The Inheritance (54 page)

‘None of that matters,’ said Max. ‘Not if you’re really not happy. It can all be undone.’

Can it?
thought Angela. Could she really just accept this place at Sussex University? Start a new life, here in the village, on her own? At her age?

‘You never know,’ said Max. ‘Brett may already be thinking the same thing you are. If you’ve watched your marriage crumble, isn’t it at least possible that he has too? Perhaps you’ve both been too scared to say anything. It isn’t easy to rock the boat, but sometimes it’s the right thing. Sometimes it’s worth it.’

Angela took a bite of cake and finished off her tea. She felt so safe here with Max Bingley, so comfortable and happy. But this was Stella’s home, Stella’s life, not hers. She remembered something that Penny de la Cruz had once said to her.

I mustn’t rely on Max. If I do this, I have to do it alone. Start as I mean to go on.

‘I’d better get back.’ Reluctantly she stood up and took her mug over to the sink.

‘All right.’ Max sounded equally regretful. He’d have loved her to stay, but couldn’t think of a reason to keep her there.

‘Do you really think I can do it?’ Angela asked at the door, shrugging on her still-wet raincoat. ‘The Masters, I mean?’

‘Of course,’ said Max. ‘Standing on your head. And the professors at Sussex obviously agree. Your problem is you don’t have enough confidence. You can do whatever you want to do, Angela.’

‘You see,
that’s
why you’re a teacher,’ she joked, kissing him on the cheek goodbye.

Max watched as she disappeared down his garden path and into the lane. He stood at the doorway, watching the rain fall, long after she’d passed out of sight.

In the background, the muted strains of the Wagner drifted back to him. But they no longer lifted his spirits. Angela Cranley had gone.

Brett Cranley tied the belt on his silk Turnbull & Asser dressing gown and looked at his face in the bathroom mirror. Deep grooves fanned out from each of his eyes, like cracks in a dry river bed. The grey in his hair had spread from his temples all the way back to the nape of his neck, and deep shadows had inked themselves permanently beneath his eyes like two violet tattoos.

I look old.

I am old.

At Tatiana’s request, he’d said nothing to Jason or anyone about her losing her baby. She wanted some time to grieve, alone, and she wanted to tell people herself. But the emotional trauma of his week in New York still weighed heavily on Brett. Part of him longed to share the burden with Angela. But somehow he found he couldn’t talk to Ange about Tatiana. Nothing had happened between them, nor would it. Whatever feelings Brett harboured for Tatiana, she’d made it clear over many long years that they were not reciprocated. Even so, her very existence on this earth cast a shadow over Brett’s marriage. As if his love for his wife were a plant that hadn’t quite died, but could no longer grow or thrive. There was no more light for it to reach towards. However much Brett watered or tended it – fresh starts, beautiful homes, more time together – it remained stunted, a sad remnant of what it might have been.

Brett had got back to Furlings this afternoon. Angela had made him tea and he’d dutifully sat down and drunk it, laying out pictures of the Hamptons house on the kitchen table and talking to her about plans. An agent from Savills was coming in the morning to run through the inventory at Furlings before the big move-out. Life, their life, was marching on.

Brett splashed cold water on his face.
I have to get a grip.

Angela was already in bed. Sitting propped up against two large pillows, her blonde hair brushed out and her reading glasses on, it struck Brett that she looked tired too. She was wearing an ancient Laura Ashley nightdress with pink rosebuds on it and reading a book about art history, but she put it aside when he came in.

‘I think we need to talk.’

Brett perched on the edge of the bed. ‘All right.’

Angela took a deep breath. ‘I want a divorce.’

Brett stood up again, shocked. ‘Are you serious? Why?’

Reaching for his hand, Angela pulled him back down onto the bed. She didn’t look angry. And when she spoke, her voice was calm.

‘Because I want to stay here and live here. And you don’t.’

Brett said dismissively. ‘Come on, Ange. We’ve been through this a hundred times.’

‘I know. And I know I said I’d move to New York. But the fact is, I’ve changed my mind.’

Brett exhaled slowly, turning her fingers over in his hand. ‘Fine,’ he said at last. ‘Then we’ll stay. Together.’

Angela shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t work.’

‘Of course it would work,’ said Brett. ‘It’s worked for thirty-odd years, hasn’t it?’

Angela raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

‘This is crazy, Angela. Where we live is just geography. You don’t divorce over geography.’

