Читать книгу Dangerous Enchantment - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 6

JULIE studied her reflection critically in the mirror of her dressing table and gave a half-rueful smile. She was ready, and she hoped she would not let Paul down. Tonight was important to him, and she wanted to please him. Her dress, a simple cream cheesecloth, complemented her complexion. Her eyes, brown with tiny green lights in them, sparkled at the prospect of the evening ahead of her, and she cupped her chin on one hand as she wondered why tonight seemed so full of promise.

Her bedroom door opened after a light tap, and her mother came into the room. She smiled, appreciatively, and said:

“Are you nearly ready? Paul is waiting downstairs impatiently.”

Julie rose to her feet and turned round. “How do I look?”

Her mother studied her for a moment. “Very nice. But don’t you think you ought to have had a proper evening dress? Paul is wearing a dinner jacket, you know.”

Julie shrugged her slim shoulders, and the swathe of straight chestnut hair swung softly against her flushed cheeks.

“I’m sure this will be all right,” she said, shaking her head. “In any case, Mum, I haven’t a proper evening dress.”

“I know, darling, but maybe we ought to have tried to get you one.” Her mother looked anxious.

“Don’t be silly,” Julie smiled warmly at her mother. “Darling, it’s only a staff dance, and nowadays nobody wears formal clothes.”

Her mother sighed, sure that Julie was only saying that to spare her feelings. “Very well,” she said, sighing. “But I’m sure a smarter dress would be more suitable.” She sighed. “One thing is certain, though, Paul would think you looked nice in anything.”

Julie laughed, and hugged her mother, and then picked up the red velvet evening coat which was lying on the bed and preceded her mother down the stairs.

Paul Bannister was standing in the lounge, drinking a glass of sherry which Julie’s father had provided him with. In an evening suit he looked handsome, his fair good looks and tall slender build accentuated by the darkness of his clothes. Dr. Kennedy, Julie’s father, was sitting relaxed and comfortable in a deep armchair, smoking a cigar and discussing a recent case with Paul. Dr. Kennedy was a doctor with a general practice here in Kensington. Paul was attempting to look interested, but his eyes lit up as Julie entered the room, her coat about her shoulders.

Dr. Kennedy smiled, and rose to his feet. “Well, Julie,” he said warmly, “you’re a sight for sore eyes and no mistake. What do you think, Paul?”

Paul shook his head. “I think she looks marvellous,” he said, with all the fervency of youth, and Julie’s parents exchanged a knowing glance.

Julie, sensing the parental interest, seized Paul’s arm determinedly. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go.”

Paul drove a small Austin and he helped Julie inside before walking round the bonnet and sliding in beside her. Giving her a swift kiss, he said: “I know I’m going to be the most envied man there tonight.”

Julie chuckled. “Really! That’s not very modest.”

Paul stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then sighed.

“Oh, you’re mocking me again. You know what I mean!”

She laughed. “Oh, Paul, I must stop teasing you.”

She lay back in her seat as Paul threaded his way through the London traffic towards Earl’s Court. It was a little after seven-thirty and the roads teemed with cars. But Julie felt singularly content, and very lucky. Here she was, twenty-one years of age, and on her way to spend the evening with a handsome young man who was obviously in love with her. She had a secure and happy background, and what more could any girl ask for? If her own feelings for Paul were a little bit nebulous at the moment, they would change, and she had no doubts that in the fullness of time she and Paul would marry and get a house in one of the new developments in the suburbs, and eventually raise a family of their own.

Paul’s job was exciting, too. He worked for an independent television company, and although at the moment his work seemed to encompass a variety of duties, as he grew older and more experienced, he would very likely be able to gain a more palpable position. He was clever, if a little studious sometimes, and she had no doubt that his efforts would not go unrewarded. But money, to Julie, was unimportant compared to happiness. Her parents had never been well off, but she had never lacked for love and companionship, and these were the important things. Paul’s obsession with gaining a better job with more money was no doubt due to his desire to marry and settle down, and be able to provide a good home for his family, but Julie hoped that was all it was. She had attended a boarding school, despite the monetary difficulties and had witnessed plenty of heartbreak amongst girls with far more money than herself. Their parents, for example, had never attended open days, and when holidays came around they were sent off on cruises with only nannies to keep them company. Julie had appreciated the welcome she received from her parents, and their obvious delight in having her home again.

