The Inheritance (19 page)

‘So.’ Tati looked at Brett.

‘So.’ Brett looked back.

His dark eyes appeared almost black when he was angry, Tati noticed. Although there was something other than anger flickering beneath the surface now, a sexual tension so thick she could almost touch it.

For Brett, simply being in a room alone with Tatiana was intoxicating. He hadn’t admitted, even to himself, how excited he’d been by the prospect of seeing her again today. Their argument earlier had brought out the best in her, the fire and antagonism in her eyes and body language belying her prim and proper teacher’s outfit. He wanted her, badly.

‘I’m just wondering if all this caveman, sexist nonsense is for my benefit,’ she said, retreating behind her professional façade. ‘Or if you genuinely don’t care about your daughter.’

‘I care plenty about my daughter,’ said Brett.

‘You just don’t think girls need to be educated? Is that it? We’re all second-class citizens?’ She laughed mockingly. ‘What happened, Brett? Didn’t your mother give you enough attention when you were little?’

Brett’s eyes flashed dangerously.

Oh good
,
thought Tati.
I’ve hit a nerve.

‘Don’t speak about my mother.’

‘Why not?’ said Tati, delighted to have discovered a weak spot in the mighty Cranley armour. ‘What happened? Let me guess. You caught her in bed with a lover?’

‘I said shut up.’

‘So that’s where this pathetic Madonna/whore crap comes from. Fascinating! Mummy turned out not to be the perfect angel after all, eh?’

Brett clenched his fist. The loathing in his eyes was so intense that for a moment Tati thought he was about to explode. Instead he said quietly, ‘She died.’

Tati detected the faintest tremor in his voice.

‘When I was a kid.’

The emotion was so raw and unexpected, Tati almost felt sorry for him. But then she remembered the way he’d bullied his wife and belittled his daughter just now, and pulled herself up short.

‘My mother died too, you know,’ she told him. A look of profound surprise registered on Brett’s face. ‘You lost your mother? When you were young?’

Tati nodded. ‘I was eight.’

‘I’m sorry.’ His concern sounded sincere, but you could never quite tell with Brett Cranley.

‘Do you remember her?’

‘Yes, of course, a bit – but the memories fade so quickly. You remember your mother?’

‘Every day.’

A momentary empathy flashed between them, but Tatiana quashed it ruthlessly. She couldn’t afford to let her emotional guard down.
This is Brett Cranley
, she reminded herself sternly.
He’s your enemy.

‘Well, I’m sorry. But if your mum’s death is your excuse for being a total arsehole to women, it’s not good enough,’ she said robustly, jumping back on the offensive. ‘What kind of a man needs to put down his own daughter to boost his ego?’

‘My ego doesn’t need boosting, sweetheart,’ Brett drawled. ‘And when I want parenting advice from you, I’ll ask for it.’

They glared at one another, an almost unbearable electric silence crackling in the air between them for what felt like an eternity. Then Brett took a breath, took a step back.

‘Playing teacher doesn’t suit you, you know.’

The flash of vulnerability he’d revealed when discussing his mother was completely gone now. He eyed Tati’s clothes disparagingly. ‘You look ridiculous in that get-up.’

‘Is that so?’ said Tati. ‘And what should I wear to parents’ meetings, I wonder, in the world according to Brett Cranley? Crotchless panties and nipple tassels, I suppose?’

Brett couldn’t fully suppress a smile. ‘That’s a great mental picture.’

I hate you
, Tati thought furiously. ‘Perhaps all the female teachers at St Hilda’s should be issued with stripper poles?’ she snapped.

‘Not all of them. Just you.’ Brett was still smiling. ‘You’re as out of place here as a whore in a nunnery, and you know it.’

The irony was, Tati did know it. But she wasn’t about to give Brett Cranley the satisfaction of hearing her admit it.

‘Yes, well, luckily I won’t be here for very long.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Brett.

‘After my inheritance is restored to me in September, I’ll be too busy undoing all the damage you’ve done at Furlings and reversing your shady land deals to stay on at school. Sadly.’

Brett rolled his eyes. ‘You’re living in a fantasy.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Tati.

‘I’m curious. What will you do when you lose?’ Brett leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. It was a small gesture of control, of power. Having let his guard down earlier, he was determined to reclaim the upper hand. ‘Stay on in the village and carry on the charade? Or crawl back to London with your tail between your legs?’

