The Inheritance (51 page)

Jason’s eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘It’s a long story,’ Tati sighed. ‘But it seems your father was the brains behind the takeover bid. He founded the company specifically to acquire us.’

‘But … why?’

‘So he could strip the assets and close the schools. To hurt me, basically. That’s where I was today. I went to his offices to confront him.’

Jason digested this in silence. Since his parents had reconciled, and particularly with their upcoming move to America, he’d begun to think that Brett’s obsession with Tatiana and fury over their ‘secret’ marriage had finally begun to fade. Clearly he was wrong.

‘There’s something else.’ Tati bit her lower lip nervously. ‘I’m so sorry, Jason, but we got into an argument and I … I told him you were gay.’

‘Ah.’ Jason sat back, winded. ‘I see.’

‘I truly didn’t mean to,’ said Tati. ‘It just slipped out. He was attacking our marriage and moralizing and I just saw red.’

Jason took her hand. ‘It’s fine. I understand. After what I did today, I’m hardly in a position to throw stones. How did he take it?’ he added as an afterthought.

‘I don’t really know,’ said Tati. ‘I sort of dropped the bomb and left. And then I got in the cab and heard Maddie’s messages. Brett’s reactions didn’t seem so important after that.’

For a few moments they both sat quietly, each trying to process their emotions. Then Tati said, ‘I think you should tell your mother. And Logan. They should hear it from you, not Brett. Or even worse, read it in the
Daily Mail
.’

She was right, of course. But the thought terrified him. Coming out to Tati had been so easy and comfortable. Jason realized now that the two of them had been living in a cocoon of false security ever since, both of them happy to postpone their inevitable parting and the seismic life changes that would have to come. After today, there could be no more hiding, no more pretence. Maddie knew. Brett knew. The dam had broken.

‘I think I’m going to throw up.’

‘No you’re not,’ said Tati. ‘You’ll be fine.’ She suddenly felt a wave of nausea herself. Excusing herself to go to the bathroom, she left Jason sitting there, desolate. He tried George’s mobile again.

‘You’ve reached George Wilkes …’

No I haven’t
,
thought Jason, and hung up.

When Tati returned, she looked white-faced and ill again.

‘I have to go out,’ she told Jason. ‘I should be back in time for dinner. We can talk more then. Will you be all right?’

‘Yes,’ lied Jason. ‘But are you sure you should go out? I think you ought to go back to bed, Tati. You don’t look well.’

‘I’m sure,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I need some air. I’ll see you later, OK?’

She was gone before he could answer.

Jason paced around the room a few times, staring at his phone, willing George to call him. George was always so calm and certain. Like Tatiana, he never seemed to be at a loss what to do. Jason was the neurotic one, the bag of nerves who needed to be steadied and soothed. But now it was
his
turn to be strong,
his
turn to take decisive action as George’s life and family imploded around him. Tati would support him as far as she could, but in the end this was Jason’s crisis to solve. He felt frozen with fear.

Not knowing what else to do, he decided to go upstairs to the bedroom and pack. If George called, they might need to go away somewhere together quickly. Especially if Maddie fulfilled her threat to go to the press. He had to be ready.

Mindlessly folding shirts and placing them carefully in a suitcase, he began to calm down. Doing something, anything, was distracting. Wandering into the bathroom, he saw that Logan had left her make-up everywhere as usual. Rushing out for a date with Tom, she’d left face powder and bronzer spilled all over the countertop; lidless pots of glittery eye shadow were cluttering up the space around the mirror and smeared on the washbasin. She had her own bathroom, but preferred to use Tati’s for make-up. ‘The light’s better and there’s more space. I need to
spread out.
’

Thinking about his little sister made him smile. She’d been so happy today, bursting with joy about something or other. He wondered how she would react when he told her he was gay, and that he and Tati would be separating? He couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her, of wiping that carefree, eighteen-year-old smile off her face.

Picking up two used face-wipes, he was about to drop them into the bin when something caught his eye. Reaching down he picked up the white plastic stick and turned it over. Two pink lines filled the little window, like prison bars. Jason’s stomach lurched.

So that’s what she was so happy about, rushing out to meet Tom in such a hurry.

The stupid child had gone and got herself pregnant. At her age, Logan was too young and naïve to see the problems and obstacles. All she would see was a fantasy of her and Tom, riding off into the sunset and playing happy families.

