Reluctant Enchantress

by Lucy Keane

  Julius had told her to meet him for breakfast and she was nearly late. But she felt very satisfied with herself— she had typed everything he had given her. She knew she looked tired, and because she wore no make-up didn’t do much to disguise it, but she looked smart, wearing her one respectable business suit with its fashionably short skirt—the one she’d worn for her interview—and she’d put her hair up.

  She found Julius already seated at the table which he’d arranged they should share, and was uncomfortably conscious of the way he watched her as she approached.

  She put the sheaf of typed papers with his notes down on the table and said before he could speak, ‘I thought you might want these.’

  He looked from her to the papers and back again. ‘Did you get any sleep?’ He sounded rather shocked— and disapproving. ‘I didn’t mean you had to do the lot of them last night!’

  He made her feel as though she’d done something wrong again, and she was instantly on the defensive. ‘Of course I slept. What time did you get in?’

  ‘About midnight. So did you get time to do anything else last night?’

  She tried not to sound defensive, and told him jokingly about fighting off temptation to empty the minibar.

  He was looking at her strangely. ‘Did you really think I’d be annoyed if you had a drink?’

  She shrugged. ‘It didn’t seem very appropriate—after all, I’m here to work.’

  ‘Yes, but not like a slave. Have whatever you like. I mean it, Amy. Anything—as long as I don’t have to carry you paralytic out of a public bar.’

  She gave him a sideways glance. He sounded serious about it, despite the final comment.

  ‘You mean I’ve made you feel guilty because I worked last night?’

  ‘Since you put it that way—yes. But I want you to enjoy this trip as well, and there’s a lot lined up for today. You can have tomorrow morning off when I go into Marbella again.’

  He talked about plans for the development after that, and gave her a brief account of his business dinner the night before.

  Then he drove her into Marbella, leaving her to explore on her own while he went to yet another business meeting. He gave her brief instructions as to how to get to the indoor markets, and told her to meet him at midday in the Orange Square.

  ‘Where’s that?’ she asked, with a puzzled frown. What was this—an initiative test? She forgot for a moment that she was supposed to be Miss Efficiency.

  ‘Know what oranges grow on?’ he asked unhelpfully. It was his Zoe-and-the-dictionary tone. ‘It’s not far from here and named for obvious reasons. Sit at a table and then I’ll look for you.’

  And he was off after that, with a quick glance at his watch, striding away down the narrow street almost as though he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. It reinforced the impression she’d got earlier—that he wanted to avoid her. His manner towards her most of the time was breezy and businesslike—not even quite the way he treated her in the office, but back at Prior’s she was one of three secretaries and it shouldn’t really matter how offhand he was. Now it did. It was a sort of personal statement about her.

  She should never have come! Feeling the way she did about him, she’d had no right to agree to accompany him. She could have managed without the money, and he could have made other arrangements.

  Shopping took longer than she’d thought; Jess’s phrase book had limited uses. Julius was already waiting for her in the Orange Square when she eventually got back to it. He was right: the plaza was instantly identifiable by its deep green orange trees that lined the long rectangle. She caught sight of a familiar dark head as she made her way round the hedges that screened off the white-painted cafe tables and chairs in the centre. Her heart gave a little flip, as it always did when she saw him suddenly. He was sitting half turned away from her, reading a newspaper, his chair pushed back from one of the tables. There was something about him that would set him apart anywhere—and it wasn’t only because he was the one man dressed in a smart business suit among the handful of more casually attired holidaymakers and residents who were enjoying the winter sunshine. She felt almost reluctant to meet him; it was increasingly painful to have him treat her in that dismissive way.

  At that moment he looked up, with a quick glance round at the other tables, and then caught sight of her. Just for one fleeting second the look in his eyes was totally unexpected—almost as though he was really glad to see her. But then the look changed, and although she couldn’t read the expression that replaced it she knew he was back to the efficient ‘time is money’ tycoon she was beginning to hate. She tried to match what she guessed would be his manner with a similar one of her own.

  ‘Sorry I’m late. The phrase book wasn’t up to things like ground almonds. Do you want to go straight to the development?’

  He gave her a smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘I can see now why you used to bring so many carrier bags into the office—is that all for tonight?’

