by Anne Mather
Her own parents went out again in the evening, and she read a book and watched some television to fill in the time. Her whole life seemed to be steering toward Tuesday, and beyond it she refused to think.
But when Tuesday came she found she was as nervous as a kitten, and unable to eat or think of anything except Manuel. She knew she was drifting dangerously near a state of mind where nothing mattered but the present, and that she should take what was offered and grasp it with both hands before it slipped forever beyond her reach.
She had dressed in a slim-fitting dress of dark blue Courtelle, and was wearing her red leather coat again. She looked young and defenceless, and utterly unaware of her own beauty.
But again she was doomed to disappointment. There was no sign of Manuel Cortez, or his car, when she reached the street. It was a cold night. November had crept in gradually, and a slight fog shaded everything to grey.
She knew she had sworn not to wait, but she hung about helplessly, praying for deliverance. It came in the shape of a small man in a grey overcoat, a grey bowler. José.
“Miss Kennedy,” he said, his eyes smiling. “I have found you. So sorry to keep you waiting, but the señor, he is ill. He is unable to come this evening. He ask me to explain.” His English was not so good as Manuel’s, but Julie did not give it a thought. Her whole being was absorbed by what he was saying.
“He is ill?” she said, frowning. “How ill? Have you called a doctor?”
José shook his head. “There is no need for the doctor, Miss Kennedy. The señor, he has had the fever before. It… how you say… recurs now and again. José, he know how to deal with it.”
Julie stared at him. “But I mean… don’t you think…” She halted. “Can I come back with you, then?”
José shrugged his shoulders and spread wide his hands. “I do not think the señor would like that.”
“Never mind what the señor would like,” she exclaimed, making a decision. “I’m coming. Have you got the car?”
“No, Miss Kennedy. I take the Underground.”
“Very well, then. Let’s go.”
José shrugged again, obviously not too happy with her decision, but unable to prevent her from accompanying him. They walked from the station to Lebanon Court, and José had to vouch for Julie’s integrity before the commissionaire would allow her to go inside.
Now that they were here, Julie’s decision was beginning to waver a little. After all, what would she do if it was revealed that José’s excuses had merely been sent so that Manuel himself need not see her again? This thought had not occurred to her before, and she looked at José nervously as they went up in the lift, but he seemed lost in thought.
Everything was just as she remembered, and she shed her coat briskly before she could lose her nerve, and said:
“Where is he? Which is his room?”
José made a slight sound of protest, and then as though admitting defeat, he walked across and opened a door, and said softly: “The señor’s room. But I…”
But Julie walked past him and into the room, hearing him close the door silently behind her. She glanced round and saw that he had followed her in and she wondered whether he thought she meant Manuel any harm.
The room was furnished in dark woods and dark colours apart from the vivid tangerine of the carpet, and was just pleasantly warm from the central heating system, but the man in the huge six-foot bed tossed restlessly, covered only partially by silk sheets and a couple of blankets, the sweat visible on his brow, and on his bare brown chest.
José hurried forward and drew the covers over him again, whispering in some foreign tongue to himself, and Julie moved forward slowly to the other side of the bed. Manuel had obviously not been shaved for a couple of days, for he had a slight growth of beard, and his face was grey beneath the tan.
“José,” she whispered, “are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
José’s eyes flashed. “I love the señor, Miss Kennedy. I would not be here otherwise. I have given him the draught. He will improve. It takes time.”
“How much time? Surely antibiotics would be more suitable.” She sighed as José assumed a haughty expression. “Have you bathed the sweat from his body? Have you changed the sheets?”
“Of course, Miss Kennedy. I changed the sheets this morning.”
“Well, I think they should be changed again,” said Julie, feeling the sheet tentatively. It was a little damp, and as he was so hot, it would be safer to change them.
“Very well, I will see to it.”
“I’ll help you…”
“José!” Manuel’s voice groaned suddenly. “Did you go to Fordhams? Did you see Julie?”