When she left school, she had decided to work in a large store in Oxford Street. She liked meeting people, and it was through her work she had met Samantha Edwards. Samantha was now her closest friend. She had come into the Cosmetics Department where Julie worked for make-up and perfume, and then discovered that she and Julie had attended the same school, although Samantha was a couple of years older, and the daughter of a merchant banker. Her parents were divorced, and Samantha herself was now married to an artist called Benedict Barlow.

Thinking about artists brought Julie back to tonight’s festivities. It was the annual staff dance at Phoenix Television, and naturally Paul had wanted to go. Julie was looking forward to it. As it was being held at the studios she was curious; she had never been inside a television studio before.

Phoenix Television stood in its own court off Warwick Road, and it did not take Paul long to drive there. Within the area gates was a huge car-park and it was here, among an assortment of cars large and small, that Paul left the Austin. It was a cold October evening, and Julie hugged Paul’s arm as they crossed to the welcoming lights of the huge building with Phoenix Television neon-lighted somewhere near the top.

Inside a doorman admitted them, checked their invitations, and then directed them to a lift which whisked them up to the twelfth floor.

“A whole floor has been given over to our largest studio,” said Paul, in explanation, “and it’s there they’re holding the dance. Plenty of room.”

Julie nodded. They were the only people in the lift, and she hoped they would not be the first to arrive. The invitation had said seven-thirty, but as the food was to be provided by a buffet, there was no deadline. She was just about to ask Paul whether it would perhaps be better if they delayed their arrival when the lift stopped with a jerk. They had reached the twelfth floor.

Music was the first thing Julie noticed. The band sounded wonderful and she shed her doubts about their early arrival and followed Paul along a corridor which was thronged with people. At the far end a huge hall awaited them, and despite Julie’s fears it was obviously well on the way to being crowded. Everyone was drinking and laughing and talking, and there was a welcoming air of camaraderie.

A friendly attendant showed Julie the way to the ladies’ powder room, where she could leave her coat and attend to her make-up. It, too, was crowded with women, all expensively garbed and jewelled. Diamonds flashed on ears and throats and fingers, and Julie fingered her silver bracelet, which was her only adornment, tentatively. She owned very little jewellery, and had not thought to ask her mother to lend her a necklace. Shrugging her slim shoulders, she made her way to the door again. It was no use worrying now; she must just hope she looked all right as she was.

Back along the corridor Paul was waiting for her impatiently, but he was not alone. With him were another young couple whom he introduced as Larry and Jane Chandler. “Larry works here, too,” he explained to Julie. “He and Jane have only been married three weeks.”

“Have you? How marvellous,” exclaimed Julie enthusiastically.

Jane smiled. She was a pretty redhead, with an engagingly piquant face. “Yes, Julie. And now we’re going round all our friends recommending it.” She glanced archly at Paul. “Haven’t you thought of taking the plunge yet, Paul?”

Paul smiled. “Several times.” He looked at Julie. “Especially during the last few months.”

Julie flushed and changed the subject. For all her gentle imaginings earlier in the evening, she was not quite ready yet to forsake her freedom and settle down to married life with Paul. Always, when it came down to it she felt a strange cautioning feeling deep inside her, as though she were not quite sure yet of her feelings for him. Maybe she was expecting too much, she thought. After all, she was very fond of Paul, and knew he would make a marvellous husband. He was considerate and kind, and liked children. But somehow she was afraid.

At the far end of the hall, spread out on several long tables which seemed to be groaning under the weight, was the buffet. There was every kind of food imaginable, from lobster paté and caviare to meat balls in savoury mushroom gravy, served in deep little bowls with wooden spoons.

There was plenty to drink, too, and as it was provided free by the company, there was no shortage of takers. Staying with the Chandlers, Julie and Paul found a vacant table near the dance floor, and ordered Martinis from a white-clad attendant.

The band was accommodated on a dais at the opposite end of the hall from the buffet, and tables had been set all along the side of the floor. Adjoining this hall, was a smaller area, screened off and available for anyone who wished for a little more privacy. Discreet lighting made the cavernous studio into an Aladdin’s cave, and the brightly coloured dresses and sparkling jewels added an air of festivity.

Paul smiled round. “We’ve made quite a good turnout, haven’t we?” he said, and Larry grinned, as though amused by Paul’s identification of himself with the company.

The girls talked about clothes, and the latest Robert Redford film, and later Paul took Julie to meet a couple of producers and their wives with whom he had worked, and Julie felt a little disturbed by Paul’s obvious pride in herself. They returned to Larry and Jane, and as quite a lot of people were dancing now, Larry asked Julie whether she would dance with him.

