‘What would you like to do?’ she asked Jason. ‘For a job, I mean. If it were entirely up to you?’
His face lit up. ‘Perform.’
‘At what?’
‘The piano. But unfortunately I’m not good enough to play professionally.’
‘Says who? Your father?’
‘Well, yes. But I’m afraid he’s actually right on that one. I would never make the grade as a concert pianist.’
‘I bet you would.’
Jason shook his head and gave her a small, self-deprecating smile. ‘Nah. But even just a gig at a jazz club or a little wine bar somewhere would be incredible. All I really want is to play. I could teach music on the side maybe, for extra money. I don’t know.’ He blushed, as if this modest little scheme were a preposterous pipe dream, like becoming an astronaut or discovering Atlantis. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not gonna happen. Not in this life.’
They fell silent as the train made its way through the outskirts of London. After East Croydon they began to make more frequent stops, moving slowly through ugly suburbs. The mishmash of architecture fascinated Jason: Victorian red-brick terraces, their walls stained black from years of coal pollution, stood cheek-by-jowl with sixties tower blocks in unforgiving grey concrete, and modern office buildings, gleaming, sterile behemoths of glass and steel. London was like a living museum, a pop-up history book that never ceased to surprise and amaze him. Compared to Australia, everything here was on a tiny, doll’s-house scale. But he appreciated the city’s quirks and idiosyncrasies, and he loved the feeling of it being a genuine melting pot – economically, ethnically, culturally and in every other way.
By the time they pulled into Victoria, he’d almost forgotten Tatiana was sitting opposite him.
‘It was nice talking to you,’ he said shyly as they stepped down onto the platform. ‘Enjoy your party.’
‘It’s only dinner,’ said Tati. ‘But I will. And good luck with your work thing.’
‘Thanks.’
‘God, that smells good.’
Tati closed her eyes and inhaled. The pungent scent of warm dough and chocolate from the Millie’s Cookies kiosk wafted over them deliciously.
‘Shall we get one?’
They strolled onto the concourse together and bought two white-chocolate-chip cookies, still soft and warm from the oven.
She’s really nice, thought Jason. He didn’t understand where Tati’s scandalous, rich-bitch reputation had come from. Suddenly reluctant to let her go, he asked about her plans for the summer.
‘I’ll be in Fittlescombe,’ she said gloomily.
‘Working on the court case?’
She nodded. It felt awkward, talking to Jason Cranley about a legal battle that, if she won, would see him turfed out of his home. She changed the subject.
‘What about you? Logan said you’re off to the South of France.’
‘My parents are, not me. I’ve got to work.’
Tati’s ears pricked up. ‘So you’ll be at Furlings over the holidays then?’
Jason nodded. ‘Logan’s been begging to be allowed to stay too. I’m not sure she can bear the thought of a whole summer away from Gabriel Baxter.’
He told Tati about Logan’s crush on Gabe, which showed no signs of abating.
‘I’d be careful if I were you,’ Tati said archly. ‘I wouldn’t trust Gabe as far as I could throw him. But you’ll be on your own then, will you? At the house?’
‘Yup. Just me and Mrs Worsley. And the dog.’
The cogs in Tati’s brain began whirring. She hadn’t set foot in Furlings since the day she’d collected her grandmother’s painting. Brett’s presence, and the looming court case over the will, made any sort of social call impossible. But with Jason Cranley home alone, she’d be able to drop in whenever she pleased. Here was a perfect chance to invade enemy territory! Perhaps even snoop around in Brett’s office, or scour the attic for papers of her father’s? Who knew what she might unearth that could help her case?
She’d have to get round old Mrs Worsley, of course. Rory’s dragon of a housekeeper had made no secret in the village of her disapproval of Tatiana and her support of the Cranleys’ claim to Furlings. But at least old Ma Worsley was a known enemy. With a little advance planning, Tati was confident she could think up some scheme to get rid of her.
‘We must have lunch.’ She bestowed her most dazzling smile on Jason. ‘Or dinner. Or both. As we’re stuck in Sussex together.’
Jason couldn’t imagine anything more wonderful. Thanks to the ambrosial melting cookie in his mouth, an enthusiastic nod was the most he could manage by way of response.
‘Lovely,’ said Tati, kissing him on the cheek. ‘I’ll call you.’
She slipped off into the crowds and was gone.
CHAPTER TEN