Anne Mather - Dangerous Enchantment

“My parents are expecting me to go straight home,” she said, her voice a tiny bit nervous.

Manuel Cortez looked at her. Then he pulled the car in to the side of the road. “Very well, Miss Kennedy, you go home.” He lifted his shoulders negligently.

Julie stared at him in exasperation. “I don’t understand you. …”

“I agree with that,” he interrupted coolly.

“ … and I have no intention of getting a bus home now. You can turn this monster round and take me.”

Manuel smiled. “You are as I remembered you to be,” he said, his accent suddenly pronounced in the huskiness of his voice. “But seriously, will you not reconsider your decision to spend the evening with me? It would give me great pleasure to take you to dine at a little roadhouse I have found here, where the food is excellent and the wine quite remarkable for this country of yours.”

“But why me?” exclaimed Julie, shaking her head.

Manuel’s eyes narrowed. “You are beautiful, and I like beautiful women,” he said lazily. “Does that satisfy your ego?”

Julie shrugged her slim shoulders. “It’s not my ego that’s troubling me.” She compressed her lips for a moment. Whenever would she get a chance like this again? How many girls could count Manuel Cortez as one of their escorts? She would be foolish to turn him down now. “All right, Mr. Cortez. I’ll have dinner with you, but I must telephone my parents first.”

“Very well. You can ring from the roadhouse.” Manuel started the engine again, and Julie shivered involuntarily. Now that the decision was taken she felt nervous again.

The White Dragon was quite a new roadhouse, and when the Ferrari turned between its wrought iron gates Julie breathed a sigh of relief. They had not spoken much on the journey, and in the darkness she had felt terrified in case he was merely abducting her for some nefarious reasons of his own. It was ridiculous really, but as yet she did not know him well enough to be sure.

The Ferrari dominated the ranks of cars already in the car-park, and Julie slid out, wrapping her coat tighter about her against the onslaught of wind and a fine drizzle which had begun misting the windscreen as they neared the roadhouse. Manuel locked the car, and walking round to her side, slid his arm through hers, gripping her wrist. Tonight he was wearing a dark, fur-lined overcoat over his dark suit, and Julie found herself wondering why dark men were infinitely more physical than fair ones. She glanced up at him, and surprised a smile on his face, and said:

“You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”

His smile widened, revealing the ivory whiteness of his strong teeth. “Now why should you think that, I wonder?”

“Because it’s true. You were determined to date me tonight – why?”

“I was at a loose end,” he said disconcertingly. Then his grip tightened momentarily. “No woman walks out on Manuel Cortez!”

Julie frowned. “You mean … Saturday night? I didn’t walk out on you. I just didn’t consider your conversation good taste.”

“A lot of the things I do are not ‘good taste’,” he remarked dryly. “Does that put me down in your book?”

“As I’m quite sure that you don’t care one way or the other what I think, I won’t answer that,” she replied, and released herself from his hold as they entered the foyer.

They left their coats and then the head waiter advised them that a table had been arranged for six-thirty if they would care to have a drink beforehand. A delightful olde-worlde bar opened from the hall, the bar strung with coloured lights, while a roaring log fire burned in the grate, illuminating the wooden seats and carved wooden tables. Without asking what Julie would like Manuel ordered the drinks, while Julie took one of the wooden seats in one corner and warmed her hands in front of the fire. She was not unaware of the limitations of the blue shift dress and said, when Manuel joined her.

“I really ought to have changed, you know. These are my working clothes.”

Manuel smiled. “You look all right to me. Did you telephone your mother?”

“Yes. In the cloakroom. I told her I’d run into an old school friend whom I hadn’t seen for years. I’ve asked her to explain to Paul too.” She sighed. “I don’t like lying to people.”

“Then why didn’t you tell your parents the truth? Or am I too disreputable to be seen about with?”

Julie chuckled. “Of course not! Actually Dad adores your music. Particularly when you play the guitar. He has a lot of your records.”

“Is that so?” Manuel looked a little bored now, and Julie fell silent. How on earth would she keep him amused? she thought a little wildly. And why had he asked her out? After all, it was quite a price to pay, having to take her out for the whole evening just to satisfy his ridiculous boast! She couldn’t believe there was any other reason.

The room was deserted apart from a couple of men playing darts at the far end of the bar. It was too early for the bar trade; the cars in the car-park must belong to the diners, she thought idly.

Manuel, who had been seated opposite her, rose to his feet and came to sit on the low seat beside her.

“Now,” he said, “what’s wrong? Why so thoughtful? Are you bored?”

His nearness disconcerted her. “Of … of course not,” she denied stammeringly. “I’m a little bemused, that’s all, with the firelight.”

His eyes mocked her. “And you’re a little afraid, aren’t you?” he murmured. “Why?”

Julie shrugged. “Why should I be afraid?” she countered bravely.

Manuel raised his dark eyebrows. She noticed his lashes were much longer than her own and thickly luxuriant.

“Well, I guess because you think I’m going to make love to you,” he replied softly. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Julie, who had felt herself melting at the drawling sound of his voice, stiffened now, and straightened her back and took a swift drink of the liquid in the glass. Then she put the glass down on the table hard and gasped:

“Lord, what was that?”

“A cocktail. My own special recipe. Don’t you like it?”

“It’s like fire-water!” she cried indignantly.

His eyes darkened. “Very appropriate … for a man who is partially Indian,” he muttered, his voice cold suddenly. “Excuse me. I will see if our table is ready.”

Julie stared after him. What had she said? She had not known of his ancestry, and besides, what did it matter? She shrugged. Well, at least she knew how to cool him off, she thought, feeling ridiculously like crying.

When he returned, however, he was his old urbane self, and she half-wondered if she had imagined the anger in his voice earlier. The dinner was, as he had predicted, delicious, and Julie, who appreciated good food and who suddenly felt starvingly aware of the emptiness of her stomach, ate well. There was a different wine for every course, and a warmed brandy glass with a little of that fiery liquid to complete the meal with their coffee. The restaurant had filled up considerably since their arrival and Julie noticed how Manuel avoided direct contact with people who would be bound to recognize him.

When the meal was over, and they were smoking cigarettes with their coffee, she said:

“Thank you, anyway. I enjoyed it.”

“Good. So did I, surprisingly.”

“Why surprisingly?”

“Well, I half expected you to be one of those creatures who pick and choose everything that is put before them, and continually watch their figure. Isn’t that the usual thing?”

July smiled. “Well, as yet I’m lucky. I can eat what I like. Does Miss Arriviera pick and choose?”

His expression darkened for a moment, and then he shrugged his broad shoulders. “Dolores has to watch her weight for obvious reasons; dancers must be very careful.”