Julie agreed, and Paul followed suit and asked Jane. Afterwards they exchanged partners regularly, and made the evening more enjoyable. Larry and Paul were both good dancers, and between dances the girls talked together and listened to the boys talking shop.

Jane grimaced, and said: “Have you noticed how people in television think there’s no other kind of existence?” she laughed. “Be warned, Julie. If you marry Paul, you’ll have to suffer this kind of thing every time you meet a colleague. Can you stand it?”

Julie flushed. “I don’t know. Is it to be recommended?”

“Well, that depends on the man.” Jane frowned, and leaned towards her. “I think Paul is an awfully nice boy.”

“Yes, so do I,” murmured Julie slowly, wishing she felt more certain of herself, and her feelings.

Once while she was dancing with Larry, he said: “Old Paul certainly knows how to pick them. When are you going to get hitched?”

Julie had to smile. “It’s not definite yet,” she prevaricated. “Tell me, what do you do here? Are you on the production or presentation side?”

“I’m assistant to the producer’s right-hand man,” he replied, chuckling. “Sort of dogsbody’s dogsbody.”

Julie laughed, too. “Still, I suppose you meet all sorts of exciting people, don’t you? There are always heaps of stars appearing.”

“I meet some of them,” admitted Larry, nodding. “But my work doesn’t encompass all the studios, and naturally there are people coming and going who I never get to see.”

The evening wore on. They had supper together, and several other couples stopped to chat for a while and then drifted on. It was a friendly affair, and there was no consciousness of boss and employee.

Jane and Larry left them for a while as Larry wanted to introduce his wife to his immediate superior, and Paul got himself and Julie another drink.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, offering her a cigarette.

Taking it, she nodded. “Very much. Are you?”

“Yes, I am rather. Larry and Jane are a nice couple. I’m glad we palled up with them.”

Julie smiled. “Where is your boss, anyway, Paul? You know, Mr. Parrish, the one you’re always quoting to me.”

Paul smiled now. “Don’t be facetious. Actually, he never comes to these affairs. Someone has to keep things ticking over while this jamboree is going on, and Mr. Parrish does just that thing. You realize there are programmes being transmitted this evening, don’t you?”

“Of course. I never thought of it.” Julie drew on her cigarette thoughtfully. “It always seems so exciting, television. I mean, there’s never a dull moment. At any time you might meet your favourite film star, or some comedian or singer you admire. I think I should like to work in television myself.”

Paul grinned. “Apply for a position. They can only refuse you.”

Julie shook her head. “No, I’m not all that keen, I don’t think. And anyway, I like my work at the store. If I changed at all, it would be to something entirely different; like nursing, or looking after children, or something like that. Sometimes I wish I’d become a nanny. I should like to take care of some of these children whose parents don’t give a damn about them except to see that they’re fed and watered, and dressed in pretty clothes.”

“Marry me, and we can raise a family of our own.” Paul’s face was earnest, and Julie was sorry she had invited this.

“Give me time, Paul,” she pleaded. “Look, who’s that who has just come in? It looks like … it is! Manuel Cortez. Oh, Paul, I love his music. You didn’t tell me he was doing a programme for Phoenix!”

Paul had risen to his feet, his face flushed. “That’s Mr. Parrish with him,” he said, in a voice that sounded slightly awed. “Good heavens! I never thought to see him come here.”

Julie rose also, glancing strangely at Paul. “Why do you suppose he has come?”

“To show our distinguished visitor around, I suppose. How the staff of Phoenix Television take their leisure.” His voice sounded normal again. “I forgot about Manuel Cortez’ programme, though. I know you’re a fan of his. Attractive man, isn’t he?”

Julie nodded. “Very. He probably knows it, too. A man in his position couldn’t fail to be aware of his assets.”

Paul shrugged. “Come on, let’s get a drink. Mr. Parrish won’t have any time for me tonight.”

But in this he was wrong. As they passed the arched entrance on their way to the buffet, Neil Parrish hailed his young assistant jovially, as though he too had been imbibing rather freely.

“Well, Paul, enjoying yourself?”

Paul’s expression became annoyingly subservient, and he smiled ingratiatingly. “Very much, thank you, Mr. Parrish. Are you joining us?”

“Afraid not.” Neil Parrish glanced at his companion. “You know Señor Cortez, don’t you, Paul?”

“Yes. Good evening, señor. Have you finished the show now?”

