‘So,’ Angela said brightly, kissing him on the cheek. ‘When am I going to meet this George?’
‘I don’t know,’ Jason sniffed. ‘Somehow I can’t see Dad inviting us for a family Christmas in the Hamptons just yet.’
‘Don’t worry about your father,’ said Angela firmly. ‘You leave him to me.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Leon di Clemente straightened his silk Hermès tie and picked up his handmade Italian leather briefcase. He was about to leave for work. Glancing around his immaculate bachelor pad on the corner of Broadway and Bleecker, checking everything was in order before he set the alarm, he felt a surge of confidence and happiness about the prospect of the day ahead.
Life was good. Better than ever, in fact. Not only had he just pulled off a sweet deal worth a cool ten million dollars, but Tatiana Cranley was on her way to visit him from London, with ‘something important’ to discuss. They’d only spent one night together, but they’d been texting almost daily since, and Leon sensed that her interest in him might be growing. He hoped so. He couldn’t remember the last time he had wanted a woman this much.
Not only was she wildly sexy and a fucking dream in bed, but Tatiana Cranley kept him guessing in a way that few women, even the married ones, ever did. Leon had sensed as soon as he met her that her marriage was in trouble. She’d practically admitted as much. And now she’d been bought out of her business, too. One by one the ties that were keeping her in London, and away from him, were falling away. If he played his cards right on this trip, he might be able to persuade her to move in with him.
Punching in the code on his alarm panel, he opened the front door and almost jumped out of his skin.
‘What’s the matter, Leon?’ said Tatiana coolly. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘Tati! No, I … I’m surprised, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting you till tonight.’ He laughed nervously. He wasn’t usually a nervous laugher, but Tatiana did that to him. It was six weeks since they’d last seen each other, and he felt as excited and unprepared as a schoolboy at his first prom.
The alarm was still beeping behind him.
‘Let me just turn that off.’
He punched some more numbers into the keypad. The beeping stopped and they both stepped back inside the apartment.
‘So,’ Leon exhaled. ‘I guess you got an earlier flight?’
Taking off his coat and dropping his briefcase, he moved forwards to kiss her but Tatiana sidestepped him, walking across the room to the window.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I needed to talk to you.’
‘OK, well, good,’ said Leon. ‘I want to talk to you too. Actually, I wanna do a lot more than talk. I’ve missed you, Tatiana. Like crazy. I—’
‘I know it was you,’ Tati interrupted him. She was wearing an immaculately cut Stella McCartney suit in navy blue, with her hair swept up in a neat chignon, and she carried a sleek black Aspinal’s of London briefcase. Belatedly it struck Leon that she was dressed for business, not pleasure.
‘What was me?’ he frowned.
‘You sold me out to Brett Cranley,’ said Tati.
Leon opened his mouth to speak but Tati cut him off.
‘Please, don’t insult my intelligence by denying it. You were the only one who knew about the negotiations on Seventh Avenue. Brett was here that week. He saw us together at the Maidstone Club. After I left the Hamptons, after our night together, you went to see him and you sold me out, didn’t you?’
Leon hesitated. ‘It wasn’t like that. Hear me out, OK?’
‘Just out of interest, what cut did he give you?’ asked Tati, her face displaying no emotion.
‘Tatiana, please. It truly wasn’t like that. Brett contacted me and—’
‘What percentage? Humour me, Leon. I’m curious.’
‘Fine,’ said Leon. ‘Ten per cent.’
Tati was quiet for a moment. Then, turning back to the window she said, ‘You’re a fool. You’d have made much more with me. Those schools were so well positioned. New York was just the beginning. We’d have expanded right across Asia and the Middle East. Shanghai. Singapore. Dubai. You’d have had a stake in all of it, not just the real estate. Brett sold you a pup.’
‘I didn’t do it for the money,’ said Leon. ‘At least, not only for the money. I wanted you out of that business. I wanted you to leave London and live with me, here.’
Tati looked at him incredulously. ‘You wanted me to move to New York? To leave my husband and move here?’
