Читать книгу Dangerous Enchantment - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

ON Monday morning it was back to work as usual for Julie. Not that she minded really. She liked her work as assistant on the cosmetics counter of Fordhams, and the girls she worked with were a friendly crowd.

They all wanted to hear about the Saturday dance at Phoenix Television, and during their coffee break they chattered excitedly. When Julie told them that Manuel Cortez had been there for a short while they were amazed.

“Really?” exclaimed Donna, a luscious blonde. “Did you get an intro?”

“Darling, I danced with him,” said Julie, allowing all troubled thoughts of Manuel Cortez to leave her mind. “He’s very nice.”

“Danced with him!” said Marilyn Peters. “Good heavens, Julie, how did you do that?”

Julie giggled, beginning to enjoy her notoriety. “Well, he knows Mr. Parrish, Paul’s boss, of course, and he introduced us. Then he asked me to dance. It was quite exciting.”

“And what did you talk about?”

“Did he make a pass at you?”

Julie laughed. “Heavens, no! He had Dolores Arriviera waiting for him downstairs!”

They emerged from the cloakroom as Miss Fatherstone the supervisor came stamping into the room to see what was going on, and Julie was still talking.

“Paul had to go down to try and pacify her because he stayed on at the dance,” she was saying, as they walked slowly back to their respective counters. “Paul said she was good and mad, and positively spitting with anger. Paul thought that perhaps he was letting her get so excited that she was doubly passionate when he got to her. Some men like that sort of thing, don’t they? Primitive stuff!”

Julie, Donna and Marilyn were so engrossed in their conversations that they all but walked into a man who was standing in the centre of the cosmetic department floor which was surrounded on three sides by the three counters of which Marilyn, Donna and Julie were in charge. He was a tall, lean, attractive man, dressed in a dark lounge suit and a thick camelhair overcoat, which accentuated the darkness of his skin. Julie, who was walking between the other two, looked up at him in astonishment, and her cheeks turned a brilliant shade of red.

“Mr. Cortez!” she all but gasped, and Donna and Marilyn gave a startled exclamation and went swiftly across to their individual counters, from where they watched with painful intensity.

Manuel Cortez’ eyes were hard as granite as he looked down at her, and she felt her legs turn to jelly.

“Wh … why are you here?”

He shrugged. “That is my affair. But I should be obliged if you would refrain from discussing my private affairs with your … er … friends!” His voice was icy and Julie froze. He had heard them as they had been chattering across the floor. But how much had he heard, for goodness’ sake? And why was he here anyway?

“Come,” he said. “We are causing your friends much speculation. I wish to purchase some perfume. Perhaps you can advise me.”

“Of course.” Automatically Julie shifted behind the counter, and said: “What sort of perfume are you looking for? Something light and fresh for the daytime, or perhaps some musky incense for the night?” Her tone was forcedly impersonal, while she inwardly quaked.

“I want some Parisian perfume,” he said coolly. “Something essentially feminine; but sufficiently … how shall I put it? … aromatic, perhaps!”

Julie knew her job and in no time at all she had presented him with a choice of several perfumes, all of which fitted his description. That he was an expert on women’s perfumes she was left in no doubt and she wondered how many women he had bought perfume for. He finally selected a huge bottle of “La Vie Désirable” and asked Julie if she would gift-wrap it for him.

As the perfume had cost twenty pounds, Julie was only too happy to do so. As she was wrapping the parcel, Manuel studied her downbent head thoughtfully. Today she was wearing an emerald green overall over her pale blue shift and looked very lovely.

“Tell me,” he said, attracting her attention so that she looked up at him with her clear blue eyes, “will you spend this evening with me? Have dinner with me?”

Julie was flabbergasted. She stared at him for a moment, and then returned her attention to the parcel.

“And the Señorita Arriviera?” she said quietly.

“That, I think, is my concern,” his voice was harsh. “Well? What is your answer?”

Julie passed the parcel across the counter and accepted his cheque with jerky movements.

“I don’t think you can be serious, Mr. Cortez,” she said politely. “And besides, I have a date for this evening.”

“Break it!”

Julie’s eyes widened and she looked at him again. “I am not in the habit of breaking dates with Paul,” she said clearly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cortez, but I must refuse.”

