They were no longer completely at ease. Sometimes she found that they were eyeing each other warily across the room, like two predators sizing up the competition. She was aware that their relationship seemed to be shifting beneath the surface—and that there was nothing she could do to stop it.
She was in Milan when her mother kindly sent her the article with the accompanying photograph. It showed Cormack out sailing in the company of a group from the studio, with a tiny brunette peeping adoringly at him from underneath a thick, glossy fringe, and Triss experienced an extra- ordinary feeling which could almost have been described as relief.
Because, in a way, she had been freed from the prison of loving a man as much as she loved Cormack. Now she could stop hoping and stop trusting because, in the end, it turned out that he was just the same as every other man.
Triss had only her own experiences to base her life on. She had grown up in a world where money ruled, where infidelity was as normal as apple pie and where promises were made to be broken.
She went back to Malibu and packed her bags, then left Cormack a letter saying that she had made a mistake. And she returned to London.
He tried to contact her, but she refused to take his calls and ignored his letters. But she was unable to ignore him when he turned up on her doorstep one day, straight off the early-morning flight.
The change in him was frightening. He seemed so distant, so remote. Like a stranger—only worse than a stranger. And his eyes were as coldly sharp as razor-blades. What was more, he made no attempt to touch her. Perhaps, if he had, the whole scenario might have been different. But there again, what was the point of continuing their relationship if the overpowering sexual attraction between them was the only thing which sustained it?
His voice was tinged with ice as he said, quite calmly, ‘Do you intend to continue this elaborate charade of hysterical behaviour, Triss, or are you willing to sit down and discuss the situation like an adult?’
And, naturally, the insult with which he had begun his question evoked a similarly insulting response in Triss.
‘Get out of my flat, you no-good philanderer!’ she snapped, and was shocked and mortified when he turned around without another word and did exactly that.
She missed him so much that it was as if half of her had gone with him, and she sent him a tentative letter, saying that perhaps one day they could be friends.
She received a cold little note by return of post saying that no, they couldn’t—because one of the pre-requisites of friendship was the existence of trust.
And that Triss had not yet learned the meaning of trust...
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHILE she waited for Cormack to return Triss bathed Simon, who was showing absolutely no sign of tiredness. She played peep-bo with him, and his delighted little chuckles rang out around the sumptuous art-deco bathroom.
He was an absolutely gorgeous baby, she thought, with a surge of fierce maternal pride, as she bundled him up in a big fluffy towel. And Lola had said that he had been as good as gold with her and Geraint.
Triss found herself wondering what Simon himself thought of Cormack. Did he have any inkling at all that the tall, dark Irishman was, in fact, his father? Were babies born with the instinctive equipment to detect their birth patents?
She let Simon lie on the floor and kick his chubby little legs. Then she dressed him in his Disney pyjamas and settled him down in his cot, putting on the teddy-bear mobile which played nursery rhymes—which Triss always sang along to, even though she had not been born with the most tuneful voice in the world!
Then she fed him, savouring those blissful moments of having him clamped to her breast and glugging contentedly. She was still breastfeeding first thing in the morning and last thing at night, and Simon seemed to be accepting this now, although it had been difficult at first.
She hadn’t wanted to wean him quite so early, but a look at her bank statement last month had convinced her that she could no longer afford the luxury of continuing to play the role of full-time mummy.
She had spent most of her savings on this house, which was her investment for Simon’s future. The rest she had been living off. She had not worked since discovering that she was carrying Cormack’s baby. She had been too plagued by morning sickness even to consider working at the beginning, and then, when the pregnancy had firmly established itself, she had done everything in her power to look after herself.
She had been mentally and physically exhausted after her run-ins with Cormack, and so she had quite deliberately nurtured her baby in the womb, taking as much rest as she could.
It was almost seven by the time Simon’s eyelids drooped and he fell fast asleep, his thumb firmly in his mouth. Triss crept out of the room feeling gritty and sticky and uncomfortable, her cheeks reddening as she remembered the reason why.
