Authors: Tilly Bagshawe
They sat down to eat. George refilled Tati’s glass and then his own. He looked relaxed too, and handsome, Tati thought, in a navy blue cashmere sweater and dark maroon corduroy trousers. Still, it was clear that the situation with Maddie was tearing his heart out.
‘I think I’m going to do it,’ he said suddenly. ‘If she’s serious about dropping this nonsense about access. I’ll give her the gallery.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Jason, firmly. ‘Why should she have that gallery?’
‘Because she wants it, and I want to see my children before their twenty-first birthdays. Ideally without a bloody social worker present.’
‘It’s blackmail!’
‘Ah, don’t be so dramatic.’ George waved a hand dismissively. ‘She’s had her heart broken. She’s hurt and she’s angry and she wants me to suffer. You can’t blame her.’
‘Can’t you?’ asked Jason.
‘She’ll get over it eventually. When she does, I daresay she’ll give me the gallery back.’
Tati half choked on her spaghetti. ‘I wouldn’t bank on it, George.’
‘Even if she doesn’t, it’s only a business. That’s the problem with you two, both of you.’ He pointed his fork towards Jason, then Tatiana. ‘You take business much too seriously. If at first you don’t succeed, try again, that’s my motto.’
‘Yes, but you
did
succeed,’ said Jason. ‘That gallery’s worth a fortune.’
‘It’s not worth losing my family over,’ said George. ‘I’ll open a new place. We can do it together.’ Reaching across the table, he took Jason’s hand and squeezed it.
This ought to be weird
, thought Tati. But there was a rightness about the two of them together that somehow normalized everything. She thought back to dinners à deux with Jason at Eaton Gate. Those evenings had been far more stilted than this one.
‘Jason’s been doing a spot of family reconciliation of his own, haven’t you, darling?’ said George.
Tati looked suitably curious. ‘Oh?’
Logan was away travelling in Australia with Tommy. Since news of her parents’ divorce broke, and with Jason’s sexuality and new living arrangements bound to hit the headlines at any moment, she’d wisely decided to spend as much of her time as possible very, very far away. As far as Tati knew, everything was peachy between Jason and his mother. Which only left Brett.
‘I saw Dad the other day,’ Jason confirmed. ‘For lunch.’
Tati couldn’t pinpoint the feeling in her stomach that this piece of news gave her, but it wasn’t pleasant. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.
‘OK,’ said Jason. ‘Better than I thought.’
‘Was it his suggestion?’
Jason frowned. ‘What do you think? No. Of course not. The only use Dad has for an olive branch is to hit people over the head with it. I called him. But, you know, he came.’
‘And he didn’t lecture you? About what a mess you’ve made of your life?’
‘Amazingly, no.’ Jason sipped his wine thoughtfully. ‘I actually think he’s mellowed, since the split with Mum. He does have a kind side to him, underneath all that rampant ambition and testosterone.’
Tati thought back to her miscarriage, and Brett’s kindness to her in New York.
‘Not that we talked about personal stuff. It was business mostly. You know he’s decided to keep Hamilton Hall running as a business after all?’
Tati dropped her fork with a clatter. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yeah,’ Jason nodded. ‘I guess he ran the numbers, belatedly, and decided not to slaughter the cash cow while she was in her prime. You’ll never guess who he’s brought in to run the schools.’
Whoever he thinks would upset me most
,
thought Tati bitterly, racking her brains.
‘Arabella Boscombe?’
Jason shook his head. ‘Dylan Pritchard Jones.’
‘No!’ Tati gasped.
‘Who’s Dylan Pritchard Jones?’ asked George, helping himself to more pasta from the stove.
‘He used to teach art at the primary school in Fittlescombe,’ said Tati.
‘Come on. That was years ago,’ said Jason. ‘He’s been headmaster at Lancings for the last two years. Very ambitious. All the Swell Valley yummy mummies drool over him.’
‘He’s a little turd,’ said Tati with feeling. ‘I can’t believe your father would choose Dylan of all people. He’s duplicitous. He’s smug. He has zero international business experience.’
‘Nor did you when you started Hamilton Hall,’ Jason reminded her.
‘Whose side are you on?’ Tati said crossly.
‘I’m not on anybody’s side. I’m just saying, we should give the man a chance.’
Tati got up from the table. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry any more. ‘You and your bloody father,’ she muttered darkly at Jason. Grabbing her coat she stomped out of the flat, slamming the front door behind her.
