This was also true. It was hard for Tati to explain to Jason how she was feeling, hard to admit it fully even to herself. They might be spending Christmas with Jason’s family, or what was left of it. But it was Tati’s home they were going to. Furlings, but also Fittlescombe: the village, the church; her old colleagues from the school; people she’d grown up with and who had known her in all her various incarnations – from a sweet little girl to an obnoxious wild-child to a lowly village schoolmistress to her current role of über-businesswoman. Tati knew that her marriage to Jason was still considered a scandal by many in the village. Plenty of locals still felt that she’d corrupted the na?ve young heir to her family’s old estate. That she’d used Jason shamelessly for his money and hijacked the Cranley name in an act of revenge, to spite his father. The fact that there was at least a grain of truth to these accusations only made Tati more paranoid about them. Rory Flint-Hamilton might be dead but, on some unspoken level, Tatiana still yearned for his approval. Going back to the Swell Valley for Christmas made that yearning more acute.
Mrs Worsley would be there, of course, another face Tatiana hadn’t seen since her marriage. Would the old woman have softened towards her former charge? Tati didn’t know, but prayed so. In her current state, she wasn’t sure she could cope with Mrs Worsley’s hostility. The very idea of seeing Furlings’ housekeeper again filled her with a torrent of mixed emotions she could barely contain.
‘I’ve told Mum we’re looking at houses down there,’ said Jason, once it was clear Tati wasn’t able to articulate her fears. ‘She’s so excited about it. I thought maybe, after Christmas, she could come with us on a couple of viewings?’
‘Sure,’ said Tati, collecting herself. ‘Of course.’
She was grateful to Angela for defying Brett and inviting them back to Furlings, and for backing off about the baby. Mercifully, that subject had been dropped, for now at least. The least Tatiana could do in return was to show willing and include Angela in their house-hunting trips.
‘I love you, you know,’ said Jason, pushing back a stray strand of hair from around Tati’s face. They’d actually made love last night, for the first time in many months. Or at least they’d tried to. Tatiana was so tense she’d found it hard to get into the mood, and perhaps as a result Jason had lost his erection halfway through. But a first step had been made. Tati had reassured herself this morning that it was the intimacy that counted, not the quality of the performance. This was marital sex after all, not high-diving at the Olympics, with a panel of judges holding up scorecards.
‘I love you too,’ she said, truthfully. ‘But please, pick me out a dress for church on Christmas day.’
‘Fine,’ Jason laughed. ‘The green DVF wrap dress. You can’t go wrong with that.’
‘Really?’ Tati looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.
‘Really.’ Not for the first time, Jason Cranley marvelled at the mess of contradictions that made up the woman he’d married. Part superwoman, part little-girl-lost, after nearly six years Tatiana still had the capacity to surprise him. Watching her put her dresses away, it struck him that he was actually looking forward to Christmas this year. Something had changed, something good. He found himself praying that it would last.
‘Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr Cranley? Anything at all?’
Brett’s new Serbian secretary smoothed down her skintight pencil skirt and flashed her boss a look that needed no translation. She was exceptionally pretty in a feline, high-cheekboned, Slavic way. Brett could not have been less interested.
‘No. Thank you.’
The girl left the room with a disappointed pout. Brett picked up the plane tickets and itinerary she’d left on his desk.
Mustique. He didn’t even like the place. More posers in a few measly square miles than you could find anywhere else on earth. He’d been on the point of cancelling, of swallowing his stupid pride, calling Angela and telling her enough was enough, he was coming home for Christmas and he wanted everything to go back to normal. But then she’d dropped the bombshell about inviting Jason and Tatiana and he’d dug himself a hole so deep he had no idea how to get out of it.
His own wife, inviting that little witch to Furlings, after everything she’d done to try to hurt them and destroy their family! Wasn’t it enough that Tatiana had brainwashed and married Jason? That she’d now enticed Logan to live under her roof as well? That she made no secret of her desire to get Furlings back eventually, by fair means or foul?
If Angela really loved him, she would never have done it. It was an insult, designed to wound him. And it had wounded him. Deeply. All Brett had ever wanted, deep down, was a family. A place where he could be safe, where he could feel like a true insider for once in his life. He’d worked like a dog to create that, and to provide for his family. And now here he was on the outside, looking in. It was hard not to feel bitter.
Brett re-read his itinerary gloomily. He left London in three days. What the hell was he going to do until then? He’d have liked to work, but the real-estate market was dead as a doornail now and would be until after the New Year. Everybody else, apparently, had families to go home to or Christmas parties to attend. Not that Brett was short of invitations. What he lacked was desire or enthusiasm or even physical energy. Ever since he heard the news about Tati, he’d felt desperately tired. He felt like a champion boxer, hotly tipped to win, suddenly collapsing against the ropes in the tenth round through sheer fatigue.
Tatiana Flint-Hamilton was beating him, against all the odds.
She was wearing him down.