Well, she would wash every trace of Cormack Casey from her body, and maybe after that she might feel able to confront him with some degree of calmness this evening.
She showered and washed her hair, then dressed in a pair of black leggings and slouch-socks. She put a huge black sweater over the top then looked at herself critically in the mirror.
Hell, but she looked pale! And her shorn hair made her eyes look unnaturally huge in her face. In fact, she was about as far removed from the woman Cormack had fallen for as it was possible to be. And feminine pride meant that this fact rankled more than a little—especially to someone whose whole career had been based on looking beautiful.
Should she wear some make-up? Perhaps rub a little blusher into those deadly white cheeks?
She decided against it. If she made herself up, it might look as though she had seduction in mind—when really all she wanted to do was talk to him, establish some kind of practical framework whereby Cormack could have some contact with his son while he was growing up.
In the end she compromised and put on a pair of large, beautifully worked silver earrings, which Cormack had bought for her in a shop in Greenwich, where they had once spent a blissful weekend. They were studded with small polished ovals of amber and, while they were not the most precious things she owned, they were certainly her favourite—though she didn’t stop to examine too closely her motives for wearing them now.
She checked on Simon, then went downstairs. She was just deliberating on whether or not she ought to concoct some kind of supper—even though she did not have the slightest bit of appetite—when the telephone rang. She snatched the receiver up as though it were a lifeline.
‘Hello?’
‘Triss?’
Her first disappointed thought was that it was not Cormack. Triss recognised the voice immediately—it was Martha, her sister-in-law and dearest friend. A qualified obstetrician, she had cared for Triss throughout her pregnancy, and had delivered Simon with great emotion.
‘Martha!’ Triss exclaimed, and then said immediately, ‘Cormack has rung you, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes, he has.’ For once Martha sounded cross. Very cross. ‘Oh, Triss—how could you?’
‘How could I what?’
‘Don’t play the innocent with me, young lady! You know darned well what I’m talking about! He was furious to discover that Simon’s existence had been kept a secret from him. Triss, you told me—’
Triss found herself flushing guiltily. ‘Yes, I know...’
But Martha would not be deflected; Triss had never heard her beloved sister-in-law sound quite so angry. ‘You told me that Cormack had said he never wanted to see you again. You told me that he wanted nothing to do with your pregnancy, nor with your child! And now he informs me that he knew nothing of your pregnancy. Absolutely nothing.’ She exhaled an exasperated breath. ‘When I think of all the times I wanted to contact him—only you made me promise not to on pain of death!’
‘Martha...’ Triss gulped with genuine remorse. ‘I’m so sorry. Blame my hormones. Or blame my infantile inability to accept that, while my relationship with Cormack was doomed, it didn’t mean
that I had the right to deny him our son. I’m only beginning to realise that now.’
‘I felt such a heel when he rang,’ said Martha sadly. ‘And such a fool. Because I liked Cormack, really liked him. So did Michael. We still do.’
‘If it’s any comfort to you, then I feel a heel too,’ said Triss miserably.
‘Darling, you should have confided in me.’
‘You would have told him.’
‘Ye-es,’ agreed Martha slowly. ‘But would that have been so very awful, Triss? He would have stood by you, supported you—’
‘And I could not have taken that impartial kind of support from Cormack!’ declared Triss hotly. ‘Not at that stage! Not when I was still so much in love with him and the relationship was over.’
‘Triss, are you quite sure it was over?’ quizzed Martha gently.
‘He started having a relationship with someone else!’ sobbed Triss. ‘How sure can you get?’
‘Maybe he—’
‘Maybe nothing! Because during that relationship he and I met at a party and tumbled into bed together, and that was how Simon was conceived! And if he was capable of committing infidelity while he was in a relationship with someone else, then what the hell was he doing all the time he was with me?’
Martha’s voice sounded worried. ‘Triss—’
But Triss raged on, unable to stop. ‘Remember all those photos taken of him with adoring women while I was on the other side of the world?’ she demanded.
