Dangerous Enchantment

“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?

CHAPTER THREE

ON Tuesday it was difficult for Julie to pretend she had not seen Manuel again, when Donna and Marilyn began discussing him. It was a nine days’ wonder so far as they were concerned, and Julie had to go along with their teasing in good part. But her inner emotions were very different, and she was debating within herself whether or not she ought to be frank with her parents in the matter. The relationship she had with her mother and father was such that she felt very guilty about lying to them, but she was aware how much they liked Paul, and how they expected Julie to marry him one day. They would not like the idea of her going out with a man like Cortez who was, after all, only amusing himself with her, and was definitely not to be taken seriously. But they had not experienced the sense of excitement and vitality he generated, and which enveloped everyone who came into contact with him. She sighed heavily. If she wanted to go on seeing Manuel, she ought not to make a secret of it.

On Tuesday evening she went to a cinema with Paul. He met her from work and they ate at a Lyons’ Corner House before making their way to the cinema. Paul, who had not said much to her the previous evening, now told her that Neil Parrish had not berated him for Julie’s attitude towards the Mexican singer.

“Actually, he’s never even mentioned the incident,” he said, with a certain amount of surprise. “And that’s not like Parrish at all. Usually he delights in having a reason to put you on the spot. I like him, and he’s a brilliant man at his job, but sometimes he goes a bit too far.”

“Well, you should stand up to him,” exclaimed Julie. “He’s only a man, after all. Perhaps he might like that; for someone to be honest with him.”

Paul grimaced. “In actual fact, sometimes he scares the pants off me,” he said, and Julie had to smile. It was so near the truth.

When she was getting ready for bed that night her mother came into the room, closing the door, and said quietly:

“Julie darling, what’s wrong?”

Julie rose abruptly from the stool in front of the dressing table where she had been combing her hair. She was dressed in only a nylon shortie nightie and looked about sixteen. Her mother clasped her hands together as though she felt awkward, and Julie frowned.

“Wrong?” she said, feigning surprise. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“Yes, there is. At least, you’ve got something on your mind. You’ve been like this since you came home last night. What did this Celine person say to you?”

“Celine?” Julie shrugged helplessly. “Well, we talked over old times, naturally.”

Her mother looked at her shrewdly. “Julie! Tell me honestly, was it Celine … of indeed a woman you went to dinner with last evening?”

Julie compressed her lips. She would not tell a direct lie.

“No, Mother. You’re right, it was a man.” She looked down at the mother-of-pearl handled brush she held in her hands. She looked up again. “I’m sorry, Mum. But I knew if I told you you wouldn’t understand. You know how you expect me to … well … me and Paul …” Her voice trailed away.

Mrs. Kennedy sighed. “Oh, Julie! Surely you know that all we want is your happiness. Good heavens, yes, we like Paul, but that doesn’t mean you have to marry him to please us! Heavens above, the way you talk frightens me at times. We want you to marry the man you love.”

“Marry, yes.” Julie moved restlessly. “But what if I told you the man I went out with had no pretensions towards marriage whatsoever?”

Her mother looked disturbed now. “Why? Is he married already?”

“No, that is …” Julie ran the brush lightly over her hair. “I don’t honestly know.”

Her mother shook her head. “Julie!” she said reproachfully. “Who is it? Do we know him?”

“Not exactly. You know of him.” Julie turned back to her dressing table. “Don’t ask me, Mum, please. If … if anything comes of it, I’ll tell you then.”

Mrs. Kennedy was really disturbed now. Julie had never lied to her before, nor had any secrets from her. It was difficult to accept this, and the fact that Julie no longer required her confidence. It made her seem so much more adult, somehow. She had still seemed their little girl, but now she had a life of her own, a life moreover which she did not want to share with them.

Julie, too, felt terrible. Particularly as she had the conviction that what she was doing was dangerous. Manuel Cortez was not a man to be trifled with, and although Julie had had plenty of boy-friends she had never associated with a man as experienced as Cortez.

Her mother wished her goodnight and Julie climbed into bed. She heard the telephone ring as she was drowsing off to sleep, signalling a night call for her father, and then she knew no more. The resilience of youth overcame all her problems and she slept soundly.

When she told her mother on Wednesday morning that she would not be home for dinner that evening, her mother gave her a strange glance but did not comment, and as her father was at the breakfast table also Julie was glad. She knew she could trust her mother not to say anything to her father unless she wished it.

She had dressed with care in a new Crimplene two-piece of a delicious shade of salmon pink. The flared skirt was calf-length while the short jacket was double-breasted and scalloped on the neckline. With it she wore her double string of pearls and a beige llama coat, and black accessories completed the ensemble. Her father ran her to work in his car and complimented her upon her appearance.

“Is this for Paul’s benefit, lucky chap?” he asked, grinning.

Julie shook her head. “No. I’m going out with friends. Paul is working this evening.”

“I see.” Her father did not see anything unusual in this. Julie was a popular girl and often went out with other girls. Besides, on Wednesday evenings she usually went to see Samantha.

Donna and Marilyn noticed the clothes, too, and Julie felt convinced they did not believe her when she said she was going to Samantha’s for the evening. But it was a busy day for once in their department of the store, and with Miss Fatherstone on the warpath they’d not have a lot of time for chatter.

At last it was five-thirty, and mentally stiffening her shoulders, Julie went down to meet Manuel Cortez.

But when she reached the street there was no sign of either Manuel or the dashing Ferrari. What an anticlimax! Julie felt her stomach churn horribly. Had he only been joking with her when he asked for another date? Was this his way of paying her back for her outspokenness?

Donna and Marilyn walked past her calling goodnight, and looking back curiously at her, obviously speculating on her appearance. Julie moved about restlessly. She hated waiting about like this, and she hated the provocative looks she was getting from men who passed by.

She waited until a quarter to six and then decided angrily that he was not going to turn up. She felt suspiciously like crying, and chided herself for her stupidity. She ought to have realized he had no intention of seeing her again.

She turned decisively and walked swiftly towards the junction with Oxford Street. She would pick up a bus and go to Samantha’s after all. She knew she was always welcome there. The Barlows lived in Poplar Square off the King’s Road, and had quite a modern flat which Benedict had leased when his first exhibition paid dividends. Anything would be better than going home, she thought unhappily, aware that in truth all she wanted to do was be alone.

Oxford Street was thronged with people. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she thrust her hands into her pockets and was moving into the crowd when she heard her name being called: “Julie! Julie, wait!”

Her heart thumping, she swung round and saw Manuel thrusting his way through the crowds to her side. His hair was ruffled, and the expensive mohair coat he was wearing was flying open, but he was just as attractive as ever, and Julie wanted to fling herself into his arms, so relieved was she.

“Hi,” he said belatedly. “You’re mad, I know, and I’m sorry, but this crazy London traffic; God, it kills me! I’ve had to park the car somewhere out in the provinces!”

Julie laughed. “Was that all?”

“Sure. Did you think I intended standing you up?”

“Yes.” Julie was too relieved to prevaricate.

“Well, I’m here now. Shall we go? I thought we’d have dinner at my apartment, if that’s okay with you.”

Julie’s hands grew clammy. “I … I don’t know,” she began.

But he was not taking any notice of her. He had grasped her arm and was forging his way through the crowds of people, taking her with him. Julie saw several looks of startled recognition cast in his direction, but Manuel ignored them all. He had no vanity so far as his work was concerned, she thought inconsequently.

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