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‘Rubbish!’
‘Beatrice—’ he began, and Triss could not remember seeing him look quite so stern. ‘I am not playing games here. Now, either you allow me to take you to the hospital when your sister-in-law arrives or I call an ambulance and we go there right now, with sirens blaring and lights flashing and a very confused little baby into the bargain!’
Triss slumped back again, feeling weak and helpless but also oddly satisfied. She had been on her own with Simon for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to be able to lean on someone else for a change. And it was rather comforting, she realised, to have someone else to make the decisions—even if Cormack did tend towards the very bossy!
‘OK?’ he quizzed.
‘OK,’ she agreed, at the same time as the doorbell pealed out. Cormack hurried out of the room to answer it.
He returned minutes later with Martha, her sister-in-law, who rushed over to Triss’s side, her worried expression clearing slightly when Triss managed a wide smile.
‘Are you OK?’ she demanded, her fingers swiftly moving to Triss’s pulse.
‘I’m fine.’
‘Where’s Simon?’
‘In his pram outside,’ answered Cormack. ‘He needs some breakfast.’
‘Right.’ Martha nodded decisively.
‘But I can give him his breakfast!’ objected Triss on a pathetic little wail. ‘And I don’t want to go to the wretched hospital either!’
Martha merely looked up and said serenely, ‘Cormack?’
He bent down, scooped Triss up into his arms and carried her out to the car, and Triss could not help but notice the rather complacent smile on her sister-in-law’s face as he buckled up her seat belt for her.
She felt dozy in the car, and she caught Cormack giving her a sharp, sideways glance before turning an even paler colour—something which Triss had not thought was physically possible.
‘It should be you going to hospital!’ she joked shakily.
‘Keep talking,’ he said grimly.
‘Why?’
‘Because Martha told me you weren’t to sleep. Talk to me, Triss,’ he implored.
‘About?’
‘About anything. About what is closest to your heart. Tell me about the day our son was born.’
It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do, but it served its purpose because it kept her talking. The words spilled out in an emotional torrent as she described the first sharp pain of labour which had speared at her womb in the middle of the night.
‘He came a couple of weeks earlier than he was meant to,’ she explained. ‘I hadn’t planned to be on my. own.’
She saw the muscle which had begun to work convulsively in his left cheek.
‘What did you do?’
‘I rang Martha. She came straight away—which was loyalty beyond the call of duty, considering it was three in the morning! She kept me calm, kept me talking. Helped with my breathing. She...’ Triss, bit her lip.
‘She what?’
‘She wanted to ring you.’
His mouth thinned. ‘But you wouldn’t let her, I suppose?’
‘No. And you must hate me for that. For denying you the opportunity of seeing your son born.’ Was it the wooziness from knocking her head which gave her the courage to voice her greatest fear? she wondered. Or was it simply that she had never known Cormack quite so approachable, quite so open with her?