‘Yes,’ said Leon. ‘Why not?’
‘Why not?’ The arrogance was breathtaking. He and Brett Cranley were two peas in a pod. ‘How about why, Leon? Apart from anything else, you just stole my fucking business here. I’d have had nothing to do.’
Leon walked towards her, grinning. ‘I’d have given you something to do.’
But Tati wasn’t in a playful mood. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she spat, vehemently enough to stop even Leon in his tracks. ‘You sold me out. You betrayed me, to the one man on earth who’s hurt me more than any other.’
‘I’m sorry you see it that way,’ said Leon.
Tati did see it that way. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out who Brett’s ‘inside source’ must have been. But she’d wanted desperately to be wrong, especially now, with the baby and all the turmoil at home with Jason. Part of her had clung to the idea that she might have a future with Leon. That he could be her lifeboat, her means of escape from the wreckage of her life in England. She told herself she wouldn’t know for sure until she saw him face to face and looked into his eyes.
Well, now she was here, looking. Now she knew.
With an effort, she reined in her emotions.
‘There’s something else I have to tell you. I’m pregnant.’
Leon took two steps backwards, staggering as if he’d been shot.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive. The likelihood is it’s yours. Although there is a technical possibility it could be my husband’s.’
‘Fuck.’ Leon leaned against the wall for support, loosening his Hermès tie. Suddenly he found it hard to breathe. ‘OK, well don’t worry. We’ll take care of it.’
Tati raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I know an excellent doctor,’ said Leon. ‘He’s very discreet.’
‘Oh, I’m sure you do,’ said Tati.
How many unwanted babies had Leon carelessly fathered over the years, she wondered? How many desperate girls had he sent to his ‘discreet’ abortionist? She imagined the beautiful flowers he sent them afterwards. Don’t worry, darling. You did the right thing. What had she ever seen in him?
‘I’m not having a termination, Leon.’
She watched his expression change from incredulous to hostile.
‘You can’t be thinking of keeping it?’
‘I’m not thinking of keeping it,’ Tati smiled sweetly. ‘I am keeping it.’
‘I won’t accept paternity!’ Leon thundered. ‘Not without a test. For all I know you’ve slept with hundreds of guys. Even if it is mine, it’s fucking entrapment. You won’t get a penny out of me, sweetheart.’
Tati’s lip curled with disdain. ‘I wouldn’t touch your money if I were starving to death. I came here to give you these.’ Reaching into her briefcase, she pulled out a sheaf of documents and dropped them onto Leon’s coffee table. ‘They absolve you of all paternal responsibility. And rights.’
Leon eyed the papers suspiciously. Then he looked back at Tati. Was he making a mistake, letting her go? She looked terrific when she was angry, her eyes blazing like hot coals, her body taut and tense beneath her business suit, like a tiger ready to pounce. He tried to imagine her pregnant, that slender, toned, built-for-sex body growing rounded and soft and milky and full. A shiver of distaste ran through him.
‘Pass me a pen.’
Tatiana walked into August, a faux-rustic Mediterranean restaurant in the West Village, feeling confident and calm. Bizarrel
y, her meeting with Leon had left her on a high. She’d been afraid that seeing him again might stir up unwanted emotions, of affection, or at least of attraction. That subconsciously there might be a part of her that wanted him to tell her he loved her. That he wanted the baby. That Brett had double-crossed him too, and the whole thing with Hamilton Hall had been a huge misunderstanding. But he hadn’t, and Tati’s reaction had been unadulterated relief. She was free. Free from her marriage, free from Leon, free from the business, albeit in ways she wouldn’t have chosen.
I’m young, I’m rich, I’m independent and I’m about to have a baby.
She allowed the happiness to flow through her. It was a wonderful feeling, warm and serene. Not even Brett Cranley can take that away from me. There would never be a better time to face Brett, she decided. Nor a better place than here in New York, on neutral turf, far away from the reality of their lives back home. Once today’s lunch was over, Tati would at last have closure. Her freedom would be complete.