“Yes, señor. I gave her your message.”
“Good.” Manuel’s eyes flickered open momentarily, and then closed again.
Julie looked at José, who shrugged. “Occasionally he has moments of lucidity. In the main, he is unconscious until the fever breaks.”
Julie shook her head in a dissatisfied way, and turned and marched through a door which she hoped led to the bathroom. Finding this was so she collected a sponge, squeezed it out under the cold tap, and brought it back and laid it on Manuel’s forehead. It was icy, and Manuel moved again.
José compressed his lips. “You should not interfere, Miss Kennedy. If you will leave us, I will change the bed.”
“I’ll help you.”
“No.”
“But why?” Julie stared at him in surprise. “Surely I can help you?”
“No. The señor would not like it.”
“Oh, very well, then.” Julie turned and marched back into the lounge, closing the door.
A few minutes later José came out too. “It is done,” he said. “The señor is sleeping. He will sleep for some time, and who knows, when he wakes the fever may be gone.”
Julie frowned. “I suppose you think I should go now.”
José straightened his shoulders. “That is for you to decide, Miss Kennedy. It is doubtful that the señor will recognize you tonight.”
Julie shrugged. “If I stay, could you provide me with a sandwich? I haven’t eaten since lunch time.”
“Very well.” José shrugged in apparent disdain and walked away into the kitchen.
Julie crept back into the bedroom. As José had said, Manuel was asleep now, looking very much younger and vulnerable. She seated herself in a low armchair beside the bed and watched him. It was like a kind of sweet pain, seeing him there, so close and yet so far away. He looked cooler now, and José had taken the sponge away and replaced it with an ice bag which he must have had somewhere about and she had not noticed it. Poor José, she thought. She had certainly upset his schedule.
When José returned, he had brought her a tray and he gestured that she should come into the lounge to eat. Sighing, Julie rose from her seat and did as she was bid.
On the tray was half a chicken and some salad, cold vegetables and chipped potatoes, and a fresh fruit trifle with ice cream.
“Oh, José,” she exclaimed in amazement, “I didn’t expect all this. I feel awful now. You shouldn’t have bothered.”
José managed the ghost of a smile. “Nonsense. Enjoy your meal. Just give a call when you are ready for coffee.”
He switched on the television as he left, and Julie watched it absently, unable to drum up any interest in a boring quiz programme and a second-rate Western. She drank several cups of coffee José provided, refused any liqueurs and thanked him anew. He came back after he had done the washing up and said:
“I wonder, Miss Kennedy, if I might ask a favour of you.”
“Of course, José, what is it?”
“Well, I had promised to meet a friend myself tonight, for a drink, you understand, a man friend, and now I will be unable to go. Could you possibly take him a message for me? It is not far from here where we were to meet, but I do not like to keep him waiting.” He smiled. “It is my cousin, actually.”
Julie frowned. “But, José,
why don’t you go? You could quite easily. I’ll stay here for an hour or so, and you can keep your appointment. After all, there’s nothing you can do for Mr. Cortez. As you say, he’ll probably sleep for quite some time.”
José was taken aback. He had obviously not thought of this. Perhaps he had seen his message as an excuse to get Julie out of the apartment once and for all.
“I do not know. …” He halted. “The señor may need me.”
“Rubbish,” said Julie firmly. “I’m a doctor’s daughter. I know a little bit about first aid. I’m sure there’s nothing I can’t handle.”
José shrugged. “Very well, Miss Kennedy, I will go. But only to tell my friend that I am not staying. I should be back in half an hour.”
“Please yourself,” said Julie, half smiling. “I’m not going to run off with the silver, you know.”
José smiled. “Did I sound as though you might? I’m sorry. But I have been very concerned about the señor, you understand?”
“Of course. But stay and have a drink, José. I don’t mind, honestly.”
“I will see,” said José slowly. “I will get my coat.”
