Obsession (36 page)

By now Annalise had dropped Corrie at her studio and Corrie was on the point of getting into the shower. However, this sudden added fear stopped her in her tracks. She could suffer just about anything for what she had done, but to be humiliated in front of Cristos Bennati was unthinkable. She couldn’t, wouldn’t let Luke do it. He could shout her off all he liked in front of anyone else, but dear God, not in front of Bennati.

Immediately she turned to the phone and dialled Luke’s number. She didn’t know yet what excuse she was going
to
give, but whatever it turned out to be she wasn’t going to his place that night. She tapped her foot impatiently as the phone rang at the other end. It rang and rang, but no one picked it up – not even the answerphone.

‘Damn it!’ Corrie cried, slamming the receiver back in the cradle. All right then, she’d go, but she’d get there early so that they could get it over with before Bennati arrived.

She wandered back to the shower then, feeling thoroughly miserable that this was spoiling what should have been one of the most exciting nights of her life.

By the time Corrie arrived at Luke’s she had rehearsed so many apologies, accusations and defences that she couldn’t hold a single coherent thought in her head. On top of that she was racking her brains trying to come up with some sparkling wit or intellectual profundity with which she might entertain or enthral Cristos Bennati. But first things first, she reminded herself. Luke would want a damned good reason as to why she had gone to the police before speaking to him, so she’d just better come up with something fast or they’d still be at it when Cristos arrived.

She was so engrossed in her panicked thoughts that she didn’t even realize that Luke had now pressed the buzzer three times to let her in through the downstairs door.

‘Corrie!’ he cried, when she was only half way up the stairs. ‘Thank God you’ve come early. I’ve only just realized what the time is. The place is a mess, come and give me a hand to clear up will you?’

Corrie was caught completely off guard, and before she knew what she was doing was racing up the stairs to help. It wasn’t until she arrived at the door that she suddenly remembered that she had dressed herself in a very expensive suit – after discarding all her sexier dresses for fear of making a fool of herself – and was not in the least impressed by having to throw herself into housework.

Luke looked comically hurt when she told him this. ‘Can’t you take pity on a poor single man just this once,’ he pleaded.

Corrie eyed him for a moment, then tossing her head she marched past him into the flat.

‘You look lovely,’ he said, closing the door behind her.

‘It’s all right, I’ll help,’ she said, still not quite daring to believe that the showdown wasn’t going to happen. ‘What have you been doing all day, anyway? I thought you were coming into the office.’

‘Can I take it from that that you missed me?’ Luke grinned.

Corrie pursed her lips and turned away. She couldn’t believe this! She was going to get away with it, he wasn’t going to say a word. Or, God bless Radcliffe, he really hadn’t given her away after all. ‘You’ve been smoking,’ she said, turning her nose up at the full ashtray on the coffee table.

‘I do sometimes,’ he confessed, ‘when I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

Here it comes. He’s going to bring it up right now. But when she turned round he was stuffing a pile of newspapers into the bottom of the bookcase, so she simply picked up the ashtray and carried it into the kitchen.

His laundry was scattered all over the floor, and kicking it to one side, Corrie started to make her way towards the bin. Then she stopped, so abruptly that the ashtray jolted in her hand spilling its contents onto the shirt she was staring at. Her heart was slowly pounding into an unnatural rhythm, and her head began to swim.

She took a step back, her eyes darting about the kitchen as though expecting to see more. But there was nothing, it was only the shirt … She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was over-reacting, it was nothing to be afraid of … It was just blood … OK, a lot of blood, but … She nearly leapt from her skin as she heard the door close behind her.
She
spun round to find Luke standing very close, so close she could feel the heat of his body. She looked into his face and for one blinding second knew abject terror.

‘What is it?’ Luke gasped, taking her by the arms. ‘Corrie, what’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. No, nothing,’ Corrie mumbled. ‘It was – you just startled me, coming in like that.’

He pulled her against him, hugging her tight.

The fear was rapidly beginning to subside now, but she was badly confused and could feel the sweat on her body turning cold with the breeze coming in through the open window. Then something strange started to happen, and it was a while before she realized that the odd vibrations against her body were coming from Luke.

