Obsession

by Susan Lewis

  ‘If you really believe that,’ Annalise interrupted, ‘then why are you bothering to look for a story that will take you right to his doorstep?’

  ‘Because I’ve taken leave of my senses too. Oh God, I need help. I mean just who do I think I am that I could actually … Everything’s gone to my head. I’m working in telly, I’ve got a flat in London, I dress like a career woman, I look like a different person and now I’m a basket case. Well, as of this minute, I’m giving up my search for an LA hook on a story.’

  ‘Good,’ Annalise grinned.

  ‘I mean it.’

  ‘I don’t disbelieve you. Now, can I get you a coffee?’

  ‘Yes. By the way, why are you here? I thought you were spending the day with Luke.’

  ‘I am. But I thought I’d call in and see you first. That’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘It would be if I hadn’t seen you yesterday. I’m getting bored with you.’

  Hurling a cushion at her Annalise went off to the kitchen. ‘Not half so bored as I am with Cristos Bennati,’ she threw back over her shoulder.

  ‘I don’t want to hear his name mentioned again,’ Corrie said loftily. ‘Every time it is I promptly go and make a fool of myself. So that’s it! Over!’

  Ten days later Annalise threw an envelope onto Corrie’s desk. ‘OK, hot shot kid,’ she said, ‘you want to contrive a trip to Hollywood, then there’s your material.’

  Corrie would have liked nothing better than to have been able to throw the envelope back, but already tiny fireworks of excitement were exploding into life. Pulling a wry face at Annalise she emptied the envelope onto her desk and picked up the documents that spilled out. Since they contained so much legal jargon it took her some time to read them, but when she’d finished she was still none the wiser. She looked across at Annalise, who was now sitting at her own desk facing Corrie’s.

  ‘Let’s do a programme about rape,’ Annalise said.

  ‘Yes, why not,’ Corrie answered. ‘But what has that got to do with Hollywood?’

  ‘Don’t you know a rather famous person in Hollywood who was raped by her husband?’ Annalise replied.

  Corrie’s eyes widened.

  ‘Precisely. Felicity! She’ll be sure to give us an interview, and no doubt a few colourful opinions on the fact that there are now moves afoot to protect the man’s identity as well as the woman’s when it comes to trial.’

  Corrie was looking thoughtful. ‘And while we’re in the States,’ she added, ‘we can try to get an interview with William Kennedy Smith. You remember, the guy who was cleared of raping that girl at the Kennedy mansion in Palm Springs. Yes, he’s just the guy we want. He might have been cleared, but mud sticks, we could find out what he has to say about it. Annalise, you’re a genius. Do you think we’ll get it past Luke?’

  ‘We can but try,’ Annalise answered. ‘He’s in his office now, why don’t we go and ask.’

  Corrie shook her head. ‘Put it forward as your idea, otherwise he’ll think it’s just a ruse for me to get to Hollywood.’

  ‘Well that’s what it is, isn’t it?’

  Corrie pursed her lips. ‘Sometimes, Annalise Kapsakis …’

  By the time Annalise had finished Luke was already laughing. ‘If you think I can’t see through that,’ he said, ‘then you must … Corrie!’ he shouted, seeing her walk past his door. ‘Corrie, come in here a moment, will you?’

  Looking distinctly uncomfortable Corrie walked into his office.

  ‘I’d like to talk to Corrie alone for a moment, if you don’t mind, Annalise,’ Luke said.

  Annalise shrugged, then winking at Corrie she went back to her desk.

  ‘So,’ Luke said, getting up and walking round Corrie to close the door, ‘you want to do a story on rape and you want to do it in Hollywood. This wouldn’t, by any chance, have anything to do with one Cristos Bennati, would it?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Corrie denied hotly. ‘Annalise and I just thought that this proposed Amendment would make a good programme. And that Felicity would make a good interviewee.’

  Luke was nodding. ‘So would Kennedy Smith,’ he said. ‘Did you think about him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Have you managed to contact him?’

  ‘Annalise only told me about it ten minutes ago.’

  ‘Right. Well, it’s a good idea, it’ll make a good programme, with or without Felicity Burridge. So, if you want her included in the hope of getting to see Bennati again, I’ll sanction it – on one condition.’

  Corrie waited.

  ‘That you sleep with me tonight.’

  Outwardly Corrie barely even flinched, but as she stared back at him, for the moment bereft of speech, a swell of unmitigated fury rushed through her. Since the night she had met Cristos Luke had seemed so close to Annalise that Corrie had truly believed that his infatuation, or whatever it was, with her was at an end. The profound relief Corrie had felt at that was immeasurable, since it had not only enabled her to sleep a lot easier at night, but it had had a dramatic effect on Annalise too. But now here he was asking her, no blackmailing her, into going to bed with him.

  She knew her disgust showed, but she didn’t care. ‘Felicity will make a good interviewee,’ she spat, slapping his hand away as he tried to touch her, ‘but you’re right, we can do it without her.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t get to see Bennati then,’ Luke reminded her.

  Corrie’s eyes blazed furiously into his.

  ‘Oh?’ Luke commented with surprise. ‘I thought you might have had something to say about that.’

  Still Corrie refused to speak. In truth she didn’t dare go any further. He was her boss, after all, no matter that he was behaving like a prize bastard.

  ‘Well,’ he sighed, going to sit back in his chair, ‘I think the programme would benefit from Felicity’s input, as it happens. And I also think that you should see Bennati again, since you obviously need convincing that he’s just not interested in you. So I’ll sanction the programme anyway.’

  ‘Don’t do me any favours,’ Corrie muttered under her breath.

  ‘You can hire a crew locally,’ he went on, ‘I’ll give you some contacts before you go and you can take Peter Fredericks as your reporter/interviewer.’

  ‘Why him?’

  ‘Why not him?’

  Corrie shrugged. ‘OK, Peter Fredericks.’

  ‘Unless Felicity can put you up,’ he continued, ‘you should stay at the Four Seasons on South Doheny. Hire yourself a car at the airport, you’ll need it. Justify your stay in Los Angeles by finding other interviewees besides Felicity, then, if you do manage to get Kennedy Smith you can fly down to Florida – or wherever he’s to be found these days. Make sure to draw yourself a decent float, you’ll have to tip all the way out there, particularly if you’re staying in a hotel. Now go and speak to Billy and have him book your flights.’

  ‘I need more time,’ Corrie pointed out. ‘I haven’t made one phone call yet.’

  ‘Do it when you get there, the time difference will only hamper you here. I’ll give you some contacts for people who might be able to help.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said flatly. ‘Is that all?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Oh Corrie,’ he said, as she was opening the door. She turned back. ‘With regard to the other matter.’ From his expression there was no doubt in her mind as to what he was referring to. ‘You’ll come to me in the end, you know.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ she hissed.

  Luke grinned. ‘Oh, you will,’ he said. ‘And shall I tell you why?’

  Corrie simply glared at him.

  ‘Ask Annalise to come in again, will you?’

  After Corrie had given Annalise the message she took herself off to the ladies to be alone. She was badly shaken by those few minutes with Luke – it was the first time he’d actually shown her the side to him that she’d always believed existed, and she was still reeling from the way he had done it so openly. And
that underlying threat in his words, if she was reading him correctly, was not a threat directed only at her, it was directed at Annalise too.

  Luke and Siobhan were walking along the beach. Siobhan’s hair was covered by a scarf, and despite the sunshine she was huddled into her coat. Luke was holding her hand, swinging it gently as they walked and talked.

  ‘So Annalise and Corrie are to be off to LA on Monday,’ he was saying, and frowned at the way his voice was being submerged in an Irish brogue. ‘Corrie’s wanting to see Cristos Bennati again. She’ll end up making a fool of herself, to be sure, like she did the last time, but why should I worry? Whatever else she does, she’ll be making a good programme.’

  He lifted Siobhan’s hand to his mouth and kissed it tenderly, all the while gazing out to sea. ‘No, I haven’t forgiven her yet for what she did,’ he said, ‘it made me very angry, as you know. Her father came to see me, you know. He thinks I killed the whores. Oh, he didn’t say so in so many words, but that’s what he thinks.’ Luke started to laugh then, but there was no one to see the way his lips curled back over his gums baring his teeth like a snarling dog. The air around him was thick and clammy and clung to his face in tiny globules of sweat. ‘We know who killed them, don’t we, Siobhan?’ he sniggered. ‘Oh, to be sure, we know who killed them. He killed the whores! Phillip Denby, Phillip Fitzpatrick Denby killed the whores!’

