The Inheritance (20 page)

‘You’re going to London?’ Jason scrabbled on the floor for his iPod, stuffing it back into his bag.

‘Yes.’ Tati smiled. She was amused by his awkwardness, but the smile was kind rather than mocking. ‘Unless I’m on the wrong train.’

‘Of course. Silly question.’ Jason blushed. It was a wonder the rest of his body still functioned, with so much blood rushing to his cheeks.

‘I’m actually going out for dinner and drinks with a girlfriend tonight,’ said Tati, helping him out. ‘I hardly ever get up to town any more, but there’s a teacher-training day tomorrow and I decided I needed a break.’

‘Bad day?’

Tati considered lying, but in the end decided there was no point. ‘I’m afraid so,’ she said. ‘Mostly thanks to your bloody father.’ Reaching into her handbag, she pulled out a cigarette and lit it, ignoring the disapproving look she got from one of the pensioners.

‘I don’t think you’re supposed to do that in here,’ Jason said gently, gesturing towards one of the many ‘No Smoking’ signs underneath their window.

‘You aren’t,’ Tati said cheerfully. ‘But at this point I’m afraid I couldn’t give two hoots. If they fine me, I’ll send the bill to your old man.’

Jason grinned. How he wished he had even a fraction of Tatiana’s chutzpah, especially when it came to Brett.

‘Sorry,’ she added. ‘It’s not personal.’

‘Please, don’t apologize. My dad makes my life miserable – and I’m his flesh and blood. I get it, believe me.’

‘Hmmm.’ Tati studied him more closely. ‘Yes. I suspect you do.’

Inhaling deeply on her cigarette, she released the smoke in a slow, sultry trail through her pursed lips, looking at Jason all the while. Anyone who thought of smoking as a dirty, unattractive habit clearly hadn’t seen Tatiana Flint-Hamilton doing it.

It
had
been a stressful day. Brett’s comments about marriage to a rich man being her only option had been no more than a childish attempt to put her down. Playground spite. And yet deep down Tati feared there might be some truth to them. He was certainly right that she could never settle down as a teacher in a sleepy Sussex village. That she needed excitement, and drama, and that she missed the high life she’d left behind in London.

The problem was that having always expected to inherit Furlings, and a fortune to go with it, she’d never given much thought to making her own way. But now the question had become pressing. If she didn’t win her court case in September, what
would
she do? What would her future look like? Brett had been typically scathing about her ability to start her own business. Then again, Brett Cranley was so sexist he probably believed women were incapable of tying their shoelaces without a man’s help.

Tati told herself firmly that if an intellectually challenged emotional retard like Brett Cranley could become a self-made millionaire, then so could she. Besides, she
wasn’t
going to lose the court case. But the lingering feeling of self-doubt and depression refused to leave her. She was coming up to London to escape.

‘So, what takes you up to town?’ she asked, turning the conversation back to Jason.

‘Work.’ He sighed heavily.

‘You don’t sound too thrilled about it!’

‘I’m not.’ Partly out of nervousness, and partly because he liked Tatiana and she seemed genuinely interested, Jason started to elaborate on how much he hated working at his father’s company and how useless he was at anything connected to business. He described Graham Jones to her, reducing Tati to tears of laughter, and did his best to convey the almost indescribable tedium of his work at Cranley Estates.

‘Wow,’ she said when he finally stopped talking. ‘That does sound ghastly.’

‘It is.’

‘Almost makes me feel lucky to be stuck making the tea at a village primary school. Although your father was kind enough to suggest today that I quit my job, and my court case, and focus on snagging myself a rich husband.’

Jason shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. He’s a Neanderthal.’

‘Why
is
that?’ asked Tati.

Jason looked thoughtful. ‘I don’t really know. It’s odd because in one way he loves women. He’s always been much closer to Logan than to me, and he loves Mum, even though he sometimes doesn’t act like it. The only time I’ve ever seen him cry was talking about his own mother. But then, in another way …’ He trailed off. ‘I don’t think he likes to be challenged.’

‘That’s an understatement,’ said Tati. ‘Not that I give a monkey’s what your father thinks about me. But I do feel sorry for Logan. I was trying to tell Brett today about how bright she is, if she just had the right help. But he didn’t want to hear it.’