Jason’s head started to throb. How could so many things go so disastrously wrong in a single day? Running into the bedroom, he dialled Logan’s mobile. But a few seconds later he heard it ringing downstairs. The stupid girl had been in such a hurry to tell Tommy the ‘good news’, she must have forgotten her phone.

Abandoning his packing, Jason went downstairs, poured himself a large Scotch and downed it in two gulps. How the hell was he going to explain any of this to his mother?

By nine o’clock, Jason was happily drunk, curled up on the drawing-room sofa watching
Borgen
. Tati still wasn’t back and George hadn’t called, but the whisky had taken the edge off everything. He heard the front door open and close. A few moments later, Logan swept in, looking flushed with love and excitement.

‘Oh, hi. You look better,’ she beamed. ‘Did you find Tatiana?’

Jason switched off the TV. With an effort he sat up and looked at her.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, noticing his stern expression.

Wordlessly, he pulled the pregnancy test out of his pocket and held it up.

‘What’s that?’ Logan asked guilelessly.

‘You know very well what it is,’ snapped Jason. ‘It’s a pregnancy test. And it’s positive. How could you have been so stupid? So careless?’

Logan flushed red. ‘I wasn’t stupid. Or careless.’

‘I suppose Tom knows?’ said Jason, ignoring her. ‘Don’t tell me, he’s as happy as you are.’

The combination of the alcohol and his own nightmarish day was making him unusually mean.

‘Tom’s very happy,’ said Logan defiantly. ‘But not because of some stupid pregnancy test. We’re getting married.’

‘Getting married?’ Jason stood up unsteadily. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You think marriage is going to solve this?’ He waved the stick aloft, like a tiny plastic sword.

‘It doesn’t need “solving”,’ said Logan furiously.

‘Oh really? So you and Tom are ready to be parents, are you?’

‘Readier than you and Tatiana, evidently,’ said Logan. ‘Not everybody waits a decade to start a family, you know. But I’m glad you’ve finally done it. Congratulations.’

Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Jason frowned.

‘That test isn’t mine!’ Logan shouted at him. Her eyes were brimming with tears now.

‘Of course it’s yours,’ said Jason. ‘For Christ’s sake, Logan. Lying about it isn’t going to help.’

‘Oh my God, are you for real?’ She snatched the stick out of his hand, outraged. ‘IT. IS. NOT. MINE. OK? I’m not pregnant, you self-righteous idiot.’

‘Oh really. Then whose is it? The tooth fairy’s?’ snapped Jason.

‘It’s mine.’

In all the commotion, neither of them had heard Tati come in. Quietly taking the test from Logan, she looked at Jason.

‘Dr Rowley just confirmed the result. I’m pregnant.’

CHAPTER THIRTY

Angela Cranley paused at the top of the hill to catch her breath. The path from Fittlescombe along Devil’s Dyke and up to Saddlescombe Farm, once home to the Knights Templar and now a popular rest stop and tea room for walkers, was one of the steepest in the South Downs, affording spectacular views. Gringo was too old and infirm to manage such a long hike, so Angela had gone alone, heading out early on this beautiful, misty September morning.

I’ll miss this place
,
she thought wistfully, gazing down at the ancient landscape, shrouded in mist like a grey veiled bride. The legends of the devil and his wife being buried beneath the seven grassy humps at the foot of the valley were almost as old as the hills themselves. On her way up to the summit, Angela had walked through an Iron Age fort and past a thousand-year-old water mill, the oldest still operational in England. The Hamptons were beautiful in their own way, a different way. But there was nothing there, nothing in the whole of America, like this. The chalk hills, steeped in myth, the ruins and the old churches, the villages and the woods and the burbling river Swell, unchanged over countless generations. To belong to a place like Fittlescombe was more than a case of knowing your neighbours or volunteering for the village fete. It was to feel a kinship with everyone who had gone before, every grave in St Hilda’s churchyard, every soul who, like you, had been lucky enough to call this magic valley home.

She told herself every day that they were not leaving forever. Furlings was only on a one-year lease. It was still theirs. She and Brett would still return to it. They would live out their old age here, and be buried one day among those familiar St Hilda’s graves.

Crossing the stile, she carefully made her way down the steep bank on the other side. A figure of eight would take her back through Brockhurst woods, past the Harwiches’ hidden Hansel and Gretel house and back to Fittlescombe via Gabe and Laura Baxter’s farm. As she walked, her thoughts drifted to Brett. He’d left for New York yesterday, to finalize things at the new house and ‘tie up some business’, whatever that meant. He’d seemed in an odd mood, tetchy and distracted, and a tiny note of anxiety had crept into Angela’s heart. She didn’t regret her decision to move with him to America. Brett felt they needed a new start, and he was right. The marriage had to come first, especially now, with an empty nest looming. But the fact remained, leaving Fittlescombe and Furlings was a sacrifice for Angela, a sacrifice she was making for him. The least he could do would be to acknowledge that, and act happy about it. Brett had a business to go to in New York, an entire life outside their marriage. Angela had Brett. Everything she’d built up here: her charity work in the village; the History of Art classes she’d started taking at an adult education college in Chichester with Max Bingley’s encouragement; her friendships, with many of the locals but particularly with Max; all that would be gone. She couldn’t face it if they got to East Hampton and Brett descended into another of his black moods. If he shut her out here, she had a support network to fall back on. In America she’d be utterly alone.

She walked on, trying not to think about it. By the time she reached the outskirts of the village, the early morning fog had cleared, and with it her doubts and fears. Jason was coming down for lunch today, an unexpected visit that had lifted her spirits immensely. Fittlescombe had already shed the last vestiges of summer, but now dazzled in its autumn colours of brown, yellow and gold. It was cold enough for a fire. Even at this hour there were trails of smoke rising from some of the cottage chimneys, the smell of the burning wood mingling deliciously with the crisp morning air. Angela had asked Mrs Worsley to make a shepherd’s pie for lunch, one of Jason’s childhood favourites, to be followed by apple crumble. Furlings’ orchard had produced a bumper crop this year, the poor trees bent double with the weight of so much fruit.

In less than a month I’ll be on a plane
,
thought Angela.
I must drink it all in. Relish every minute.

Jason stretched out his long legs in front of the fire in Furlings’ drawing room and waited for his mother to return with the tea.

He’d completely funked it so far. They’d spent lunch making small talk about Angela’s upcoming move, Furlings’ new tenants and the Hamptons house, which sounded beautiful, although Jason could tell his mother had misgivings about the whole American adventure.

It was two weeks since the awful, fateful day when Maddie Wilkes had walked in on him and George together. So much had happened since then, it felt like two years. Maddie had instigated divorce proceedings, which looked set to be bitter, but as Tati predicted she had backed off from the idea of making a public scandal out of her private family drama. George had moved out, and was staying at a flat in Sloane Gardens, a few yards from Jason and Tati’s house.

Meanwhile, Tati’s pregnancy had provided a further family drama. Sitting down to work out her dates, it seemed likely that Leon di Clemente, the guy she’d had a fling with on her last trip to New York, was the father. But there was a technical chance the baby was Jason’s.

As Logan had been there when they found out, they’d had no choice but to tell her everything. To Jason’s relief, his sister had been eerily calm about it all, hugging and kissing both him and Tati and assuring them that it would all be all right, somehow. They’d agreed that Logan could tell Tom, but that no one else must know for now. Not until Jason had spoken to their mother face to face, and Tati had informed Leon.

Logan’s only question had been to ask Tati whether she was going to keep the baby. Jason found himself waiting for the answer with baited breath. The child probably wasn’t even his, and God knew it complicated everything at the worst possible time. Yet he found himself willing Tatiana to say yes.

‘I am going to keep it,’ she said, more firmly than Jason had expected. ‘It’s the one good thing to come out of this mess. And you know, it’s odd. I’ve dreaded being pregnant for so long, but when I saw those two lines today … I was happy.’

Two days later she flew to New York to see Leon. Jason had promised to break the news to his mother while she was away. He’d half hoped, half dreaded that Brett would have told her so he wouldn’t have to. But no such luck. Perhaps his father hadn’t believed Tati when she’d blurted out about his being gay? Knowing the two of them, he might have thought it was a lie Tati had thrown out in anger. Either way, her revelation had been followed by complete radio silence from Brett. Jason would have to tell his mother himself.