‘You mean the ones your mother went to so much trouble to make sure you would see?’ enquired Martha caustically.
‘And I’m grateful to her!’ declared Triss wildly. ‘Otherwise how else would I have known?’
‘Triss—’
‘At the time he tried to convince me that they meant nothing, Martha! But how could I ever be sure? That’s the main reason I left him—because I could not stand living with the jealousy he made me feel!’
All the anger and the bitterness came bubbling out, like poison spilling out of a witch’s cauldron. ‘He hurt me, Martha! He hurt me so badly that I honestly thought I couldn’t keep going—but I had to keep going, for Simon’s sake. And the only thing which kept me going was the thought that one day I would hurt him back.’
‘An eye for an eye, you mean?’ queried her sister-in-law acidly.
‘If you like.’
‘Revenge is a very negative act, you know, Triss—’
‘So is betrayal.’
‘Triss, have you actually talked to him about it?’
‘No.’
‘Listen...’ Martha sighed. ‘He’s going to be staying with you, isn’t he?’
‘Did he tell you that?’
Martha laughed. ‘No—ever since I’ve become a consultant obstetrician I’ve developed powers of clairvoyancy! Of course he told me—how else would I know? Come on, Triss. I know everything about the whole situation is a little heavy, but try to lighten up a little, for goodness’ sake! Not to mention for your sake—and Simon’s—and—dare I mention it?—Connack’s too!’
Triss managed a small smile. ‘Sorry. I know I’m Gloom of the Year at the moment! What were you going to say?’
‘Just that we could come over—if you like. For lunch on Sunday, if it’s a fine day. It might help to ease the atmosphere between you. And if other people are around—well, you can’t just go at one another hammer and tongs, now, can you?’
It sounded like a good idea. ‘I’ll call you,’ said Triss. ‘Listen, I have to go—there’s someone at the door and it’s probably Cormack.’
‘Go, then—and good luck,’ said Martha. ‘And ring me! OK?’
‘I will. Bye!’
Triss felt as nervous as a child going to school for the first time as she pulled open the door.
Cormack was standing there looking absolutely scrumptious, and Triss felt her heart sinking with despair. He had no right to look that good, she thought to herself. No right at all!
He had changed from the black leather and was dressed now with an almost quiet conservatism—which, conversely, only made him look all the more elementally sexy: pristine white jeans and a slubsilk shirt in palest blue, with a much darker blue sweater knotted casually around his neck. From his finger swung a soft navy jacket.
His blue eyes glinted, although Triss could not be sure if it was with devilment or irritation.
‘Finished?’ he queried softly, and Triss realised to her horror that she had been ogling him like a groupie!
‘Come in!’ she said hastily.
He entered the hall with a thoughtful kind of dignity, as if he had not been there earlier that day, and Triss felt unaccountably nervous. She noticed, too, that he carried a brown leather holdall, presumably containing enough clothes for...how long?
‘Have you eaten?’ she babbled.
‘No.’ He put the holdall down by the coat stand and hung up his jacket. ‘Have you?’
She shook her head. ‘I could cook us something...’
‘Or we could ring out for a pizza or a curry?’ he suggested.
Triss shook her head again. She thought of the forced inactivity while they waited for the food to arrive—and wait they would certainly have to. Delivery companies always had tremendous difficulty finding houses on the estate, since each one was tucked away so discreetly.
‘I’d rather cook,’ she told him. ‘There’s plenty of food. Come through to the kitchen—it’s this way.’
‘I know,’ he reminded her gravely. ‘I was here earlier, remember?’
‘Yes, of course!’
In the kitchen, Triss felt momentarily nonplussed, wondering if her hands would stop trembling enough for her to be able to chop up anything at all. ‘What do you want to eat?’
‘Don’t mind. Heat up a pizza or something.’