‘I won’t lose,’ said Tati.

‘Hypothetically.’

He was toying with her again now, with a disturbing hybrid of flirtation and disdain that made Tati’s mouth go dry, despite herself.

‘Hypothetically.
If
I lost the case? Then yes, I might well carry on teaching,’ she said defiantly.

‘Do you know,’ Brett smiled, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with less self-awareness than you, Tatiana. You could no more settle down to a quiet life as a village schoolteacher than I could settle down as a Buddhist monk.’

‘I agree, orange isn’t your colour,’ quipped Tatiana. ‘But you’re wrong about me. I love country life.’

‘Bullshit. You love money. You love excitement. I know what you love,’ Brett whispered, leaning forward so that he was close enough for her to smell his cologne.

How can someone so poisonous and hateful be so sexy?
thought Tati.

‘Of course, if you were a man, or had any skills,’ Brett went on, enjoying the effect he was having on her, ‘I’d tell you to start your own business.’

‘Fascinating.’ Tati yawned pointedly.

‘But for a society party girl like you, marriage is really the only option.’

‘You know, you really need to be in therapy,’ Tati responded. ‘You’re not well.’

Brett laughed. The black eyes were turned on Tati in their full intensity now. She felt her stomach flip over unpleasantly and wished, not for the first time, that Brett Cranley didn’t have such an uncanny ability to toss her emotions like a pancake. He was a complicated man, more complicated than he appeared on the surface or liked to admit. But he was also an unreconstructed bastard, who would stop at nothing to deny her her inheritance. With an effort, she managed to keep her own gaze steady.

‘I’m just being honest,’ said Brett. ‘You should play to your strengths.’

‘And what are my strengths, Mr Cranley? In your warped opinion?’

Standing up, Brett reached across the desk, and ran one finger slowly across Tatiana’s cheek. Gently lifting a single strand of hair that had fallen across her face, he placed it back behind her ear. It was a small gesture, but it was slow and intimate and unbearably erotic. It took all of Tatiana’s willpower not to gasp out loud.

‘One of these days, Tatiana,’ Brett whispered, ‘I’ll show you exactly what your strengths are.’

Outside in the corridor, Max Bingley was still chatting to Angela Cranley, trying to talk her into sponsoring the school’s upcoming Gala, when Tati burst out of the classroom and practically knocked them both flying.

‘What on earth’s the matter, Tatiana?’ Max said reprovingly.

‘Nothing,’ said a thin-lipped Tati, exchanging only the briefest of glances with Angela, who could see at once what had happened. Brett must have picked a fight with her. Pushed things too far, as usual. ‘I need to get back to Year Two, that’s all. I promised Sarah I wouldn’t be long.’

Max watched Tati dash off, frowning slightly before returning his attention to Angela. ‘So you’ll be gone for the whole summer, then?’ he said. ‘That’s a shame.’

‘It is,’ Angela sighed in agreement. ‘Brett adores St Tropez, but to be honest I can take it or leave it. All those beautiful people, showing off. The smell of effort’s enough to put you quite off your Bellini.’ She laughed, then blushed, wondering if perhaps that was a crass thing to say to man like Max Bingley, who almost certainly holidayed in Cornwall and drank nothing more exotic than the local pale ale. ‘I hope you don’t think me a show-off,’ she began, awkwardly. ‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Nothing could be further from my mind,’ Max assured her.

‘I know our life probably sounds awfully glamorous. But the truth is, I’m afraid I’m old before my time. I can’t bear the thought of leaving my garden for six whole weeks. Sad, isn’t it?’

‘Not at all,’ said Max. Although he did wonder how this sweet, private woman had ever fallen for a shallow, party-loving shark like Brett Cranley. It was the oddest pairing he’d seen in many years.

‘Will Furlings be empty then, over the break?’ he asked Angela.

‘No. Jason will be there. He has to work. None of Cranley Estates’ junior staff get more than two weeks’ holiday allowance in their first year. It wouldn’t be fair to change the rules for Jase. That’s what Brett says, anyway.’

‘He’s quite right,’ said Max. ‘Well, we shall miss you.
I
shall miss you. But you can rest assured I’ll be roping you into Gala committee meetings the moment you return in September.’

