Somebody had, she thought with relief.
Through the mists of sleep she heard a rapping on the bedroom door, and Cormack stirred beside her, his finger and thumb moving instinctively to tantalise her nipple.
‘Oh,’ she sighed, and shifted her body towards his, and he gave a low laugh as he ran his hand possessively over her bottom.
‘Cor-mack!’ yelled a voice from outside the door. ‘Phone!’
‘Go away!’ growled Cormack as he let his mouth drift lazily over Triss’s breast. ‘I’m busy!’
‘It’s urgent!’ persisted the voice. ‘It’s Helga!’
Triss felt him freeze, and then he sat up. And the expression in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. For written in their lapis lazuli depths she could read despair. And guilt.
And Triss knew that whoever Helga was—Cormack was involved with her.
He didn’t say a word to her as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and began pulling on his jeans. He didn’t have to, for self-condemnation had etched an unbearable strain on his features.
By the door he paused, turned round and said, in a voice of almost unendurable tension, ‘Triss?’
But she shook her head, clapped her hands fiercely over her ears like a child and buried her face in the pillow.
And only when she heard the door click behind him did she sit up, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and begin to plan her escape.
TRISS closed her eyes and forced the memories to recede, and when she opened them again she was momentarily disconcerted to find herself sitting in her cosy bleached-oak kitchen at St Fiacre’s—miles and months away from snowy Brighton—with Cormack watching her thoughtfully.
‘We never resolved that night together, did we, Triss?’
She swallowed the last of her wine. ‘What’s to resolve?’
‘Plenty.’
‘No!’ She refilled her glass and saw him frown.
‘You should eat something,’ he observed.
‘Go to hell, Cormack Casey! When I need a nanny I’ll look for one—and I certainly won’t choose a philandering—’
‘Triss! For God’s sake, stop all this!’
‘Give me one good reason why I should!’ she yelled.
‘Simon,’ he answered simply.
‘That isn’t fair,’ she said bitterly. ‘That’s emotional blackmail!’
He gave her a long, steady look. ‘Don’t talk to me about emotional blackmail, Triss,’ he said quietly. ‘Because in those particular stakes you played the trump card by keeping my son a secret from me. If that isn’t emotional blackmail, then I don’t know what is.’
‘Yes, I did!’ she declared. ‘And if you want to know why I did it then I’ll tell you! I did it because it made me feel good. I enjoyed the planning of it and the thought of it! I enjoyed carrying the secret around with me, if you must know!’
And it had only stopped being enjoyable when she had been confronted with Cormack again, and had realised the enormity of her actions in keeping his own flesh and blood hidden from him. And now, instead of feeling triumphant about her act of revenge, she felt mean and low and nasty.
But she was not going to tell him that. Why should she? Telling him would only reveal her dangerous vulnerability where he was concerned. And besides, he had shown very little in the way of considerate feelings towards her.
‘And all because of Helga?’ he asked sadly.
‘Don’t you dare make it sound as though Helga was just some casual acquaintance of yours! You were having an affair with her, weren’t you?’
‘I had been—’
‘So what was she doing ringing you up at six in the morning on New Year’s Day? That does not sound like the behaviour of an ex-lover to me.’
Cormack sighed. ‘Would you give me the opportunity to explain?’
Triss bit her lip—hard. Anything to stop that threatening and give-away wobble in her voice from developing. ‘Is there any point?’ She scowled.
‘I thought that we’d already decided that, yes, for Simon’s sake, of course there is a point.’ His eyes narrowed as they took in the fact that she was perched tensely on the very edge of one of the high stools by the breakfast bar. ‘You don’t look comfortable there, Triss.’
‘I’m not.’
‘Then why don’t we take our wine into the sitting room? Have you any cheese?’
Triss nodded. ‘In the fridge.’ She thought about how ungracious she was being and resolved to make more of an effort. ‘Why? Are you hungry?’
‘Ravenous,’ he admitted, then shot her a deliberately lazy smile. ‘Something must have given me an appetite...’
Triss felt her cheeks burn and closed her eyes in horror. It was hard to imagine now what had taken place this afternoon within minutes of their meeting.
And did he have to remind her of it? There she had been, just seconds earlier, foolishly vowing to be nice to him, when clearly he had no compunction about embarrassing her.
‘Why mention that?’ she cried. ‘And why now?’
‘Why not?’ he challenged. ‘We’ve been studiously avoiding the subject ever since it happened. Is that something else which is to be brushed underneath the carpet, Triss? Ignored as though it never happened?’
‘It shouldn’t have happened!’
‘Maybe not,’ he admitted, and Triss felt her face crumple at his easy agreement. She took another huge slug of wine so that he wouldn’t see.
‘But it did happen,’ he continued, and went to open the refrigerator door and peered inside. ‘So maybe we need to ask ourselves why.’
‘Why?’ Triss echoed.
‘Mmm.’ His blue eyes were very candid as he turned to look at her over his shoulder. ‘Why, after everything that’s happened between us, did we still fall into bed with each other today?’
‘I would have thought that was fairly obvious,’ answered Triss repressively. ‘It’s one of the baser human instincts and it’s known as lust.’
He didn’t answer her, just pulled out a plastic box and began to take various lumps of cheese out. ‘Oh, go and sit down, Triss,’ he told her impatiently. ‘I’ll bring this in when I’m ready.’
She topped up her glass and took it into the sitting room and lit the lamps, so that the room looked warm and peachy and inviting. It was cold enough for a fire, too...
Minutes later, she had the beginnings of a blaze crackling in the grate. She sat down in one of the armchairs and must have dozed off, for when she opened her eyes again it was to find Cormack towering over her, a tray in his hands with a bowl of something steaming on it.
She sat up. ‘That smells good. What is it?’
‘Soup. I found a carton in the fridge. And there’s a melted-cheese sandwich too.’
‘My favourite,’ she said automatically, pleased in spite of everything, and yet acutely aware that she was straying into dangerous emotional waters here.
‘I know,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll go