Dangerous Enchantment

“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.

CHAPTER TWO

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.