Sharon Kendrick Collection. Sharon Kendrick

towards the door, that bitter, angry look still on his face.

      ‘You have a son, Cormack,’ she said into the brittle silence.

      He stilled.

      Triss thought that he might not have heard her. ‘You have a son,’ she repeated desperately, longing for some—any—kind of reaction, then immediately wished that she hadn’t, for the outraged look of disbelief on his face was like a sabre being plunged deep into her heart.

      Countless seconds ticked by, and when he spoke it was as though he was using unfamiliar words, for his voice was totally unrecognisable. ‘Tell me that what I just heard is not true, Triss.’

      She swallowed down the acrid taste of despair. ‘You have a son,’ she said again quietly.

      He came across the room like a panther stalking its terrified prey, until he stood just in front of her, his eyes blazing angry blue fire which scorched into her soul. ‘You’re lying—’

      ‘I wish I was,’ she said, and then, when she realised the implications of that, ‘No! I didn’t mean that!’ she exclaimed in horror. ‘I just meant—’

      ‘Shut up!’ He looked angry enough to strike her, but Triss knew that she was safe from violence, for no matter how forceful his rage Cormack was a man who despised physical supremacy when it was abused. One of his finest screenplays had exposed a wife-beater as the lowest form of cringing coward. It had earned him his first Oscar nomination.

      ‘How old is he?’ he shot out, and his words had all the cold, penetrating accuracy of a bullet.

      ‘He—he’s five months.’ She did not need to look at Cormack’s fierce expression of concentration to know that he was frantically trying to work out when Simon might have been conceived.

      ‘Oh, he’s yours all right, Cormack,’ she informed him steadily, trying her utmost to withstand the blast of raw rage which was emanating from his smouldering eyes. ‘You have only to look at him to know which stable he came out of.’

      ‘Only you’ve never given me the opportunity to do that, have you, Triss?’ he snarled. “To look at him?’

      ‘I had my reasons!’ she defended herself, aware of how stilted she sounded.

      ‘Oh, really?’ he bit out in disgust, and Triss almost recoiled from the look of stark hostility he directed at her.

      When she had felt lonely and lost, and been missing Cormack like mad, her idea of keeping his child a secret from him had seemed like the ultimate act of justifiable revenge for the ruthless way he had treated her. But now Triss wondered if she had been insane at the time. Had her wildly fluctuating hormones been all over the place, making her temporarily mad enough to try and conceal Cormack’s baby from him?

      Because if she had stopped to think through all the repercussions properly would she not have anticipated his terrible, terrible rage at finding out in such a way? And what would his next action be? Dear Lord, thought Triss frantically, what on earth had she started here?

      ‘Where is he now?’ he snapped.

      ‘At home.’

      ‘And where’s home?’

      ‘In Surrey. We’ve only just moved. We live in a beautiful house in—’

      He interrupted her with a harsh demand. ‘Who’s looking after him now?’

      Triss swallowed. All of a sudden she did not feel confident enough to admit to Cormack that she had left their son with a woman she had scarcely known for any time at all.

      Lola Hennessy was her next-door neighbour—an air stewardess with a sunny disposition and the sweetest smile that Triss had ever seen. Triss had watched the way that Lola played with Simon, and had known with a woman’s unerring instinct that Simon could not be in better hands.

      ‘Lola is looking after him,’ said Triss quickly. ‘And she’s a friend of mine.’

      ‘But not an old friend, obviously, since I’ve never heard of her.’ Blue eyes bored into her so accusingly that Triss flinched. ‘Can she be trusted?’

      ‘Of course she can be trusted!’ Triss exploded. ‘Do you really think I’d leave my baby—’

      ‘Our baby,’ he corrected her immediately, his words icy with anger.

      ‘—with someone who can’t be trusted?’ she finished.

      His eyes were spitting angry blue sparks. ‘How the hell should I know?’ he demanded. ‘You didn’t even bother to inform me that I had a child, which is pretty abnormal behaviour in anyone’s book. Why stop there? Why not engage a group of tame gorillas to look after him?’

      She tried to tell herself that it was natural for him to lash out in view of what she had just told him. What she had not expected was for his criticism to hurt quite this much. ‘Cormack,’ she said quietly, ‘calm down.’

      But he shook his head. ‘So tell me,’ he went on, his Irish accent deepening, ‘how many people are privy to this great secret of yours? Your mother? Your brother? Am I the last to know?’

      ‘Cormack, at least let me try to explain—’

      ‘Keep your explanations!’ he snapped. ‘Every damned one of them! Because every word you speak sickens me to my stomach. Just get your coat and your things together. We’re going.’

      ‘G-going where?’ she asked him in confusion.

      ‘To see him, of course!’ he retaliated, and he clenched his teeth together in a look which was almost feral. ‘I want to see my son!’

      Despair warred with futile hope in Triss’s heart when she heard the fiercely possessive note in his voice as he spoke about his son. Already!

      Blue fire burned from his eyes. ‘What have you called him?’

      ‘Simon.’

      There was a pause while he digested this. ‘Simon what?’

      Triss swallowed. ‘Simon Cormack Patrick,’ she got out through lips which felt as though they had been glued together.

      Cormack Patrick senior expelled a breath which sounded more like a hiss. ‘You bitch,’ he said softly. ‘You scheming, devious little bitch! What right did you have to give my child my name—’

      ‘He’s my child too!’

      ‘—and yet keep his very existence from me?’ He shook his head in dazed disbelief. ‘Why?’

      Triss had to bite her lip to stop it from trembling—with indignation as well as shock at the depth of his anger towards her. What right did he have to accuse her of being scheming and devious when she was fully aware of his underhand behaviour and his deceit?

      She opened her mouth to sling his insults back at him, but something stopped her. Now was not the time or the place to trade slurs. Let him feel outraged and hurt and isolated instead—for had he not been responsible for imposing that very state on her?

      She automatically raked her fingers back through her shorn hair, and she saw Cormack’s eyes briefly narrow in a look which was alarmingly close to pain. It was a gesture which harked back to the days when she had needed to push the thick dark red waves away from her face.

      Had it reminded him of other, happier times? Triss wondered. Or the exact opposite? ‘I don’t think that now is either the time or the place to discuss my reasons—’

      ‘For denying me my child?’ he flared, his face about as dark as the leather which clung to him.

      Triss swallowed down her fear and doubt. Cormack was wounded, yes, as she had intended to wound him, but why did her victory suddenly seem so hollow and empty? She had expected his anger—but she had anticipated nothing on this scale. Nor the genuine hurt and bewilderment which she suspected lay behind his angry words.

      She