“Oh, no,” he said, his voice low and angry, “I do not accept that.”

“Why? Is it so unusual? Do all your women fall over themselves to accept you?”

“Something like that,” he agreed, his voice revealing the temper lying just below the surface.

Julie saw with relief that Miss Fatherstone was approaching across the expanse of grey carpet. Their prolonged conversation had convinced her that this was some boy-friend of Julie’s come for a chat.

“Well, Miss Kennedy,” she said smoothly, “have you served this gentleman?”

“Yes, Miss Fatherstone,” said Julie primly.

Manuel Cortez turned to the intruder with an angry expression, but Miss Fatherstone, recognizing him, gasped in amazement. “Why, it’s Mr. Cortez, is it not?” she exclaimed. “Oh, Mr. Cortez, what a pleasure to meet you!”

Manuel moved awkwardly. He was used to being recognized, but just now he felt a frustrated kind of fury at the interruption. Nodding briefly, he wished them both goodbye and strode away swiftly towards the lift.

Miss Fatherstone turned to Julie. “Do you know that gentleman?” she asked, her voice tart again now.

“Yes, Miss Fatherstone. I met him on Saturday night at the Phoenix Television company dance. He had been making a recording for Phoenix and came in to the dance with Mr. Parrish, Paul’s boss.”

“I see.” Miss Fatherstone looked at her a little thoughtfully, then shrugging, she walked away, and Julie heaved a sigh of relief. But at lunchtime, in the canteen, with Donna and Marilyn extolling the virtues of Manuel Cortez, she wondered whether she had been foolish in not following her instincts and agreeing to go out with him.

“He was a dish,” said Donna, sighing. “If he’d asked me, I’d have gone like a shot! Fancy standing him up for Paul. You must be batty!”

Marilyn agreed. “Paul’s okay, Julie, but he’s not exactly sexy, is he?”

“I don’t think I should want him to be,” retorted Julie defensively.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Marilyn. “Remember, when you marry someone it’s for life, and men like Paul don’t change. He’s rather staid. I like him, but if you marry him I think you’ll be making a mistake.”

Julie sighed. Although she knew Marilyn was being rather personal, she said nothing. The girls had always been very frank with one another, and were used to discussing personal matters together. It was not true to say that Paul was staid, though, thought Julie, and said so.

Donna sighed reflectively. “Manuel Cortez is hardly likely to be seriously interested, of course,” she remarked. “And I mean, Julie isn’t the kind of girl to agree to an affair.”

“I should think not,” exclaimed Julie indignantly, and that ended the conversation.

That afternoon Julie half expected Manuel to appear again. She had not thought he would be put off so easily, unless his had only been a passing interest. She had been honest when she said she had a date that evening. Paul had invited her to attend a twenty-first birthday party with him, but somehow the idea had lost its appeal.

She left the building when the store closed at five-thirty with the rest of the staff. The staff exit was on to a side street, and she left Donna and Marilyn who were hurrying ahead because they wanted to catch the first house at a nearby cinema. In her thoughtful state, she did not notice the low-slung sports saloon parked near the kerb, and was startled when a voice behind her said:

“I’ll drive you home.”

Julie swung round. It was Manuel Cortez. If she had been surprised earlier in the day to see him she was even more surprised now. She did not realize just how her astonishment widened her blue eyes with their dark lashes, or how appealing she looked in the red leather coat she was wearing.

“That won’t be necessary,” she murmured. “I usually take a bus.”

“And I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” he muttered, swinging open the door of the car. “Get in, or people will think I’m molesting you.”

Still startled, Julie complied, sinking down into the luxuriously upholstered seat of the dark green Ferrari. Manuel slid in beside her, a cigarette between his lips, and with a swift movement he set the car in motion.

The roads were terribly busy at this hour of the day, and for a while concentration on his driving prevented him from speaking. It gave Julie a chance to get her breath back, and she looked at him with curious eyes. She saw the same man as she had seen the previous evening, and earlier in the day, except that he seemed even more of a stranger now that he had her at his mercy so to speak. She wondered whatever had possessed her to get into the car, despite his commands. After all, she was usually capable of dealing with any emergency, and Manuel Cortez was just a man, for all his popularity and fame.

