Dangerous Enchantment Read online

  “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.

  * * *

&nb
sp; 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.

  The car was parked somewhere near Charing Cross and Julie’s legs were aching by the time she had kept up with Manuel’s pace for this distance. She was glad to relax in the luxury of the car, and allow him to take over completely.

  Manuel handed her a cigarette, lit one for himself as well, and then started the car.

  “Crazy place,” he said again. “How I hate crowds of people!” He glanced at her. “How about you?”

  Julie shook her head. “Well, I love London, but I know its limitations, and I agree it is very busy at this hour of an evening.”

  “Busy!” Manuel grunted, and swung the car into the stream of traffic heading for St. John’s Wood. “My apartment is in Lebanon Court,” he said, as they crawled along. “Do you know it?”

  His words brought Julie back to the problem of dinner at his apartment. She couldn’t very well refuse, not now, and truthfully, she did not want to, but she knew how reckless she was being.

  “I don’t exactly know it,” she said now, “but if it’s one of the those new apartment buildings from where you can see Regent’s Park, then I think I know where you mean.”

  Manuel nodded, satisfied. “Yes. I can see the Park from my windows, but then I can see most of London as well.”

  Lebanon Court was one of those new luxury apartment buildings that stood in its own square of gardens and fountains and statuary, with an entrance as imposing as any luxury hotel. A uniformed commissionaire prevented any undesirable element from entering the building and only people known to him or who could prove their identity were admitted.

  “Quite feudal,” said Julie, as the elevator zoomed soundlessly up to the top floor where Manuel’s penthouse was situated. “How nice to be affluent!”

  Manuel smiled at her, knowing she was mocking him, but Julie could not disguise her gasp of pure delight when she entered the double doors of the apartment and caught her first glimpse of the panoramic view from his windows. It was twilight, and the lights of London were beginning to gleam and glisten all over the town, and from this height it was like looking down on fairyland. There was no noise, no throb of the city as could be felt on the ground below, but simply a majestic peace enhanced by the view.

  Manuel switched on the lights, dispelling the sense of unreality and revealing this large lounge in all its simple elegance. From the entrance, two wide steps led down into the main body of the room, the floor of which was covered with a dark amber-coloured carpet. Low settees and armchairs, upholstered in dark green leather and leopard skin, punctuated the area before a glowing electric fireplace, while an enormous television-cum-stereogram stood dominating one corner. A bookshelf at the other side of the fireplace was partially filled with a mixture of music books and paperback novels, and a cocktail cabinet revealed the varied selection of its contents.

  Julie swung round, taking it all in, and said: “It’s beautiful, but I suppose you know that, don’t you?”

  Manuel lifted her coat from her shoulders, and slung it over a chair by the door. Then he removed his own coat and did likewise, and said:

  “I’m glad you like it. I keep an apartment in London because I abhor hotels where waiters are continually trying to do too much for you just because you are famous.” This was said without conceit, and Julie realized he was quite serious when he said he did not like crowds of people. Her father had always maintained that a man who enjoyed his own company could not have much on his conscience. Or have no conscience at all, amended Julie silently, wondering whether Manuel Cortez had brought many women here. Dolores Arriviera, certainly, but who else? The thought sobered her. She had got to keep a clear head about this. Manuel Cortez was a man of the world, not a boy like Paul.

  A manservant dressed in black appeared from a door which apparently led to the kitchen quarters, and said:

  “Good evening, señor. I have prepared everything as you suggested. When you are ready I will serve the meal.”

  “Give us a couple of minutes to have a drink and we’ll be with you,” said Manuel, nodding, and the man smiled and withdrew.

  “José,” said Manuel a
fter he had gone. “He has been with me for more years than I care to remember.”

  Julie smiled, and sank down on to a low armchair at his suggestion.

  “What will you drink?” he asked, going to the cabinet. “Sherry? A Martini? Something stronger?”

  “Sherry would be fine,” said Julie, linking her fingers together meekly in her lap.

  Manuel handed her her drink, and stood himself, drinking whisky. Then he seated himself opposite her, legs apart, arms resting on his knees.

  “You look very attractive tonight,” he said, his eyes lazy. “That colour suits you.”

  “Thank you.” Julie felt nervous. “Did you go to Paris yesterday?”

  “Yes.” He lay back in his seat. “Have you been to Paris?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Don’t you like to travel?”

  “Of course. It’s not always possible, though. My father is only a doctor. We’re not terribly affluent, you know.”

  “In my country, to be a doctor is to be very important.” He snapped his fingers. “What is little to you would be much to my people.”

  “Your family …” Julie flushed. “Do they live in Mexico?”

  “Of course. I have seven brothers and four sisters.” His eyes were intent, and Julie’s colour deepened. “Does that shock you?” He shook his head. “It must take very little to shock you, Julie Kennedy. What a narrow little life you must have led!”

  Julie bent her head. “You didn’t shock me,” she replied. “Poverty, as such, is distressing, not shocking. But your family… they are not poor?”

  “Not now, no. But they were. In Mexico everyone has a large family. These poor devils know no better, as your people would say. They know nothing of birth control; they take whatever God sends them and are thankful. As it happens, my family have been lucky. They have me to provide for them, for their children, and their children’s children.” He sat up again, as though compelled to startle her. “I could not read until I was ten years old. There was no one to teach me in our village, so when I was old enough I taught myself. Then I read and read, until my eyes were sore, and I had to go to bed with pains in my head. I taught myself the guitar also, and now, you see, I am rich and affluent, reasonably well educated… but I do not forget.”