But that was the last thing she wanted to do. If she provided him with instant food, then it would leave all that time dragging interminably while it heated up. And they would either be left swopping polite, meaningless pleasantries, as they were now, or hurling bitter recriminations at each other across the room.
At least if she cooked she could keep herself busy—wouldn’t have to stare into those beautiful blue eyes which reminded her with a pang that was almost unbearable of just what she had lost.
She stared at him rather helplessly. ‘Would you like some wine?’
‘Please. Want me to open it?’
She nodded, fished out the best red she could find in the rack and handed it over to him.
He extracted the cork and half filled the two glasses she had pushed across the counter towards him. There was a slightly awkward moment when she lifted her glass to toast him—more out of habit than anything else.
His mouth curved into a sardonic line. ‘What would you like to drink to, Triss?’ he enquired mockingly. ‘To secrets?’
‘Or to betrayal?’ she countered sweetly.
‘And how am I supposed to have betrayed you?’
‘There is no supposed about it!’ she snapped, taking a huge slug of wine which made her feel better immediately. ‘You did betray me, Cormack!’
‘You mean that I made love to you when I was involved with another woman?’
‘Damned right I do!’
‘I see. You don’t think that if I betrayed anyone it was Helga? She was, after all, the woman I was having a relationship with at the time. Not you.’
Triss stared at him in shocked disbelief. ‘I don’t believe you just said that.’
‘Don’t you? Do you think that you are solely entitled to my loyalty, Triss? Even though I had not seen you or heard from you then for almost two years?’
To her astonishment, he settled himself on one of the stools, took a sip of wine and contemplated his glass thoughtfully. When he looked up again his blue gaze was quite steady.
‘It might be easier,’ he told her calmly, ‘if you were able to see the incident within the context of the wider issues at stake.’
‘How dare you
patronise me?’ Triss slammed her glass down on the counter and wine slopped into a claret puddle on the white marble. ‘And what the hell was that remark supposed to mean? Are you trying to blind me with Hollywood psycho-babble now, Cormack? When the bottom line is that you were in a relationship with some—’
‘Helga was not some anything!’ he interrupted immediately, his voice gritty and abrasive.
‘Oh? You’re defending her honour now, are you?’ Triss finally snapped, and all the bitterness and jealousy which had eaten away at her for so long suddenly erupted like a sore left to fester.
‘Of course I’m defending her honour,’ he responded, with a quiet dignity which reminded Triss of why she had loved him so much—though his words absolutely appalled her.
‘Y-you are?’
‘Why on earth not? Or would you expect me to treat a woman I respected badly?’
“Then why didn’t you marry her?’ she cried angrily. ‘If she was so bloody marvellous!’
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Because I was not in love with her—’ their eyes met for a long, tense moment ‘—the way I was in love with you.’
Triss noticed his use of the past tense and could have wept. She drank some more wine instead.
‘Helga was the innocent party in the whole affair,’ he said. ‘You and I had been apart for almost two years when I began dating her. So tell me, was that such a heinous crime, Triss—to want to see someone else?
‘You had quite steadfastly and adamantly refused to discuss what had gone wrong between us,’ he continued, his blue eyes blazing. ‘Our relationship was over—you’d made that quite clear. And, yes, I found your suggestion that we could one day be “friends” an insulting one.’
She began to mop up the spilt wine. ‘You aren’t one of these modern men who believe in a civilised ending to an affair, then?’
‘In theory, perhaps. In practice, not always—no. And certainly not to an affair which had been as passionate and as intense as ours.’
‘That didn’t mean that you had to leap into bed with the first woman who came along!’ she accused him.
‘I did not,’ he emphasised, with barely concealed impatience, ‘“leap into bed with the first woman who came along.” Nor the second, nor the third. Et cetera. Women throw themselves at me every day—and frankly I find it a turn-off. I always have done. I am not promiscuous, Triss, and I never have been. And what is more you do me a great disservice in judging me by the same standard as some of the more questionable escorts of your mother’s—’
Kiss and Tell Page 9
