The Inheritance

‘Didier’s just a friend.’


Didier. A Frenchman. Max didn’t know why, but somehow it irritated him even more that a Frenchman should have been responsible for the look of pure, unadulterated happiness on Angela’s face a few moments ago.

‘It’s the court case this week,’ Angela continued, ‘up in London.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Max. ‘Tatiana’s challenge to her father’s will. That must be stressful for you.’

‘It has been,’ said Angela. ‘But it also means Brett’s been staying up in town for a few days. Didier’s a friend but he’s …’ she hesitated, searching for the right word … ‘he’s not a friend Brett would be comfortable about me meeting. That’s why I agreed to meet today, and why we came here. I love Fittlescombe, but people do tend to gossip.’

Max laughed loudly. ‘That’s quite an understatement. Listen,’ he said, keeping his tone friendly, ‘you have nothing to explain to me. Your private life is absolutely none of my business.’

‘Perhaps not,’ said Angela. ‘But I … I care what you think.’

Max was touched.

‘I think that you’re a very nice woman who’s put up with a lot and who deserves some happiness of her own,’ he said, truthfully.

‘Really?’ Angela brightened. ‘It’s just that you looked so shocked when you saw us just now.’

‘Not shocked. Surprised,’ corrected Max.

‘And disappointed,’ added Angela.

Max smiled. ‘That’s only because it was another man and not me.’

‘We’re not having an affair, you know. That’s the God’s honest truth. I think he wants to. But I can’t.’

‘Why not?’ said Max.

Angela seemed floored by the question.

‘Well I, er … I mean …’

‘Because of the children?’ Max prompted.

‘Partly,’ Angela admitted. ‘I had a tough time this summer and Didier, well, he was there. He helped. I should have cut off contact when we got home, but I didn’t. I suppose part of me liked the attention.’ She gave another small, self-deprecating smile. ‘Perhaps I’m having a mid-life crisis?’

‘Well, all I can say is, you look very well on it,’ said Max kindly, raising his glass to hers. In another life, he thought, other circumstances, I could have been happy with this woman. I could have made her happy with me. ‘Now please, we must both forget this afternoon ever happened. I never saw you, and you never saw me. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ said Angela. ‘Thank you.’

She’d always liked Max Bingley. But, as of today, she decided, he was a friend indeed.

She’d decided something else too. She wouldn’t see Didier Lemprière again.

Tatiana Flint-Hamilton stood on the pavement in a daze. Her lawyer stood uselessly next to her, unsure what to do.

‘Will you be all right to get home?’ Raymond Baines asked. ‘I’m getting a taxi back to Victoria. We could take the train together if you like.’

Home. Tatiana let the word tumble through her mind. Where was home now? Not Furlings. Judge Sir William McGyver QC had been brutally clear about that. ‘Frivolous’ was how he’d described Tatiana’s challenge to her father’s will. ‘Wholly without merit.’ Even Raymond Baines, who’d always been bearish about their chances, had thought that the hearing would run to two days. Instead the judge had dismissed their arguments out of hand, showing a partiality towards Brett Cranley and an utter lack of compassion for Tati from the very beginning that quite took her breath away.

There could be no further appeal from here. A ‘no’ from the High Court was binding and final. Winded with disappointment and grief, Tati felt as if her father had died all over again.

Baines was still standing next to her. ‘I don’t like to leave you here alone, Tatiana,’ he said, looking anxiously at his watch. Raymond Baines badly wanted to get home to his wife, his sausage and mash supper and the latest episode of DCI Banks that he’d recorded on Sky Plus last night. The Flint-Hamilton case had been more stress than it was worth from day one, and though he hadn’t expected the outcome to be quite so swift, he had expected it. Everyone had. Except his client.

‘I’ll be fine,’ Tati said numbly. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Baines, but do go home. I’ll make my own way.’

The fat little lawyer scuttled off, leaving Tati staring at the traffic in the fading afternoon light. All around her the world continued to come and go. Horns blared, rush hour rushed. But Tatiana felt frozen in time, stranded on the Strand like a lost puppy, bereft.

‘Get in.’

A black cab had pulled up to the kerb beside her. Brett Cranley was in the back seat, holding the door open. Half hidden in the shadows, his dark hair and eyes looked blacker than usual, mirroring his dark suit. And dark nature, thought Tati. Bastard. When he smiled his teeth shone, like a wolf’s.

‘What do you mean “get in”?’ she asked. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’

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