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.
Her eyelids began to flicker. She looked at him, peaceful for a moment, then winced with pain.
‘I think she needs something,’ said Brett.
A nurse brought water and some painkillers. Tati swallowed them, then slumped weakly back onto the bed.
‘I lost the baby.’ Her eyes brimmed with tears.
‘It would never have survived, sweetheart,’ Brett said gently. ‘If they hadn’t operated, you’d have died.’
Tati nodded. Her face crumpled.
‘Please don’t cry,’ said Brett.
‘I want my baby back.’
‘I know.’
Tati’s voice was slurred and sleepy. Brett looked anxiously at the nurse.
‘It’s the drugs,’ she whispered. ‘They’re pretty powerful. She’ll be up and down for a few hours yet. In and out of consciousness. Tearful.’
Tati murmured something that Brett couldn’t hear. He bent closer, turning his ear towards her lips.
‘What was that, angel?’
‘I want … my house … back.’
She sighed heavily and sank back into a deep sleep. Brett stood over her, watching, as the nurses moved in and out of the room, going about their business. Under his breath he whispered.
‘I know you do, Tatiana. And I want you. But neither of us can have what we want.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO