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 over 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!’