‘Don’t try to change the subject,’ said Brett.
‘Why not?’ said Tati. ‘You don’t like it when people hold up a mirror and force you to look at yourself, do you Brett? Who the hell are you to pass judgement on my marriage? Take a look at your own.’
They stood in silence, squared off and staring at one another, like two duellists who’d forgotten to bring their guns. She’s so like me, thought Brett. She keeps fighting, even when she’s cornered. He wondered how different his marriage to Angela might have been if she’d ever challenged him the way that Tatiana did? If she’d ever stood up to him. Would he have been faithful? He didn’t know. He supposed it didn’t much matter now anyway. Angela was a better person than Tatiana, and a better person than him. He knew it, but he couldn’t forgive Tatiana for calling him on it.
‘Read my lips,’ he said slowly, savouring each word. ‘You will Never. Own. That. House. Not while I’m alive.’
‘You’re evil,’ whispered Tati. ‘I hate you.’
She threw the words at him like a cup full of acid. But Brett could see that her eyes brimmed with tears. He’d intended to wound her. And yet a huge part of him longed to pull her into his arms and comfort her, to hold her till she stopped crying and never cried again.
At that moment Jason appeared at her side. He put one arm around Tati’s waist and the other comfortingly around her shoulder, drawing her in to a hug. Brett felt a stabbing pain in his heart so acute he wondered for a moment if he were having an attack.
‘You should get your bitch on a tighter leash,’ he snarled at Jason.
Ignoring him, Jason turned back to Tati. ‘Come on, darling, let’s go. He’s not worth it.’
Tati allowed herself to be led away. As she and Jason passed the dance floor, she saw the bride, barefoot and beautiful, twirling around with her new husband. Stella’s smile could have lit the marquee on its own, and powered the rest of the village as well. Tatiana tried to remember the last time she had felt that happy, but her mind drew a blank.
She’d told herself that spending more time in the Swell Valley would lift her spirits and be good for her soul. Brockhurst Abbey, which she’d bought on a whim, sight unseen, would be ready to move into in a few months. But she realized now that, however hard her architect and interior designer worked, it would never feel like home. While Furlings was still standing, and while that bastard Brett Cranley kept it from her, she was condemned to wander the world like a lost soul, an eternal refugee.
Jason kept telling her she was fooling herself. That getting Furlings back would not solve all her problems, the way that she imagined it would. That it would not right the wrongs of the past because, as Jason succinctly put it, ‘Nothing can do that.’ With her rational mind, Tati knew he was right. And yet emotionally that house, her dead father and Brett Cranley formed some sort of mystical triangle from which she could not break free. From which, on some deep, subconscious level, she didn’t want to break free.
But tonight, for the first time, she asked herself the question: Was it Furlings she wanted? Or was it Brett Cranley?
The truth was she had unfinished business with both of them.
She felt a little better on the car journey home. The Range Rover was warm and comfortable, and Jason’s Handel CD soothed the throbbing in her head. The nausea that had plagued her all afternoon was finally gone now too, a relief so sweet it was impossible to remain entirely unhappy.
Glancing over her shoulder into the back seat, she smiled. ‘Look,’ she said to Jason. Logan and Tom were both fast asleep, their arms wrapped around one another. ‘They’re like puppies.’
‘They are,’ Jason agreed.
They lapsed into silence for a few minutes. At a red light, Jason turned towards Tati and rested a hand on her leg. It was the first truly calm moment they’d had together since Tati’s return from New York. The moment Jason had been waiting for.
‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ he said quietly.
Tati felt her heart rate quicken, but she didn’t flinch. It could not be avoided forever.
She was ready.
‘I’m sorry, Tatiana.’ Jason looked her squarely in the eye. ‘I’ve fallen in love with someone else.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Back at the house on Eaton Gate, Tati settled Logan and Tom into the blue guest room and waited till all was quiet upstairs before joining Jason in the kitchen.
‘I thought I’d make us some tea.’
