Dangerous Enchantment. Anne Mather
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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.
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 intro?”
“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?
“Come,” he said. “We are causing your friends much speculation. I wish to purchase some perfume. Perhaps you can advise me.”
“Of course.” Automatically Julie shifted behind the counter, and said: “What sort of perfume are you looking for? Something light and fresh for the daytime, or perhaps some musky incense for the night?” Her tone was forcedly impersonal, while she inwardly quaked.
“I want some Parisian perfume,” he said coolly. “Something essentially feminine; but sufficiently … how shall I put it? … aromatic, perhaps!”
Julie knew