‘Hello.’
Brett stood up to greet her. He too was formally dressed, in a dark suit and tie, with blue and gold cufflinks glinting at his wrists. Behind him, the flames of the pizza oven leaped and roared. He looks like the devil, welcoming me to hell, thought Tati, smiling to herself.
‘Something funny?’
‘No, not really.’ She shook his hand and sat down.
Brett looked at her warily. He wasn’t used to this version of Tatiana – the calm, contented, peaceful version. It made him nervous.
‘I was surprised when my secretary told me you wanted to meet me. After our last encounter in London, I didn’t think I was high on your list of lunch companions.’
‘I was angry,’ said Tati, pouring herself a glass of water and perusing the menu. ‘That was a difficult day for me. I can look at things more objectively now.’
Brett said nothing. He was still waiting to see what she wanted. He didn’t even know why she was in New York. He couldn’t imagine she’d come here purely to talk to him. Not unless she had some plan up her sleeve, or some proposal she wanted to make.
‘I’m sorry I told you about Jason,’ she said, helping herself to a bread stick. ‘I mean, I’m sorry I told you in anger. It’s not the way he would have wanted you to find out.’
Brett’s face darkened and his body tensed. He’d tried to block out Tati’s bombshell about Jason’s sexuality. He’d even tried to convince himself that it wasn’t true. As if by not admitting it, or thinking about it, or telling Angela, he could somehow make it not be true. But looking at Tati now, it was clear that she hadn’t been lying. His son was gay. There was nothing he could do about it.
‘I don’t want to talk about Jason,’ he said gruffly.
‘He loves you, you know,’ said Tatiana. ‘All he wants is for you to accept him. To love him for who he is, not for who you want him to be.’
‘Let’s order,’ said Brett, closing both his menu and the subject as firmly as possible. ‘We’ll both have the Caprese salads and the Greek pizza. It’s very good here,’ he added to Tati as an afterthought, sending the waiter away without asking whether she approved of his choice, or what she might like to eat. It was typical of his arrogance and overbearing manner. In other circumstances Tati would have called him on it and summoned the waiter back at once. But today she let it go. She had bigger fish to fry and was determined, for once, to get through an hour in Brett Cranley’s company without losing her shit.
‘I wanted to see you to clear the air and to set a few things straight,’ she said.
‘Okaaaay,’ said Brett, still distrustful. She looked particularly beautiful today, which somehow made things worse.
‘Jason and I will get a divorce. It’s all very amicable. Once the money comes through from the Hamilton Hall deal, I’ll repay every penny from his trust fund, plus interest. What’s left we’ll split fifty-fifty.’
Brett couldn’t conceal his surprise. This was a more than generous offer. Hamilton Hall had been Tati’s business. It had been Tati who’d created the value, Tati who’d worked to make it what it was. No one, least of all Jason, would expect her to give half of her profits away in a divorce.
‘Why would you do that?’ Brett asked.
‘For the principle,’ said Tati.
‘What principle?’
‘To show … people … that I didn’t only marry Jason for his money.’
They locked eyes. For the first time Tati felt her inner calm start to falter, replaced by the nervous churning of the stomach she always felt in Brett’s presence.
‘Also, because I love him. And it’s the right thing to do.’
Brett’s stare turned to a frown.
‘What will you do with the rest of the money?’ he asked brusquely. ‘You could start another business, another school. You’re good at it.’
‘Thank you.’ The compliment was so unexpected, for a moment it threw Tati off stride. ‘But what I’d really like to do is buy my house back.’
Brett shook his head. So that’s what this was all about.
Furlings.
Again.
The food arrived, providing a few moments’ welcome distraction. Then Brett cut to the chase.
‘I won’t sell to you, Tatiana.’
‘Why not?’
‘Are we really going to do this dance again?’ asked Brett, stabbing his cheese with a fork.
‘I’m not angry,’ said Tati. ‘I’m curious. I genuinely want to know. Why won’t you sell to me? When you don’t want the house, and you know I do?’
