His answering words were soft; only their meaning was as bitter and as abrasive as a physical blow. ‘And you don’t think you’ve confused him enough already?’ he accused her. ‘Leaving him with someone you barely know? You think it’s acceptable for Geraint Howell-Williams to hold him and to know him, do you, Triss? Some guy who has the most tenuous connection with his life? While I’m just left like the spectre at the feast-grabbing what small crumbs of him you see fit to throw my way?’
She felt unspeakably weary, as if her head had suddenly become too much for her slender neck to be able to hold. ‘I said not now, Cormack,’ she repeated, in a low voice which trembled unsteadily with strain as she watched Simon’s head turn from one to the other of them in bewilderment. Their voices had not been raised, but the bitterness behind their words was unmistakable. ‘Rowing in front of Simon is the last thing either of us wants or needs right now.’
He made a small sound of disgust. ‘Don’t you dare have the temerity to talk about my needs,’ he bit out, his finger instinctively touching the velvety smoothness of Simon’s cheek, ‘when they quite clearly come bottom on your list of priorities!’ Simon began to whinge, and wordlessly Cormack handed his son back to Triss, who managed to soothe him.
She tried to act normally. She settled Simon in his high chair, put his bib on and spooned his meal into him, all the while making the funny little noises which always made him giggle so much.
But all the time she was horribly aware of the accusing blue stare which her ex-lover directed at her. She had seen passion on Cormack’s face before, yes—many times—but never of this magnitude or this intensity. And this was not passion which was inspired by love or lust either, but a strong, barely contained emotion which had more to do with hate.
The tension and the bitterness emanating from him were almost palpable, and perhaps that disturbed even Cormack, for he stood up suddenly, his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers. He strode over to the French doors which looked out over the gardens and stood there, silent and unmoving and very slightly menacing as he gazed sightlessly at the blaze of yellow daffodils which swayed in the breeze.
Triss finished Simon’s meal with some yoghurt and fruit and he lapped it up greedily as she spooned it into his mouth.
‘You like that, don’t you, darling?’ she cooed approvingly, then looked up to find that Cormack had silently turned and was watching them intently, as a cat might watch a defenceless little mouse just before it pounced on it.
‘Raspberries?’ he queried in surprise. ‘You’re giving him raspberries?’
He made it sound like arsenic! Triss thought. ‘Yes, I am!’ she said defensively. ‘What’s so odd about that?’
‘Out of season and very expensive,’ he observed.
Triss glared at him, resenting his judgmental tone and that critical look which was making his blue eyes glitter like sapphires. ‘Right on both counts.’
‘So do you spoil him, Triss?’ he asked. ‘By giving him everything he wants? Perhaps to make up for him not having a father?’
Triss glared at him again. ‘What if I do?’
He shrugged. ‘At five months it scarcely matters. But I would have thought that as a basic rule for bringing up a child then giving him everything he wants might make him spoilt and ungrateful as he gets older—’
Triss rounded on him. ‘You’ve only observed me with Simon for all of ten minutes!’ she spluttered. ‘So how dare you cast doubts on my ability to be a good mother?’
‘I was just pointing out—’
‘And what would you know about bringing up a child anyway?’ she demanded, her words tumbling out furiously—like water spilling from a washing machine.
‘Nothing at all!’ he returned calmly, the muscle working frantically in his cheek the only indicator of his anger. ‘Since you refused me the right to have any kind of say in Simon’s upbringing! But no more, Triss,’ he continued, with a fierce kind of determination. ‘No more will you succeed in keeping me out of his life!’
She lifted her chin up and her eyes looked very bright and very green at that moment. But her proud look masked a feeling of fear. ‘Are you trying to intimidate me, Cormack?’
Did he sense that she was close to breakdown? Was that why his voice softened as he shook his head? ‘No, I’m not. What good could come of that? I intend to be totally up front with you, Triss. No games. No secrets. I shall tell you exactly what I want when it comes to Simon.’
‘And if I refuse?’
‘It’ll make things far more difficult for everyone concerned if you do—yourself included.’
She shook her head helplessly. ‘I just don’t know how we’re going to resolve this.’
He shrugged, and his voice became tinged with bitterness as he said, ‘Then perhaps, for the first time in our relationship, we might try a little compromise. Just because our love affair is finished it doesn’t mean we have to ruin Simon’s life into the bargain, does it?’
His words made her feel like crying. Or rather, one word in particular did. ‘Finished’. Their love affair was ‘finished’.
This was all most peculiar. She was the one who was supposed to be feeling a sense of triumph right now—with Cormack the distressed and injured party. So why the role-reversal? And why did she feel so empty all of a sudden?
Had she been holding onto some vague little hope in her heart that the sight of Simon might make Cormack want to try and rekindle their romance?
Well, she could kiss that hope goodbye.
For, no matter how well he adapted to being a father, she must never lose sight of the fact that she no longer had any place in Cormack’s life except as the mother of his child.
CORMACK shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his trousers as he subjected Triss to a moody blue stare.
‘I’m going now,’ he told her.
Hope and disappointment warred inside her as she wiped a trace of raspberry juice from one corner of Simon’s delectable rosebud mouth. ‘Going?’ she squeaked loudly.
His mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. ‘Don’t get carried away with excitement, sweetheart,’ he drawled. He reached out his hand to touch the top of Simon’s dark head lingeringly, and there was something almost wistful about the gesture which tugged relentlessly at Triss’s heartstrings.
For the first time she got an inkling of just how much she had wounded him by denying him his child. Uncomfortably, she opened her mouth to tell him so. ‘Cormack—’
‘I’m going into London to sort out a few things,’ he interrupted brutally. ‘Like bringing my clothes down here, and rescheduling a couple of meetings I had lined up during the week.’
‘Oh, please don’t let me stand in the way of your meetings,’ said Triss sarcastically as the horrible way he had spoken to her dissolved some of her feelings of guilt.
‘I won’t,’ he returned with cutting emphasis. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’ He gave her a cold smile. ‘I’m doing it for Simon. And I’ll be back—have no doubt about that, Triss.’
‘When?’ she enquired baldly. She plonked Simon’s favourite rattle onto his high-chair tray and followed Cormack out of the kitchen.
‘Tonight.’ His answer was just as blunt.
‘Tonight?’ Triss wrinkled up her nose, then gave