He’d carefully set a pot and two mugs down on the table, along with a plate of chocolate Hobnobs. Another couple might have opted for a stiff drink, but actually tea was exactly what Tati wanted. Something normal and soothing, something that was going to make everything all right.
‘Thank you.’
They both sat down while Jason poured. After a few moments’ silence, Jason was the first to speak.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said simply.
‘Don’t be,’ said Tati. ‘We both knew things weren’t right. May I ask who it is?’
Jason looked down at the table, his whole body suddenly rigid with tension. Tati watched the way his fingers coiled nervously around one another, like trapped snakes. Reaching out, she put her own hand over his.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Really. And if you’re feeling guilty, for God’s sake don’t. I slept with someone else myself last month. In New York.’
Jason looked up, surprised. ‘Did you?’
Tati nodded, blushing.
‘Someone serious?’
The question was more curious than accusatory. Tati thought how odd it was, to be sitting here discussing infidelity over a cup of tea in their kitchen, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘Not serious. At least, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want you to think I made a habit of being unfaithful,’ she blurted. ‘This was the first time. A one-off.’
Jason squeezed her hand tightly. ‘You don’t have to explain.’
‘I do,’ said Tati. ‘We’re married.’
‘I know,’ said Jason. ‘But we never should have been.’
Tati let out a long breath. ‘No,’ she agreed softly. ‘We never should have been. We should have stayed friends.’
‘We have stayed friends,’ Jason said, suddenly impassioned. ‘We are friends, Tati. And I hope we always will be.’
Tati’s eyes welled up with tears. She blinked them away, wrapping her hands around her mug, allowing its warmth to comfort her. The irony was, it wasn’t sadness that she felt. It was pure, unadulterated relief.
‘Of course we will,’ she said at last. ‘Always. So tell me. You have found someone serious?’
Jason nodded.
‘You said you were in love?’
‘I think I am,’ he smiled shyly.
‘Do I know her?’ asked Tati.
Jason was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on the table. At last he forced himself to look Tati in the eye.
‘That’s the thing,’ he said softly. ‘It’s not a her. It’s a him.’
It took a lot to render Tatiana speechless. But this, temporarily at least, had done it. She looked at Jason for a long time. At least twice she opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again, an expression of frank astonishment written on her face.
‘A him?’ she said at last.
‘Yes.’
‘So … you’re gay?’
‘I’m in love with a man,’ Jason replied. ‘So I suppose so, yes.’
‘But … you were in love with a woman before. With me.’
‘That’s true,’ agreed Jason. ‘It was never quite right, though, was it? Something was always wrong. Right from the beginning.’
Tati nodded. It was a shock. She hadn’t suspected, not at all. But it did explain a lot. Something had always been missing between them. She’d just always assumed that she was the problem.
‘I adored you,’ said Jason. ‘I wouldn’t want you to think I married you under
false pretences. But as time went on, I knew something was wrong. I was very depressed.’
‘I remember.’
‘I just didn’t know why until I met George. After that it all made sense.’
‘George …’ Tati rolled the name over in her mind. She tried to picture this ‘George’ but all she could think of was an image of Matt Damon from the Liberace movie, all blond hair and tight trousers and rhinestones. To her dismay, she found herself starting to giggle.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, blushing. ‘I’m not laughing at you. It was brave of you to tell me. I think I’m just in shock.’
‘It’s OK,’ said Jason. ‘I’d rather you were laughing than crying. I truly am sorry.’
They hugged each other.
‘So,’ Tati said, once she’d regained her composure, ‘what happens now? Presumably you and … George … want to be together?’
Jason rubbed his eyes wearily. ‘Actually it’s complicated.’
Tati raised a questioning eyebrow.
‘He’s married,’ said Jason. ‘He has kids.’
‘Oh.’ Tati winced. ‘I see.’ Suddenly she felt immensely tired. ‘Why don’t we go to bed?’ she said to Jason. ‘I know there’s a lot to talk about. But we don’t have to rush into any decisions right away.’
‘All right,’ said Jason, visibly relieved. ‘Thanks for being so good about it, Tati. I’ll move my stuff into the spare room.’
‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Not yet.’
He gave her a puzzled look.
‘I realize it probably sounds ridiculous,’ she explained. ‘But I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. I don’t want to lose you. Not completely. Not yet.’
Jason wrapped his arms around her. ‘Nor I you,’ he said truthfully. ‘I’ll always be there for you, Tatiana. Whatever you need. I promise.’
When Tatiana woke the next morning, it was almost noon. A single shaft of brilliant sunshine pierced a crack in the curtains, throwing a laser-bright slice of light onto the bed and into Tati’s eyes.
Groaning she rolled over onto her stomach, as the events and revelations of last night gradually came back to her. Jason lay next to her, still deeply asleep, his chest rising and falling like a baby’s. Looking at him, she felt a wave of affection. It was an immense relief to have the truth out in the open at last, at least between the two of them. The future would be different, and complicated. She assumed they would divorce at some point, but she felt no sense of urgency, only a deep peace that somehow, things would all work out all right in the end. All the guilt she’d been carrying around about her one-night stand with Leon DC in the Hamptons had been blown away like a dandelion seed on the breeze in the light of Jason’s revelations. She felt lighter this morning, renewed and happy to a degree she hadn’t felt in years. Like Scrooge on Christmas morning, after all the ghosts had gone.
Creeping out of bed so as not to wake Jason, Tati slipped into the bathroom and switched on her iPhone to check her emails. Twenty-two new messages, unusual for a Sunday. The last two were from Leon di Clemente, both overtly flirtatious, and the latter, sent very late New York time, positively graphic. Tati smiled. Just twenty-four hours ago she’d have deleted any overtures from Leon in a fit of guilt. Now she allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of being wanted by a man that, if she were honest with herself, she knew she wanted too. She’d told Jason it wasn’t serious with Leon, and that was the truth. But now that she was to be a free woman, she allowed herself to entertain the possibility that it could be serious, one day. Once the New York deal had cleared escrow and the business side of their relationship was over and done with … well, who knew what might happen? Tomorrow was another day.
Tati’s good mood soon evaporated, however, as she scrolled further down her inbox. Having not returned a call or responded to an email in weeks, it appeared that the Hamilton Hall board were now peremptorily summoning her to an extraordinary meeting first thing tomorrow morning. It did not bode well that the note had been written by Arabella Boscombe and sent from her account, despite being undersigned by the entire eight-man board and the three non-executive directors on the advisory committee. Clearly they’d all been plotting against her. Lady Arabella’s tone was direct to the point of rudeness:
‘An extraordinary meeting will be held … You are required to attend … By unanimous agreement of the board …’
She thinks she can bully me into submission, Tati thought furiously. But I’m going to have the last laugh. With Leon’s millions behind me, I can take Hamilton Hall Stateside, with or without them. Whatever coup she thinks she’s got planned, she can stick it up her capacious, aristocratic arse.
‘Good morning.’ Jason had walked up behind her, naked, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Tati smiled at him in the mirror. ‘Everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine. Some crap at work but it’s nothing.’
‘How about brunch at the Wolseley?’ said Jason, ‘My treat. I’ll take you shopping on South Molton Street afterwards if you like. They’ve got the new autumn collections in at Browns.’
‘Perfect,’ said Tati.
She could get quite used to having a gay husband.
At seven thirty on Monday morning, Tati walked in to the boardroom at Hamilton Hall’s City offices, braced for confrontation. Instead she found herself looking at a circle of smiling faces.
‘Tatiana!’ Lady Arabella Boscombe’s smile was the broadest of all. She stood up to greet her. ‘Good of you to make it. Please. Sit down.’
Tati took her seat warily, looking for the glinting dagger blade behind Lady Arabella’s smile. She did not appreciate being ‘invited’ to sit in her own boardroom.
‘I’ve never missed a board meeting, Arabella,’ she said pointedly, pouring herself a glass of water. ‘Even one called so suddenly and, if I may say so, secretively. And at such an ungodly hour. I’m hardly likely to start now.’
