Dangerous Enchantment

by Anne Mather

“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 watchi
ng 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 i
ntro?”

  “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?