Manuel Cortez nodded, his eys on Julie, and Julie, conscious of his scrutiny, returned his gaze coolly. She was used to the bold glances men cast in her direction. But Manuel Cortez was not quite like them, she had to concede. To begin with, he was a very attractive man, tall and lean, his dark face dominated by tawny tiger’s eyes which were enigmatic in his appraisal. His dark hair curled down to his collar and sideburns, which Julie had personally always abhorred, darkened his already swarthy complexion. He was dressed in a dark lounge suit and when he moved he had a sinuous feline grace which was purely sensual in its appeal. His mouth, too, was rather sensual, and Julie felt a kind of breathless suffocated sensation, as his eyes met hers, causing her to drop her lids defensively.

Linking her fingers tightly together, she became aware that Paul was still talking to Neil Parrish about something, and a moment later she was drawn forward and introduced first to Parrish himself, an elderly man with greying hair, and then to Manuel Cortez.

When Manuel Cortez spoke, his voice with its American accent tinged with Spanish was soft and husky, and Julie’s stomach was now behaving very peculiarly.

“How do you do, Miss Kennedy,” he said lazily, and she felt his cool hard fingers curve for a moment about hers.

“Tell me,” said Julie, casting about in her mind for something to say, “I’ve always been curious, are you Mexican or Cuban?”

Paul looked at her aghast, but Manuel Cortez did not seem to mind.

“Mexican,” he replied smoothly. “But my home is in California.”

“I see.” Julie nodded, and felt rather stupid. After all, what was it to her where he lived? But she had always admired him, and his records were very popular over here as well as in the States. He could play practically any instrument, and often sang with a guitar, the kind of sad, Indian-type songs that went down so well. Julie knew little about him except these facts and the obvious one of his being rather too expensive to appear on British television very often. She had seem him as a guest on various American shows which were shown in this country, and she had bought some of his records because they were good to listen and dance to. She imagined he must be about thirty-five, though there were lines on his face she could see now which did not appear on the television screen. But they did not detract from his attraction but rather added to it.

Paul asked Neil Parrish whether he would stay and have a drink, but Parrish shook his head, and then they were joined by some of the bigger fry of Phoenix Television, who had just noticed that Parrish was there, and who was with him. Parrish protested volubly that he had not time to stay and that Manuel Cortez was just leaving, but in the general chatter it was difficult for them to leave. Paul and Julie, who now seemed superfluous, drew back to the buffet tables and Paul said:

“Isn’t it sickening? One can’t have a private conversation without being invaded by the mob!”

Julie smiled, but she glanced back a little regretfully to the group. For some reason she felt rather depressed suddenly. It had been an exciting interlude talking to Neil Parrish, and Manuel Cortez was such a personality. She sighed.

“I suppose everyone wants to meet Manuel Cortez,” she said reflectively. “After all, it’s not every day he’s around.” She smiled up at Paul. “Darling, don’t be such a misery! You said we weren’t very important, remember?”

“I never said that.”

“Oh, no,” she laughed, “it was Larry. He said he was a dogsbody’s dogsbody.”

“Did he?” Paul was aloof. “Well, I’m afraid I take my work a little more seriously than that, Julie.”

“Paul, don’t be silly,” Julie shrugged her slim shoulders. “Shall we dance?”

“I’m hungry,” said Paul bluntly. “I don’t want to dance just now.”

Julie gave a helpless movement of her shoulders. In this mood Paul was impossible. Somehow she had aroused his indignation; she wondered why he was so touchy about his work. Maybe he tried too hard.

She forced herself to eat a few canapés, but the music was infectious and as the younger members of the guests had monopolized the floor now with their weird dances the music grew more and more exciting.

Sipping a glass of champagne a few minutes later, they were joined by of all people Neil Parrish. Paul brightened immediately, but Parrish did not seem to be in the best of tempers.

“Bannister! Can you go down to the reception and ask Mr. Cortez’ chauffeur to wait in the downstairs lounge? It seems that Mr. Cortez will not be joining him as soon as we expected.”

Julie wondered why Parrish didn’t just use the telephone himself, but Paul did not seem to see anything unusual in the request.

“Of course, Mr. Parrish,” he said. “Excuse me, Julie. I won’t be long.”

“All right,” said Julie, and when Paul had gone she glanced at Neil Parrish. “You look disturbed, Mr. Parrish. Is anything wrong?”

“Not wrong exactly, but I’m afraid Mr. Cortes has been prevailed upon by certain of my staff who have had, I might say, rather too many champagne cocktails to stay and join the party, and he, being the charming man he is, has agreed to do so.”