‘Yes, well, today’s a day for celebration, not for dwelling on our differences.’ Michael Guinness, Hamilton Hall’s largest individual stakeholder and a thorn in Tati’s side in recent months, looked positively aglow with bonhomie. ‘There have been a number of interesting developments while you’ve been away, Tatiana. We called today’s meeting to update you, and to take a vote.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Tatiana stiffened. ‘What do you mean “while I’ve been away”?’
‘In New York,’ said Michael breezily.
‘I got back to London days ago,’ said Tati. ‘Since when I haven’t been able to reach any of you.’
There was a moment’s silence, during which the smiles wilted just slightly. It was no more than a breath. But it was enough for Tati to realize with sinking clarity: Their silence had been more than a collective fit of pique. Something was up.
It was Eric Jenkins, her longtime ally on the board, who spoke up. ‘You’ve been distracted with the New York school for some time now,’ he observed, calmly. ‘At our last meeting you made it very clear that that was your priority. So we’ve been holding the fort and handling things here.’
Tati sat rigid-jawed. ‘What things?’
‘Relax.’ Michael Guinness was still beaming like a stadium floodlight. ‘It’s good news. Firstly, you’ll be happy to hear that we’re all now on board with the new American school. You were right. It’s time for the Hamilton Hall brand to extend its reach globally.’
Tati hesitated for a moment, then smiled. ‘Well,’ she said, leaning back and exhaling for the first time since she’d walked in, ‘that is good news. I must say I’m surprised. And delighted.’
‘Good. So are we. And so is the acquirer who’s made quite an astonishing bid for the business. Tracy, be an angel, would you, and pass Mrs Cranley her copy of the offering memorandum.’
A slim sheaf of papers appeared in front of Tati.
‘What the hell is this?’ She glared accusingly around the room, without touching them.
‘It’s an offer,’ said Arabella Boscombe.
‘For ove
r a hundred million dollars,’ added Michael Guinness. ‘Your personal share would be north of thirty million.’
‘No it won’t be,’ said Tati furiously, pushing the papers away like a plate of rotten food. ‘Because Hamilton Hall is not for sale. How dare you approach buyers behind my back? For my schools!’
‘Nobody approached anybody,’ Eric Jenkins said reasonably. ‘This was an unsolicited offer, from an American consortium. It would include the planned New York school. Read the papers, Tati. By any standard they’re offering far more than the business is worth today.’
‘I will not read the papers!’ Tati shouted. She sounded borderline hysterical. ‘We’re not selling. It’s completely the wrong time. We’re on the cusp of becoming huge. This buyer can see that, even if you’re all too blind to be able to.’
‘Sit down, Tatiana,’ Michael Guinness said firmly. ‘Insulting your board is not going to help matters.’
‘Oh really? And why shouldn’t I insult you, Michael? You’re a bunch of two-faced snakes!’
‘Really!’ Lady Arabella thundered.
‘I don’t need you anyway,’ Tatiana ranted on. ‘It just so happens I have a private investor prepared to fund the New York school in its entirety. So you can stick your stinking takeover bid where the sun don’t shine.’
‘I’m afraid it’s too late for a white knight,’ Michael Guinness said smoothly. ‘If you’d talked to us about a private investor sooner, things might have been different. As it is, we’re all in agreement. This is an offer we can’t afford to refuse. We’ve come here today to take a vote on it.’
‘I’ll veto,’ hissed Tatiana.
‘A veto requires a minimum of two board votes,’ said Arabella Boscombe.
‘You’re with me, aren’t you, Eric?’ Tatiana wished her voice didn’t sound so desperate.
‘If you’d read the memorandum, you would see that this is a wonderful offer,’ the accountant said awkwardly.
Jennifer Engels, another of Tatiana’s former supporters, backed him up.
‘This truly isn’t personal. What they’re offering is a full forty per cent more than the takeover bid that Avenues turned down last year, from Innovation Private Equity. We’d be mad to decline.’
The Inheritance Page 38