George looked at Jason, perplexed. ‘Did I miss something? What’s she got her knickers in such a twist about?’
Jason rolled his eyes. ‘I have no idea. When it comes to Tatiana and my father, you never know when the next landmine’s going to explode.’
Brett was working late at his London flat when the buzzer rang.
Ten fifteen. Who the fuck rang people’s doorbells at this time of night?
Jemmying open the sash window of his office, he peered down to the street, expecting to see giggling kids or, worse, a tabloid reporter hoping to goad him into some sort of reaction that they could use to sell their trash.
Instead he saw Tatiana. Bundled against the cold in a full-length coat, scarf and hat, he recognized her mainly from her belligerent body language: arms folded, chin jutting forward, lunging angrily towards his doorbell.
‘Come up,’ he shouted down to her. ‘I’ll buzz you in.’
Moments later she was standing in his flat. The snow melting off her coat dripped onto the floor, making a dirty, damp stain on his Persian rug. But Brett had eyes only for her face, flushed with cold and anger, her eyes boring into him like twin green lasers.
‘I’ve just come from Jason’s,’ she seethed.
‘That’s nice,’ said Brett casually. Walking over to the drinks cabinet, he poured two fingers of whisky into a tumbler and handed it to Tatiana, before fixing one for himself. ‘How was he?’
‘He was fine.’ She swallowed the amber liquid in one gulp, grimacing as it burned her throat. ‘He told me you’re going to keep my schools going after all.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And that you’ve hired Dylan Pritchard Jones to run them?’
‘Right again. May I take your coat?’
‘No you may
not
take my coat, you Machiavellian little shit!’ roared Tati. Peeling off her own coat, scarf and hat, she flung them in a wet heap onto one of Brett’s ghastly cream leather armchairs. ‘How dare you?’
‘How dare I offer to take your coat?’
Brett looked amused. Still in suit trousers and a business shirt, with his tie loosened but not removed, he radiated confidence like a star pumping out light.
I hate him
,
thought Tati.
‘Everything’s a game to you, isn’t it?’ she glared at him.
‘On the contrary.’ Brett took a step towards her, meeting her gaze steadily. ‘I take many things very seriously indeed.’
‘Like destroying my life?’
Brett was so close now she could smell the lingering, lemony scent of his aftershave and feel the heat coming off his body. Or perhaps it was her body? Maddeningly she felt the familiar rush of blood to her groin and drying of the throat that Brett always seemed to be able to arouse in her. But she wasn’t going to let herself be sidetracked. Not this time.
‘You hired Dylan simply to spite me.’
‘Rubbish.’ Brett sipped his own drink slowly. ‘I hired him because I think he’ll do a good job.’
‘
I
was doing a good job!’ Tati quivered with frustration.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Brett. ‘I offered you the CEO role, if you remember. I asked you to stay on and run the thing and you turned me down.’
‘That’s because hell would freeze over before I’d work for you,’ spat Tati. ‘And you know it.’
‘Exactly.’ Now it was Brett’s turn to sound frustrated. ‘That’s why I hired Dylan.’
‘Oh you are
full
of it!’ said Tati, slamming her empty glass down on a side table so hard she almost broke it. ‘Your offer to me was never genuine. You said yourself you were going to sell everything off. You only wanted to hire me so you could watch me fire all my staff and dismantle the business.’
‘Right. So when I change my mind, and keep the staff and decide to grow the bloody business instead – you’re
still
mad at me. You’re impossible to please, do you realize that Tatiana?’
‘How would you know?’ Tati shot back. ‘You’ve never tried to please me. You’ve never tried to please anyone but yourself, have you Brett?’
In answer Brett set down his own glass. Snaking one hand around her waist and the other at the back of her neck, he pulled her to him and kissed her, hard and passionately and for a long time. For a split second Tati stiffened, resisting him. Or was it herself she was resisting? But then she found herself kissing him back, her hands slipping underneath his shirt and clawing at the muscles on his back with a mind and life of their own.
He was kissing her neck now, moving down to her collar bone, then up again slowly till his lips brushed against the soft skin of her ear.
‘You don’t know what pleasure is,’ he whispered.
Tati closed her eyes and moaned, lost in the delicious sensation of his warm breath in her ear and his hands sliding down over her buttocks. Somehow the belt of her jeans was already undone. They slid to the floor.