  ‘Actually,’ he continued, as though the brief and sudden outburst had never occurred – yet still his voice was shifting between an English and an Irish accent, ‘I’m considering making Corrie a producer before very much longer … Yes, you’re right, we’ll be having all the producers we need, but I’ll be sorting something out.’ He gave a sad smile and pulled Siobhan to a halt. ‘It’ll mean hurting Annalise again,’ he told her, ‘you don’t like it when I do that, do you? Oh, Annalise will forgive me in the end, she always does. Am I worried about Corrie’s crush on Bennati, did you say?’ He shrugged. ‘To be sure I am.’ He laughed again, a deep resonant sound vibrating balefully through his jowls. ‘Yes, you’re right, that is why I’ll be making her a producer, to see if I can be winning her over. I’m not thinking she can be bought so easily though, but I have a plan. I’ll be flying out to LA in the middle of the week to join them.’ He lifted Siobhan’s face in his hands and looked searchingly into her empty blue eyes. The pain in his own was as infinite and as deep as the murky grey sea pushing waves onto the shore. ‘It means I won’t see you for a couple of weeks, my darling,’ he murmured. ‘Do you mind? To be sure, I’ll be thinking about you all the time. I love you, Siobhan,’ he whispered. ‘You believe that don’t you? Yes, to be sure you do.’

  They walked on in silence, their feet sinking into the sand as they went. Apart from a man and his dog, way in the distance, the beach was deserted. Every now and again Luke used his fingers to comb the thick, blond hair away from his face; he didn’t appear to notice the way the surf was lapping over Siobhan’s sandals, saturating her ankle socks with salt water and curling seaweed about her ankles. His face was turned into the breeze, his mind was bent on the nightmarish past.

  Finally he stopped again and took Siobhan in his arms. ‘They none of them mean anything compared to you, Siobhan,’ he told her gently, ‘but I have to do this, you understand that don’t you? I have to find love elsewhere. And yes, in the end it will be Corrie. She can help me, Siobhan, it was you who made me see that. But you and Annalise will always be the ones I love. You, Siobhan, most of all.’

  – 16 –

  WEARING HER CUT-OFF jeans, a bikini top and a muslin scarf around her hair Felicity was waiting to greet Corrie and Annalise when they finally drew up in their hire car outside the colonial style mansion on Alpine Drive. Felicity was sitting the six million dollar house for a friend and was just dying to show it off to someone, especially someone English.

  ‘Welcome to the Sunshine State,’ she cried, as Corrie leapt from the car and hugged her with, Felicity remarked wryly, a disgusting amount of energy for someone who’d just undergone an eleven hour flight.

  ‘I thought we’d never get here,’ Annalise grumbled as she climbed out of the car to embrace Felicity herself. ‘It’s like a jungle out there.’

  ‘Oh, stop moaning,’ Corrie laughed, sweeping her awestruck eyes across the imposing red-brick façade of the house. ‘She’s been like that ever since we got off the plane.’

  ‘Well, you didn’t have to do the driving, did you?’ Annalise pointed out. ‘She’s so excited,’ she added in a whisper to Felicity, ‘she’s like a dog with two tails.’

  ‘I heard that,’ Corrie called out. She was standing at the foot of the front steps now, using a hand to shield her eyes as she looked up and down the Ionic columns flanking a porch the height of the house. ‘If I stay here long enough,’ she said, ‘I’ll start thinking I’m Scarlett O’Hara. It’s amazing!’ Then spotting the security camera to one side of the front door she peered up at it and pulled a face.

  ‘Don’t do that, you’ll frighten the maid,’ Felicity told her, as she helped Annalise drag the luggage from the boot.

  ‘Maid!’ Corrie squealed. ‘You’ve got a maid?’

  ‘Everyone has, darling,’ Felicity drawled. ‘By the way, where’s this reporter chappie you mentioned on the phone?’

  ‘Gone to stay with a boyfriend in Sherman Oaks,’ Annalise answered with raised eyebrows. ‘Shit, this is heavy. What have you got in here, Corrie? Corrie! Come and help with the luggage, will you?’

