‘Not for long he isn’t,’ snarled Brett, already walking away from her back up towards the house. ‘I’m going to kill him. I’m going to kill them both.’
Angela sat frozen with shock. Quietly, Laura bent down and retrieved the balled-up letter.
‘Here.’ She handed it to Angela. ‘We’ll, er … we’ll leave you to it, shall we?’
Angela nodded. ‘Perhaps that would be best,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you. Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
Gabe led Laura away.
‘That was odd,’ he said.
‘Very.’
‘What do you think’s going on?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Laura. ‘But I tell you what. I feel sorry for Angela Cranley. I wouldn’t be married to that bully of a husband for all the tea in China. He didn’t seem to care about his son at all.’
Gabe said nothing. It was hard to argue with her this time.
The view from the helicopter was spectacular. Furlings was already an illuminated speck in the distance. Below them the South Downs slumbered, silver-green and ethereal in the moonlight, undulating ever onwards towards the calm, mirrored stillness of the sea. Villages nestled between the hills, snaking their way along valley floors beside the river Swell. Every now and then a church steeple punctured the skyline, reaching up boldly into the night sky with its magical blanket of stars.
Tatiana leaned across and squeezed Jason’s thigh. She had to press her lips right against his ear to make herself heard. ‘This time tomorrow we’ll be man and wife,’ she told him. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Wonderful,’ Jason said truthfully. He placed his hand over hers.
‘No regrets?’
‘Regrets?’ his eyes widened. ‘God no. I can’t wait. It’ll be a whole new life.’
Yes, thought Tatiana. It will.
They were headed to Le Touquet, where they’d spend the night at the Chateau de Montreuil Hotel before marrying at the town mairie in the morning. It was astonishing how easy it had been to organize the paperwork. Tatiana remembered how much her father had loathed the EU, and particularly the French, and felt a stab of nostalgia and affection. She’d always imagined Rory would be there to see her married. Then again, she’d always imagined she would be married at home, at Furlings, on the lawn …
She looked across at Jason Cranley. He looked even paler than usual in this light, his skin practically translucent beneath the shock of red hair. Will I ever be attracted to him? She pushed the thought away, along with an image of Marco; Marco whom she’d been too cowardly to tell the truth to; Marco whom she’d hurt, badly. She did feel guilty about that. But the truth was, this was a war, a war against Brett Cranley, and in a war there was always collateral damage. Civilian casualties. She owed Marco a lot, not least for giving her the business idea that was going to make her rich and change her life. She would make it up to him one day. Today, however, was about her and Jason. The one thing Marco hadn’t been able to provide was the seed capital to get Tati’s business off the ground and secure her Coutts loan. That, among other things, was where Jason came in.
Tatiana Flint-Hamilton might not be getting married at Furlings. But by marrying Jason Cranley, and securing access to his very sizable trust fund, she was one large step closer to eventually getting her beloved home back. She was also rescuing him from a miserable life, a life in which he’d been enslaved and belittled by his tyrannical father. By casting himself as their common enemy, Brett Cranley had unwittingly created a bond between Tatiana and his son. OK, so Tati wasn’t wildly attracted to Jason the way that she was to Marco – or even, in some toxic, destructive way to Brett. But she liked him, genuinely. Tati and Jason were friends. She knew of many marriages that had been built on less.
‘What about you?’ Jason looked worried suddenly, a cloud of anxiety passing across his boyish features. ‘You’re not having second thoughts, are you? I love you so much, Tatiana, but I want you to be happy, more than anything.’
Closing her eyes, Tati kissed him on the lips. He tasted of chocolate cake and sweet wine. The kiss wasn’t erotic but it was perfectly pleasant. She smiled.
‘I am happy, darling. Very. I can’t wait to be Mrs Cranley.’
Leaving England behind them, the helicopter swept out to sea.
PART TWO
The Reckoning
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Five years later …
Logan Cranley ran a finger along her lower lashes, deliberately smudging her black eyeliner into what she hoped was a sexy, rock-chick effect, and admired the results in the mirror of the tack-room loo.
Perfect.