Jason felt the anger rise up inside him, hardening into a solid ball in his chest. The idea of Brett stifling Logan the way he’d stifled him filled him with impotent rage.

‘Doesn’t he want his children to succeed?’ Tati questioned.

‘Oh, he does,’ Jason said bitterly. ‘It’s almost funny; family is everything to him – but he doesn’t quite know what to do with us. But only on
his
terms.
His
definition of success.’

‘Which is?’

‘Dad wants me to be an entrepreneur, the next Sol Kerzner, and Logan to marry a prince.’ Jason laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. ‘I’d say Logie’s got a better chance than I have.’

Tatiana looked at Jason more closely. She still couldn’t entirely decide whether or not he was handsome. He had huge, soulful eyes, beautiful in a sad sort of way, but also strange-looking, too big for the rest of his face, like a possum’s eyes. His skin was pale like his mother’s, with delicate features and a sensual, expressive mouth.
He’d be a stunning girl
, Tati found herself thinking. It was bizarre how all the male traits that Brett exemplified – confidence, charm, ambition – seemed to have been inherited by his daughter; while his son and heir was a gentle lamb who completely broke the mould.

Tati found herself empathizing with Jason. They might not have much in common in other ways, but they both knew what it was like to have a father who was constantly disappointed in them. Who wanted them to be someone else, someone they were intrinsically incapable of being.

‘What would you like to do?’ she asked Jason. ‘For a job, I mean. If it were entirely up to you?’

His face lit up. ‘Perform.’

‘At what?’

‘The piano. But unfortunately I’m not good enough to play professionally.’

‘Says who? Your father?’

‘Well, yes. But I’m afraid he’s actually right on that one. I would never make the grade as a concert pianist.’

‘I bet you would.’

Jason shook his head and gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. ‘Nah. But even just a gig at a jazz club or a little wine bar somewhere would be incredible. All I really want is to play. I could teach music on the side maybe, for extra money. I don’t know.’ He blushed, as if this modest little scheme were a preposterous pipe dream, like becoming an astronaut or discovering Atlantis. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not gonna happen. Not in this life.’

They fell silent as the train made its way through the outskirts of London. After East Croydon they began to make more frequent stops, moving slowly through ugly suburbs. The mishmash of architecture fascinated Jason: Victorian red-brick terraces, their walls stained black from years of coal pollution, stood cheek-by-jowl with sixties tower blocks in unforgiving grey concrete, and modern office buildings, gleaming, sterile behemoths of glass and steel. London was like a living museum, a pop-up history book that never ceased to surprise and amaze him. Compared to Australia, everything here was on a tiny, doll’s-house scale. But he appreciated the city’s quirks and idiosyncrasies, and he loved the feeling of it being a genuine melting pot – economically, ethnically, culturally and in every other way.

By the time they pulled into Victoria, he’d almost forgotten Tatiana was sitting opposite him.

‘It was nice talking to you,’ he said shyly as they stepped down onto the platform. ‘Enjoy your party.’

‘It’s only dinner,’ said Tati. ‘But I will. And good luck with your work thing.’

‘Thanks.’

‘God, that smells good.’

Tati closed her eyes and inhaled. The pungent scent of warm dough and chocolate from the Millie’s Cookies kiosk wafted over them deliciously.

‘Shall we get one?’

They strolled onto the concourse together and bought two white-chocolate-chip cookies, still soft and warm from the oven.

She’s really nice
,
thought Jason. He didn’t understand where Tati’s scandalous, rich-bitch reputation had come from. Suddenly reluctant to let her go, he asked about her plans for the summer.

‘I’ll be in Fittlescombe,’ she said gloomily.

‘Working on the court case?’

She nodded. It felt awkward, talking to Jason Cranley about a legal battle that, if she won, would see him turfed out of his home. She changed the subject.

‘What about you? Logan said you’re off to the South of France.’

‘My parents are, not me. I’ve got to work.’

Tati’s ears pricked up. ‘So you’ll be at Furlings over the holidays then?’

Jason nodded. ‘Logan’s been begging to be allowed to stay too. I’m not sure she can bear the thought of a whole summer away from Gabriel Baxter.’

He told Tati about Logan’s crush on Gabe, which showed no signs of abating.

‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ Tati said archly. ‘I wouldn’t trust Gabe as far as I could throw him. But you’ll be on your own then, will you? At the house?’

‘Yup. Just me and Mrs Worsley. And the dog.’