Corrie moved away, and watched, as still laughing, Luke stooped to pick up the shirt. ‘It was this, wasn’t it?’ he said. ‘You thought it was blood.’

Corrie raised her eyes slowly to his, trying very hard to keep her head.

Luke threw the shirt back to the floor. ‘You think I did it, don’t you?’ he smirked. ‘You think I killed them.’

Corrie’s heart was hammering so strenuously she couldn’t even breathe. It was as though her skin was tightening across her face, so hard that she couldn’t move her lips. She hadn’t said anything about suspecting him of murder, not to him, not to Radcliffe, not even to Paula. She’d never even said it to herself …

‘Oh, I know all about your little visit to the police,’ Luke said, taking her ice-cold hands in his. ‘And you think I’m angry with you, don’t you? Well you’re wrong. I was at first, I have to admit, but then I got to thinking, and reminded myself that most people over-react to things when they are close to murders – especially the first time they come into contact with one.’ He put his head to one side and looked searchingly into her eyes. ‘That there, on my shirt, Corrie, is paint.’

‘Paint?’ she echoed, unable to take her eyes from his.

‘Yes, paint. Oil paint. Have I never told you about my little hobby?’

She shook her head.

‘Come with me,’ he smiled.

A few minutes later they were standing inside a small studio at the rear of the flat that Corrie hadn’t even known existed until now. She didn’t want to be there, she wanted only to get away from him, but her eyes moved slowly over the artist’s paraphernalia scattered about the room, until they finally came to rest on a chair in front of an empty easel. On it was a palette daubed with red paint.

She knew Luke was watching her, waiting for her to speak, but she just didn’t know what to say. Inside her head there was only an amorphous jumble of thoughts which just refused to take shape.

To her unutterable relief the doorbell rang then and he left her alone to go and answer it.

A few seconds later, after quietly closing the studio door behind her, Corrie stood in the narrow stone corridor leading back into the flat. She was making an effort to pull herself together. Annalise had obviously arrived, and she should go to say hello, but she couldn’t, not yet anyway. She had to think. She had to ask herself why on earth she had responded the way she had to the paint-encrusted shirt, and, more importantly, why Luke thought she suspected him of murder? She didn’t, at least she hadn’t – until now. But she still didn’t, did she? No, of course not, though if she really thought about it, she was now, tonight, convinced that he knew who
had
done it. She squeezed her eyes tightly. There was a thought, somewhere at the back of her mind, pushing wildly against all the others trying to get to the front. But every time it so much as probed her consciousness every other thought in her head seemed to knit into such a solid mass that there was no way it could get through.

Hearing voices she lifted her head, then her heart somersaulted so violently that she actually felt the blood drain from her face, and at the same time her mind emptied of everything but the fact that it wasn’t Annalise who had arrived at all, for that voice she could hear, the one with the American accent, could only be Cristos Bennati’s. Any minute now she was going to meet the man who lit up just about every fantasy she’d ever had. For one panic-stricken moment she wanted to run. There seemed to be so much happening at once that she just couldn’t handle it.

She took a deep breath, tried to make herself move and found that she couldn’t. ‘For God’s sake, grow up!’ she muttered angrily to herself. Her fists were clenching and unclenching and she was breathing very heavily now. Then all of a sudden the absurdity of her behaviour struck her and she started to grin. Were either Paula or Felicity able to see her now, trapped here in a stone hallway trying to pluck up the courage to meet Bennati, they would just die laughing. But Corrie couldn’t laugh herself, she was too sick with nerves.

Placing her fingers against her temples she willed herself to keep the past few minutes out of her mind, to concentrate now on what she felt to be the most important event of her life.

Finally she was ready to push the door open. She did, and walked into the sitting room. Cristos and Luke were standing close together over Luke’s desk, and Cristos was writing something down on a pad he was holding. They both turned as Corrie came in, and Corrie, who had a happy smile planted on her face, felt the corners start to droop as her entire body threatened to go limp.

