by Susan Lewis
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way,’ Paula laughed.
But it was Luke who found the way, as later, in the office, after asking Eileen, one of the secretaries to book him a car to take him to the airport in the morning, he turned to Corrie and asked if she was free again that night.
With an extremely red face Corrie told him she was. Her embarrassment wasn’t only for the night before, but because she was acutely aware that everyone had heard. It was only when Luke glanced about the room, before disappearing back into his own office, that she realized he had intended them to.
He came to pick her up that night. Corrie was so thrilled with his appreciation of her studio that she suggested they might just stay there and have a drink.
‘I’ve plenty of food too,’ she said eagerly. ‘Unless of course you want to go out.’
‘Here sounds great to me,’ he said, settling himself onto the sofa and stretching an arm along the back.
Corrie couldn’t hide her delight. It was really quite unbelievable that Luke Fitzpatrick should be her first proper guest.
‘Would you like to choose some music?’ she offered, pointing him towards the CD player. ‘I’ll just go and rustle something up in the kitchen.’
‘That your bedroom up there?’ Luke asked, nodding towards the balcony.
Corrie nodded, then blushed at the comical way he raised his eyebrows.
Five minutes later she brought in a tray laden with nuts, olives, crisps, wine and two glasses. Luke was back on the sofa, Phil Collins was playing on the CD.
They finished the first bottle of wine and started on another. All the time Corrie was listening with mounting horror and sympathy to what he was telling her about his family and childhood. He had grown up on a small farm in Southern Ireland, the youngest of three sons. There was a gap of fifteen years between him and the middle brother, he had been a mistake, and though he was never in any doubt that his mother had loved him, he couldn’t even begin to say the same for his father. The old man, since he was old enough to remember, had been consistently cruel to him. He didn’t go into detail, but Corrie could imagine the terror of a little boy being bullied by the father he tried so hard to please.
‘It wasn’t only me,’ he sighed, ‘he led my mother a hell of a life too. I think it’s that more than what he did to me that’s had such an effect on me.’ He held out his glass as Corrie offered him more wine. ‘Some women really do need protecting from men, even the men they love. Maybe especially the men they love. That was the odd thing, you know, she loved my father. I never did understand that. Just like you can’t understand why your mother loved your father for all those years. Strange isn’t it? Perhaps it’s protection from themselves, women need. Who knows?’
‘Did you have many friends as a child?’ Corrie asked.
‘A few. One in particular, I suppose. He was a couple of years younger than me, but we’ve lost touch now.’
‘And your mother and father and brothers, where are they now?’
‘My mother’s dead, my father and eldest brother still live in Ireland, and before you ask, no I don’t visit them. My other brother is married and lives in Australia. I’ve visited him once or twice, but we’re not what you might call close. It’s a shame really, I’d like to belong to a close family.’ He smiled. ‘Looks like I’ll have to create one of my own.’
‘Have you ever been married?’
‘No. I guess I’ve never met the right woman.’
It was on the tip of Corrie’s tongue to ask about Annalise, but she managed to bite it back. It was none of her business.
He looked at his watch. ‘Well, I guess I’d better be going. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’
‘Are you flying to Scotland to join Annalise?’ Corrie asked.
‘Good God no. I’m off to LA to spend some time with an old friend of mine. Cristos Bennati. I expect you’ve heard of him.’
‘Heard of him!’ Corrie gasped. ‘Oh, I’ve heard of him all right. You do mean the Cristos Bennati, don’t you? The film director?’
Luke laughed. ‘I do.’
‘But how do you know him?’
Luke frowned thoughtfully. ‘Let me see,’ he said, ‘I’ve known him so long … Oh, I remember, it was at a party in the South of France. Neither of us were much more than about twenty at the time. I don’t recall too much about that, probably had a lot to drink, but a couple of months later Cristos turned up here in London, at the National Film School, and he gave me a call. We’ve kept in touch, on and off, ever since. And if your eyes get any rounder I’ll fall into them.’
‘I’m stunned,’ Corrie said.
