Kiss and Tell

by Sharon Kendrick

  Triss looked taken aback. ‘Of course he can—that’s if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Mind? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.’ Then he grinned. ‘We—ll, on second thoughts...’

  And Triss found herself blushing as their eyes met.

  That was how she left them, with Cormack holding the baby in the classic rocking position. Now that was one for the family album, she thought wistfully.

  She took her jeans, shirt and underwear into the bathroom with her, since she did not want to get dressed in front of Cormack—and she didn’t want to disturb him and Simon by asking him to leave either.

  When she had dressed, Triss went and rescued him, taking the baby from him even though he made a half-serious sound of protest.

  ‘We’ll be down in the kitchen,’ she told him. ‘What would you like for breakfast?’ she asked, and then wished she hadn’t, for in the early days she had asked him that very question and the answer had always been the same—‘You!’

  The brief clouding of his eyes told her that he had remembered too, but the careless smile which followed drove all other thoughts from Triss’s mind.

  ‘What does Simon have?’ he murmured.

  ‘I thought I’d give him scrambled eggs this morning,’ she told him, feeling strangely shy. Something seemed to have happened between the two of them, and some of the old ease and magic was back. And she liked it. She liked it very much.

  Cormack gave a roguish smile. ‘Then I’ll have the same as Simon, please.’

  Triss went down and put Simon in his high chair, only her hands were shaking so much that she could barely crack the eggs into the bowl. As it was, some of the mixture plopped onto the shiny linoleum floor, and Triss moved to the sink to find a sponge to mop it up with.

  She was just rinsing out the sponge under the tap when Simon leaned right over his tray at such a precarious angle that Triss was certain he was going to go hurtling to the floor.

  ‘Simon!’ she yelled, and rushed from the sink towards the high chair, not seeing the egg white where it lay in an innocently transparent pool.

  Her foot went from under her as it collided with the sticky mess and Triss was caught off balance, too startled to have the presence of mind to put her hand out to save herself.

  Her last thought before she hit the floor was her baby—nothing must happen to her baby.

  ‘Cormack!’ she called out, in a thin, reedy voice. ‘Oh, please... Cormack...’ And then the whole world went black.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  WHEN Triss came to she was lying down. Not on the kitchen floor, but stretched out on one of the sofas in the sitting room with Cormack hovering over her, his ashen, worried face barely recognisable.

  At the sight of her eyelashes fluttering. open he heaved a huge sigh of relief.

  ‘Triss! Thank God! Oh, thank God!’

  ‘Wh-where’s Simon?’ came her automatic response.

  ‘In his pram. Outside.’

  ‘Outside where?’ she demanded in alarm. She tried to sit up, but with a firm, decisive hand he stopped her.

  ‘Just there. Look.’ He pointed out through the window. ‘In the sunshine. Babies need fresh air. He’s fine.’ He knitted his black brows together furiously and a look of sweet concern came over his face. ‘But it isn’t Simon I’m worried about—it’s you! Darling, how’s your head?’

  Darling? Triss wondered if hearing things was a well-known side-effect of banging your head. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You slipped on the kitchen floor. You must have spilt something—’

  ‘Egg,’ she put in, as if in a trance, and saw him frown at her rather dreamy response.

  ‘You were only out a couple of minutes,’ he continued, his gaze scanning her face closely. ‘But I called Michael and Martha immediately. Michael is on call at the hospital, but Martha is on her way over. She’ll be here shortly. She’s going to look after Simon while I take you to the hospital.’

  ‘Hospital?’ Triss protested. ‘But I don’t need to go to hospital!’ She tried to sit up again, but waves of nausea washed over her and she slumped back against the pile of cushions which Cormack must have built up into a small mountain behind her head.

  ‘Oh, yes, you do!’ he retorted swiftly. ‘Martha says that as you lost consciousness—’

  ‘Only for a few seconds!’ she pointed out.

  ‘A few seconds or a few hours—either way, you still need an X-ray.’