That’s exactly why, thought Brett. Because you want it and I have it. It’s my only card, the single ace I have to play with you. The day I sell Furlings back to you, I’ve lost you forever.
‘I do want the house,’ he lied. ‘And Ange really wants it. She loves that place. She wants us to retire there. I wish you could let it go, Tatiana.’
‘So do I,’ said Tati truthfully. That would be true freedom. Not wanting Furlings. Not longing, constantly, for the past. For her birthright. But that was like not breathing.
‘Would it make any difference if I told you I was pregnant?’ She played her last card. ‘I want my child to grow up there, Brett. I know that’s what my father would have wanted too.’
Brett put down his knife and fork. He looked horrified.
‘Are you serious? You’re pregnant?’
Tati gave a wry smile. ‘No need to look so happy about it.’
‘But, Jason …? You said he was—’
‘He is. But we’ve been married a long time. It hasn’t been a completely celibate marriage.’
Brett held up a hand. ‘Don’t,’ he winced. He didn’t want to think about Tati and his son making love. Couldn’t think about it. But if Tati was pregnant, carrying his grandchild, that was it. There could be no chance for them, not even in some distant, imaginary future.
Ever since he’d got back together with Angela, Brett had told himself that his feelings for Tatiana were dead. Acquiring Hamilton Hall had been a final act of revenge, the last piece of a puzzle that would allow him to get closure. That and moving to New York, away from Fittlescombe and Furlings and all the reminders.
Now he knew that he’d been fooling himself. Tatiana was pregnant. Pregnant with his grandchild! The pain was indescribable, like swallowing a handful of razor blades.
‘I don’t think Jason’s the father.’ Her voice cut through the agony. Brett clutched at the sliver of hope, unable to stop himself.
‘You don’t?’
‘It’s highly unlikely.’
‘So who …?’
‘Leon di Clemente,’ said Tati. ‘But don’t worry, he won’t be involved. I know he was the one who helped you take over Hamilton Hall.’
Brett opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. There was no point denying it now.
‘I don’t care anyway,’ said Tati. ‘That man is dead to me. All I care about is the baby. And Furlings. Please reconsider.’
Brett
looked at her with genuine compassion. The truth was, in their different ways, they were both trapped, prisoners of desires they could neither deny nor fulfil.
‘I’m sorry, Tati. I can’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘I promised Angela. She … we … might want to go back eventually.’
This was true, but it wasn’t the truth. The truth was that if he let go of Furlings, Brett would have nothing left that Tatiana wanted. He would be letting go of her, for good. Forever. That was what he couldn’t do.
A look of dismay crossed Tati’s face. At first Brett thought it was about Furlings. But a few seconds later it intensified into a grimace of pain.
‘Are you all right?’ He pushed his plate aside.
Tati clutched her stomach. ‘No.’ She let out a short, sharp cry and doubled over, so violently that her head hit the table. ‘Oh my God. Help me!’
Brett ran around and scooped her up into his arms. Looking down he saw that blood had already stained her white skirt.
‘Call an ambulance!’ he bellowed at the waiter. ‘Hurry!’
The doctors at Roosevelt Hospital on Tenth Avenue were efficient, compassionate and fast. Ectopic pregnancy was diagnosed less than ten minutes after Tati arrived. Ten minutes after that she was in an operating theatre, and an hour later Brett was by her side in the recovery room.
Stroking her forehead, gently pushing damp strands of hair back from her ghostly pale face, he had never felt so helpless in his life. She was still unconscious, the anaesthetic had yet to wear off, but her breathing was deep and steady, which the nurses assured him was a good sign. ‘Some people take longer than others to come around. You did the right thing, bringing her straight in. Ectopic miscarriages are rare, but they can be fatal if you don’t act fast. You probably saved her life.’
Brett didn’t feel heroic. He felt terrible. Looking at Tati lying there motionless in her green hospital gown, he felt like crying. She was so small and fragile, so utterly vulnerable, it was like looking at a child.
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