Tati a hug. Jason smiled shyly. Angela kept acknowledgements to a brief but cordial nod. Brett deliberately knocked into her as he pushed past, his face like thunder.

‘What are you doing here?’ he hissed in her ear.

‘Praying,’ Tatiana responded pithily. ‘For strength.’

‘You could have sat somewhere else,’ Brett growled.

‘I could indeed.’ Tati met his gaze unwaveringly ‘And so could you. You’d better hurry, Mr Cranley, or there’ll be no more salvation left.’

Once communion was over, the Cranleys filed back into their seats. Brett had hoped to shove Tatiana down to the wall end and wedge
her
in there, but Logan was the first back to the pew. When Tatiana stepped to one side to let her in, she obligingly skipped along to the end herself, leaving Jason and Angela no choice but to follow suit. This left Brett in the uncomfortable position of standing next to Tati for the final hymn – ‘Guide Me Oh Thou Great Redeemer’ – and being forced to sing, one of the few things in life he was profoundly bad at.

Tatiana wisely said nothing, staring resolutely ahead until the church doors opened and people began pouring out onto the village green. But Brett was sure he saw the faintest hint of a smirk playing around her lips beneath that oh-so-demure veil.

One of these days I’m going to fuck that girl and hear her beg me not to stop
,
he thought furiously.

On the face of it, all Tatiana had done this morning was to arrive late to church and sit down in her normal seat. If Brett took issue with her publicly he would look like a prize fool. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d already been made a fool of, shown up as a charlatan. By reclaiming her pew with such dignified, quiet entitlement, she’d made him look as though he was
playing
at being lord of the manor, in front of the entire village. It was the same strategy she was trying to use in court, to turf him out of Furlings. Next to Tatiana, Brett Cranley and his family had been made to look like cheap, shoddy imitations of the real thing. From her attention-grabbing entrance to that outfit that made her look like Lady Mary from Downton bloody Abbey, Tatiana had succeeded in embarrassing him in as subtle, underhand a way as possible.

His face reddening like a ripe pepper, Brett rounded up his family and practically dragged them out of the churchyard.

Sidling up to Tatiana, Dylan Pritchard Jones slipped an arm around her waist.

‘Bravo,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘I do believe you rattled him.’

‘I’m not sure one can rattle a snake,’ Tati said dolefully.

‘You know, the funny thing is, for a moment there, all wedged into the same pew like that, you almost looked like a family,’ said Dylan.

Tati looked horrified. ‘We did
not.
Please, don’t ever say that.’

‘But it’s true,’ said Dylan. ‘Logan obviously adores you.’

‘Yes, well. She’s a sweetie,’ Tati admitted.

‘And the brother was all smiles.’

‘Jason’s sweet too,’ said Tati.

‘Exactly. And Angela Cranley’s a lovely woman.’ Catching Tati’s questioning look, Dylan added swiftly, ‘I mean she’s nice. Kind. Not the sort of person who’d try to do anyone down. If it weren’t for the horrible dad, I reckon they’d welcome you with open arms.’

Tati looked at him frostily. God, she was magnificent in that suit and hat. Like Wallis Simpson without the vulgarity.

‘I don’t want to be
welcomed
into the Cranley family, thank you very much,’ she said caustically. ‘I want my inheritance. And I’m damn well going to get it.’

‘Come on,’ said Dylan, who suddenly felt in desperate need of a hair of the dog. ‘Let’s go to the pub. I’ll buy you lunch and let you rant for a whole hour.’

Spotting Gabe and Laura Baxter about to leave, Tati said, ‘Sounds good, thanks. I’ll meet you there.’

Running across the green, she tapped Gabe hard on the shoulder.

‘I suppose you think you’re clever, do you?’ she said accusingly. ‘Getting your grubby little hands on my fields.’

‘Good morning, Tatiana,’ Gabe smiled. Turning to Laura he said, ‘You go on ahead, darling. I’ll catch up with you.’

‘When I win my court case in September, I’ll have your deeds to that land revoked,’ Tati told him furiously.

‘Uh huh,’ said Gabe. ‘And when the aliens invade and take over the earth, they’ll turn my farmhouse into their intergalactic headquarters.’ He started walking away. ‘Get a grip, Tatiana.’

‘You know, I’m not surprised you and Brett Cranley have teamed up. There are so few low-lives in this village, it must be lovely for you to have found a kindred spirit at last.’

Against his better judgement, Gabe stopped and turned around. ‘You know, you’re right. There
aren’t
many low-lives – although I see you’ve adopted one in Dylan Dick-Hard Jones.’

‘What do you mean?’ Tati said crossly.

‘I mean that all he’s interested in is what’s between your legs, sweetheart. Then again, that’s all you’ve got to offer these days, isn’t it?’

Tati blushed scarlet, but for once had no comeback.

‘Still, there may be a lack of low-lives but at least there are plenty of snobs,’ Gabe went on, twisting the knife. ‘You’ll have plenty of people to commiserate with over croquet and cucumber sandwiches while I’m busy working
my
land. Enjoy your afternoon with Dick-Hard,’ he called over his shoulder, walking away for good this time. ‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

As always on a Sunday lunchtime, The Fox was packed.

Outside, the pretty beer garden was full of families, parents enjoying their ploughman’s lunches and pints of shandy while their children played on The Fox’s excellent rope swing, a veritable death-trap that propelled one off a high bank right across the river Swell and back again at bone-rattling speed.

Inside, Fittlescombe’s single males propped up the bar, arguing over last night’s football and debating the merits of the new series of
Top Gear
. Wandering in, in search of Dylan, Tatiana noticed that Archie, the new gardener’s boy at Furlings, was amongst them, although at eighteen he was too young and too shy to join in with the adult banter. He was good looking, though, in a floppy-haired, blond, freckly sort of way. Back in Tatiana’s day, the only gardener allowed to set foot in Furlings’ grounds had been the wizened and taciturn old Jennings. It crossed her mind how much she’d have enjoyed having a toyboy like Archie on the estate, and how much fun it would have been to take him to bed and play Lady Chatterley.
If I hadn’t been so lonely there, perhaps I’d have stuck around
, she thought wistfully.

Tatiana found Dylan inside, at a small table close to the bar.

‘Everything all right?’ Dylan asked. ‘Gabe Baxter looked as if he was giving you a hard time outside church.’

Tati waved a hand dismissively. ‘
Gabe.
He’s such a pleb. He’s got it in for me for whatever reason. I suspect it’s to do with his wife.’

‘Laura?’ Dylan waited for her to elaborate.

‘Yes,’ Tati said casually. ‘I might have accidentally slept with her boyfriend once. Ex-boyfriend. The one before Gabe.’

Dylan chuckled. ‘How do you “accidentally” sleep with someone?’

‘I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,’ Tati explained. ‘He certainly didn’t behave as if he did. Anyway, I did Laura a favour. He turned out to be a total dickhead and she and Gabe got together that very night. But of course, now he has decided to rewrite history and paint me as the villain of the piece.’