Anne Mather - Dangerous Enchantment

“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 her job and in no time at all she had presented him with a choice of several perfumes, all of which fitted his description. That he was an expert on women’s perfumes she was left in no doubt and she wondered how many women he had bought perfume for. He finally selected a huge bottle of “La Vie Désirable” and asked Julie if she would gift-wrap it for him.

As the perfume had cost twenty pounds, Julie was only too happy to do so. As she was wrapping the parcel, Manuel studied her downbent head thoughtfully. Today she was wearing an emerald green overall over her pale blue shift and looked very lovely.

“Tell me,” he said, attracting her attention so that she looked up at him with her clear blue eyes, “will you spend this evening with me? Have dinner with me?”

Julie was flabbergasted. She stared at him for a moment, and then returned her attention to the parcel.

“And the Señorita Arriviera?” she said quietly.

“That, I think, is my concern,” his voice was harsh. “Well? What is your answer?”

Julie passed the parcel across the counter and accepted his cheque with jerky movements.

“I don’t think you can be serious, Mr. Cortez,” she said politely. “And besides, I have a date for this evening.”

“Break it!”

Julie’s eyes widened and she looked at him again. “I am not in the habit of breaking dates with Paul,” she said clearly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cortez, but I must refuse.”

“Oh, no,” he said, his voice low and angry, “I do not accept that.”

“Why? Is it so unusual? Do all your women fall over themselves to accept you?”

“Something like that,” he agreed, his voice revealing the temper lying just below the surface.

Julie saw with relief that Miss Fatherstone was approaching across the expanse of grey carpet. Their prolonged conversation had convinced her that this was some boy-friend of Julie’s come for a chat.

“Well, Miss Kennedy,” she said smoothly, “have you served this gentleman?”

“Yes, Miss Fatherstone,” said Julie primly.

Manuel Cortez turned to the intruder with an angry expression, but Miss Fatherstone, recognizing him, gasped in amazement. “Why, it’s Mr. Cortez, is it not?” she exclaimed. “Oh, Mr. Cortez, what a pleasure to meet you!”

Manuel moved awkwardly. He was used to being recognized, but just now he felt a frustrated kind of fury at the interruption. Nodding briefly, he wished them both goodbye and strode away swiftly towards the lift.

Miss Fatherstone turned to Julie. “Do you know that gentleman?” she asked, her voice tart again now.

“Yes, Miss Fatherstone. I met him on Saturday night at the Phoenix Television company dance. He had been making a recording for Phoenix and came in to the dance with Mr. Parrish, Paul’s boss.”

“I see.” Miss Fatherstone looked at her a little thoughtfully, then shrugging, she walked away, and Julie heaved a sigh of relief. But at lunchtime, in the canteen, with Donna and Marilyn extolling the virtues of Manuel Cortez, she wondered whether she had been foolish in not following her instincts and agreeing to go out with him.

“He was a dish,” said Donna, sighing. “If he’d asked me, I’d have gone like a shot! Fancy standing him up for Paul. You must be batty!”

Marilyn agreed. “Paul’s okay, Julie, but he’s not exactly sexy, is he?”

“I don’t think I should want him to be,” retorted Julie defensively.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Marilyn. “Remember, when you marry someone it’s for life, and men like Paul don’t change. He’s rather staid. I like him, but if you marry him I think you’ll be making a mistake.”

Julie sighed. Although she knew Marilyn was being rather personal, she said nothing. The girls had always been very frank with one another, and were used to discussing personal matters together. It was not true to say that Paul was staid, though, thought Julie, and said so.

Donna sighed reflectively. “Manuel Cortez is hardly likely to be seriously interested, of course,” she remarked. “And I mean, Julie isn’t the kind of girl to agree to an affair.”

“I should think not,” exclaimed Julie indignantly, and that ended the conversation.

That afternoon Julie half expected Manuel to appear again. She had not thought he would be put off so easily, unless his had only been a passing interest. She had been honest when she said she had a date that evening. Paul had invited her to attend a twenty-first birthday party with him, but somehow the idea had lost its appeal.

She left the building when the store closed at five-thirty with the rest of the staff. The staff exit was on to a side street, and she left Donna and Marilyn who were hurrying ahead because they wanted to catch the first house at a nearby cinema. In her thoughtful state, she did not notice the low-slung sports saloon parked near the kerb, and was startled when a voice behind her said:

“I’ll drive you home.”

Julie swung round. It was Manuel Cortez. If she had been surprised earlier in the day to see him she was even more surprised now. She did not realize just how her astonishment widened her blue eyes with their dark lashes, or how appealing she looked in the red leather coat she was wearing.

“That won’t be necessary,” she murmured. “I usually take a bus.”

“And I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” he muttered, swinging open the door of the car. “Get in, or people will think I’m molesting you.”

Still startled, Julie complied, sinking down into the luxuriously upholstered seat of the dark green Ferrari. Manuel slid in beside her, a cigarette between his lips, and with a swift movement he set the car in motion.

The roads were terribly busy at this hour of the day, and for a while concentration on his driving prevented him from speaking. It gave Julie a chance to get her breath back, and she looked at him with curious eyes. She saw the same man as she had seen the previous evening, and earlier in the day, except that he seemed even more of a stranger now that he had her at his mercy so to speak. She wondered whatever had possessed her to get into the car, despite his commands. After all, she was usually capable of dealing with any emergency, and Manuel Cortez was just a man, for all his popularity and fame.

It was not until a few minutes later that she said: “I don’t know whether you know it, but I live in Kensington. This is the Edgware Road; it doesn’t lead to Kensington.”

“I know.” He was relaxed now, and she looked angrily at him.

“What do you mean ‘you know!’ You said you would take me home; I believed you.”

“So I will, so I will. But later, I think.”

Julie sighed, and then lay back in her seat. After all, what could happen to her? And she had to admit it intrigued her, but her parents were expecting her home soon and they might be worried.