Julie smiled to herself. Mr. Parrish did not sound at all happy about his increased responsibility.

“Will you have another drink?” said Neil Parrish now, deciding to shelve his responsibilities for the moment, and smiling at Julie. “After all, I might as well make the best of it.”

Julie nodded. “Please. Shall we have another champagne cocktail?”

In truth Julie was beginning to feel rather lightheaded. She had had her two earlier gin Martinis and now she had had a further two champagne cocktails, and all these on a comparatively empty stomach. But she helped herself to a couple of salmon sandwiches and began to feel a little better.

Unable to resist glancing around, she saw that Manuel Cortez was drinking also, and was explaining to his companions some aspect of his work. As though aware of her gaze he looked across at her suddenly, and Julie felt a sense of shock at the almost physical recognition she saw in his eyes. She looked away, but her nerves were jumping. It was apparent that Manuel Cortez found her attractive, and the thought sent her senses spinning.

It seemed ages before Paul returned, and Julie was beginning to wonder what was going on. Surely it did not take so long to pacify a chauffeur, even if he needed pacifying in the first place, which seemed unlikely.

Neil Parrish danced with her and she supposed she ought to feel honoured, judging by the envious stares she was receiving from the wives of others of the young executives. At least Paul would be pleased, she thought dryly.

When they returned to the group near the buffet, she saw that Paul had returned but was being held in conversation by another burly man whom she recognized as one of the producers she had met earlier. Then she became aware that Manuel Cortez was beside her, his lazy tawny eyes rather amused.

“Hello again,” he said softly. “Will you dance?”

“A … are you asking me?” Julie was taken aback. It could not be happening! Not to her!

“No one else,” he mocked her.

“All right.” Julie glanced across at Paul, whose eyes had been drawn to her when Manuel Cortez spoke to her. Shrugging, she allowed Manuel’s hard fingers to encircle her wrist and draw her out on to the dance floor. The music was the deep rhythmic beat of a Top Twenty favourite, but although most of the younger set were dancing individually, Manuel drew Julie close against him, his hand in the small of her back, while his other hand linked with hers at their side.

Julie was quite a tall girl, but he was still almost a head taller than herself, and they moved slowly, seemingly unaware of the rest of the dancers. It was the kind of sinuously sedating music that affected the senses almost unconsciously, and Julie had to force herself to remember where she was and who was watching them. But she had never danced with anybody like Manuel before, nor had she met anyone quite like him. There was something wholly magnetic about him, primitive and animal, that made her whole body alive to his touch.

She tried to mentally shake herself. This was Manuel Cortez, a Latin-American, who had not reached his present age without finding out how easy it was to attract the opposite sex. To him she was just another attractive female; nothing special.

“What was your name?” he asked, his mouth near her ear. “Julie? Is that right?”

“Yes.” Julie’s tone was unresponsive.

“And what do you do, Julie? Do you work for Phoenix?”

“No, I work in a store in Oxford Street,” she replied stiffly.

“Hey,” he drew back and looked down at her. “What’s wrong?” he frowned. “Didn’t you want to dance with me?”

Julie bit her lip, and then smiled suddenly. “Of course I did. But it’s difficult to relax when you know the whole community is watching you, speculatively.”

“Is that so?” Manuel glanced around. “So what? Let them stare. I’m used to it.”

“Yes, but I’m not.” Julie missed a step and stumbled ignominiously. “You see!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed.

Manuel smiled down at her. “Come on, then. I’ll get you a drink instead.”

Julie looked at him. “You don’t have to.”

Manuel’s face was a little grim suddenly. “No, I know. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

Julie shrugged, and walked with him across the floor to the bar.

He ordered champagne for her and whisky for himself, then offered her a cigarette. After they had both lit cigarettes, he said:

“I guess that guy you came with will be blowing his top just now.”

Julie started. For a moment she had forgotten Paul. “Oh, yes,” she said contritely. “Perhaps I ought to …”

“Forget it.” Manuel looked bored. “Stop worrying over other people. Enjoy yourself.”

Julie shrugged. “I happen to care what Paul thinks,” she replied coolly.

“Do you? Are you engaged or something?”

“No, not exactly. But it’s understood.”

“I see.” Manuel swallowed his drink decisively. “Do you like this kind of affair?”

“Why?”

“Well, it kills me. You get guys like Parrish trying to associate with guys like this Paul, and you know damn nicely that come Monday morning it’ll be back to status symbols again.”