After he had gone, Julie relaxed completely. It was nice to feel mistress, for a while at least, of this gorgeous apartment. She stretched on the couch, lifted a copy of Live and Let Die by Ian Fleming off the shelves, and settled herself for a read. She was warm and drowsy, and somehow content, here, knowing that Manuel was nearby.
She must have fallen asleep, for she was awakened by the loud ringing of the doorbell, and someone banging on the door. Hastily sliding off the couch, not waiting to put on her shoes, she hurried to the door, expecting to find José on the doorstep, but she could not have been more surprised. A woman stood there, a small. delicately made creature with a glory of red-gold hair and flashing dark eyes. Spanish eyes! Julie remembered Paul’s words. This must be Dolores Arriviera!
If she was surprised by Dolores Arriviera’s arrival. Dolores Arriviera was even more astonished to see her. She stared at her insolently, her eyes sweeping Julie’s dishevelled appearance, and then brushed past her into the apartment.
“Manuel!” She swung round. “Where is Manuel?”
Julie linked her fingers awkwardly. “He’s in bed. He’s been ill.”
“Ill? Manuel?” Dolores Arriviera swept her coat around her and walked unerringly straight towards Manuel’s bedroom door. As there were several doors to choose from Julie thought, with a sinking of her heart, that Dolores was quite well aware of Manuel’s bedroom.
“Please !” Julie put out a hand. “He’s asleep. Don’t wake him! I… I was on the couch. I must have dozed off too.”
Dolores halted, her hand on the handle of the door. “Who are you?” she almost spat the words out.
“Julie Kennedy. I suppose you are Miss Arriviera.”
“Manuel told you about me, did he?”
“No, I… knew!”
Dolores smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. “And why are you here?” Her voice was shrill. She left the bedroom door and walked a little of the way towards Julie. “Are you his nurse?”
Julie flushed. “No. José wanted to go out, so I said I would stay.”
“Indeed? You are perhaps a friend of José’s, yes?”
Julie twisted her fingers. Dolores Arriviera was looking very fierce, and she had no wish to become embroiled in a row with her.
“You might say that,” she admitted nervously. “If you wish to see Mr. Cortez, I would suggest you came back tomorrow.”
“Really?”
Dolores came a bit closer, and Julie could smell the potent perfume the woman was wearing. Nothing so sweet or delicious as “La Vie Désirable” but instead a primitive perfume to drug the senses. She really was exquisite, though, thought Julie achingly. Tiny hands, tiny feet, slender and as light as thistledown; yet as violent and passionate as the gypsy blood which flowed in her veins.
Suddenly the door to Manuel’s bedroom opened, and Manuel himself stood there wrapped in a dark blue dressing gown made of silk. He swayed weakly in the doorway, and said: “God, what a noise you make, Dolores! Julie! What are you doing here?”
Dolores ran to him, putting her arms around him, murmuring protectively: “Querido, querido, you have been ill! Why did you not call me? I should have come with all haste to care for you.”
Manuel’s eyes met Julie’s over Dolores’ head, and although his were a little glazed from the fever, Julie could have sworn he was glad to see her.
“Dolores, please!” He pushed her weakly away. “Where’s José?”
“He went to meet a friend,” replied Julie. “I said I would stay until he returned.”
Dolores turned on her. “Well, as you can see that is not necessary now. I am here, I will take care of my poor Manuel!”
Manuel shook his head. “No, Dolores, you go. Why are you here, anyway? You know it’s all over between us.”
Julie shivered. If Manuel ever spoke to her like that she felt she would curl up and die. But Dolores was obviously used to it, for she did not turn a hair. Instead, she shrugged and said:
“So! You are still angry with me. Ay, ay, ay! You will get over it.” She laughed a little, but at his cold glance walked slowly towards the door, looking back at him mockingly. “So, I go. But I will be back, yes?”
Manuel looked away, and Dolores flounced through the door a little angrily, and slammed it behind her. Manuel visibly leaned more weakly on the doorpost, and without thinking Julie went over to him, and putting an arm about him for him to lean on, said: “You ought to be in bed. You ought never to have got up in the first place.”
