Obsession

by Susan Lewis

  ‘Lock the door!’ he snarled.

  Obediently Pam crossed the room and turned the key in the lock. By the time she turned round again Phillip was on his feet. Already his trousers were unbuttoned. Her smile was one of understanding and sadness as she lifted her skirt up over her hips, removed her panties and tights and walked towards him. His mouth crushed brutally down on hers, his hands dug painfully into her buttocks. He knew he shouldn’t do this to Pam, but was unable to stop himself as pushing her back across the desk, he entered her.

  He took her savagely, almost delirious with the excitement of being in control of a woman. Of having her do exactly as he wanted. He grunted and groaned his way to ejaculation, hatred for Octavia firing his every thrust. When he was with Pam he wasn’t a failure. With her he could fuck his inadequacy out of his system. But the guilt – the guilt over what he had done to Edwina, and now to Corrie, could he ever be rid of that?

  He withdrew abruptly, rearranged his clothes and turned to the window. He stared silently down at the street, until Pam came to stand beside him. He flinched as her hands touched his face, but he allowed her to turn him to her. For a long while they simply looked at each other, then gathering him into her arms she held him as he wept.

  Paula was waiting when Corrie returned to the Regent’s Park flat. One look at Corrie’s face told her all she needed to know. ‘I’ll start packing,’ she said.

  ‘No!’

  Paula turned back.

  ‘He’s the weak, spineless, lily-livered excuse of a man we were afraid of,’ Corrie said. ‘But I don’t need him. I can do it alone. I’ll get there, wherever there is. I’ll get right to the top and I’ll show him that I never did need him.’

  Paula watched her, then feeling all the pain and devastation of the grief locked inside her friend, she held out her arms. And with a barely audible sob, Corrie walked into them.

  ‘That was Corrie,’ Ted said, replacing the receiver.

  Hattie was standing behind him. ‘I guessed,’ she smiled.

  He shrugged, then putting an arm round his wife he led her into the sitting room.

  ‘I take it things didn’t go too well with Phillip,’ Hattie said, as they each moved to their own chairs.

  ‘No. She told him who she was.’

  ‘I see. Are you going to speak to him?’

  ‘No. She doesn’t want me to. She’s staying in London though.’

  Hattie looked surprised.

  ‘She doesn’t want any more help, she says.’

  ‘Pfff!’ Hattie exclaimed. ‘You don’t want to take any notice of that. Everyone needs help when they’re getting started.’

  ‘I don’t know how she’d view the interference right now though,’ Ted said uncertainly.

  ‘Did you tell her about Annalise?’

  ‘No. I didn’t think now was the right time. Besides, I’d like to speak to Annalise first.’

  ‘Well if you can set it up, then believe me, Ted Braithwaite, there’ll be no one happier than Corrie. Television is one of the most difficult industries to get into these days – she won’t succeed without your contacts. And you know in her heart that’s what she wants. She tried with her father and failed. That’s not your fault, neither is it hers, but she deserves a real break now, so give it to her.’

  Ted still looked doubtful.

  ‘Ted, you can hardly be accused of interfering for making one phone call. And after that it’s up to Corrie.’

  Ted’s eyebrows arched.

  Ignoring his irony, Hattie said, ‘Go on out there now and call Annalise Kapsakis. Go along with you, because if you don’t, I will.’

  – 5 –

  ANNALISE KAPSAKIS STALKED through the crowded production office and flung herself down in her chair. The other producers and researchers were too busy to notice, but the secretaries, grouped around their word processors in a corner, exchanged knowing smiles. The beautiful, spoiled child had just had a programme idea rejected by Luke Fitzpatrick – the chief executive of TW Productions, and anchorman of the one programme TW made – The World This Week. It was a current affairs programme broadcast each Tuesday on the ITV Network.

  Seeing the secretaries watching her, Annalise tossed her crinkly blonde hair haughtily over her shoulder, pouted her caramel lips and turned to look out of the window. A moment or two later she looked sheepishly back at them and broke into a grin. The secretaries laughed too. At twenty-four Annalise was by far the youngest of the producers at TW, and undeniably the most popular.

  Annalise shrugged then yelled above the office din for her researcher, Pippa. She’d done her best to talk Luke round, but she’d failed. Now she and Pippa had to come up with another idea, or they might lose their slot for that month to another producer.

  When Pippa didn’t materialize Annalise yelled again while rummaging through the mountain of files on her desk. Gareth, another producer, put his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, ‘Pippa’s in the edit suite,’ he barked, ‘now keep it down I can’t hear a thing.’

  Annalise poked her tongue out at him, then picked up the phone to call the edit suite.

  ‘Line five for you, Annalise,’ a researcher called across the office.

  ‘Another call for you Annalise,’ a secretary shouted. ‘Line three.’

  ‘One at a time,’ Annalise cried. ‘Tell three I’ll call them back.’ She pressed the keypad in front of her and picked up line five. ‘Annalise Kapsakis.’

  ‘Annalise. It’s Ted Braithwaite.’

  ‘Ted, you old rogue!’ she squealed. ‘How are you? How’s Hattie?’

  ‘We’re fine, my dear. You?’

  ‘Pissed off. But that’s fairly normal around here. What can I do for you? Or is this just a social call?’

  Knowing that Annalise was always busy Ted came straight to the point. Annalise, with a finger pressed over one ear to block out the noise of the faxes, PA machines, TV sets and other phone calls, listened to what he was saying with mounting amusement. She toyed with coming right out and asking if this Corrie Browne was one of Ted’s byblows, but decided it might be a bit tactless.

  ‘I know it’s a long shot,’ Ted finished, ‘and I don’t suppose you’ve got any vacancies anyway, but I’d be grateful if you’d meet her. She doesn’t know anyone in London …’

  ‘It’s all right, Ted, I don’t need the whole sob story. And since it’s you asking I’ll see her. Where’s she living?’

  ‘Regent’s Park – at the moment.’

  ‘Very swish.’ She took out her diary. ‘Now let me see. Yes, here we are. Tell her to meet me at the Dôme in King’s Road on Thursday morning. There’s no point her coming here, you can’t hear yourself think. How old is she by the way?’

  ‘Twenty-six.’

  ‘Qualifications?’

  ‘I’m not sure. She has some O levels, or whatever they’re called these days. She’s incredibly bright though. The kind of bright that doesn’t need qualifications.’

  Annalise grinned at the pride in Ted’s voice. ‘OK, big boy, I’ll see what I can do. Must rush now, lots to do and all that. Give Hattie my love, tell her I’ll be in touch soon,’ and she rang off.

  Luke Fitzpatrick stood at the door of his office, surveilling the chaos. His dark blond hair was dishevelled from the harassment of the morning, his tie was loose and the top button of his shirt undone. The bone structure of his face was immaculate, so that no matter what expression he held he could never be described as anything other than devastatingly handsome. His body, all five feet eleven of it, was in perfect shape, something he didn’t have to work at, but did nevertheless. In the past two years, since TW had started, he had become one of the nation’s heart-throbs. It was a status he enjoyed. He had been voted the thinking woman’s crumpet twice, was continually listed as one of the most eligible bachelors about town, and received fanmail by the sackload every day.

  The mayhem around him, he knew, would continue right up until that night’s transmission since news was coming in by the
minute of the terrifying events going on out there on the streets of South London. Gangs of youths had begun rioting the night before, setting shops, houses and cars alight. Several of them had guns, others carried weaponry far outclassing anything rioters had ever laid their hands on before and so far four policemen had been shot. One was known to be dead. Seven rioters were at the morgue, fifty-eight more were in custody. And still the battle raged. TW had four camera crews down at the scene, three on the ground, the other in a helicopter. An hour ago one of the sound men had been injured and had had to be replaced.

  Here, in the office, every available researcher was busy lining up potential interviewees for that night’s hour long special. They’d been granted the further half hour first thing this morning, when the seriousness of what had happened overnight was finally acknowledged. Luke would chair the debate, which would be interjected with scenes from the riot.

  For the moment there was nothing for him to do, except delegate. Scripts were offered for his approval, but events were changing by the minute and the reporters who weren’t at the scene were frantically rewriting. Footage was arriving every half hour by courier, and editors were manically trying to make sense of what was coming in.

  It would be a great show, Luke was thinking, and already he could feel the adrenalin mounting. The World This Week was fast becoming one of the most respected current affairs programmes on broadcast television. Even ITN had been refused more than a fifteen minute extension to their News at Ten that night, in favour of the TW special. And this was the company that he had built, almost single-handedly in less than two years.

  Of course he couldn’t have done it without Annalise – or more precisely her disgustingly rich family. Her father was Luke’s partner, her cousin was the TV accountant. Even her mother was on the board of directors. But the day to day running of the company was under Luke’s control. He’d known, right from the start that the reason Annalise had talked her father into raising the money for TW wasn’t only because of her ambition to become a producer; it was because of the way she felt about him. As to his feelings for her … This was a subject he never dwelt on for long – he couldn’t, wouldn’t, for the guilt he felt at what he was doing disturbed him so profoundly it was in danger of affecting his mind. He should have given her up long before now since the consequences of them staying together wouldn’t only be disastrous they’d be devastating. But he couldn’t bring himself to let her go. She was so beautiful, so desirable, it almost hurt his eyes to look at her, but what it did to his heart, even his mind, was agonizing. Perhaps if she weren’t so in love with him it would have been easier, but she was, and each time he tried to end it between them and she begged him not to, he just couldn’t go through with it.

  He caught her watching him now and held her eyes. She had been downstairs in the foyer when he’d arrived that morning and had taken the lift to the fourth floor with him. No sooner had the lift doors closed, than she had taken his hand and put it under her mini-skirt. All she’d been wearing underneath was suspenders holding up her black woollen stockings. Within seconds his erection was straining against his trousers. On reaching the fourth floor he had taken her straight to the nearby stationery cupboard, but once inside Annalise had resisted him, saying she was far too busy now, but would come to his office later when she would discuss a great programme idea with him. Luke’s laughter had echoed around the shelves of headed note-paper. This was her way of trying to manipulate him, but it wouldn’t work. And now she knew it wouldn’t work. Had her idea been a good one, then naturally he would have accepted it, but yet another crack in the Government’s economic policy on Europe was virtually guaranteed to send the nation rushing for the remote control.

  He grinned as Annalise screwed up her nose, slammed her eyes shut and turned away. There were times, he thought, when she looked no more than fourteen years old. But it wasn’t only there, in those Lolita eyes and pout, that the danger lay. If he could, he would fire her, just to get her out of his life. But he couldn’t – apart from being the boss’s daughter, she was a good producer. Not the best, by any means, but she was a hard worker and tenacious to the point of obsession when she got her teeth into a hot story. Perhaps even more important though, was that despite being the spoiled rich kid she was, everyone adored her. It made for a good working atmosphere – and when everyone was under the kind of pressure they were, things like that mattered.

  ‘Luke!’

  He turned to see his secretary getting up from her desk.

  ‘Gordon wants you in the edit suite,’ she said.

  ‘Which one is he in?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Tell him I’m on my way.’

  Rolling up his sleeves Luke crossed to Annalise’s desk, put his hand over the receiver she was speaking into and told her he wanted to see her in an hour. He would take her back to the stationery cupboard and finish what she had started that morning.

  Corrie arrived at the Dôme half an hour early. She could hardly keep the smile from her face she was so excited – and nervous. An interview with a TV producer! Of course there was no guarantee of a job, but Uncle Ted had said that Annalise Kapsakis was a very special person, that she was lots of fun, generous, kind-hearted, perhaps a little wild at times, but would be sure to give Corrie some contacts even if she couldn’t offer her a job herself.

  As Corrie waited she scolded herself ruthlessly, telling herself that there was nothing to be nervous about, that Annalise was a person, just like her, and … Well, if it didn’t work out, then it didn’t work out, she’d just have to try something else. The important thing, as Paula had told her on the phone that morning, was to be herself.

  Dave had come to collect Paula at the weekend. The parting had not been easy for either of them, but not until Paula had gone had Corrie allowed herself to cry. Why she was being so stubborn about going home she didn’t know, since London held little appeal for her now, and all she’d done after Paula had gone was stay in the flat watching TV and feeling sorry for herself. She was on the point of admitting defeat and packing up her things to go back to Amberside when Uncle Ted had called to tell her he had arranged for her to meet a TV producer in two days’ time.

  And now here she was, in the new clothes she’d bought the day before in Oxford Street, waiting for Annalise Kapsakis to arrive.

  When she came in Corrie knew instinctively that it was her. Though Uncle Ted hadn’t made too much of how beautiful Annalise was, Corrie had guessed she would be, and with her mane of crinkly blonde hair, vast blue eyes and exquisite figure, Annalise was breathtaking. And so young, Corrie thought. She looks no more than twenty, but Ted had said she was twenty-four. She was wearing a black jacket with military style buttons, square shoulders and an excessive flare from the tapered waist. Beneath that was a tight black mini-skirt showing her endlessly long slender legs and outrageously sexy thigh length boots.

  Corrie smiled as she approached, forcing herself not to think of how dowdy she must look in her plain navy V-neck sweater with white shirt, and navy skirt and Alice band.

  ‘Hello,’ Corrie said shyly as Annalise made to walk right past her, ‘Are you Annalise?’

  Annalise looked down. ‘Corrie?’

  Corrie nodded and Annalise’s face seemed to light up, which momentarily threw Corrie.

  ‘It’s great to meet you,’ Annalise said, holding out her hand. ‘Sorry I didn’t recognize you, but Ted didn’t tell me too much about you. Still, we’re here to put that to rights, aren’t we? Hi, John, a cappuccino for me, thanks. Make it a strong one. Anything else for you, Corrie?’

  Corrie turned to John. ‘The same again, please,’ she said, nonchalantly.

  ‘What was that?’ John asked.

  Corrie looked at Annalise and pulled a face. ‘And I was trying to be so cool,’ she said and felt suddenly lightheaded at the way Annalise laughed. ‘An espresso, please,’ she reminded John.

  Annalise pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘So,’ she said, searching C
orrie’s face with her luminous blue eyes, ‘you want to work in telly.’

  Corrie winced and nodded. ‘Now tell me I’m dreaming of the impossible.’

  ‘I won’t lie to you, it’s hellishly difficult to get in.’

  ‘Do qualifications help?’

  Annalise shrugged. ‘Depends where you’re applying, and what you’re applying for, I guess. Any idea what you want to do in telly?’

  ‘Not really. To be honest I don’t have the first idea what happens. But I can learn.’

  Annalise laughed. ‘Sure, we all have to learn.’ She wrinkled her nose, ‘Especially me, according to Luke, our chief exec.’

  ‘You mean Luke Fitzpatrick?’

  ‘That’s the man. Gorgeous, isn’t he?’

  Corrie looked startled, then grinned at Annalise’s frankness.

  ‘Go on, admit it,’ Annalise prompted, ‘you wouldn’t kick him out of bed.’

  Corrie started to laugh. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’

  Annalise seemed impressed with this answer, not one she’d have expected from someone who looked like Corrie.

  ‘So, how did you get into TV?’ Corrie asked.

  ‘Me? Oh that’s easy. Daddy bought me a production company.’

  Corrie’s eyes rounded. ‘He bought you a company?’

  ‘Sure. TW. He and Luke own it. I work for them. Well for Luke, really, Daddy just put up the money. Luke put some up too. But the whole thing was my idea. Trouble is neither Daddy nor Luke will let me have any say in the running of things. I’m too young, still got a lot to learn, they keep telling me. But I managed to wangle myself a producer’s job. And I’m a bloody good one too, even if I do say so myself. Well, I suppose I do go off the rails every now and then, late nights and all that. But Luke’s pretty tolerant and I work hard most of the time. I know what you’re thinking now, what a spoiled brat she is.’

  Corrie was still laughing. ‘I was thinking how lucky you are. So how did it all start? I mean what made you decide on TV?’

  ‘When the world was my oyster, you mean? The answer is Luke Fitzpatrick. I met him a couple of years ago at some night club or other, both of us were pissed out of our minds, not unusual for me, I’m afraid. Anyway, I knew who he was because I’d already seen him on telly. He’s a bona fide journalist, in case you didn’t know. Meaning that he is well qualified for this work, unlike me. He was in newspapers in Ireland first, that’s where he’s from, then on local telly as a reporter somewhere in the north of England, or maybe it was Scotland, who knows? Anyway, he came to London and got a job with Thames News, then Thames lost their franchise. So he was about to be out of work, and that’s when we met. I’m telling you Corrie, you might think he’s good looking on the screen, but if you saw him, shit! The man is drop dead gorgeous. Anyway, to cut a long story short I introduced him to Daddy, they hit it off, et voilà! TW productions was born. Our offices are just across Battersea Bridge, we research and edit the programmes there, and they’re transmitted from Euston Centre.’