It was not until a few minutes later that she said: “I don’t know whether you know it, but I live in Kensington. This is the Edgware Road; it doesn’t lead to Kensington.”

“I know.” He was relaxed now, and she looked angrily at him.

“What do you mean ‘you know!’ You said you would take me home; I believed you.”

“So I will, so I will. But later, I think.”

Julie sighed, and then lay back in her seat. After all, what could happen to her? And she had to admit it intrigued her, but her parents were expecting her home soon and they might be worried.

“My parents are expecting me to go straight home,” she said, her voice a tiny bit nervous.

Manuel Cortez looked at her. Then he pulled the car in to the side of the road. “Very well, Miss Kennedy, you go home.” He lifted his shoulders negligently.

Julie stared at him in exasperation. “I don’t understand you. …”

“I agree with that,” he interrupted coolly.

“ … and I have no intention of getting a bus home now. You can turn this monster round and take me.”

Manuel smiled. “You are as I remembered you to be,” he said, his accent suddenly pronounced in the huskiness of his voice. “But seriously, will you not reconsider your decision to spend the evening with me? It would give me great pleasure to take you to dine at a little roadhouse I have found here, where the food is excellent and the wine quite remarkable for this country of yours.”

“But why me?” exclaimed Julie, shaking her head.

Manuel’s eyes narrowed. “You are beautiful, and I like beautiful women,” he said lazily. “Does that satisfy your ego?”

Julie shrugged her slim shoulders. “It’s not my ego that’s troubling me.” She compressed her lips for a moment. Whenever would she get a chance like this again? How many girls could count Manuel Cortez as one of their escorts? She would be foolish to turn him down now. “All right, Mr. Cortez. I’ll have dinner with you, but I must telephone my parents first.”

“Very well. You can ring from the roadhouse.” Manuel started the engine again, and Julie shivered involuntarily. Now that the decision was taken she felt nervous again.

The White Dragon was quite a new roadhouse, and when the Ferrari turned between its wrought iron gates Julie breathed a sigh of relief. They had not spoken much on the journey, and in the darkness she had felt terrified in case he was merely abducting her for some nefarious reasons of his own. It was ridiculous really, but as yet she did not know him well enough to be sure.

The Ferrari dominated the ranks of cars already in the car-park, and Julie slid out, wrapping her coat tighter about her against the onslaught of wind and a fine drizzle which had begun misting the windscreen as they neared the roadhouse. Manuel locked the car, and walking round to her side, slid his arm through hers, gripping her wrist. Tonight he was wearing a dark, fur-lined overcoat over his dark suit, and Julie found herself wondering why dark men were infinitely more physical than fair ones. She glanced up at him, and surprised a smile on his face, and said:

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

His smile widened, revealing the ivory whiteness of his strong teeth. “Now why should you think that, I wonder?”

“Because it’s true. You were determined to date me tonight – why?”

“I was at a loose end,” he said disconcertingly. Then his grip tightened momentarily. “No woman walks out on Manuel Cortez!”

Julie frowned. “You mean … Saturday night? I didn’t walk out on you. I just didn’t consider your conversation good taste.”

“A lot of the things I do are not ‘good taste’,” he remarked dryly. “Does that put me down in your book?”

“As I’m quite sure that you don’t care one way or the other what I think, I won’t answer that,” she replied, and released herself from his hold as they entered the foyer.

They left their coats and then the head waiter advised them that a table had been arranged for six-thirty if they would care to have a drink beforehand. A delightful olde-worlde bar opened from the hall, the bar strung with coloured lights, while a roaring log fire burned in the grate, illuminating the wooden seats and carved wooden tables. Without asking what Julie would like Manuel ordered the drinks, while Julie took one of the wooden seats in one corner and warmed her hands in front of the fire. She was not unaware of the limitations of the blue shift dress and said, when Manuel joined her.

“I really ought to have changed, you know. These are my working clothes.”

Manuel smiled. “You look all right to me. Did you telephone your mother?”