“I’m not so ill,” remarked Manuel dryly, but he leaned heavily on her as she led him back to the bed with its tumbled sheets. She helped him into the armchair beside the bed, and said:
“I’ll just straighten this for you. It will be more comfortable.”
Manuel shrugged, but made no objections, and then she helped him up and said: “Take off your dressing gown.”
Manuel looked half amused. “I don’t somehow think I’d better,” he drawled, and Julie’s cheeks flushed scarlet.
“You mean… you…oh!” That explained why José had not wanted her assistance changing the bed.
“Get in, anyway.”
Manuel slid between the sheets obediently, and Julie said: “José shouldn’t be long. Is there anything else you want?”
“You,” he murmured softly, and pulled her down to him.
His lips were warm and sleepy, and Julie felt her earlier feelings crystallize into longing again. This was Manuel: these hard, demanding lips were Manuel’s lips; and no one but Manuel had ever kissed her in quite this way.
She struggled away from him half-heartedly at last, and said:
“You ought to be resting. This is madness!”
“I am resting, and you are wrong, Julie, it’s not madness.”
Julie pressed the palms of her hands to her cheeks. “I really ought to be going,” she whimpered, conscious of the fact that they were alone in the apartment, and she was at his mercy. Who could tell whether his emotions would permit her to leave freely as she had done the previous week? She had been a fool to come, she supposed, but he drew her like the moth is drawn to the flame, and she could not resist.
He was drawing her back to him now, and she murmured, half protesting, but suddenly the door opened and José stood there, his face scarlet.
“Señor!” he gasped, his hand to his mouth. “I beg your pardon. I thought Miss Kennedy must have gone!”
Manuel rolled over and for the second time Julie rose swiftly to her feet, smoothing down her dress and smoothing her hair. She was conscious of José’s eyes upon her, and she felt guiltily aware of her own shortcomings. What was there about Manuel Cortez that dispelled all her natural inhibitions and caused her to act in such a wanton fashion? She had known more strictly handsome men, but never one who possessed such personal magnetism.
Manuel rose to
o, wrapping the silk dressing gown about him.
“It’s all right, José,” he muttered, albeit a little derisively. “You’ve probably prevented me from doing something both of us would regret.” He looked at Julie momentarily, and then sighed, “It’s time you were going home, Julie. It’s getting late.” He looked back at José. “Get the car out and take her!”
“Yes, señor.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Julie, shaking her head. “I’d rather go by bus. I can get some air.”
She walked quickly out of the bedroom and swiftly put on her coat. She did not wait to hear any more, but merely shouted: “Good-bye!” and fled out of the apartment.
She ran all the way to the bus stop, caught the first bus that came without questioning its destination and when she was sufficiently recovered to take note of her whereabouts found herself in Farringdon Street, and miles from home.
CHAPTER FIVE
ON Wednesday after a sleepless night, Julie felt like death warmed up. The girls at the shop noticed her pallor and nervous tension displayed in her restless movements, but did not comment, and Julie was grateful. She knew they were curious, but attributed her depression to the fact that Donna had learned through a friend of a friend that Julie had refused two dates with Paul and they thought she had had a row with him and it had upset her. In truth they expected a reconciliation any day and possibly even an engagement ring. Nothing could have been further from the truth.
On Wednesday evening Julie decided to go straight to Samantha’s from work, as she had often done in the past, and rang her parents to tell them so. It would be a relief to be with someone who knew of her entanglement with Manuel without having to evade questions and awkward silences.
After a meal, Benedict, Samantha and Julie took their coffee into the lounge and seated themselves in low comfortable armchairs beside the pseudo-log fire. The room was strewn with half-finished paintings, and the paraphernalia appropriate to their composition, but it was warm and homely, and Julie relaxed.
Ben was studying her thoughtfully, and then he said: “Sam tells me you know Manuel Cortez.”