‘And I’m not one of your business pawns you can manipulate and bully. I am a man now and you will treat me like one.’
Ignoring him, Robert ploughed on. ‘You bum around the world on hand-outs, then you come crawling back with a hooker for a wife and an STD no doubt.’
‘Robert, please,’ pleaded Connie.
‘Unless you get rid of that girl and sort yourself out, there is no future for you at Ash Corp.,’ said Robert. ‘And there will be no further money from our coffers. I mean it, Miles.’
The two men’s eyes locked.
‘Good,’ said Miles, his voice shaking. ‘I don’t need your pathetic little company.’
‘It’s my pathetic little company that has given you this house, your education—’
‘I don’t want any of it!’ screamed Miles. ‘Don’t you understand that? I don’t want anything you can give me, Father – nothing!’
Robert Ashford was already by the door. ‘You have until New Year to think about it,’ he said, and walked out of the room without turning back.
‘Miles, wait—’
Connie could see that her son was in a rage, out of control. There was no telling what he would do if he caught up with his father, so she stepped out, blocking the door.
‘Mum, don’t,’ Miles growled, his cheeks flushed, but Connie shook her head firmly.
Robert had never understood Miles or the anger, the violence he kept inside him, but Connie had known about it from the moment he was born, when he took one look at the world and let out a terrible scream. Miles had an energy, a dark urge she hadn’t felt with Grace – or anyone else for that matter. He had huge untapped talents, hidden depths that were capable of great things, she was sure of it, but neither of his parents and none of his teachers had been able to do anything about it. Connie realised that a line had been crossed tonight – and she also knew this might be her last chance to reach her son.
‘Miles, sit down,’ she said, closing the door.
‘I’ve got to go to Chrissy,’ insisted Miles.
‘Chrissy is fine, darling.’
‘But you heard what Dad said.’
‘Yes. And I think your father is wrong.’
Although Connie Ashford came from money – considerably more money than her husband if truth be told – she was not a snob. She did not judge Chrissy just because of her accent, the way she looked or how she made a living. She remembered only too well the way her own family had looked down their noses when she had first introduced them to Robert Ashford. Poor Robert had come from nothing and had clawed his way up – but not very far. He was destined for great things, but by then all he had was a five-bedroom guesthouse in Notting Hill and an estuary accent that hinted at his working-class roots. Over the course of their year-long courtship, Connie’s father, Sir Reginald King, had refused to acknowledge Robert, even when he was in the same room.
‘I’ve never told you this, but I had the same thing with my father.’
Miles frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘When I told him we wanted to get married, he threatened to cut me off from my inheritance. He called your father all sorts of names and said he was after my money. Your dad is only doing what he thinks is best. The problem with him is that he’s spent so long trying to be something he never was, he forgets where he came from. He doesn’t mean to do it, but he’s been acting in a role for so long, he doesn’t know how to stop.’
Connie examined her son carefully and wondered what it was about Chrissy that had bewitched him. It was true she wasn’t the sort of woman they had expected him to choose – in fact, they had rather expected that nice girl Sasha to tie him down – but then love wasn’t logical or easy to understand. The heart wants what it wants, that was the phrase, wasn’t it?
‘I do what Dad says now, I’m going to carry on doing what he wants for the rest of my life,’ said Miles more quietly.
Connie looked at him. Her baby was so grown up. It only seemed like two minutes since she was pushing him around Holland Park in his stroller. Her birthday today had only served to remind her how quickly time was passing.
‘Do you love her?’ she asked.
‘Chrissy? She’s my wife.’
‘I know that. I asked if you loved her.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Miles softly. ‘But this isn’t about her, it’s about me. You know that.’
His mother nodded slowly. ‘So what are you going to do?’