The cogs in Tati’s brain began whirring. She hadn’t set foot in Furlings since the day she’d collected her grandmother’s painting. Brett’s presence, and the looming court case over the will, made any sort of social call impossible. But with Jason Cranley home alone, she’d be able to drop in whenever she pleased. Here was a perfect chance to invade enemy territory! Perhaps even snoop around in Brett’s office, or scour the attic for papers of her father’s? Who knew what she might unearth that could help her case?

She’d have to get round old Mrs Worsley, of course. Rory’s dragon of a housekeeper had made no secret in the village of her disapproval of Tatiana and her support of the Cranleys’ claim to Furlings. But at least old Ma Worsley was a known enemy. With a little advance planning, Tati was confident she could think up some scheme to get rid of her.

‘We must have lunch.’ She bestowed her most dazzling smile on Jason. ‘Or dinner. Or both. As we’re stuck in Sussex together.’

Jason couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful. Thanks to the ambrosial melting cookie in his mouth, an enthusiastic nod was the most he could manage by way of response.

‘Lovely,’ said Tati, kissing him on the cheek. ‘I’ll call you.’

She slipped off into the crowds and was gone.

CHAPTER TEN

‘Good morning, Mrs Cranley. Would you like breakfast on the upper deck this morning, or down here?’

Hannah Lowell, the
Lady A
’s frighteningly efficient chief stewardess, handed Angela Cranley her morning newspaper as she emerged onto the yacht’s lower deck. In flip-flops and a simple blue shirt-waister sundress, with her hair tied back and a pair of toirteshell Ray-Bans covering her eyes, Angela looked relaxed as she stepped out into the Côte d’Azur sunshine. (Unlike Brett, who’d been awake since dawn, pacing the boards and yelling into his mobile phone at some hapless private banker who’d evidently made a mistake on a deal.)

‘Who’s upstairs?’ she asked Hannah. ‘Is everybody up already?’

‘Most of them, yes. Jeremy Curzon and his … friend … are still in their cabin. But the O’Mahoneys, the Gassinghams and Mr Morgan are all at breakfast. Monsieur Lemprière, the lawyer, left last night after dinner.’

As usual, the relaxing family holiday that Brett had promised her had been hijacked by a slew of rich and famous guests and their hangers-on. Brett loved entertaining on the yacht. What was the point of spending forty million on a boat you used twice a year at most if you didn’t at least get to show it off to your mates?

‘Is Mr Cranley with them?’

‘He is.’

‘And Logan?’

‘Danny took her out on the jet-ski an hour ago. Don’t worry,’ Hannah Lowell added, seeing her mistress’s face cloud over with anxiety. ‘She had her headgear on. Danny’s super, super safety-conscious. He’s one of the best deck hands we’ve ever had.’

‘All right. I think I’ll stay down here,’ said Angela. The thought of making small talk with Brett’s chest-beating playboy friends and their vacuous young wives did not appeal. ‘Don’t tell Mr Cranley I’m up. And I don’t want breakfast yet, just a large mug of coffee. Thanks.’

Hannah left, and Angela sat down on one of the outdoor sofas, carefully choosing a section that was shaded by a large, blue canvas awning. To Brett’s irritation, and Angela’s huge relief, they were moored offshore and not in St Tropez harbour itself. The harbour was the place to see and be seen, which was of course why Brett liked it. But Angela always felt like a monkey in the zoo there, being gawped at by all the tourists strolling around the port.

At this time in the morning, and seen from a little distance, St Tropez looked idyllic, with its sloping cobbled streets and red tiled roofs tumbling down the hills, one on top of one another, punctuated only by the occasional medieval church spire. The Mediterranean sparkled bright blue in the sunshine, like liquid lapis, and seagulls swooped and cawed overhead, excited by the nets of wriggling fish being hauled up onto the quayside for today’s market.

Take away all the yachts and Ferraris and arseholes, all the Club 55 poseurs and diamond-encrusted Russian whores at Nikki Beach, and this would be a charming village
, Angela thought wistfully. Still, it was hard to feel too depressed, sipping fresh coffee on the deck of the beautiful yacht that her husband had named in her honour, reading yesterday’s edition of the
Daily Mail
while the sun warmed her back.
We have an amazing life
, she told herself sternly.
I must try to appreciate it more.