The Inheritance

‘You just don’t think girls need to be educated? Is that it? We’re all second-class citizens?’ She laughed mockingly. ‘What happened, Brett? Didn’t your mother give you enough attention when you were little?’


Brett’s eyes flashed dangerously.

Oh good, thought Tati. I’ve hit a nerve.

‘Don’t speak about my mother.’

‘Why not?’ said Tati, delighted to have discovered a weak spot in the mighty Cranley armour. ‘What happened? Let me guess. You caught her in bed with a lover?’

‘I said shut up.’

‘So that’s where this pathetic Madonna/whore crap comes from. Fascinating! Mummy turned out not to be the perfect angel after all, eh?’

Brett clenched his fist. The loathing in his eyes was so intense that for a moment Tati thought he was about to explode. Instead he said quietly, ‘She died.’

Tati detected the faintest tremor in his voice.

‘When I was a kid.’

The emotion was so raw and unexpected, Tati almost felt sorry for him. But then she remembered the way he’d bullied his wife and belittled his daughter just now, and pulled herself up short.

‘My mother died too, you know,’ she told him. A look of profound surprise registered on Brett’s face. ‘You lost your mother? When you were young?’

Tati nodded. ‘I was eight.’

‘I’m sorry.’ His concern sounded sincere, but you could never quite tell with Brett Cranley.

‘Do you remember her?’

‘Yes, of course, a bit – but the memories fade so quickly. You remember your mother?’

‘Every day.’

A momentary empathy flashed between them, but Tatiana quashed it ruthlessly. She couldn’t afford to let her emotional guard down. This is Brett Cranley, she reminded herself sternly. He’s your enemy.

‘Well, I’m sorry. But if your mum’s death is your excuse for being a total arsehole to women, it’s not good enough,’ she said robustly, jumping back on the offensive. ‘What kind of a man needs to put down his own daughter to boost his ego?’

‘My ego doesn’t need boosting, sweetheart,’ Brett drawled. ‘And when I want parenting advice from you, I’ll ask for it.’

They glared at one another, an almost unbearable electric silence crackling in the air between them for what felt like an eternity. Then Brett took a breath, took a step back.

‘Playing teacher doesn’t suit you, you know.’

The flash of vulnerability he’d revealed when discussing his mother was completely gone now. He eyed Tati’s clothes disparagingly. ‘You look ridiculous in that get-up.’

‘Is that so?’ said Tati. ‘And what should I wear to parents’ meetings, I wonder, in the world according to Brett Cranley? Crotchless panties and nipple tassels, I suppose?’

Brett couldn’t fully suppress a smile. ‘That’s a great mental picture.’

I hate you, Tati thought furiously. ‘Perhaps all the female teachers at St Hilda’s should be issued with stripper poles?’ she snapped.

‘Not all of them. Just you.’ Brett was still smiling. ‘You’re as out of place here as a whore in a nunnery, and you know it.’

The irony was, Tati did know it. But she wasn’t about to give Brett Cranley the satisfaction of hearing her admit it.

‘Yes, well, luckily I won’t be here for very long.’

‘Amen to that,’ said Brett.

‘After my inheritance is restored to me in September, I’ll be too busy undoing all the damage you’ve done at Furlings and reversing your shady land deals to stay on at school. Sadly.’

Brett rolled his eyes. ‘You’re living in a fantasy.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Tati.

‘I’m curious. What will you do when you lose?’ Brett leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. It was a small gesture of control, of power. Having let his guard down earlier, he was determined to reclaim the upper hand. ‘Stay on in the village and carry on the charade? Or crawl back to London with your tail between your legs?’

‘I won’t lose,’ said Tati.

‘Hypothetically.’

He was toying with her again now, with a disturbing hybrid of flirtation and disdain that made Tati’s mouth go dry, despite herself.

‘Hypothetically. If I lost the case? Then yes, I might well carry on teaching,’ she said defiantly.

‘Do you know,’ Brett smiled, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with less self-awareness than you, Tatiana. You could no more settle down to a quiet life as a village schoolteacher than I could settle down as a Buddhist monk.’

‘I agree, orange isn’t your colour,’ quipped Tatiana. ‘But you’re wrong about me. I love country life.’

‘Bullshit. You love money. You love excitement. I know what you love,’ Brett whispered, leaning forward so that he was close enough for her to smell his cologne.

How can someone so poisonous and hateful be so sexy? thought Tati.

‘Of course, if you were a man, or had any skills,’ Brett went on, enjoying the effect he was having on her, ‘I’d tell you to start your own business.’

‘Fascinating.’ Tati yawned pointedly.

‘But for a society party girl like you, marriage is really the only option.’

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