Just then Brett emerged from the classroom looking highly pleased with himself, and as relaxed as Tati had seemed stressed. He snaked a possessive arm around Angela’s waist.

‘What’s this about September?’

‘I was just saying I look forward to seeing you both again after the summer,’ said Max Bingley. ‘Your wife tells me you’re off to the South of France for the duration.’

‘That’s right. Can’t wait,’ Brett grinned. ‘My yacht, the
Lady A
, should be in St Tropez by this weekend.’

Pompous arse
, thought Max.
And why not ‘our’ yacht?

Aloud he said, ‘How lovely. Well, I’d better get on. Lots of parents to see and all that.’

As Max walked off down the corridor, Brett turned to Angela.

‘I don’t like that guy,’ he said abruptly. ‘He’s such a stiff.’

‘Oh, he’s all right,’ said Angela. ‘He’s kind.’

‘Hmmm.’ Brett sounded unconvinced. ‘He was all over you like a rash.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Angela laughed, taking Brett’s arm. ‘And don’t try to distract me either. What happened in there after I left? With Tatiana?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What did you say to upset her? She came out looking as if someone had squirted lemon juice in her eyes. You promised you wouldn’t cause trouble today, remember?’

‘I didn’t cause trouble,’ said Brett. ‘I told the girl the truth, that’s all. It’s not my problem if she doesn’t want to hear it.’

Jason Cranley gazed out of the train window at the glorious Sussex countryside as they hurtled towards London. He’d worked from home today, while his parents were at Logan’s school, finishing up some meaningless and deathly dull research project his father had given him on retail rental yields. Now he was taking the five o’clock train back up to town.

Graham Jones, an irksome, rabidly ambitious VP at Cranley Estates, only a few years older than Jason and clearly one of Brett’s ‘favourites’, had insisted that Jason present the file in person at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.

Graham Jones drove a pillarbox-red Audi, had loud telephone conversations in public places, and used hideous corporate speak around the office, asking Jason whether or not he had the ‘bandwidth’ to perform such-and-such a task, and assuring him that he was eager to ‘blue-sky’ any ideas that might arise from Jason’s rental yield research. Rather than face the prospect of a 5.30 a.m. train from Fittlescombe tomorrow, followed by a stressful sprint across London to the office to present to the odious Jones, Jason had decided to head up to town tonight and stay at his father’s flat. At least that way he could make it into the building early and try to come up with a single idea about retail rental yields that didn’t involve suffocating himself with a plastic bag out of sheer, mind-numbing boredom.

Switching his iPod to a new recording of Shostakovich’s
Piano Quintet in G Minor
that he’d downloaded last night, he allowed the rolling waves of music to crash over him and flood through him until all thoughts of work and Graham Jones and his father had been washed away. Jason loved commuting, and the train journeys back and forth to town were often the best parts of his day. He enjoyed the romance of train travel, especially on the Victoria to Brighton line where they still used the old, 1950s rolling stock, with its roughly upholstered seats, wooden tables and windows that you could slide up and down to open and that rattled rhythmically and constantly as the train trundled along. Most of all, though, he enjoyed the peace of it. The sense of being alone, and yet not lonely – sitting in a carriage with other travellers made it companionable, yet there was never any danger of being drawn into unwanted conversation or bothered in any way. For one and half glorious hours Jason had nothing to do but listen to the sublime piano, admire the idyllic scenery, and be lulled into a state of profound calm by the gently rocking movement of the carriage.

A sharp tap on his shoulder made him jump a mile. Accidentally yanking the cord of his headphones, they fell out of his ears, pulling the iPod with them off his lap so it fell with a clatter onto the train floor.

‘I’m so sorry. I startled you.’

Tatiana Flint-Hamilton stood over him. Still wearing the trousers and sweater she’d had on for the parents’ meeting earlier, she had loosened her top button and let down her hair, which cascaded around her shoulders now, as shiny and inviting as golden syrup.

‘Oh, no. Please. It’s fine. Please. How are you? Sit down. I mean, if you want to, obviously,’ Jason babbled stupidly. He wasn’t the most socially adept of young men at the best of times, but around Tatiana he always seemed to regress to a state of complete, dribbling idiocy.

Tati took a seat in the empty seat opposite him. The five o’clock train up to town was almost empty. Only two other people shared the carriage, both of them elderly and deep in their books.