Dangerous Enchantment. Anne Mather
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wanted to introduce his wife to his immediate superior, and Paul got himself and Julie another drink.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, offering her a cigarette.
Taking it, she nodded. “Very much. Are you?”
“Yes, I am rather. Larry and Jane are a nice couple. I’m glad we palled up with them.”
Julie smiled. “Where is your boss, anyway, Paul? You know, Mr. Parrish, the one you’re always quoting to me.”
Paul smiled now. “Don’t be facetious. Actually, he never comes to these affairs. Someone has to keep things ticking over while this jamboree is going on, and Mr. Parrish does just that thing. You realize there are programmes being transmitted this evening, don’t you?”
“Of course. I never thought of it.” Julie drew on her cigarette thoughtfully. “It always seems so exciting, television. I mean, there’s never a dull moment. At any time you might meet your favourite film star, or some comedian or singer you admire. I think I should like to work in television myself.”
Paul grinned. “Apply for a position. They can only refuse you.”
Julie shook her head. “No, I’m not all that keen, I don’t think. And anyway, I like my work at the store. If I changed at all, it would be to something entirely different; like nursing, or looking after children, or something like that. Sometimes I wish I’d become a nanny. I should like to take care of some of these children whose parents don’t give a damn about them except to see that they’re fed and watered, and dressed in pretty clothes.”
“Marry me, and we can raise a family of our own.” Paul’s face was earnest, and Julie was sorry she had invited this.
“Give me time, Paul,” she pleaded. “Look, who’s that who has just come in? It looks like … it is! Manuel Cortez. Oh, Paul, I love his music. You didn’t tell me he was doing a programme for Phoenix!”
Paul had risen to his feet, his face flushed. “That’s Mr. Parrish with him,” he said, in a voice that sounded slightly awed. “Good heavens! I never thought to see him come here.”
Julie rose also, glancing strangely at Paul. “Why do you suppose he has come?”
“To show our distinguished visitor around, I suppose. How the staff of Phoenix Television take their leisure.” His voice sounded normal again. “I forgot about Manuel Cortez’ programme, though. I know you’re a fan of his. Attractive man, isn’t he?”
Julie nodded. “Very. He probably knows it, too. A man in his position couldn’t fail to be aware of his assets.”
Paul shrugged. “Come on, let’s get a drink. Mr. Parrish won’t have any time for me tonight.”
But in this he was wrong. As they passed the arched entrance on their way to the buffet, Neil Parrish hailed his young assistant jovially, as though he too had been imbibing rather freely.
“Well, Paul, enjoying yourself?”
Paul’s expression became annoyingly subservient, and he smiled ingratiatingly. “Very much, thank you, Mr. Parrish. Are you joining us?”
“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