“Yes. In the cloakroom. I told her I’d run into an old school friend whom I hadn’t seen for years. I’ve asked her to explain to Paul too.” She sighed. “I don’t like lying to people.”

“Then why didn’t you tell your parents the truth? Or am I too disreputable to be seen about with?”

Julie chuckled. “Of course not! Actually Dad adores your music. Particularly when you play the guitar. He has a lot of your records.”

“Is that so?” Manuel looked a little bored now, and Julie fell silent. How on earth would she keep him amused? she thought a little wildly. And why had he asked her out? After all, it was quite a price to pay, having to take her out for the whole evening just to satisfy his ridiculous boast! She couldn’t believe there was any other reason.

The room was deserted apart from a couple of men playing darts at the far end of the bar. It was too early for the bar trade; the cars in the car-park must belong to the diners, she thought idly.

Manuel, who had been seated opposite her, rose to his feet and came to sit on the low seat beside her.

“Now,” he said, “what’s wrong? Why so thoughtful? Are you bored?”

His nearness disconcerted her. “Of … of course not,” she denied stammeringly. “I’m a little bemused, that’s all, with the firelight.”

His eyes mocked her. “And you’re a little afraid, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Why?”

Julie shrugged. “Why should I be afraid?” she countered bravely.

Manuel raised his dark eyebrows. She noticed his lashes were much longer than her own and thickly luxuriant.

“Well, I guess because you think I’m going to make love to you,” he replied softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Julie, who had felt herself melting at the drawling sound of his voice, stiffened now, and straightened her back and took a swift drink of the liquid in the glass. Then she put the glass down on the table hard and gasped:

“Lord, what was that?”

“A cocktail. My own special recipe. Don’t you like it?”

“It’s like fire-water!” she cried indignantly.

His eyes darkened. “Very appropriate … for a man who is partially Indian,” he muttered, his voice cold suddenly. “Excuse me. I will see if our table is ready.”

Julie stared after him. What had she said? She had not known of his ancestry, and besides, what did it matter? She shrugged. Well, at least she knew how to cool him off, she thought, feeling ridiculously like crying.

When he returned, however, he was his old urbane self, and she half-wondered if she had imagined the anger in his voice earlier. The dinner was, as he had predicted, delicious, and Julie, who appreciated good food and who suddenly felt starvingly aware of the emptiness of her stomach, ate well. There was a different wine for every course, and a warmed brandy glass with a little of that fiery liquid to complete the meal with their coffee. The restaurant had filled up considerably since their arrival and Julie noticed how Manuel avoided direct contact with people who would be bound to recognize him.

When the meal was over, and they were smoking cigarettes with their coffee, she said:

“Thank you, anyway. I enjoyed it.”

“Good. So did I, surprisingly.”

“Why surprisingly?”

“Well, I half expected you to be one of those creatures who pick and choose everything that is put before them, and continually watch their figure. Isn’t that the usual thing?”

July smiled. “Well, as yet I’m lucky. I can eat what I like. Does Miss Arriviera pick and choose?”

His expression darkened for a moment, and then he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Dolores has to watch her weight for obvious reasons; dancers must be very careful.”

Julie nodded, and he said: “Why were you discussing me … or rather Dolores with your colleagues at work? Are you the kind of girl who tells her friends everything that you do? Will you regale them with stories of tonight, exaggerated, of course, to heighten the illusion?”

Julie flushed. “I don’t suppose I shall mention this at all.” She felt very small suddenly, and wished she could explain her reasons for acting as she had; for talking about him as she had done to rid herself of the aching feeling she had felt at the knowledge of his association with Dolores Arriviera.

He studied her appraisingly, and then said: “I believe you won’t. Julie Kennedy, you intrigue me.”

“Do I? Why?” Julie’s stomach turned over.

“I’m not sure. But you have a very devious mind; perhaps that’s it. I don’t know. Come, have you finished? We should be leaving.”

“But … but it’s early!” Julie glanced at her watch. It was barely eight o’clock.

“I know, but you forget I have a living to earn. I am appearing in the ten-thirty cabaret at Guardinos.”

