Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Dangerous Enchantment
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

JULIE studied her reflection critically in the mirror of her dressing table and gave a half-rueful smile. She was ready, and she hoped she would not let Paul down. Tonight was important to him, and she wanted to please him. Her dress, a simple cream cheesecloth, complemented her complexion. Her eyes, brown with tiny green lights in them, sparkled at the prospect of the evening ahead of her, and she cupped her chin on one hand as she wondered why tonight seemed so full of promise.

Her bedroom door opened after a light tap, and her mother came into the room. She smiled, appreciatively, and said:

“Are you nearly ready? Paul is waiting downstairs impatiently.”

Julie rose to her feet and turned round. “How do I look?”

Her mother studied her for a moment. “Very nice. But don’t you think you ought to have had a proper evening dress? Paul is wearing a dinner jacket, you know.”

Julie shrugged her slim shoulders, and the swathe of straight chestnut hair swung softly against her flushed cheeks.

“I’m sure this will be all right,” she said, shaking her head. “In any case, Mum, I haven’t a proper evening dress.”

“I know, darling, but maybe we ought to have tried to get you one.” Her mother looked anxious.

“Don’t be silly,” Julie smiled warmly at her mother. “Darling, it’s only a staff dance, and nowadays nobody wears formal clothes.”

Her mother sighed, sure that Julie was only saying that to spare her feelings. “Very well,” she said, sighing. “But I’m sure a smarter dress would be more suitable.” She sighed. “One thing is certain, though, Paul would think you looked nice in anything.”

Julie laughed, and hugged her mother, and then picked up the red velvet evening coat which was lying on the bed and preceded her mother down the stairs.

Paul Bannister was standing in the lounge, drinking a glass of sherry which Julie’s father had provided him with. In an evening suit he looked handsome, his fair good looks and tall slender build accentuated by the darkness of his clothes. Dr. Kennedy, Julie’s father, was sitting relaxed and comfortable in a deep armchair, smoking a cigar and discussing a recent case with Paul. Dr. Kennedy was a doctor with a general practice here in Kensington. Paul was attempting to look interested, but his eyes lit up as Julie entered the room, her coat about her shoulders.

Dr. Kennedy smiled, and rose to his feet. “Well, Julie,” he said warmly, “you’re a sight for sore eyes and no mistake. What do you think, Paul?”

Paul shook his head. “I think she looks marvellous,” he said, with all the fervency of youth, and Julie’s parents exchanged a knowing glance.

Julie, sensing the parental interest, seized Paul’s arm determinedly. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go.”

Paul drove a small Austin and he helped Julie inside before walking round the bonnet and sliding in beside her. Giving her a swift kiss, he said: “I know I’m going to be the most envied man there tonight.”

Julie chuckled. “Really! That’s not very modest.”

Paul stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, and then sighed.

“Oh, you’re mocking me again. You know what I mean!”

She laughed. “Oh, Paul, I must stop teasing you.”

She lay back in her seat as Paul threaded his way through the London traffic towards Earl’s Court. It was a little after seven-thirty and the roads teemed with cars. But Julie felt singularly content, and very lucky. Here she was, twenty-one years of age, and on her way to spend the evening with a handsome young man who was obviously in love with her. She had a secure and happy background, and what more could any girl ask for? If her own feelings for Paul were a little bit nebulous at the moment, they would change, and she had no doubts that in the fullness of time she and Paul would marry and get a house in one of the new developments in the suburbs, and eventually raise a family of their own.

Paul’s job was exciting, too. He worked for an independent television company, and although at the moment his work seemed to encompass a variety of duties, as he grew older and more experienced, he would very likely be able to gain a more palpable position. He was clever, if a little studious sometimes, and she had no doubt that his efforts would not go unrewarded. But money, to Julie, was unimportant compared to happiness. Her parents had never been well off, but she had never lacked for love and companionship, and these were the important things. Paul’s obsession with gaining a better job with more money was no doubt due to his desire to marry and settle down, and be able to provide a good home for his family, but Julie hoped that was all it was. She had attended a boarding school, despite the monetary difficulties and had witnessed plenty of heartbreak amongst girls with far more money than herself. Their parents, for example, had never attended open days, and when holidays came around they were sent off on cruises with only nannies to keep them company. Julie had appreciated the welcome she received from her parents, and their obvious delight in having her home again.

When she left school, she had decided to work in a large store in Oxford Street. She liked meeting people, and it was through her work she had met Samantha Edwards. Samantha was now her closest friend. She had come into the Cosmetics Department where Julie worked for make-up and perfume, and then discovered that she and Julie had attended the same school, although Samantha was a couple of years older, and the daughter of a merchant banker. Her parents were divorced, and Samantha herself was now married to an artist called Benedict Barlow.

Thinking about artists brought Julie back to tonight’s festivities. It was the annual staff dance at Phoenix Television, and naturally Paul had wanted to go. Julie was looking forward to it. As it was being held at the studios she was curious; she had never been inside a television studio before.

Phoenix Television stood in its own court off Warwick Road, and it did not take Paul long to drive there. Within the area gates was a huge car-park and it was here, among an assortment of cars large and small, that Paul left the Austin. It was a cold October evening, and Julie hugged Paul’s arm as they crossed to the welcoming lights of the huge building with Phoenix Television neon-lighted somewhere near the top.

Inside a doorman admitted them, checked their invitations, and then directed them to a lift which whisked them up to the twelfth floor.

“A whole floor has been given over to our largest studio,” said Paul, in explanation, “and it’s there they’re holding the dance. Plenty of room.”

Julie nodded. They were the only people in the lift, and she hoped they would not be the first to arrive. The invitation had said seven-thirty, but as the food was to be provided by a buffet, there was no deadline. She was just about to ask Paul whether it would perhaps be better if they delayed their arrival when the lift stopped with a jerk. They had reached the twelfth floor.

Music was the first thing Julie noticed. The band sounded wonderful and she shed her doubts about their early arrival and followed Paul along a corridor which was thronged with people. At the far end a huge hall awaited them, and despite Julie’s fears it was obviously well on the way to being crowded. Everyone was drinking and laughing and talking, and there was a welcoming air of camaraderie.

A friendly attendant showed Julie the way to the ladies’ powder room, where she could leave her coat and attend to her make-up. It, too, was crowded with women, all expensively garbed and jewelled. Diamonds flashed on ears and throats and fingers, and Julie fingered her silver bracelet, which was her only adornment, tentatively. She owned very little jewellery, and had not thought to ask her mother to lend her a necklace. Shrugging her slim shoulders, she made her way to the door again. It was no use worrying now; she must just hope she looked all right as she was.

Back along the corridor Paul was waiting for her impatiently, but he was not alone. With him were another young couple whom he introduced as Larry and Jane Chandler. “Larry works here, too,” he explained to Julie. “He and Jane have only been married three weeks.”

“Have you? How marvellous,” exclaimed Julie enthusiastically.

Jane smiled. She was a pretty redhead, with an engagingly piquant face. “Yes, Julie. And now we’re going round all our friends recommending it.” She glanced archly at Paul. “Haven’t you thought of taking the plunge yet, Paul?”

Paul smiled. “Several times.” He looked at Julie. “Especially during the last few months.”

Julie flushed and changed the subject. For all her gentle imaginings earlier in the evening, she was not quite ready yet to forsake her freedom and settle down to married life with Paul. Always, when it came down to it she felt a strange cautioning feeling deep inside her, as though she were not quite sure yet of her feelings for him. Maybe she was expecting too much, she thought. After all, she was very fond of Paul, and knew he would make a marvellous husband. He was considerate and kind, and liked children. But somehow she was afraid.

At the far end of the hall, spread out on several long tables which seemed to be groaning under the weight, was the buffet. There was every kind of food imaginable, from lobster paté and caviare to meat balls in savoury mushroom gravy, served in deep little bowls with wooden spoons.

There was plenty to drink, too, and as it was provided free by the company, there was no shortage of takers. Staying with the Chandlers, Julie and Paul found a vacant table near the dance floor, and ordered Martinis from a white-clad attendant.

The band was accommodated on a dais at the opposite end of the hall from the buffet, and tables had been set all along the side of the floor. Adjoining this hall, was a smaller area, screened off and available for anyone who wished for a little more privacy. Discreet lighting made the cavernous studio into an Aladdin’s cave, and the brightly coloured dresses and sparkling jewels added an air of festivity.

Paul smiled round. “We’ve made quite a good turnout, haven’t we?” he said, and Larry grinned, as though amused by Paul’s identification of himself with the company.

