Obsession (79 page)

‘Sure. I knew it too, before all this. But you gotta face it, Paula,
I
gotta face it, that what he did to her has scarred her so damned …’

‘Cristos, you’re being defeatist. OK, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but she needs you. I mean really needs you. Please don’t let her down.’

A flash of anger sparked in Cristos’s eyes. ‘Do you seriously think I’d do that? That I care so little for her I’d just give up? All I’m saying is that I can’t speak to her right now. Hell, how can I when she won’t let me anywhere near her?’

They were sitting in the hotel bar, untouched drinks on the table between them. Paula was uncomfortably aware of the way people were staring at them, some were even pointing. At any other time she might have felt proud to be seen with Cristos Bennati, but under the circumstances she just wished they’d mind their own damned business. For his part Cristos seemed oblivious to the attention he was receiving, his only thoughts were for Corrie and how the hell he was going to get them through this.

Paula was on the point of speaking again when Jeannie came into the bar and joined them.

‘How you doing?’ she said to Cristos.

‘Just great,’ he said flatly.

Jeannie glanced at Paula then taking a deep breath she said, ‘Did you want me to cancel your flight home tomorrow?’

Cristos looked up, a deep resentment burning in his eyes.

‘I think you should,’ Paula answered for him. ‘Corrie’s not being discharged until Monday.’

Jeannie nodded. ‘I’ll get onto it. How is she now? Do you reckon they’ll let me see her if I go over there?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Paula said, glancing uneasily at Cristos. ‘You could try,’ and to her dismay he suddenly got up and walked out of the bar.

‘What did I say?’ Jeannie asked, watching him go.

‘Corrie’s refusing to see him.’

‘Oh Christ! Me and my big mouth.’

The waiter appeared then and Jeannie ordered herself a straight scotch. ‘This sure has been one hell of a week for him,’ she remarked dismally. ‘Not as bad as for Corrie and Annalise, I know, nothing could be that bad. But did anyone tell you, he didn’t get the Palme d’Or? Though I guess he couldn’t give a damn about that now.’

‘He got the director’s award though, didn’t he?’ Paula said.

‘Sure. Don’t think he cares too much about that either, though.’

Paula frowned thoughtfully. ‘Where’s the award now?’ she asked after a moment or two.

‘His mother’s got it.’

‘Do you think she’ll let me borrow it? Just for a couple of hours.’

‘I guess so, but what are you thinking?’

‘That if I take it to show Corrie she’ll be sure to want to see Cristos then – if only to congratulate him.’

Jeannie shrugged. ‘If you think it’ll work I’ll go talk to Mariette right away.’

But the whole idea back-fired horribly on Paula the following morning, for when she showed Corrie the award Corrie accused her of trying to lay the blame for the loss of the Palme d’Or on her.

‘And it is my fault,’ she shouted, ‘I know that, so I don’t need reminding by you, or anyone else. If I hadn’t come here trying to get to him then none of this would have happened …’

‘Corrie! No one’s saying that. For God’s sake how could you have known …?’

‘I couldn’t! I didn’t! But what difference does that make now? He hasn’t got the Palme d’Or and …’

‘But what’s happened had no bearing on the judges’ decision … It’s a film, Corrie, some win and some lose. But he got this award and I felt sure you’d be so proud you’d want to tell him so yourself.’

Corrie collapsed back against the pillows, covering her face with her hands. ‘I do, Paula,’ she whispered, ‘Oh God, I do. But I can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m so ashamed. So ashamed, Paula.’

‘Oh Corrie,’ Paula cried, taking her in her arms. ‘There’s nothing to be ashamed about. He loves you and nothing in the world is going to change that.’

‘It is,’ Corrie sobbed. ‘It will change, because I can’t bear him to touch me. I love him, but I can’t … Please try to understand … I can’t do those things, the things he’ll want me to do … not ever again.’

‘Sssh, sssh,’ Paula soothed. ‘He’s not going to make you. He just wants to see you …’

Corrie was shaking her head. ‘No, I can’t stand to see the hurt in his eyes when he looks at me. I feel it too, but there’s nothing I can do. It’s over for us, Paula. We both have to face that. I’m coming home with you. I want to be with you, where I’m safe.’

Cristos was waiting outside when Paula eventually left
the
room. The dismay in her eyes told him all he needed to know.

‘I guess I’ll just fly on back to the States then,’ he said when Paula told him what had happened. ‘I’ll leave Monday when she goes back to England.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘Doesn’t seem much point me hanging around though, does there?’

‘But you will?’

‘Sure I will.’

They both turned as they heard footsteps approaching to see Phillip coming down the corridor towards them.

‘How’s Annalise?’ Paula asked.

‘She regained consciousness about an hour ago,’ Phillip answered, but the despair in his eyes was apparent.

