Obsession (11 page)

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 Corrie’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.’

Just like that?’

‘Sure. Just like that.’

‘And you and Luke?’ Corrie blushed. ‘Sorry, I’m being nosy.’

‘We screw ourselves silly as often as possible.’ For a brief moment a cloud passed over Annalise’s eyes, from which Corrie correctly deduced that this might not be as often as Annalise would like. But then she was smiling again, as infectiously as ever, and Corrie thought she had never felt so comfortable with a stranger in her life.

‘Now, about you,’ Annalise said. ‘Can you type?’

Corrie grimaced. ‘Not brilliantly.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Can you use a word processor?’

‘Almost.’

‘Shorthand?’

‘I write fast.’

Annalise looked thoughtful. ‘It could be that you’re over-qualified,’ she said at last.

Again Corrie laughed. ‘What qualifications do you have?’

‘Oh, I scraped a couple of A levels out of St. Paul’s.’

‘You went to school in England?’

‘Sure. Where else?’

‘I just thought … Well, with your name being Kapsakis …’

‘Oh that! Kapsakis is my married name.’

Corrie was stunned. ‘You’re married?’

‘Sort of. We’ve been separated for about three years now. I dropped out of University when I was twenty, went off around the world, got as far as Rhodes, met Thomas – he taught me to sail, actually – and I married him. Seemed like a good idea at the time.’ She laughed. ‘It lasted six weeks. Yet another mess Daddy managed to get me out of.’

‘And what about you and Luke? Do you think you two will ever get married?’

‘Oh God I hope so. The man is just to die for, Corrie. Well you’ll see for yourself. When can you start?’

‘Start?’ Corrie repeated.

‘Sure. I’ll speak to Luke, but there shouldn’t be a problem. We’re in need of a research assistant and I think you fit the bill.’

‘A research assistant?’ Corrie gasped, feeling a silly grin spread across her face.

‘Don’t get carried away. It’s just a high-faluting title for a dogsbody.’

‘Just as long as I’m not expected to bark and wag my tail,’ Corrie quipped, ‘and OK, I’ll work on my jokes before Monday.’

‘Then Monday it is. Welcome aboard, Corrie Browne, I think I’m going to like having you around.’

Corrie left the Dôme on such a high that it was all she could do to stop herself smiling at strangers in the street and gushing out her good fortune. Even better the sun had come out, the first time she’d seen it since she’d arrived in London.

Unable to wait she dived into the nearest phone box and called first Paula, then Uncle Ted. After, she shopped for more clothes until it was time for her appointment with an estate agent, who was going to show her a studio flat just off the King’s Road. She knew now of course that her mother and father had never lived there, but nonetheless it made her feel closer to Edwina to think that she was fulfilling at least a part of Edwina’s dream. That was if the studio worked out of course, she reminded herself. Already she and Paula had seen some pretty grotty places – and the fact that most of them cost close on two hundred thousand was horrifying. But she had a good feeling about this studio, and since, as Paula had put it, she seemed to be on a roll, she was sure it would be just what she was looking for.

It was.

From the minute she stepped in the door she knew that this was her home. The room itself was a good size, not
too
big, not too small. The walls could do with a lick of paint, the light fittings would have to change and the carpet was an offence to the eyes. But the tiny marble fireplace, cosy kitchenette in an alcove and lemon and green bathroom were altogether perfect. However, the
pièce de résistance
was without a doubt the gallery overhanging the room and its vast skylight – the only window, but it was enough to light up the entire place. A plain wooden staircase led up to the gallery, which, apart from the splashes of brightly coloured paint on the tiled floor, was bare. It would make the most wonderful bedroom. And all this, coupled with its proximity to Battersea Bridge, well, it was just too good to be true. She made an offer instantly, but knew that if came to it she would pay over the odds to make sure she got it. For a fleeting moment her heart softened towards Phillip Denby, for in truth, were it not for him, she wouldn’t have been able to afford anywhere – not without selling the cottage and the shop, which was something she’d never even contemplate.

Monday morning she turned up at the TW offices at nine thirty sharp – the time Annalise had told her to. Unfortunately it was raining again, and still not too sure which bus to take Corrie had decided to walk from the stop in the King’s Road. As a result she was not exactly looking her best. Still, with a pounding excitement she pushed through the revolving door into the stark reception of the new building, and gave her name to the security man. He sent her up to the fourth floor, where the TW offices were located and as the lift doors opened she found herself in reception.

The receptionist was on the telephone, and looked up as the lift doors opened. When she saw Corrie she went back to her call, and Corrie had to wait over five minutes, frequently stepping out of the way as people whizzed back and forth, before the receptionist rang off and reluctantly gave her attention.

‘I’m Corrie Browne,’ Corrie said. ‘I’m starting work here today.’

‘Yeah. Annalise told me to expect you. Go on in. It’s through there.’

Surprised by the lack of formality – not to mention cordiality – Corrie pushed open the door the receptionist had indicated and found herself in the middle of what seemed utter bedlam. In no time at all she realized what all the fuss was about. She’d heard on the news that morning that the IRA had blown up an MP’s car somewhere on the outskirts of London, and it would appear that the following night’s programme was on terrorism. This latest monstrosity naturally had to be included.

Everyone was talking at once.

‘Any news on Jacobs yet?’

‘No.’

‘Well is the bastard dead or alive?’

‘I don’t know,’ a woman screamed back. ‘They’re not saying.’

‘Then he must be alive.’

‘Shit!
I don’t know
!’

‘Get onto Scotland Yard again! Have you found a crew?’

‘They’re already on the way.’

‘Colin’s on the phone,’ someone else yelled, ‘says they’ve just arrived in Iran.’

‘Has anyone seen the carnet I left on this desk?’

‘Which reporter is handling it?’

‘Gavin.’

‘Sharon, get onto the cuttings library and get all the info you can on Jacobs. Do it
now
before some other bastard gets there. Then send a bike over for it. Perkin stop scratching your ass and sit on it. You can start writing a script.’

‘You’re in the way there,’ someone said, pushing Corrie to one side as she flew past.

‘Bob! Luke’s on line three for you!’

The man who’d been asking most of the questions and
dishing
out all the instructions disappeared into another office, but the pandemonium continued, and Corrie looked round helplessly, wondering who she should introduce herself to. Then to her relief Annalise rushed in behind her.

‘Oh Corrie!’ she cried, as they collided. ‘You’re here. Great. Follow me.’

She took Corrie to an over-laden desk in the corner, yelled out, ‘Everyone, this is Corrie Browne, the new research assistant,’ then promptly disappeared.

‘What did you say your name was?’ a woman asked her.

‘Corrie.’

‘OK, Corrie, get me twenty copies of these run off will you?’ the woman handed her a pile of notes then returned to her phone call.

Corrie hunted around for the photocopier.

‘It’s in reception,’ the woman shouted.

Corrie waved her thanks and went through the door. The minute she began copying someone pushed her to one side telling her to make room for more urgent business. Corrie waited, then started again. Within minutes someone else was pushing her out of the way, so again she waited. At the next attempt she managed four copies before the machine jammed.

‘Oh no!’ she groaned.

‘Not a problem, just something caught up,’ a man behind her said. ‘I’m Alan Fox, by the way, one of the reporters.’

‘Yes, I recognize you,’ Corrie smiled. ‘I’m Corrie Browne,’ and she stood aside for him to sort the copier.

As he was bending down his hand touched her leg. Corrie couldn’t be sure, but she thought he had done it purposely.

Once the machine was clear Alan stayed to chat. Corrie wished he would go away since she was trying to recollate what she’d already copied. But he stayed, and she wasn’t too sure she liked the way he was looking at her. She was in quite a mess by the time someone else came and made her give way again.

She stood back and Alan slipped an arm round her, telling her not to worry, she’d soon get the hang of it. Corrie edged away as his hand was under her arm unmistakably fumbling for her breast. Thankfully he went then, and Corrie decided to dump what she’d done so far and start again. At that point the woman who sent her to do the photocopying came out.

‘Oh for God’s sake!’ she cried. ‘Why don’t you go and get everyone some coffee, I’ll do this myself.’

Dismally Corrie went back into the office. Seeing the secretaries she went over to ask where the coffee was.

‘In the machine,’ one of them answered, not even looking up from what she was doing. But Corrie didn’t miss the quick glance that passed between the four girls.

She took a deep breath. ‘Where is the machine?’

One of them pointed her in the right direction, and she went back to the over-laden desk Annalise had assigned her, found a pen and paper and started taking orders.

The rest of the morning she spent filing newspapers, getting shouted at for removing those that were still in use, and dreading that she would be asked to operate the fax. Annalise came back for half an hour, and managed a minute to ask her how she was getting on.

Corrie assured her that everything was OK, asked if there was anything she could do for her and promptly found herself in an edit suite logging the time codes an editor called out to her.