The girls talked about clothes, and the latest Robert Redford film, and later Paul took Julie to meet a couple of producers and their wives with whom he had worked, and Julie felt a little disturbed by Paul’s obvious pride in herself. They returned to Larry and Jane, and as quite a lot of people were dancing now, Larry asked Julie whether she would dance with him.

Julie agreed, and Paul followed suit and asked Jane. Afterwards they exchanged partners regularly, and made the evening more enjoyable. Larry and Paul were both good dancers, and between dances the girls talked together and listened to the boys talking shop.

Jane grimaced, and said: “Have you noticed how people in television think there’s no other kind of existence?” she laughed. “Be warned, Julie. If you marry Paul, you’ll have to suffer this kind of thing every time you meet a colleague. Can you stand it?”

Julie flushed. “I don’t know. Is it to be recommended?”

“Well, that depends on the man.” Jane frowned, and leaned towards her. “I think Paul is an awfully nice boy.”

“Yes, so do I,” murmured Julie slowly, wishing she felt more certain of herself, and her feelings.

Once while she was dancing with Larry, he said: “Old Paul certainly knows how to pick them. When are you going to get hitched?”

Julie had to smile. “It’s not definite yet,” she prevaricated. “Tell me, what do you do here? Are you on the production or presentation side?”

“I’m assistant to the producer’s right-hand man,” he replied, chuckling. “Sort of dogsbody’s dogsbody.”

Julie laughed, too. “Still, I suppose you meet all sorts of exciting people, don’t you? There are always heaps of stars appearing.”

“I meet some of them,” admitted Larry, nodding. “But my work doesn’t encompass all the studios, and naturally there are people coming and going who I never get to see.”

The evening wore on. They had supper together, and several other couples stopped to chat for a while and then drifted on. It was a friendly affair, and there was no consciousness of boss and employee.

Jane and Larry left them for a while as Larry 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 be joining him as soon as we expected.”

Julie wondered why Parrish didn’t just use the telephone himself, but Paul did not seem to see anything unusual in the request.

“Of course, Mr. Parrish,” he said. “Excuse me, Julie. I won’t be long.”

“All right,” said Julie, and when Paul had gone she glanced at Neil Parrish. “You look disturbed, Mr. Parrish. Is anything wrong?”

“Not wrong exactly, but I’m afraid Mr. Cortes has been prevailed upon by certain of my staff who have had, I might say, rather too many champagne cocktails to stay and join the party, and he, being the charming man he is, has agreed to do so.”

Julie smiled to herself. Mr. Parrish did not sound at all happy about his increased responsibility.

“Will you have another drink?” said Neil Parrish now, deciding to shelve his responsibilities for the moment, and smiling at Julie. “After all, I might as well make the best of it.”

Julie nodded. “Please. Shall we have another champagne cocktail?”

In truth Julie was beginning to feel rather lightheaded. She had had her two earlier gin Martinis and now she had had a further two champagne cocktails, and all these on a comparatively empty stomach. But she helped herself to a couple of salmon sandwiches and began to feel a little better.

Unable to resist glancing around, she saw that Manuel Cortez was drinking also, and was explaining to his companions some aspect of his work. As though aware of her gaze he looked across at her suddenly, and Julie felt a sense of shock at the almost physical recognition she saw in his eyes. She looked away, but her nerves were jumping. It was apparent that Manuel Cortez found her attractive, and the thought sent her senses spinning.

It seemed ages before Paul returned, and Julie was beginning to wonder what was going on. Surely it did not take so long to pacify a chauffeur, even if he needed pacifying in the first place, which seemed unlikely.

Neil Parrish danced with her and she supposed she ought to feel honoured, judging by the envious stares she was receiving from the wives of others of the young executives. At least Paul would be pleased, she thought dryly.

When they returned to the group near the buffet, she saw that Paul had returned but was being held in conversation by another burly man whom she recognized as one of the producers she had met earlier. Then she became aware that Manuel Cortez was beside her, his lazy tawny eyes rather amused.

“Hello again,” he said softly. “Will you dance?”

“A … are you asking me?” Julie was taken aback. It could not be happening! Not to her!

“No one else,” he mocked her.

“All right.” Julie glanced across at Paul, whose eyes had been drawn to her when Manuel Cortez spoke to her. Shrugging, she allowed Manuel’s hard fingers to encircle her wrist and draw her out on to the dance floor. The music was the deep rhythmic beat of a Top Twenty favourite, but although most of the younger set were dancing individually, Manuel drew Julie close against him, his hand in the small of her back, while his other hand linked with hers at their side.

