LITMIR.BIZ

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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 sensationally 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

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