‘Brett!’ Angela was shocked. She’d expected Brett to be rude to Tatiana, but not at Logan’s expense.
‘What?’ Brett shrugged, registering his wife’s horrified expression. ‘I adore Logan, you know I do, she’s the light of my life. But I’m not gonna sit here and be told that she’s some sort of genius when you know as well as I do it’s a crock.’
Tati felt the anger welling up in her chest. She knew what it was like to have a father who didn’t believe in you, who undermined all your achievements and triumphs and saw only what he wanted to see.
‘I’m not saying she’s a genius. But she is clever, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. As for her reading, I strongly suspect that Logan may be dyslexic.’
Brett rolled his eyes. ‘Dyslexic? Please. What a load of old horseshit.’
‘I think you should have her tested,’ Tati ploughed on.
‘Oh yeah? And what do you know? You’re not even a qualified teacher,’ said Brett.
‘No, I’m not. But I’m the one who’s been reading with her.’ Tati’s nostrils flared defiantly as she glared back at him. ‘Besides, her class teacher agrees with me.’
‘Do you really think she’s dyslexic?’ Angela asked meekly. Tati had quite forgotten she was even in the room.
‘I do,’ said Tati. ‘But it needn’t be any great handicap. Quite the opposite. So much is known about the condition these days.’
‘Condition?’ Brett snorted. ‘Give me a break. These are kids that can’t spell.’
Angela Cranley opened her mouth to say something but her husband cut her off.
‘Listen,’ he said rudely to Tati. ‘None of this matters. My daughter’s gorgeous. With her looks and her name, no one’s going to care if she can spell or not. She’s at school to make friends and have fun, that’s all.’
‘Why’s that? Because she’s a girl?’ Tati challenged him. She was half joking, but Brett responded quite seriously.
‘Exactly,’ he said, utterly unapologetic. ‘Now, maybe if she looked like the back of a bus, or if she showed any interest in books, things might be different.’
Tati didn’t think she’d ever heard such an outrageously, obnoxiously, outdated sexist comment in her life. Brett Cranley made Gabriel Baxter sound positively enlightened. He clearly had a profound problem with women. Tati glanced at his wife, who looked mortified, as well she might, but said nothing. Stand up for yourself! Tati wanted to shout at her. And if you can’t stand up for yourself, at least stand up for your daughter. But she restrained herself.
‘Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps Logan doesn’t show much interest in books because she’s dyslexic?’ she said to Brett. ‘Until now they’ve been a closed world to her. They might as well have been written in code.’
‘Change the record,’ Brett yawned.
Tati knew he was doing it to provoke her. The really infuriating thing was that it was working. She found herself wanting to lean over the desk and hit him. To punch and scratch and claw at his handsome, arrogant, smirking, sexist face and have him fight her back until all the frustration and rage drained out of her. She remembered the pressure of his body against hers in her bathroom at Greystones that day he’d walked in on her, the weight and strength of him, and felt an incongruous jolt of desire slicing its way through her anger. That only made her more furious.
‘Mrs Cranley?’ Max Bingley stuck his head round the door, breaking the almost unbearable tension. ‘So sorry to interrupt, but do you have a second?’
Angela couldn’t remember the last time she’d been more pleased to see a person. She loathed confrontation, especially when it involved Brett. She also strongly suspected that his acting out with Tatiana reflected an underlying sexual attraction, a thought too hideous in its implications to be dwelt upon, even for a moment.
‘Of course,’ she said gratefully. ‘Excuse me.’ Bolting out of the room like a fox out of a hole, she left Brett and Tatiana to it.
‘So.’ Tati looked at Brett.
‘So.’ Brett looked back.
His dark eyes appeared almost black when he was angry, Tati noticed. Although there was something other than anger flickering beneath the surface now, a sexual tension so thick she could almost touch it.
For Brett, simply being in a room alone with Tatiana was intoxicating. He hadn’t admitted, even to himself, how excited he’d been by the prospect of seeing her again today. Their argument earlier had brought out the best in her, the fire and antagonism in her eyes and body language belying her prim and proper teacher’s outfit. He wanted her, badly.
‘I’m just wondering if all this caveman, sexist nonsense is for my benefit,’ she said, retreating behind her professional fa?ade. ‘Or if you genuinely don’t care about your daughter.’
‘I care plenty about my daughter,’ said Brett.