Julie was quite a tall girl, but he was still almost a head taller than herself, and they moved slowly, seemingly unaware of the rest of the dancers. It was the kind of sinuously sedating music that affected the senses almost unconsciously, and Julie had to force herself to remember where she was and who was watching them. But she had never danced with anybody like Manuel before, nor had she met anyone quite like him. There was something wholly magnetic about him, primitive and animal, that made her whole body alive to his touch.

She tried to mentally shake herself. This was Manuel Cortez, a Latin-American, who had not reached his present age without finding out how easy it was to attract the opposite sex. To him she was just another attractive female; nothing special.

“What was your name?” he asked, his mouth near her ear. “Julie? Is that right?”

“Yes.” Julie’s tone was unresponsive.

“And what do you do, Julie? Do you work for Phoenix?”

“No, I work in a store in Oxford Street,” she replied stiffly.

“Hey,” he drew back and looked down at her. “What’s wrong?” he frowned. “Didn’t you want to dance with me?”

Julie bit her lip, and then smiled suddenly. “Of course I did. But it’s difficult to relax when you know the whole community is watching you, speculatively.”

“Is that so?” Manuel glanced around. “So what? Let them stare. I’m used to it.”

“Yes, but I’m not.” Julie missed a step and stumbled ignominiously. “You see!” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed.

Manuel smiled down at her. “Come on, then. I’ll get you a drink instead.”

Julie looked at him. “You don’t have to.”

Manuel’s face was a little grim suddenly. “No, I know. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.”

Julie shrugged, and walked with him across the floor to the bar.

He ordered champagne for her and whisky for himself, then offered her a cigarette. After they had both lit cigarettes, he said:

“I guess that guy you came with will be blowing his top just now.”

Julie started. For a moment she had forgotten Paul. “Oh, yes,” she said contritely. “Perhaps I ought to …”

“Forget it.” Manuel looked bored. “Stop worrying over other people. Enjoy yourself.”

Julie shrugged. “I happen to care what Paul thinks,” she replied coolly.

“Do you? Are you engaged or something?”

“No, not exactly. But it’s understood.”

“I see.” Manuel swallowed his drink decisively. “Do you like this kind of affair?”

“Why?”

“Well, it kills me. You get guys like Parrish trying to associate with guys like this Paul, and you know damn nicely that come Monday morning it’ll be back to status symbols again.”

Julie gave him a quick glance. “That’s very cynical, Mr. Cortez.”

“I guess I am,” he said, shrugging. “Anyway, let’s chuck this subject. Do you want another drink?” Julie shook her head, and he ordered another whisky for himself. Swallowing half of it, he continued: “And don’t you get the yen to enter the world of the cornflake commercials?”

“What? Oh, you mean television,” Julie smiled. “Not really. Besides, what could I do? I don’t sing or dance, and I’m not much good on a typewriter.”

Manuel smiled, and leaned back against the bar, elbows resting on the counter. “There are ways and means,” he said. “A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t find it too difficult. …”

“If you mean what I think you do, you can forget it,” exclaimed Julie hotly. “I wouldn’t sell myself for television stardom.”

“Women sell themselves for a lot less than that,” remarked Manuel Cortez shrewdly.

Julie moved restlessly. “I think I ought to go.”

“Why? 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.

CHAPTER TWO

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 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.

“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.”

Julie nodded, and he said: “Why were you discussing me … or rather Dolores with your colleagues at work? Are you the kind of girl who tells her friends everything that you do? Will you regale them with stories of tonight, exaggerated, of course, to heighten the illusion?”

Julie flushed. “I don’t suppose I shall mention this at all.” She felt very small suddenly, and wished she could explain her reasons for acting as she had; for talking about him as she had done to rid herself of the aching feeling she had felt at the knowledge of his association with Dolores Arriviera.

He studied her appraisingly, and then said: “I believe you won’t. Julie Kennedy, you intrigue me.”

“Do I? Why?” Julie’s stomach turned over.

“I’m not sure. But you have a very devious mind; perhaps that’s it. I don’t know. Come, have you finished? We should be leaving.”

“But … but it’s early!” Julie glanced at her watch. It was barely eight o’clock.

“I know, but you forget I have a living to earn. I am appearing in the ten-thirty cabaret at Guardinos.”

Julie’s heart dropped several inches. She had not imagined when he suggested she should have dinner with him that there was any question of them not spending the whole evening together. She had accepted that it would be an early meal, but even then she had not imagined he would leave her so early. Why, Paul was not calling for her until seven-thirty, and the party at his friend Patrick’s would not begin much before nine. She felt an angry resentment at Manuel’s highhanded treatment of her, and she rose abruptly to her feet and went to collect her coat from the cloakroom with ill grace.

Manuel was standing in the foyer talking to the commissionaire when she emerged, and in spite of her anger she could not quite squash the thrill of pleasure it gave her to know he was waiting for her.

The Ferrari was warm and untouched by the elements outside its cosy interior, and Manuel did not immediately start the engine, but looked at Julie instead.

“You are angry,” he said. “Why?”

Julie hunched her shoulders. “I didn’t expect to get bundled home at half past eight as though I were some kid out late as a special treat!”

Manuel grinned. He had switched on the interior light, and his nearness disturbed her terribly. She had never known a man who by his mere presence created such a furore inside her. She badly wanted to touch him, and have him touch her, and these thoughts made her hot all over with embarrassment and shame. She had never thought herself wanton in any way, but with Manuel Cortez she wanted to be. She wished she were some gorgeous femme fatale, able to get away with that kind of thing successfully, quite unaware that her youth and beauty were far more potent stimulants.

“Do you think I want to take you home?” he asked, softly now. “Believe me, Julie, I would rather spend the rest of the evening with you, but my agent would have a seizure.” He sighed. “And tomorrow I have to fly to Paris in the morning, tape a recording for French television in the afternoon, and fly back tomorrow night for Guardinos. You see, I have quite a busy life.”

“I know, I know. And today you were at a loose end.” Her voice was bitter.

“No. Tonight I was to have dinner with Bernard Hoffman,” he said, calmly, announcing the name of a famous impresario. “But I wanted to have dinner with you. Does that please you?”

Julie looked at him sideways, and managed a smile. “Yes.”

“Good.” Manuel’s eyes narrowed and she thought for a moment he was going to touch her, then he switched out the light and turned on the car’s powerful engine.

The journey back to town was as silent as the journey out, and taking his directions from Julie Manuel dropped her at the end of Faulkner Road.

As she was getting out, he caught her hand, and said huskily:

“Will you have dinner with me on Wednesday?”

Julie swallowed hard. “If that’s what you want.”

“It’s what I want,” he said lazily. “I’ll pick you up from work, okay?”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

She watched the tail lights disappear, and then turned and walked slowly down the road to number forty-seven. The houses in the road were a selection of semis and detached villas, and the Kennedy house was detached with the left wing given over to her father’s consulting rooms and surgeries. She entered with her own key and went into the lounge where her parents were usually sitting watching television. To her astonishment Paul was sitting with them, gloomily staring at the screen, and she said:

“Paul! What are you doing here? What about the party?”

Paul brightened considerably at her entrance. “Oh, you know, Julie. I didn’t want to go alone, so I rang Pat and told him not to expect us.” He took her coat and hung it in the hall with the familiarity of frequent use and continued: “Who have you had dinner with? Your mother said some school friend. Do I know her?”

Julie, unused to telling even white lies, felt awful. Her parents had always brought her up to be truthful no matter what, and it was difficult to deceive them. But she knew if she told the truth tonight there would be an uproar, and she did not feel she could face it just now.

“Celine Chalmers,” she said firmly, sitting down. “No, Paul, you don’t know her.”

“Oh. And did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, I did, actually.” Julie sighed. “Is there any coffee going, Mum? I feel a bit lightheaded; we had wine with the meal and I’m not used to it.”

“Oh, yes, and who paid for that?” asked her father, smiling.

Julie blushed anew. “Celine,” she faltered awkwardly. “I’ll go and see about that coffee. Does anyone else want some?”

Paul followed her out to the kitchen. “Julie, is anything wrong? You look strange, somehow.”

Julie shook her head. “What could be wrong?”

“Well, do you mind my being here, waiting for you?”

“Of course not,” Julie was contrite. “I’m sorry, Paul. I guess I’m just a bit tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course.” Paul dropped a light kiss on her forehead, and Julie had to force herself not to flinch away. She groaned inwardly. Oh, lord, she thought achingly, why do I feel like this with Paul, when with Manuel Cortez I longed for him to touch me?

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