  ‘Rubbish!’

  ‘Beatrice—’ he began, and Triss could not remember seeing him look quite so stern. ‘I am not playing games here. Now, either you allow me to take you to the hospital when your sister-in-law arrives or I call an ambulance and we go there right now, with sirens blaring and lights flashing and a very confused little baby into the bargain!’

  Triss slumped back again, feeling weak and helpless but also oddly satisfied. She had been on her own with Simon for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to be able to lean on someone else for a change. And it was rather comforting, she realised, to have someone else to make the decisions—even if Cormack did tend towards the very bossy!

  ‘OK?’ he quizzed.

  ‘OK,’ she agreed, at the same time as the doorbell pealed out. Cormack hurried out of the room to answer it.

  He returned minutes later with Martha, her sister-in-law, who rushed over to Triss’s side, her worried expression clearing slightly when Triss managed a wide smile.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she demanded, her fingers swiftly moving to Triss’s pulse.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Where’s Simon?’

  ‘In his pram outside,’ answered Cormack. ‘He needs some breakfast.’

  ‘Right.’ Martha nodded decisively.

  ‘But I can give him his breakfast!’ objected Triss on a pathetic little wail. ‘And I don’t want to go to the wretched hospital either!’

  Martha merely looked up and said serenely, ‘Cormack?’

  He bent down, scooped Triss up into his arms and carried her out to the car, and Triss could not help but notice the rather complacent smile on her sister-in-law’s face as he buckled up her seat belt for her.

  She felt dozy in the car, and she caught Cormack giving her a sharp, sideways glance before turning an even paler colour—something which Triss had not thought was physically possible.

  ‘It should be you going to hospital!’ she joked shakily.

  ‘Keep talking,’ he said grimly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Martha told me you weren’t to sleep. Talk to me, Triss,’ he implored.

  ‘About?’

  ‘About anything. About what is closest to your heart. Tell me about the day our son was born.’

  It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, but it served its purpose because it kept her talking. The words spilled out in an emotional torrent as she described the first sharp pain of labour which had speared at her womb in the middle of the night.

  ‘He came a couple of weeks earlier than he was meant to,’ she explained. ‘I hadn’t planned to be on my. own.’

  She saw the muscle which had begun to work convulsively in his left cheek.

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I rang Martha. She came straight away—which was loyalty beyond the call of duty, considering it was three in the morning! She kept me calm, kept me talking. Helped with my breathing. She...’ Triss, bit her lip.

  ‘She what?’

  ‘She wanted to ring you.’

  His mouth thinned. ‘But you wouldn’t let her, I suppose?’

  ‘No. And you must hate me for that. For denying you the opportunity of seeing your son born.’ Was it the wooziness from knocking her head which gave her the courage to voice her greatest fear? she wondered. Or was it simply that she had never known Cormack quite so approachable, quite so open with her?

  ‘How could I hate you, Triss,’ he answered simply, ‘when only a fool would fail to see why you acted as you did?’ He changed down
a gear. ‘We’re here,’ he announced, with an unmistakable note of relief in his voice.

  Triss was disappointed that their arrival at the hospital meant that their conversation was cut short, but one fact remained in her mind, bright as a new lightbulb—Cormack didn’t hate her. He didn’t love her, no, but at least he didn’t hate her. So would that be foundation enough to start to reconstruct their relationship?

  He insisted on carrying her all the way into the accident and emergency department. Triss initially felt mortified at such a brazen display of masculine strength, and she was only slightly cheered by the ill-disguised looks of admiration on the faces of every woman they passed, with Cormack striding along like a hero from a costume drama!

  In A&E the nurse in charge said to him rather reprimandingly, ‘You really should have got a wheelchair, sir!’

  To which Cormack replied, ‘But why bother? I rather like this method of transport!’

  And so did Triss—that was the trouble. In fact, she really missed his warmth and strength when they told her to lie down on some horrible cold, unyielding hospital trolley.

