LITMIR.BIZ

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Furlings back, you do realize that?’

      ‘Well, we’ll see, won’t we?’ Tati said brazenly. She knew she must not show weakness in front of this usurper. ‘You’ll find I’m not the only person in this village who wants you out, Mr Cranley.’

      ‘I don’t give a fuck what the village thinks. I won’t have you coming around my house upsetting my wife.’

      ‘It’s not your house,’ Tati hissed.

      ‘You can explain that to the police when I have you arrested for trespassing,’ said Brett.

      ‘You have me arrested?’ Tati laughed. ‘You just assaulted me, naked, in my own bathroom!’

      ‘Don’t be so melodramatic.’

      He stood up and started wandering around the room, picking up random objects and examining them idly. In her shocked state up in the bathroom, Tati hadn’t got a good look at her enemy. Although clearly he’d got a very good look at her. Now, she examined Brett Cranley more closely. Her first thought was how much he looked like his daughter, or rather how much Logan looked like him. Man and girl both had the same dark eyes and blue-black hair, the same swarthy, pirate-like complexion. But whereas Logan was a slender, delicate little thing, Brett had the broad, stocky build of a cage fighter. Moving around Greystones’ drawing room now, he seemed too big for the space, like a bear stumbling around a tea room.

      He’s not especially tall. But he has presence, thought Tati.

      She’d witnessed the same effect before in countless other powerful, successful men, men who she’d delighted in seducing and bending to her will. Brett Cranley, she suspected, might prove a more difficult fish to catch. Not that she had the remotest interest in him romantically. All Tatiana wanted from her obnoxious third cousin was the deeds to her house. That and his handsome head on a platter.

      Brett gave her a questioning look. ‘What are you doing here, Tatiana?’

      She glared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘I mean, why are you in this house? This village? You know damn well you’re never going to get Furlings back. Why don’t you go back to London, find some nice, rich schmuck to marry and live happily ever after? A girl like you could get a score of beautiful houses if she wanted to.’

      ‘I don’t want to,’ said Tati with feeling. ‘All I want is Furlings. Anyway, what do you mean “a girl like me”?’

      Brett’s questions were the same ones she’d been asking herself less than half an hour ago. But she instantly bridled hearing them from him.

      ‘Oh, I think you know what I mean,’ Brett sneered. He had moved close to her now, too close. Tati could smell the faint, patchouli scent of his aftershave and feel the warmth of his breath on her neck. Before she knew what was happening, he had slipped one hand around the small of her back and begun gently stroking her bare skin beneath the tatty sweater, a gesture at once affectionate, erotic and breathtakingly presumptuous.

      It was the latter that Tati reacted to, pushing him away violently.

      Brett laughed. ‘Why so affronted? You’re a sexy girl and you know it.’

      ‘And you’re a revolting old lech, whether you know it or not. You don’t seriously think I’d be attracted to you?’

      ‘Oh that’s right, I forgot. You prefer boys now, don’t you? Like my son,’ Brett said archly, walking away. ‘Strange, that’s not what I read in the papers about you.’

      ‘I haven’t the remotest interest in you or your son,’ Tati insisted furiously. ‘All I want is my house back. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to get it.’

      ‘You’re out of your league,’ Brett said languidly. He was mocking her now, a cruel, amused smile playing on his thin lips as he pulled his car keys out of his pocket and tossed them from hand to hand. ‘Pretty girls like you should stick to what they’re good at.’

      ‘Oh really. And what’s that?’

      ‘Shopping and shagging. And looking decorative.’

      ‘That’s what your wife does, is it?’ said Tati, touching a nerve at last. ‘How proud you must be.’

      Brett’s face darkened. ‘You stay away from my wife.’

      ‘I’ll be glad to. Just as long as you stay away from me. I’ll see you in court, Mr Cranley.’

      Brett said nothing. He merely walked back to his car, laughing.

      Once he’d gone, Tatiana stood frozen to the spot, too angry to breathe, let alone move.

       Disgusting, arrogant, entitled, sexist pig!

       I hate him.

       I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone in my entire life.

      It was a miracle that both the Cranley children had turned out so sweet. Clearly Angela Cranley must be quite a mother, far from the ‘decorative’ doll of her revolting husband’s imagination.

       Conceited little shit.

       Shopping and shagging indeed …

      Tati had been determined to contest the will even before Brett Cranley showed up at her door. But now? Now she’d sell her own organs to get Furlings back if she had to. Brett Cranley was going to rue the day he underestimated Tatiana Flint-Hamilton.

      Laura Baxter brushed her teeth and spat furiously into the basin.

      ‘I don’t know why you’re so angry,’ said Gabe. Lying on the bed in his boxer shorts in Wraggsbottom Farm’s beautiful, beamed master bedroom, he had a James Bond novel open in one hand and a packet of Maltesers in the other. It was a warm night and the lead-mullioned window beside the bed was open, revealing a glorious view of the valley, with the river Swell at its base and the Downs rolling away to the sea. Gabe had lived here since birth and loved his farm as if it were a person. Since marrying Laura he loved it even more, with all the promise it now held for the future. Their future.

      ‘I went to see a neighbour,’ he said, popping another Malteser into his mouth. ‘I wasn’t selling our first-born child to Pol Pot.’

      ‘We don’t have a first-born child,’ said Laura. ‘And we’re not likely to if you keep lying to me.’

      She came back into the bedroom looking as furious as it was possible to look in a floral Laura Ashley nightdress covered in pale pink rosebuds.

      ‘I didn’t lie to you,’ said Gabe indignantly.

      ‘You went behind my back. It’s the same thing.’

      ‘It is not the same thing. Christ, what is wrong with trying to buy a few fields anyway?’

      Throwing back the covers, Laura climbed into bed, punching the pillows as if she had a grudge against them. She hated it when Gabe was deliberately obtuse. Not to mention deceitful.

      ‘It is not “a few fields”. It’s hundreds of acres of land that we can’t afford. And that may not even be Brett Cranley’s to sell. You know as well as I do that his inheritance is disputed.’

      ‘All the more reason to buy now, while we’ve got the chance.’

      Laura let out a stifled scream of frustration and turned out her bedside light. Pulling the covers around her like a shield, she pointedly turned her back on her husband.

      Gabe was equally frustrated. Running the farm was his job. He didn’t tell Laura how to produce television programmes or write scripts. What gave her the right to meddle in his business decisions? On the other hand, he hated fighting with her. Putting down his book and sweets, he wrapped his arms around her stiff, angry body.

      ‘I love you,’ he whispered in her ear.

      Laura

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