‘He’s just a man,’ Luke chuckled, ‘like the rest of us.’
‘I know, but … Cristos Bennati!’
‘Time really is getting on,’ Luke said, chucking her under the chin, ‘thanks for a great evening.’
Corrie laughed. ‘Thanks for coming round, I’ve really enjoyed it.’
‘Me too. We must do it again when I get back.’
When Luke got out onto the street he pocketed the keys to his car and walked in the direction of the King’s Road to flag down a taxi. He didn’t want to risk losing his licence, he’d get someone from the office to pick up his car in the morning. That should set the tongues wagging, he laughed to himself, as he flagged down a cab.
What would set them wagging even more was if he were to dump Annalise for Corrie. Now what kind of hornet’s nest would that stir up? He grinned. At this precise moment in time he was probably the only one who could come even close to guessing the answer to that. And it sure as hell could be an answer to a whole lot of problems for him.
It wasn’t until the middle of the next day that Cindy Thompson finally came right out and confronted Corrie with what was on everyone’s mind. Corrie had been aware of the gossip all morning, of course. Sam, the odd job man, had made no secret of the fact that he’d had to go over to her place to pick up Luke’s car. Predictably everyone had jumped to the conclusion that she and Luke had spent the night together. Corrie was in no position to put them right, since no one had had the guts yet to accuse her. That was until Cindy sauntered over to pick up her coat at lunchtime.
‘Corrie,’ she said.
Corrie looked up from her desk.
‘You might have forgotten that it was Annalise who got you your job here,’ Cindy began, ‘but I can assure you that none of us have. And if this is the way you repay her then all I can say is you’re a crafty, conniving, two-faced little cow.’
For a second or two Corrie merely looked at her, but gone were the days of letting them get away with their vicious, small-minded victimization. She got slowly and deliberately to her feet, looked Cindy straight in the eye, and said, ‘Not that it’s any of your damned business, but just for the record Luke Fitzpatrick did not spend the night with me last night, he merely came round for a drink. It was a gesture of friendship on his part, which is a damned sight more than any of you sycophantic hypocrites have ever made.’
‘Oh, so the cat really has got claws,’ one of the researchers meeowed.
‘She’ll need more than claws once Annalise finds out about this,’ Alan Fox chipped in. ‘I hope old Luke remembered to use a condom, there’s no knowing what a chap might catch …’
‘Stop right there!’ Corrie hissed.
‘Watch out Alan, I think she’s going to wallop you again,’ Perkin snickered.
‘Oh drop dead the lot of you!’ Corrie snapped, and stormed out of the office.
She returned after a lunch hour spent wandering Battersea Park to a note on her desk asking her to go to the edit suite to log some tapes for one of the editors. The office was buzzing with the latest news in from Eastern Europe, something that was going to affect that night’s programme, so no one paid much attention to Corrie as she picked up her notepad and pen and left the office again.
As she was walking down the corridor she heard footsteps coming after her, then someone calling her name. She turned
round.
‘Corrie,’ Prue said in a hushed voice, ‘I just thought I ought to let you know that while you were out Annalise called.’
‘Yes?’ Corrie said.
‘Well, Eileen told her that you’d spent the night with Luke.’
‘What!’ Corrie gasped. ‘But I told them … Oh God! What did Annalise say?’
‘I don’t know. But we both know how she feels about Luke. Anyway, I just thought I ought to warn you. Don’t tell the others I did, will you?’
Corrie shook her head. ‘No. OK. And thanks, Prue.’
That Thursday evening Corrie was sitting at home watching the TV when there was a knock on the door. To her dismay it was Annalise, who, judging by the holdall at the top of the stairs, had come straight from the airport.
Leaving her bag where it was Annalise swept past Corrie into the studio without so much as a hello. ‘I do hope I’m not interrupting anything,’ she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
Corrie sighed. ‘No, you’re not interrupting anything,’ she said, with exaggerated patience.
‘No, of course not, he’s in LA, isn’t he? Didn’t you ask to go with him?’
