The Inheritance

‘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. Bizarrely, 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.’

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