‘No,’ said Angela quietly. ‘You don’t.’

‘Well what then?’ He could hear the desperation in his own voice. Every word he said sounded like
please don’t leave me.
‘I’m not cheating on you. I swear. Since we got back together there hasn’t been anyone.’

‘Brett.’ Reaching up, Angela gently touched a finger to his lips, shushing him the way a mother might a child. ‘We don’t have so many years left that we can afford to waste them. I want to live a quiet, uneventful country life. And you’re in love with someone else.’

‘What? I … that’s not true,’ said Brett on autopilot.

‘Yes it is. I think you loved Tatiana even before she married Jason. But ever since then you’ve been obsessed, and you know it.’

‘You’re wrong,’ Brett insisted.

‘You launched a takeover for Hamilton Hall without telling me.’

‘Because I knew you’d be upset. Take it the wrong way,’ said Brett. ‘And you have. That was business.’

‘Darling.’ Angela looked at him reproachfully. ‘Come on. And what about Jason? Was that business too? Tatiana told you about him being gay, but you said nothing to me.’

‘I didn’t believe her.’

‘Even if that’s true, she still came to your office to see you. Why did you keep that a secret?’

‘Because I didn’t know what to say!’ Brett blurted.

‘Because you didn’t want me to know you’d seen Tatiana. That you’d spent the last three months trying to buy out her company because you can’t help yourself. You can’t stay away.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘You can’t even mention her name to me, Brett! I don’t know why you’re denying it.’

Brett pulled away and began pacing the bedroom, running his hands through his hair. ‘Look,’ he said eventually. ‘Nothing’s happened between me and Tati.’

‘I believe you,’ said Angela truthfully.

‘Then why are you doing this? Why are you leaving me?’

Peeling back the bedclothes, Angela got up and walked over to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she kissed him on the cheek then leaned her head against his chest.

‘We won’t be happy in America if we aren’t happy here,’ she said. ‘I’ll always be here if you need me, Brett. We’ll always be friends. Dear friends. But friends tell each other the truth. It’s over. It’s been over for years.’

Brett opened his mouth to protest, but realized he had nothing to say. Instead he wrapped his arms around her and held on tight. He wished he could freeze the moment. Stand there for ever and never let go. But he knew he couldn’t.

It was too late.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Tatiana watched the thick flakes of snow falling outside the café window and sipped her hot chocolate contentedly. According to the BBC weather-forecasters, this was set to be the coldest December in London in fifty years. A white Christmas was now so likely that bookies had stopped taking bets on it.

For Tati, the snow was a fitting end to a tumultuous year. The blanket of white on the streets felt like a metaphorical clean sheet: a crisp, white piece of paper on which a new chapter of her life would be written. The pain of her miscarriage still walked with her. But after three months, she no longer felt the raw desolation that she had in New York. Back then, at the hospital, Brett Cranley had seen her at her lowest ebb. Mourning her baby, her marriage, her business and her birthright all at the same time had brought her to the brink, with the collapse of her relationship with Leon di Clemente the icing on a rotten cake.

But a lot could change in twelve weeks, and a lot had. The nation had belatedly caught up with the Cranley family’s travails – the simultaneous divorces of Tati and Jason and Brett and Angela had prompted a flurry of salacious rumour and gossip in the tabloids, while business analysts still argued over Brett’s intentions for the newly acquired Hamilton Hall. Despite his threats to Tatiana in New York, Brett had yet to start selling off assets, and both the London schools were still operating – so privately Tatiana felt the worst was behind her. With the Eaton Gate house to herself, the country house on the market and a comfortable cushion of cash from the Hamilton House deal nestled in her bank account, she’d begun to feel her ambition returning, and with it her appetite – for food, life and business, if not for romance. Fate had decided she wasn’t going to be a mother, or a wife. But she was too young to sit around doing nothing. Brett Cranley was right. She was free. It was time to start making the most of her freedom. Brett had also been the one who’d suggested that she start a new school. Tati could hear his voice in her head now. ‘Why not? You’re good at it.’

She
was
good at it. Just imagine what she could do without the millstone of a hostile board around her neck? This time around she’d be more careful. She’d make sure she kept control, total control. She’d find a silent partner, maybe someone in Asia or the Middle East … the possibilities were endless, and exciting.

