‘How’s Simon?’ asked Triss quickly.
‘Simon’s just wonderful,’ Lola reassured her firmly. ‘I can hardly bear to give him back to you. Come and see.’
Triss forced herself to try and act normally, though she found herself stupidly wondering whether it was obvious that she and Cormack had spent the afternoon in bed together. She could feel the unusually high colour in her cheeks which would not seem to fade. “This is Cormack Casey,’ she said, rather hesitantly.
Lola held her hand out immediately. ‘Hello, Cormack.’ She dimpled, as if it were every day that she met friends’ estranged lovers who happened to be world-famous scriptwriters! ‘I saw your last film three times! I loved it—especially the bit where she discovered that the letter had never been sent.’
Triss watched the stiff set of Cormack’s shoulders relax. She knew that he had been suspicious, and prepared to dislike Lola—and perhaps that was understandable in the circumstances—but no one could help but warm to someone who was so friendly and unaffected. And who was clearly a fan!
‘Did you, now?’ he queried, though his smile looked forced. ‘I’m Simon’s father,’ he told her bluntly.
Triss looked anxiously at Lola, who was already aware of this fact, but to her credit she merely nodded, as if people confided their paternity every day of the week, and said, ‘I see.’
‘How is he?’ asked Triss again. ‘How has he been?’
‘Wonderful! A textbook baby! But don’t just take my word for it—come and see for yourself! He’s been out for a walk,’ Lola informed them as they followed her across the magnificent entrance hall towards a set of carved-oak double doors. ‘Then he had a bottle. And my mother watched over him while he had his snooze.’ At Triss’s raised eyebrows she said quickly, ‘She’s upstairs at the moment, resting—I’ll tell you about it later. We were just thinking of giving Simon some tea. He’s in here...’
She pushed the door open and Triss felt all Cormack’s tension return as he saw his baby being cradled in the arms of a tall man who was a total stranger to him.
At the sound of the door being opened the man turned to face them, and Simon immediately let out a huge gurgle of joy when he saw Triss.
‘Oh, Geraint!’ laughed Lola, her voice sounding slightly dreamy. ‘He’s been sick all over your shoulder!’
Stormy grey eyes glanced dismissively at some regurgitated milk which had splodged over the shoulder of a black cashmere sweater, then the man shrugged. ‘It’ll wash,’ he drawled, in a distinctively Welsh accent.
Without another word he walked across the room, carrying a wriggling Simon who was holding his arms out and trying to launch himself out of Geraint’s grip. ‘Hi, Triss,’ he said gently. ‘Have your boy back.’ And he handed Simon over to Triss.
The baby locked his chubby arms around Triss’s neck and immediately began to squirm happily against her.
‘Hello, darling,’ Triss. whispered softly, closing her eyes briefly as she rubbed her chin against the delicate silk of his black hair, unaware that Cormack was standing across the room from her, watching her and watching Simon, his blue eyes narrowed and assessing.
An awkward silence fell, and Triss was wondering just what to do next when Geraint came to her aid by moving across the room to stand rather proprietorially beside her.
He held his hand out towards Cormack. ‘Geraint Howell-Williams,’ he said.
The two men eyed each other warily, like two prime predators sizing each other up, then shook hands—though Cormack continued to subject Geraint to a steady, curious stare. ‘Cormack Casey.’
‘I know who you are.’
‘Then you have the advantage over me,’ said Cormack, his normally lilting Irish accent sounding harsh and abrasive. ‘Because I don’t know you from Adam!’
‘I’m going to marry Lola,’ said Geraint, by way of an explanation, looking directly into Cormack’s eyes.
‘I don’t remember agreeing to announce it!’ protested Lola, though her smile was so wide it threatened to split her face in two.
‘Don’t you?’ queried Geraint in a teasing drawl. ‘Well, I do—but you clearly had other things on your mind, darling!’
‘Geraint!’. Lola blushed a deep scarlet, but the look which passed between the two of them was electric with warmth and love and an uninhibited sexual tension.
And we used to be like that, thought Triss, an unbearable sadness sweeping over her as she remembered a time when she and Cormack had both been incandescent with love. When just a shared look across a crowded room had been enough to make every other person fade into insignificance.
She had to get out of here before she did something unforgivable—like breaking down in tears in front of everyone. She hugged Simon even closer to her chest, and he gave a mildly protesting wriggle.
‘We’d better be going,’ she said quickly. ‘Thank you so much...’
But Lola was already gently pushing her in the direction of the door. ‘You don’t have to thank us,’ she said softly. ‘It was our pleasure. Just go,’ she whispered, so that only Lola could hear. ‘And sort some things out between you.’
Cormack did not say a word as the three of them walked back towards Triss’s house.
Triss sneaked a look at him. She had never seen him look quite so dazed. He was staring at the baby clasped closely against her chest with the same kind of rapt scrutiny he would have given a statue which had just been brought to life in front of him.
He looked, she thought, like a man taking part in a dream sequence—as though none of what was happening made very much sense to him.
Come to think of it, events had a pretty bizarre quality for her too.
Once inside the house, she went straight into the kitchen. ‘Here,’ she said, and handed the baby to him. ‘You hold him for a bit. Don’t worry, he’s very good; he often goes happily to—’ She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening with horror as she realised what she had been about to say.
‘Strangers?’ he supplied, with acid emphasis.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—’
‘Please don’t apologise,’ said Cormack, in a crisp kind of authoritative voice he had never used with her before. ‘It’s nothing more than the truth.’ And then he bent his dark head to concentrate all his attention on the warm, curious bundle in his arms.
He held Simon gingerly at first, as if he had been given an incredibly precious burden to carry. Then, after a little while, he sat down on one of the high stools at the breakfast bar, still clutching the child to him, and Simon just stared up at his father with interested, identical deep blue eyes.
Triss turned away and busied herself in an effort to stern the tears she found inexplicably pricking at her eyes. Of course they look the same, she told herself fiercely, swallowing down the infuriating salt taste at the back of her throat. But just because the two of them look as though they should be auditioning for a happy-families soap-powder commercial it does not mean that everything is now hunky-dory.
She boiled the kettle and made a pot of tea, then took some mashed potato and broccoli from the fridge and began to warm it through.
When the dish was prepared she looked round to find that Simon had lifted a podgy hand and was tugging at a strand of thick black hair which had flopped onto Cormack’s forehead. But it was the expression on Cormack’s face which turned her heart to stone.
For he had removed his tender gaze from Simon to stare across the kitchen at her, and the withering look of contempt on his face was like a knife-wound to the heart.
‘What