‘She’s going to be all right, isn’t she?’ Cristos asked him. ‘The doctor said …’

‘She hasn’t spoken,’ Phillip said. ‘She won’t say a word. It’s as though she doesn’t even know I’m there.’

‘Oh Christ!’ Cristos groaned, thinking, as they all were, of Siobhan.

‘The doctor says it’s probably only temporary,’ Phillip went on, ‘but with these things no one can say anything for sure.’ He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and fingers. ‘I’m expecting a telephone call any moment now that might well help. I pray to God it does. But if I’m right and what I think’s been happening has, then …’

‘Then what?’ Cristos prompted.

Phillip was a long way away from them, locked somewhere deep inside his thoughts. ‘You’ll see,’ he murmured. ‘And so too will Octavia.’

It was the first time since Octavia had arrived in Nice that she and Phillip had been alone together. Until now Phillip knew she had been actively avoiding him, seeing him only at the hospital where she presumed, correctly, that he wouldn’t dare to cause a scene. His reluctance was not
born
of cowardice, however, it was simply that he had a great deal more to say to her than she realized. And for that they needed to be somewhere where they wouldn’t be interrupted.

So here they were in this ridiculous room she had taken for herself at the Negresco, with its fur bedspreads and wall-linings, gold laminated bath and velvet chaises-longues. Octavia, in her Christian Dior suit, priceless jewellery and swathed in that hideous perfume, was sitting demurely on the end of the bed. Her ash blonde hair was snared in a pony tail and her surgery tautened face was, as ever, immaculately painted. Phillip was standing at the centre of the room, his face was inscrutable.

‘Well,’ she said, when all he did was look at her. ‘I’m sure you haven’t trapped me in here just to gaze at the view. So what do you want?’

‘You mean aside from to kill you?’

She snorted and casually patted her hair as she turned her eyes to the window. ‘You haven’t got the balls for it.’

‘I wouldn’t count on that, Octavia,’ he answered tonelessly. ‘In fact I wouldn’t count on it at all if I were you.’

‘Then why don’t you just get on with it?’ she said sweetly.

‘Believe me, were it not for the fact that Annalise is going to need me, there’s nothing in the world that would stop me.’

‘Hah!’ she sneered. ‘Any excuse!’ She lifted her chin, revealing her long slender neck. ‘Come on, Phillip. Do it!’ she challenged. ‘Put your hands around my throat and squeeze until you see me go blue in the face, until I beg you for mercy …’

‘Save your sick fantasies for where they’ll be needed, Octavia. Because believe you me they will be where you’re going.’

‘And just where am I going, Phillip dearest?’

‘To hell.’

‘Pppfff! Is that the best you can come up with?’

‘You’re going right to hell,’ he said, unruffled. ‘And I’m going to make sure of it.’

‘And just how are you going to do that?’ she smirked, crossing her legs and leaning back on her hands. ‘Incidentally,’ she added, ‘it must please you to know that you
can
father a child. If the Browne girl is yours, that is.’

‘She’s mine. So is Annalise.’

‘Oooh, very noble.’

‘Well she isn’t Luke’s is she?’ Phillip asked.

Octavia’s limpid blue eyes narrowed.

‘Is she?’ Phillip repeated.

For a moment or two she held his eyes, so intently he could almost feel the venom leaking out of her. Then a malicious smile curved across her pale pink lips. ‘So that’s what you’re telling yourself, is it?’ she said. ‘That she isn’t his. As usual you’re burying your pathetic little head in the sand and pretending …’

‘The only pretence here, Octavia, is yours. Now let me hear you say it. Annalise is not Luke’s daughter.’

‘Of course she’s his! What the hell do you think this has all been about?’

‘I really don’t know, Octavia. You tell me.’

‘What for? That quack Horowitz told you everything …’

‘No! He told me what he knew. He told me what you had told Luke, but what he didn’t tell me because he didn’t know and Luke couldn’t remember, is what you’re going to tell me now.’

‘And just what would that be?’

‘That Luke Fitzpatrick walked out of Geraldine Lassiter’s on May 19th, 1967.’

Octavia gave a bark of scornful laughter, but her face had turned an ugly shade of grey. It was obvious that Phillip was at last beginning to get to her.

‘Shall I tell you how I know that?’ he said unable to keep the bitterness from his voice now. ‘Shall I tell you why I remember it so clearly? It was the night of my
birthday,
wasn’t it, Octavia. The night you called off the party you’d talked Geraldine into holding because young lover boy had run out on you both. And unless my memory is failing me, Annalise was born ten months later on March 27th. So unless Luke returned to London sometime during June of ’67, it just isn’t possible for him to be her father, now is it?’