Unfortunately, not everyone had emerged from the latest round of Cranley family drama unscathed, or with such a positive attitude.

Tati watched as the café door opened and Maddie Wilkes walked in. Scanning the room, waving cheerlessly when she saw Tati, Maddie came over to the table looking haggard and ill. Even in her thick coat and scarf she looked thin. When she took them off and sat down she looked positively emaciated. Her twig-like arms and gnarled, veiny hands dangled uselessly at her side, and the skin stretched over her cheekbones was so paper-thin it was almost see-through.

‘Thanks for seeing me.’ She smiled thinly at Tatiana.

‘Of course. How are you?’

‘Oh, you know. Fine.’

Ignoring Maddie’s protests, Tati ordered her a hot chocolate with whipped cream and a plate of warm cookies to share. Maddie left both untouched. She’d come here to talk to Tati about her divorce, not to enjoy herself. Talking about her divorce had replaced eating, sleeping and breathing for Maddie Wilkes as the number one priority of her existence. There was still so much anger and shock and pain. If she didn’t lance the boil and let the bitterness out, she would die.

‘He wants half the house but he won’t get it.’ Her thin lips moved quickly, powered by resentment. ‘Can you imagine? After everything he’s done, he thinks he’s entitled to a share of my home.’

It was his home too
, thought Tati, but wisely didn’t say anything.

‘And now, to top it all, he says he can’t pay the school fees. According to George, the lawyers have cleaned him out.’

‘Perhaps they have?’ Tati offered meekly.

‘I daresay, but whose fault is that? If it hadn’t been for his sordid little affair, he wouldn’t have needed lawyers. If he hadn’t betrayed me and the children and broken every vow he ever made …’

Tati listened patiently while Maddie railed on. After a solid fifteen minutes, she finally ran out of steam.

‘Anyway, I know you still talk to them. Face to face, I mean, not through lawyers. I wondered if you’d give George a message from me.’

‘I’ll help if I can,’ said Tati warily.

‘I want the house and the business.’

‘You want the gallery?’ Even Tati couldn’t hide her surprise.

‘Yes. If he gives me both I’ll drop the claim for maintenance.’

‘If he gives you both he’ll be bankrupt!’

‘Nonsense,’ said Maddie curtly. ‘His boyfriend can keep him. Jason’s filthy rich now, thanks to you. George has made his bed and he can bloody well lie in it.’

‘But Maddie,’ Tati tried to be reasonable. ‘That gallery is George’s whole life’s work. He built it up from nothing.’

Maddie shrugged. ‘Our family was my whole life’s work. I built
that
up from nothing. But he didn’t think twice about destroying that, did he?’

There could be no reasoning with her. Underneath the anger and wild demands, it was painfully obvious that Maddie still loved George, that love and hate were two sides of the same coin.

‘Will you ask him, when you see him?’ said Maddie, standing up and pulling her coat back over her bony shoulders. ‘It will have more impact coming from you than from my lawyers. Knowing George he probably just throws their letters in the bin anyway.’

‘I’ll ask him,’ said Tati. ‘But I can’t promise he’ll agree.’

‘Yes, well. Tell him if he doesn’t, he can wave goodbye to his children,’ said Maddie. With an angry flick of her scarf she was gone.

‘That’s outrageous,’ said Jason. ‘She can’t do that. I’ll talk to her.’

‘Noooo!’ said Tati and George in unison.

‘For God’s sake, don’t,’ added George. ‘It’ll only make things worse.’

They were in Jason and George’s new flat on Drayton Gardens, a beautiful first-floor apartment with views over the communal gardens and high, Victorian ceilings. Jason had bought it with his share of the Hamilton Hall money, and although it wasn’t grand, it was warm and charming and perfect for the two of them. It also boasted a spare bedroom, which George had poignantly furnished with bunk beds in hopes that Maddie would eventually thaw about access to their children. Christmas was only three weeks away, and they’d yet to reach any sort of agreement.

‘All right, sit down everyone. George, refill Tati’s glass, would you? She’s a nightmare when she’s sober.’

Jason winked at Tati, setting down three steaming bowls of spaghetti vongole onto the immaculately laid table. He’d always been a good cook but, as with so many things, his culinary skills seemed to have blossomed since being with George.
He
had blossomed. It made Tati happy to see him so happy.
Although, I suppose it’s easier for me, never really having been in love with him in the first place. Not like poor Maddie with George.