  But Corrie was already inside the house. ‘I don’t believe it,’ she murmured, as Felicity and Annalise came in behind her. ‘It’s … Well, it’s …’ She looked at Annalise, waiting for her to supply the words, but after Annalise had taken a good look round the vast entrance hall, with its flowered velvet and silk wallpaper, rococo framed paintings, oak floor with marble inlay, and black lacquered staircase sporting a zebra stripe carpet, she turned back to Corrie at a loss.

  ‘Fucking awful?’ Felicity suggested.

  Corrie looked warily at Felicity, but when she saw the laughter in Felicity’s eyes she allowed herself a grin. But the hall was nothing compared with what was to come.

  After zig-zagging them back and forth across the hall to visit a study the size of a boardroom which was crammed full of mind-boggling technology, the family room with its immense white leather sofas, ankle-deep carpet and carved ivory and brass fireplace, the television room with four VCRs, a TV set that could easily double as a small movie screen and a whole library of video tapes, Felicity led them into the dining room. Actually it was more like a banqueting hall and had the most perplexing mix of modern and antique furnishings. Then came the den, followed by the breakfast room and from there into the biggest kitchen Corrie had ever seen. In it were things she’d never seen before, like double sub-zero refrigerators and a butler’s pantry.

  ‘It’s kosher compatible too,’ Felicity boasted, not without irony, and pulled open two doors to reveal two dish-washers, then waved an arm towards the double salad-washer in the central unit.

  ‘Come and see this,’ Annalise called out, and following the direction of her voice Corrie walked out through a set of French windows into a conservatory which ran the whole width of the house. In it she counted no less than eight wicker sofas and five marble coffee tables, all of which were surrounded by a forest of potted plants and a bar as big as a single-decker bus.

  ‘It’s called a solarium here, not a conservatory,’ Felicity told them, kicking one of the deep pile white rugs back into place.

  ‘Oh!’ Corrie exclaimed, and started backing away from an assortment of stuffed animal heads peering down at her from the wall.

  Next came the kidney-shaped swimming pool, complete with Jacuzzi, which was squashed onto the first terrace of the garden with just a small paved area for a twelve-seater table and twelve padded arm-chairs. There were changing rooms and a sauna to one side, and a life-size replica of the Trevi fountain the other. A small army of gnomes were fishing in th
e fountain! The entire garden, with its occasional perfect flower bed and towering palm trees was a blaze of vivid colours which seemed to be melting at the edges into the shimmering heat. ‘Can you smell the pollution?’ Annalise asked Corrie, turning up her nose. ‘Ugh! You can taste it even.’

  Down on the next terrace was the tennis court. Both Corrie and Annalise gaped with frank incredulity when they walked onto it, since an audience had been created on all four sides by a life-size mural.

  ‘This place is a joke, isn’t it?’ Corrie whispered to Felicity. ‘It has to be. I mean, no one in their right mind …’

  ‘You wait till you see upstairs,’ Felicity laughed. ‘It gets worse.’

  And she wasn’t kidding. But the opulence, the sheer luxury of it all was awesome. After wading through yet more carpets to the games room with its one-armed bandits, snooker table, antique juke-box, card tables and Leroy Newman sketches of the stars, came the bedrooms. The one Felicity had assigned Corrie would have swallowed Corrie’s entire studio, and Corrie, who was beginning to recover from her initial shock and starting to enjoy herself, knew that she was just going to love sleeping in that king-size bed and pressing all the buttons around it to find out what they did. There were walk-in, walk-in!, wardrobes which could have housed more clothes than she’d probably ever own in her life, and a separate room for shoes! But it was the bathroom that finally did for Corrie. She simply couldn’t believe what her own eyes were seeing. Everything in it, right down to the loo roll holder, was of red-veined marble, or brass, or both. There were mirrors everywhere, and Corrie wasn’t at all sure she was going to enjoy looking at herself from so many angles. The bath was made for four people, Felicity told her, but the shower only for one. There was even a telephone on the wall next to the bath, and a portable TV with remote control.

  ‘This is nothing,’ Felicity said, as Corrie looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up. ‘There are two bathrooms off my room, they call them his and hers bathrooms. Both of them are as big as this one, but I have to say, slightly more subtle in decor.’