The careful surgery on Octavia’s face had become a travesty. ‘He came back,’ she rasped.

‘Nice try,’ he said. ‘But you’re lying. I’ve checked with the authorities in Dublin. Luke Fitzpatrick never left the country again after his father was arrested. At least not until 1970 and then he went to the United States – to see Geraldine, I imagine. So now, do you want to tell me you went to Ireland during June of ’67?’

‘You stupid man!’ she spat. ‘You pathetic, stupid little man! Do you think that just because Fitzpatrick isn’t her father that you are? You’re even more …’

‘So you’re admitting that he isn’t her father?’ Phillip cut in.

‘I’m admitting nothing!’

‘I think you just did,’ he remarked. ‘But let me hear it again. Let me hear those words from your own lips, that Luke Fitzpatrick is not Annalise’s father.’

‘All right,’ she sneered, ‘he’s not her father. Does that satisfy you?’

Phillip’s hands were shaking so hard he had to clench them. He was staring down at her with such hatred in his eyes that even Octavia was unnerved. ‘So you let that man die thinking he was her father.’

Octavia shrugged.

Phillip knew that he was so close to killing her now that only the police presence he had requested outside would stop him. ‘You knew what he’d been through as a child! He told you, and you used it to torment him and satiate yourself. My God, do you realize how sick that makes you?
How
contemptible? You led that man through two years of unimaginable hell letting him, no encouraging him, to think he was committing incest until he was driven out of his mind. When all the time you knew …’ He broke off, so filled with disgust he felt sick. ‘How could you have done that, Octavia?’ he spat. ‘How could you, when he’d already suffered so much? And Annalise, she’s your own daughter! They loved each other …’

‘That’s why!’ Octavia hissed. ‘They loved each other and he was mine. He ran out on me and no one does that! So I got him back. I got him and I kept him. He was never going to be hers.’

‘Oh my God,’ Phillip muttered.

‘But don’t start thinking because she’s not his that she’s yours!’ Octavia snarled. ‘She could be anyone’s.
Anyone’s
!

‘She’s mine,’ Phillip said through gritted teeth. ‘Do you hear me? Annalise is my daughter. But she’s not your daughter, Octavia, because as far as Annalise and I are concerned you no longer exist. As far as any civilized society is concerned you no longer exist. And shall I tell you why?’

Octavia flinched as he suddenly, because he couldn’t help himself, raised his fist. ‘Why?’ she taunted. ‘Why, why, why? What is the brave little Phillip going to do?’

‘I’ve already done it,’ he said. ‘As of now you have nothing. Do you hear that, nothing at all? Which makes you nothing. You can’t even pay for this hotel. At least not with money. But you can pay for it with your body. You’ll be paying for everything with your body from now on, because you’re no longer my wife … Ah! Ah! Ah!’ he said, holding up a hand as she started to argue. ‘There’s not a court in the whole of England that would support your claims once they know what you’ve done. And I’ll tell them, Octavia, make no mistake about that.’

‘Like hell you will! And drag your precious Annalise through the mud?’

‘I’d do it, and so would she.’

‘She can’t even speak yet, so how the hell do you know that?’

‘As a matter of fact she can, but you wouldn’t know that would you? You were too busy at the beauty parlour to be bothered about the fact that your own daughter was in danger of spending the rest of her life as a mute. But she won’t, not now. Because she knows the truth.’

‘So to hell with her reputation?’

‘How can that be so when Luke Fitzpatrick wasn’t her father? I’ve left her talking this over with Corrie, and believe you me, Octavia, you have far more to fear from Corrie than you’ll ever have from me or Annalise.’

‘That stupid little bitch! What the hell can she do to me?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough. And in the meantime you’d better face it, Octavia, as of now you’re a whore. A real whore! It’s the only way you’ll earn a living because you sure as hell can’t do anything else – and believe me, I’ll see to it that you never can. I’ll have my tabs out for you, Octavia, you’ll never escape them. And you’re going to suffer, for the rest of your life; because who wants a whore who’s approaching fifty who can’t afford the plastic surgery anymore? To begin with I can tell you that the manager of this establishment doesn’t, so you’d better start working out how you’re going to pay the bill. My advice to you is start soliciting now, and while you’re doing it remember that there’s no one there to save you now, no Luke to stop the sadists going too far, because you’ve killed him, Octavia. You murdered that man as sure as if your own finger pulled the trigger, and in doing it you’ve all but destroyed your own daughter.’ He started to walk out of the room, but when he reached the door he stopped and turned back. ‘Just one last thing before I go. Should you somehow manage to get yourself an airline ticket, don’t even think about coming back to Chelsea for your belongings, and
don’t
ever,
ever
, attempt to go near Annalise again. You’re finished, Octavia – more than finished, you’re dead.’