Julie gave him a quick glance. “That’s very cynical, Mr. Cortez.”

“I guess I am,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, let’s chuck this subject. Do you want another drink?” Julie shook her head, and he ordered another whisky for himself. Swallowing half of it, he continued: “And don’t you get the yen to enter the world of the cornflake commercials?”

“What? Oh, you mean television,” Julie smiled. “Not really. Besides, what could I do? I don’t sing or dance, and I’m not much good on a typewriter.”

Manuel smiled, and leaned back against the bar, elbows resting on the counter. “There are ways and means,” he said. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t find it too difficult. …”

“If you mean what I think you do, you can forget it,” exclaimed Julie hotly. “I wouldn’t sell myself for television stardom.”

“Women sell themselves for a lot less than that,” remarked Manuel Cortez shrewdly.

Julie moved restlessly. “I think I ought to go.”

“Why? Have I shocked you? Surely not. You must know what goes on.”

Julie refused to answer him. Stubbing out her cigarette, she looked up at him with raised eyebrows, but her haughty expression cut no ice with Manuel Cortez.

“Excuse me,” she said abruptly, and leaving him, she walked swiftly away across the floor. It did not occur to her until she reached Paul and saw his shocked face that she had done anything out of the ordinary.

“Julie!” he exclaimed, in a horrified voice. “Do you realize what you’ve done?”

Julie flushed. “Yes. I’ve just walked away from a man who treated me as though I were little better than a … a …” She sought about in her mind for a word to use. “Well, he was most objectionable.”

Paul frowned. “In what way?”

“His conversation. Oh,” Julie sighed irritatedly, “not only that. His attitude as well. I can’t explain exactly.”

What she couldn’t explain to Paul was that despite his manner she still found him attractive, and that was annoying her more than anything else.

“Could we go?”

Paul was looking nervously across at Neil Parrish, who had walked across to join Manuel Cortez. He seemed distraught. “What? Go? Oh, yes, if you want to. In fact I think it might be best.” He pushed her unceremoniously out of the door. “Goodness knows what Mr. Parrish will have to say on Monday morning.”

Julie was reminded of Manuel’s remarks as Paul spoke. He had been right, of course, and probably about other things as well.

“Well, why were you so long anyway?” she asked. “I was waiting ages. I thought you’d got lost.”

“I’ll explain when we get to the car. Go get your coat, Julie.”

The little Austin was cold and a trifle damp inside, but the heater soon warmed them up. Paul drove slowly now. It was still quite early and Julie’s parents didn’t expect them home for a couple of hours yet.

“Now, tell me about the chauffeur,” said Julie.

Paul grimaced. “Well, actually, it wasn’t just the chauffeur who was waiting. There was this female, you see.”

“A woman? Did you know her?”

“Actually yes. It was Dolores Arriviera, the dancer. You may have heard of her.”

“Oh, yes. Hasn’t she been appearing at the Talk of the Town?”

“That’s right. Well, she was waiting for Cortez and when I tried to explain what had delayed him she threw the most ghastly tantrum and demanded to be taken up to him at once.” Paul gave a heavy sigh. “Gosh, I was flummoxed. I didn’t know what to do. But Neil Parrish had made it plain that he didn’t want her to come up, so there I was. It took me ages to calm her down, and even then she was seething like a wild cat. Lord, she’s really something when she’s roused!”

“Is she beautiful?”

“Lord, yes! She has very bright hair, almost red but not quite, and she wears it parted Madonna style and caught in a chignon on her neck. Her eyes are like Cortez’ himself, Spanish eyes, I suppose you might call them, and she was wearing the most gorgeous mink coat.”

Julie laughed. “You were certainly impressed! I bet you couldn’t tell me in such detail what Jane was wearing this evening.”

“I guess I couldn’t at that,” he said, and relaxed a little. “But honestly, Julie, imagine leaving a creature like that to wait while you attended some dreary dinner dance … or should I say buffet dance!”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly dreary.”

“No, but you know what I mean. The comparison, and so on. Still, I guess he knows she’s mad about him, and he lets her wait to bring her passion to the boil.”

Julie felt a strange trembling feeling in her stomach, and pressed a hand to it suddenly. It must be the amount of alcohol she had consumed, she thought uncomfortably. Although she knew Paul had only been joking, the idea of Manuel Cortez making love to Dolores Arriviera was not a pleasant one, and this she knew deep inside her was the root of her confusion.