He was so much darker than she’d expected – and taller, taller even than Luke. His long, jet black hair was an unruly mess, his jeans were worn and torn, and his pale blue cotton shirt had seen better days too. That he had neither showered nor changed before coming here was
obvious
, not only from his clothes, but from the dark shadow on his chin. But what Corrie couldn’t believe, what was holding her rooted to the spot, were his incredible eyes. They looked … well, they were so absorbing she felt as though she was sinking right into them. She tried to pull herself together, but all she could do was gape in blind adoration as she asked herself how on earth it was possible for one man to be so sensationally attractive.

‘Corrie! Come and meet Cristos Bennati,’ Luke said.

In a state of sublime unreality Corrie crossed the room. She knew Cristos was still watching her, but now she was unable to meet his eyes.

‘Cristos, this is Corrie Browne, the one I was telling you about,’ Luke chuckled. ‘She’s been dying to meet you so be nice to her, won’t you?’

This was just what Corrie needed to bring her crashing back to earth. ‘Luke is very good at embarrassing people,’ she said, sending him a daggered look. ‘It’s very nice to meet you, Mr Bennati.’

‘Cristos. It’s good to meet you too, Corrie.’

He shook her hand and she tried not to be overwhelmed by the fact that he was actually touching her.

‘I’ve seen all your films,’ she said, trying to sound breezy but only succeeding in sounding trite. ‘I particularly liked the one with David Easton in … Well, you’ve done a couple of films with him, haven’t you? It was the one … I know, it was called
Never Too Far
. You remember the one, it was where he operated … What am I talking about, you know your own films.’ Why was God doing this to her? Why was He denying her control of her own tongue? ‘I saw your latest film twice,’ she went on. ‘It was amazing. It must be so wonderful to have a talent like yours.’ Oh yuk! Did she really say that? But it didn’t seem she was finished yet. ‘You’re absolutely my favourite director. Well, of course, I’m not the only one to think that. You’ve got such an enormous following. I imagine that’s because
you’re
so dedicated to what you do. I know you are, because it’s probably the most consistent thing I’ve read about you. Anyway, it shows in your films …’

As she rambled on and on Cristos was smiling politely, but it was obvious, even to Corrie, that he was no longer listening, and eventually she managed to rein in her tongue. Almost immediately Cristos turned his attention back to Luke.

Corrie sat down, so hot with embarrassment it seemed to be oozing from her pores. It was some while before she could bring herself to look at him again, though she was registering vaguely what he was telling Luke about some jerk of a location manager. When eventually her embarrassment started to abate, she began to feel annoyed, as though it was Cristos’s fault that she had made a fool of herself. But the evening wasn’t over yet, she could, and would, try again as soon as she got the chance. For the moment, both he and Luke seemed to have forgotten she was in the room.

She lifted her head to look at him again, but didn’t get very far before she found her eyes glued to the bulge at the front of his jeans. She couldn’t believe it. She’d never looked at a man that way before. But his physique was so compelling she just couldn’t tear her eyes away. She forced herself to, and standing up wandered shakily across to the drinks cabinet.

‘Can I get either of you a drink?’ she shouted.

They both turned to her in amazement, and she felt herself turn almost purple with embarrassment. She couldn’t even seem to control the level of her voice.

She had her back to them now, but caught the amusement in Luke’s voice as he told her what he wanted.

‘And I’ll have a scotch,’ Cristos added.

As she poured the drinks she was giving herself the stiffest talking to, but a few minutes later, after she had given them their drinks and was once again back on the sofa, she found herself studying his shoulders, his hands,
his
legs until she suddenly realized that she was in the middle of the most astonishingly erotic fantasy she’d ever had. She was so shocked that she actually burst out laughing. Both Luke and Cristos, who were now sitting down too, looked at her. Cristos seemed irritated, as though he had been forced to remember the presence of a giggly schoolgirl and Corrie’s laughter died instantly. How dare he look at her like that! Just who the hell did he think he was anyway? Her head spun towards Luke then, as he actually laughed out loud at the outrage gleaming in Corrie’s eyes.