  When the X-ray result came back, Triss was given the all-clear. The doctor handed Cormack a sheet of instructions on what abnormal signs to look for which might indicate that she needed to come back to hospital. ‘And no emotional stress, please!’ he warned perceptively as he picked up on some of the incredible tension which seemed to be flowing between the two of them.

  Unfortunately, the doctor’s instruction seemed to give Cormack the idea that he now had carte blanche to run Triss’s life as he saw fit!

  He banished her to bed on their return home and saw Martha off, and then proceeded to take full charge of Simon for the next two days—as if he had recently graduated with honours in childcare!

  ‘How d’you know so much about babies?’ Triss enquired as she spooned up the tomato soup he had brought her on a tray and watched while he constructed yet another pile of wooden bricks for Simon to swipe at with a chubby fist.

  ‘How did you?’ he countered, with a lazy smile.

  ‘Instinct coupled with trial and error, I guess.’

  ‘Same here,’ he grinned. ‘Though I discovered to my cost that Simon doesn’t like having his hair washed!’

  ‘Er—no,’ agreed Triss, thinking that that was the understatement of the year!

  ‘I think I ended up with more water on me than on him!’

  Triss giggled at the thought of her successful scriptwriter being defeated by a little baby at bathtime, then drew herself up sharply.

  What on earth was she thinking of? Cormack wasn’t her scriptwriter. He wasn’t her anything. He was Simon’s father, nothing more, and obviously, being a regular sort of guy, he wanted their relationship to be as civilised as possible.

  And so did she; she really did.

  She was past the stage of seeing Cormack as Mr Evil and herself as the poor, betrayed victim. And she had more than exacted her revenge—a conclusion which brought her nothing in the way of satisfaction.

  But the danger—for her, anyway—was that while Cormack remained here and continued to build a relationship with her as well as with Simon she might continue to weave all these pathetic little fantasies about him.

  Sooner or later, the subject really must be addressed.

  ‘Do you think we could ever possibly be friends?’ she asked him suddenly.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, much too quickly, and Triss felt her heart sink. Once he had loved her too passionately ever to be able to contemplate such a thing. And his complete reversal of opinion now must surely mean that his love for her had died?

  ‘Cormack—’ she began, but he shook his dark head decisively.

  ‘Not now, Triss,’ he told her gently. ‘Let’s wait until you’re better before we discuss anything. Remember what the doctor said about emotional stress?’

  It was his gentleness which disturbed her most. Cormack being that solicitous could mean only one thing. He wanted her to be fully recovered before he told her that his marriage proposal had been an ill-conoeived idea, made on the spur of the moment.

  But she had decided that she wanted him anyway—even if it was ridiculously one-sided. She had forgotten how golden life could be when he was around, and she could all too vividly picture the greyness of life without him.

  But maybe Cormack was right. Maybe it was best if they tried their utmost to be friends. For surely enough water had now passed under the bridge for them to make that rational and adult progression? For Simon’s sake.

  ‘OK, then,’ she agreed falteringly.

  Two days later he called in her GP, who pronounced her fit and well, and Cormack saw the doctor out with a broad grin of satisfaction on his face.

  He didn’t return for a good ten minutes, and when he did he was still wearing that same, rather smug expression.

  ‘I’m taking you out for lunch!’ he announced.

  ‘But—’

  ‘Lola and Geraint are coming in to babysit. They’re getting married next week, by the way! And we’re invited.’

  ‘They are? Oh, that’s...that’s...’ It took one of the biggest efforts she had ever had to make for Triss’s voice not to break down. ‘Wonderful,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Do we have to go out for lunch?’ she enquired, rather plaintively. Wouldn’t it be better to get the old heave-ho in private?

  ‘Yes,’ he told her firmly. ‘We do.’

  She opened her mouth to object, saw that familiar look of determination and quickly shut it again.