Julie’s heart dropped several inches. She had not imagined when he suggested she should have dinner with him that there was any question of them not spending the whole evening together. She had accepted that it would be an early meal, but even then she had not imagined he would leave her so early. Why, Paul was not calling for her until seven-thirty, and the party at his friend Patrick’s would not begin much before nine. She felt an angry resentment at Manuel’s highhanded treatment of her, and she rose abruptly to her feet and went to collect her coat from the cloakroom with ill grace.

Manuel was standing in the foyer talking to the commissionaire when she emerged, and in spite of her anger she could not quite squash the thrill of pleasure it gave her to know he was waiting for her.

The Ferrari was warm and untouched by the elements outside its cosy interior, and Manuel did not immediately start the engine, but looked at Julie instead.

“You are angry,” he said. “Why?”

Julie hunched her shoulders. “I didn’t expect to get bundled home at half past eight as though I were some kid out late as a special treat!”

Manuel grinned. He had switched on the interior light, and his nearness disturbed her terribly. She had never known a man who by his mere presence created such a furore inside her. She badly wanted to touch him, and have him touch her, and these thoughts made her hot all over with embarrassment and shame. She had never thought herself wanton in any way, but with Manuel Cortez she wanted to be. She wished she were some gorgeous femme fatale, able to get away with that kind of thing successfully, quite unaware that her youth and beauty were far more potent stimulants.

“Do you think I want to take you home?” he asked, softly now. “Believe me, Julie, I would rather spend the rest of the evening with you, but my agent would have a seizure.” He sighed. “And tomorrow I have to fly to Paris in the morning, tape a recording for French television in the afternoon, and fly back tomorrow night for Guardinos. You see, I have quite a busy life.”

“I know, I know. And today you were at a loose end.” Her voice was bitter.

“No. Tonight I was to have dinner with Bernard Hoffman,” he said, calmly, announcing the name of a famous impresario. “But I wanted to have dinner with you. Does that please you?”

Julie looked at him sideways, and managed a smile. “Yes.”

“Good.” Manuel’s eyes narrowed and she thought for a moment he was going to touch her, then he switched out the light and turned on the car’s powerful engine.

The journey back to town was as silent as the journey out, and taking his directions from Julie Manuel dropped her at the end of Faulkner Road.

As she was getting out, he caught her hand, and said huskily:

“Will you have dinner with me on Wednesday?”

Julie swallowed hard. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” he said lazily. “I’ll pick you up from work, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

She watched the tail lights disappear, and then turned and walked slowly down the road to number forty-seven. The houses in the road were a selection of semis and detached villas, and the Kennedy house was detached with the left wing given over to her father’s consulting rooms and surgeries. She entered with her own key and went into the lounge where her parents were usually sitting watching television. To her astonishment Paul was sitting with them, gloomily staring at the screen, and she said:

“Paul! What are you doing here? What about the party?”

Paul brightened considerably at her entrance. “Oh, you know, Julie. I didn’t want to go alone, so I rang Pat and told him not to expect us.” He took her coat and hung it in the hall with the familiarity of frequent use and continued: “Who have you had dinner with? Your mother said some school friend. Do I know her?”

Julie, unused to telling even white lies, felt awful. Her parents had always brought her up to be truthful no matter what, and it was difficult to deceive them. But she knew if she told the truth tonight there would be an uproar, and she did not feel she could face it just now.

“Celine Chalmers,” she said firmly, sitting down. “No, Paul, you don’t know her.”

“Oh. And did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, I did, actually.” Julie sighed. “Is there any coffee going, Mum? I feel a bit lightheaded; we had wine with the meal and I’m not used to it.”

“Oh, yes, and who paid for that?” asked her father, smiling.

Julie blushed anew. “Celine,” she faltered awkwardly. “I’ll go and see about that coffee. Does anyone else want some?”

Paul followed her out to the kitchen. “Julie, is anything wrong? You look strange, somehow.”

Julie shook her head. “What could be wrong?”

“Well, do you mind my being here, waiting for you?”

“Of course not,” Julie was contrite. “I’m sorry, Paul. I guess I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course.” Paul dropped a light kiss on her forehead, and Julie had to force herself not to flinch away. She groaned inwardly. Oh, lord, she thought achingly, why do I feel like this with Paul, when with Manuel Cortez I longed for him to touch me?