The Inheritance

‘The court case,’ said Brett. ‘This damn nonsense with Tatiana’s been hanging over us for far too long. You’ll feel better once it’s over and we can relax in our own home.’


God, the court case. Angela had barely given it a thought, but it was next week, the same week that Logan went back to school. Although it was unlikely, there was at least a technical possibility that they might lose Furlings. While they’d been away in France, Tatiana had evidently been waging a relentless charm offensive on the locals, and had apparently obtained a stack of signatures supporting her claim to her father’s estate. The thought of the ruling going against them made Angela shiver beneath the streaming jets of hot water. I don’t want to lose this place, she realized suddenly. It wasn’t Furlings that had been making her feel trapped, but her own state of mind. Ridiculously, she found herself wishing her father were here. He would know what to do.

Instead, she leaned back against Brett. He hadn’t been much support lately, but he was all she had. She clung to him.

‘It will be all right, won’t it?’ she asked him.

‘Of course it will,’ said Brett. ‘Tatiana hasn’t a snowball’s hope in hell and she knows it.’

The Cranley vs Flint-Hamilton hearing was held at the High Court in London. Brett Cranley arrived early, dashing into the famous Royal Courts of Justice on the Strand beneath an umbrella held by his lawyer, Justin Greaves, London’s pre-eminent probate and contested wills specialist.

‘Is she here yet?’ Brett asked Greaves, a wiry man in his fifties with coarse grey hair like a Brillo pad and thick-framed glasses that continually slipped down his nose.

‘No. Her lawyer’s over there,’ he said, pointing to the anxious-looking figure of Raymond Baines. In a cheap suit two sizes too big for him, the fat Chichester solicitor looked shorter, balder and even less impressive than usual, completely out of place in such grandiose surroundings. ‘That’s the third time he’s looked at his phone in the last minute. He’s obviously lost her. Maybe she’s bottled it?’

‘I doubt that,’ said Brett. Tatiana Flint-Hamilton had numerous weaknesses, but she wasn’t one to shy away from a fight.

‘Well she’d better show up soon or the judge will start without her. Judge Sir William McGyver QC’s presiding, which is good for us.’

‘Is it?’ said Brett.

‘Yup. Sexist, patriarch, old as the hills and a stickler for form,’ Justin Greaves said bluntly. ‘Won’t take kindly to Miss Flint-Hamilton playing the diva and wasting court time.’

At that moment, right on cue, Tatiana burst in. Her long hair was wet from the rain and had started to curl into damp spirals around her flushed face. She wore a beige macintosh raincoat, also wet, which she removed to reveal a sleek cream woollen suit. The look was conservative and professional, but somehow this only seemed to heighten her desirability. As if the wild, passionate creature beneath the demure clothes were begging to be unleashed. Brett couldn’t take his eyes off her, but Tatiana ignored him completely, muttering apologies about traffic as she hurried over to join Raymond Baines.

Moments later they were called into court. Justin Greaves leaned over to whisper in his client’s ear. ‘You’re staring. Try not to.’

‘Sorry.’ Brett forced himself to look at the judge, and not at Tatiana, who was crossing and uncrossing her legs on the other side of the aisle in a distinctly distracting manner. He’d told Angela he wanted this court case over, and Tatiana out of the village and out of their lives for good, and he meant it. The girl disconcerted him, attracting and infuriating him in equal measure. Something about her drew him in, but not in a good way. More like the Death Star, exerting an irresistible force over any stray spacecraft that happened to fly too close.

Judge McGyver was talking, his voice a droning irritant in the back of Brett’s mind. He was calling for opening arguments. Justin Greaves and Raymond Baines both stood up. For a split second, Tatiana looked across at Brett and their eyes met. A crackle of electricity passed between them. Brett wasn’t sure if it was lust or hatred. Then she looked away.

The battle had commenced.

Tilly Bagshawe's books