  At least if they were in a public place he might be extra, extra gentle with her. And sooner or later she was going to have to face the outside world again.

  - After these past few days, when she had lived exclusively with her child and the father of that child, she had felt cosseted and safe and secure. And now she felt as though he was cutting the lifeline which linked the three of them, and that soon she would be adrift, floating on a great big empty sea without her beloved Cormack.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I thought we’d try the restaurant here, on the estate. Then if you get tired it isn’t too far to come back.’

  And if she got stressed or tearful—likewise. The only trouble was that St Fiacre’s exclusive grill-room would be full of rich, bored and beautiful women who would be eyeing up Cormack like vultures.

  ‘Then I want to get changed first,’ she told him firmly.

  ‘You look just fine as you are.’

  Yeah, sure, she thought as she cast a disparaging eye over her navy blue leggings and matching sweatshirt. She could just imagine the sort of reaction she would get walking into the restaurant wearing these!

  Since Cormack had come back into her life, the most flattering outfit he had seen her in had been the rather uninspiring linen dress she had been wearing to meet him at the cottage. Apart from that, he had seen her in nothing that was remotely glamorous. Not unless you counted her satin pyjamas, of course, and Simon was always posseting his milk over those!

  Well, if Cormack had decided that today was the day he was going to give her the push, then visually, at least, she was going to make him eat his heart out!

  She went upstairs to her room and set to on her face with a vengeance, using every trick she had learnt during her modelling days to enhance her rather wan-looking appearance.

  By the time she had finished, she looked all eyes—and Triss nodded with satisfaction. Cormack had always been a sucker for her eyes!

  And how her hair had grown! Strands of it were now tickling the back of her long neck, and the few extra centimetres in length had softened her face and complemented the unconscious serenity which motherhood had given her.

  She clambered into an outrageous lime-green leather mini-dress with zip-front and matching ankle boots, which had been given to her by one of Italy’s most famous and avant-garde designers after she had modelled it for him. It was a one-off, and he had told her rather sen
sationally that he would never be able to bear seeing it on another woman because the dress was simply her.

  Now, as Triss twirled in front of the mirror, she wasn’t too sure. Oh, it looked superb, no question about that—because you needed a tall, lean and leggy look to get away with this kind of abbreviated garment. A model-girl look, to be precise. She just wasn’t sure, she thought as she put on a pair of huge silver earrings studded with jade, whether the rather conservative St Fiacre’s restaurant was quite ready for this kind of thing!

  Cormack certainly wasn’t. He blinked several times in quick succession when he saw her, and seemed lost for words for a moment, until he growled, ‘Maybe we’ll cancel that table, after all—and eat in.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ answered Triss tranquilly. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Hmm,’ was his only response.

  Lola and Geraint arrived, giggling happily and so openly in love that Triss could see that it was a real effort for them to keep their hands off each other.

  ‘Geraint has moved in with me until we decide whether or not we’re going to stay at St Fiacre’s!’ announced Lola.

  ‘Which is rather convenient,’ murmured Geraint, ‘seeing as Dominic wants his house back!’

  ‘So Dominic Dashwood is coming back for good, is he?’ asked Cormack thoughtfully. ‘Bang goes your peace and quiet then, Triss! The estate will be crawling with members of the Press.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Triss disagreed, shaking her head. ‘Security on the estate is tight, tight, tight—that’s one of the main reasons I bought the house.’

  ‘Is it, now?’ queried Cormack, and threw Geraint a narrow-eyed look over the top of Triss’s head.

  Lola was bubbling over with excitement, and she kept waving her left hand around in a flamboyant arc, so that the whopping great solitaire on her finger cast rainbow rays in its path.

  ‘Oh, it’s gorgeous!’ murmured Triss fervently, trying like mad to keep the envy out of her voice. Was she really so old-fashioned, she wondered in disgust, that she wanted Cormack to buy her a similar declaration of intent?

  Yes, she did! And what on earth was the point of yearning for the unattainable?