‘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.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
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.’