It was on the tip of Corrie’s tongue to tell Annalise to grow up, but despite the fact that Annalise was younger than her, she was still a producer. Instead she said, ‘Of course not. Why on earth would I?’
‘Well you can’t tell me you don’t fancy him.’
‘I’m not telling you anything. There’s nothing to tell.’
‘Are you quite sure about that?’
‘Of course I am. For God’s sake …’
‘Did you sleep with him?’
‘No!’
‘Liar!’
‘Annalise, I did not sleep with Luke. I didn’t even kiss him. But if you choose not to believe me then remember, it’ll only be yourself you’re hurting – and for no reason.’
‘But you wanted to sleep with him.’
‘For God’s sake! We had dinner together, we had a drink together, that’s all.’
‘Didn’t he try to get you into bed?’
‘No!’
‘You’re a lying little bitch. I know Luke Fitzpatrick. He can’t resist an easy lay.’
‘I resent that remark,’ Corrie snapped.
‘Resent it all you like. You’re an ungrateful little whore. I gave you your job, Ted Braithwaite’s bastard child that you are …’
‘What!’
‘… and the minute my back is turned you’re opening your legs for my boyfriend.’
‘Annalise, if you don’t trust Luke then that’s your problem. But don’t come round here …’
‘You make me sick, people like you,’ Annalise spat. ‘You’re common! A working-class slut going around with a massive chip … I suppose you managed to find out that Luke is working class too. Nice and cosy that, eh? Let’s all us plebs stick together, a nice exclusive little club to fuck the ruling classes …’
‘I don’t know which century you’re living in, Annalise, but it’s clearly not this one. But all right I am common, if that’s what you want to call it. I am working class, but my behaviour, my manners, are so far and away superior to yours, to those fuckheads you call colleagues who wouldn’t know a scrap of human decency if it jumped up and bit them …’
‘They know loyalty,’ Annalise yelled, ‘which is more than I can say for you, you two-faced little bitch. Now you keep your hands off Luke Fitzpatrick, do you hear me. Because if you don’t you’re going to be extremely sorry you ever clapped eyes on him.’ And with that she slammed out of the door.
– 8 –
LUKE WAS SITTING on the pool deck at Cristos Bennati’s home in Beverly Hills sipping a martini. Actually it wasn’t Beverly Hills, Luke reminded himself, it was the Holmby Hills, one of the most exclusive addresses in Los Angeles. However, Bennati’s Italian style villa, set well back from the highway at the centre of its own three acres of palm trees, landscaped gardens, swimming pool and tennis courts, was modest by American standards. But Bennati never had gone in for ostentation. Simple and functional, was how Luke would describe the house, just like the annexe where Bennati had a suite of offices, two Steenbecks and a screening room. This was as well as the facilities reserved exclusively for him on the lot at Universal, but Bennati preferred to work at home whenever he could.
He had been closeted in the annexe with a bunch of screenwriters since he had arrived back from Pennsylvania two days ago, meaning that Luke had seen very little of him. This didn’t surprise Luke, neither was he put out about it, he’d always known how seriously Bennati took his art.
He wandered over to the bar to help himself to another martini. As he passed he idly fondled the breast of a luscious young starlet who had been keeping him company this past week. She giggled, then purred as she ran her glossy nails along the inside of his thigh. Luke wondered if he could summon the energy for another session between the sheets. He decided he couldn’t and moved on to the bar.
A few minutes later, back on his lounger in the shade of the pool deck, Luke looked up as he heard a car start, and guessed that the screenwriters must be leaving. Just after he heard Cristos’s voice coming from inside the house, and grinned.
‘Who the hell are you?’ Cristos barked.
Obviously he had come across Luke’s other bed partner in the sitting room.
‘I’m with Luke,’ the girl simpered. ‘He said it’d …’
‘Out!’ Cristos said. ‘Get your clothes and out.’
‘Well there’s no need to take that attitude.’
‘You too,’ Luke said to the starlet. ‘Time to go. Call yourself a cab.’
She pouted sulkily, but when Cristos came out onto the deck she pulled back her shoulders and gave him a dazzling smile. Topless as she was Cristos didn’t even seem to notice her as he went to pour himself a drink.
Not long after they heard the girls leaving and exchanged looks. ‘Sorry,’ Luke said. ‘I meant to get rid of them before you finished. I didn’t notice the time.’
Cristos simply looked at him then wandered across to the pool. Unlike Luke he was fully dressed, if you could call Levi jeans and a faded denim shirt fully dressed. His sleeves were rolled back, revealing the dark hair on his forearms and the silver and gold wrist band of his watch. With one hand he swept the unruly jet black curls away from his forehead and with the other he held his drink against his chest. He stared down at the water, his handsomely rugged features taut with concentration.
From where he was standing Luke could see the thick curl of his eyelashes and the dark shadow on his chin. On Luke’s last visit, six months or so ago, the two of them had laughed long and hard at the fact that some idiot magazine had just voted Bennati the world’s sexiest man. His physique alone could have won him the accolade, but they both knew that it was his reputation that had clinched it. Bennati himself never discussed the women he dated, the women themselves weren’t quite so discreet. But it was quite something that they still raved about his prowess in the sack when he had dumped them, Luke thought admiringly.
He lifted his glass as Cristos turned to look at him.
‘OK, let’s have it,’ Cristos said, ‘what you doing here, Fitzpatrick?’ He looked at his watch. ‘You got thirty minutes before my next appointment.’
From the window of Cristos’s office Jeannie Feldman, Cristos’s personal assistant, was watching them with mounting curiosity. Her round, happy face was at that moment drawn in a frown, and a tuft of her short spiky hair was on end from where she had scratched her head. She was not at all sure she liked the look of what was going on out there, in fact, if pushed she’d have to admit that she had gotten the distinct impression these past couple of days that Cristos’s liking for Luke Fitzpatrick was running out of fuel. But it wasn’t Cristos’s style to have someone around he didn’t like. Still, the two of them went back a long way, and she knew Luke had put Cristos up plenty of times in London, maybe Cristos felt obligated. Still didn’t sound like Cristos.
She watched as Luke started to laugh at something Cristos was saying. Cristos had his back to her so she couldn’t see if he was laughing too, but somehow she didn’t think he was. The phone rang then and she moved away from the window to answer it. When she returned both Cristos and Luke were still standing beside the pool, drinks in hand.
She’d be hard put, she mused to herself, to decide which of them was the more gorgeous, but guessed that in the end she’d have to say it was Luke. Not that she personally would go for him, since she was extremely happily married to Cristos’s friend and director of photography, Richard Feldman. But, if she had to make a choice, it probably would be Luke. She liked Luke. She’d enjoyed having him around while Cristos was visiting his folks in Pennsylvania. He had a great sense of humour, knew how to have a good time unlike most Brits, and she didn’t even mind the way he teased her about her occasional lisp. She experienced a sudden pang of disloyalty then as she looked at Cristos, and decided that OK, perhaps his features weren’t quite so regular as Luke’s, and perhaps his manner could be abrupt sometimes, but with his mixed Italian and French blood, his moody eyes and, when he decided to use it, that devastating smile, she could see what everyone made all the fuss about. And he was taller than Luke. She liked tall men.
She was so engrossed in her assessment of them that it came as a shock when Cristos suddenly flung his glass down on the terrace, smashing it to smithereens. She caught a glimpse of his face then, boy did he look mad. She couldn’t see Luke’s face now, but he was waving his arm in the air and … Thsshit! Jeannie muttered, as Cristos’s fist connected with Luke’s jaw and Luke went crashing into the pool.
‘Now what do you suppose that’s all about?’
Jeannie jumped and turned to find her husband, Richard, standing behind her.
‘Search me,’ she answered. ‘But something’s going on. Cristos was … Holy shit! Look! Do you think he’s going to hit him again?’
‘Nah,’ Richard answered. ‘They’re laughing, look at them.’