‘What do you want?’ Brett asked her. His hands were under her sweater now, expertly unhooking the back of her bra.
Pulling away from him just slightly, so they were looking into each other’s eyes, Tati said slowly. ‘Furlings. I want Furlings.’ The faintest hint of a smile played at the corner of her lips. ‘What do
you
want, Brett?’
‘I want you and you know it,’ he responded angrily. Grabbing her hand he placed it against his rock-solid erection, straining for release from his suit trousers.
Tati stroked it, firmly but tantalizingly slowly. Leaning forward, she whispered in his ear. ‘Then sell me my house back.’
‘Never,’ groaned Brett, closing his eyes.
‘OK then,’ said Tati, wriggling out of his arms and refastening her bra. ‘I’m going home.’
‘No. You’re not going anywhere.’
It wasn’t a plea, or even a command. It was a simple statement of fact. Brett put his hands on her shoulders and walked slowly but determinedly forwards, pushing Tati backwards till her back was against the wall. Pressing down on her with the full weight of his body, he ran a finger along the line of her lips, then traced it up to her forehead, tenderly pushing back the stray wisps of hair that had fallen forward over her eyes.
‘OK, I’ll sell to you,’ he said.
Tati’s face lit up. ‘You will? Why now? Why after all this time? I mean, that’s wonderful. But I don’t under—’
‘For twenty million.’
Tati scowled. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. That’s double what the house is worth.’
Brett planted a single kiss softly on her lips. ‘Then don’t buy it.’
Her eyes blazed with fury. ‘You know I’m going to buy it. You arsehole.’
‘That’s right,’ Brett smiled. ‘And you know you’re going to sleep with me. Because you want it as much as I do.’
Scooping her into his arms, he carried her into the bedroom. There was no more talking now. Laying her down on the bed, Brett removed the rest of her clothes piece by piece, taking his time, savouring every moment. Tati kept her eyes open. Watching him watching her was the biggest turn-on of all. Brett didn’t admire her body, he devoured it, first with his eyes, and then with his fingers, lips and tongue, bringing Tati to the brink of release time after time but then pulling back right before she could climax. For so many years, ever since her marriage to Jason, she’d blocked out their last sexual encounter and the incredible sensations Brett had unleashed in her then. But what her conscious mind had erased, her body remembered in minute detail, every nerve and muscle arching towards him, straining to reach him and dance beneath his touch. No other lover, not even Leon di Clemente, could do what Brett Cranley did to her. He made her feel like a rare racing car that only he knew how to drive.
And he was right. He had always been right.
She wanted this as much as he did.
At last, as Tati lay writhing in a blissful agony of frustration, Brett slipped out of his own clothes and exploded into her. To her embarrassment, Tati came almost instantly. Feeling her warm, wet muscles spasm around him and her long legs tighten around his back, Brett came too. The first time was over in seconds. But after a few, blissful, silent minutes lying in each other’s arms, he began making love to her again. And again. Tati lost count of how many times she came, or how long they spent exploring each other’s bodies.
When it was finally over, Brett murmured, ‘I love you. I want to be with you. To have children with you.’
‘I love you too,’ sighed Tati, drifting on a sated sea of bliss. ‘But you’re a terrible father.’
Her last thought before she fell asleep was of Furlings. How quickly she could sell enough shares to raise twenty million pounds?
‘Rise and shine.’
Tati rubbed her eyes blearily. Brett, already showered and dressed and smelling of patchouli and toothpaste, drew back the curtains, flooding the room with bright winter light.
‘Close them,’ Tati commanded grumpily.
Brett climbed onto the bed and kissed her. ‘No.’
Reluctantly Tati sat up and pushed the tangled hair out of her eyes. Brett looked so ridiculously handsome, and so happy, she couldn’t help but smile.
‘What time is it?’
‘Half past eleven.’
‘Fuck!’ Tati threw back the covers. ‘I have to get home.’
‘You are home,’ said Brett, grabbing her round the waist and pulling her into his lap, cupping her naked breasts in his hands.
Tati laughed. ‘One step at a time. The first thing I need to do is make an appointment with my banker.’
Brett looked puzzled. ‘What for?’
‘What do you think?’ said Tati. ‘To figure out how I’m going to raise the extortionate amount of money you want for Furlings. Unless, of course, I can persuade you to lower your price?’