  She was stacking an assortment of plastic carriers in one of the unoccupied chairs, very aware of the way he was watching her.

  ‘All of it—but I didn’t buy any wine. You didn’t say anything about that.’ She thought suddenly of the bottle he had given her for Christmas, and couldn’t meet his eyes.

  ‘No need. I’ve already arranged to have it delivered to the show house.’ He might have told her! ‘Did you have enough money?’

  She nodded. He’d given her a stack of notes at breakfast.

  He shot out a cuff then, and glanced at his watch. ‘We’d better get a move on.’

  ‘Is this a business lunch?’ Would he be seeing yet more of his property dealers-bankers-lawyers and whoever else he was negotiating with? If he did, she’d be grateful to sink into the background purely as his secretary, one who wouldn’t be expected to make any contributions in her own right. Perhaps there was something to be said for the way he was treating her after all.

  ‘No. Just you and me. I thought you might need feeding up before tonight’s effort.’

  She was sitting opposite him now, and began to trace an invisible pattern with her finger on the surface of the table. ‘Do you really want me to have dinner with you tonight or just to serve the meal?’ She hoped he wouldn’t think she was hinting that she wanted to join the party, but their last discussion on the subject had been inconclusive and she needed to know. It would make a difference to her arrangements.

  ‘I want you to join us—like last time.’ Last time with Chris and Maxine… when he’d kissed her afterwards and what had happened then had taken them way beyond their normal relationship.

  A waiter appeared at Julius’s elbow, but to her surprise he waved him away. She couldn’t help feeling a little irritated at that—it had been a difficult morning and she would have liked a quick cup of coffee.

  Julius stood up, with another glance at his watch. ‘If we go now we’ll just have time—the shops shut all afternoon.’

  ‘Which shops?’ she asked, puzzled. ‘Time for what?’

  He gave her a very direct look. ‘To buy you a dress.’

  Still sitting at the table, she stared at him blankly. ‘What for?’

  ‘I thought I’d get you something suitable to wear for tonight—’

  ‘But I’ve got a dress!’ She was sure she knew what he was implying: you look such a tatty mess most of the time I want to be certain you’ll appear respectable in front of my business associates! Astonishment mingled with a sense of outrage, and she said indignantly, ‘I’ve brought lots of clothes!’

  He made no effort to hide his scepticism, a gleam of pure disbelief in his eyes. ‘In one small suitcase?’

  ‘I pack very economically!’ she protested hotly. ‘In fact, I’ve got not just one dress but two to choose from tonight!’ Which was true—the second one had been a last-minute inclusion just in case real glamour was required. It might be a bit over the top for dinner, but maybe she’d wear it anyway. That’d show him!

&nbs
p; ‘Amy, don’t take this the wrong way—’

  ‘Well, what way am I supposed to take it?’ she demanded. ‘Just because I wear the same things in the office every day doesn’t mean I haven’t got anything else!’

  ‘You could accept it as a present.’ There was a certain coolness now in his tone. ‘I appreciate very much what you’re doing for me on this trip and, if you feel you can’t accept it on any other grounds, think of it as a bonus for a good secretary.’

  She couldn’t really believe her Miss Efficiency bid was that convincing. She gave him a direct look, her slanting eyes very blue with all the emotions she was trying to suppress. ‘You don’t honestly think I’m a good secretary!’

  He held her gaze for a moment, then there was one of those unexpected flashes of amusement. ‘Just right this minute I do. Make the most of it! Do you want a new dress or not? You’ve got about fifty seconds left to decide.’

  There was no difficulty—she’d already made up her mind. Apart from her dislike of feeling patronised, she couldn’t possibly accept something like that from him. It was the sort of present he should buy for Fiona, not her. But she felt abashed. His motives had probably been kind, and she’d just been very ungracious. ‘No, thank you,’ she said a little stiffly. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I’m afraid you’ll just have to risk the fact that I might disgrace you.’

  ‘I never thought you would for a moment,’ he said quietly. ‘You’ve got very exceptional looks.’

  Her accusing stare masked a secret softening—he had paid her a real compliment! ‘You told me more than once I had hair like red seaweed!’

  ‘Would you believe some people like red seaweed?’ His eyes were that enigmatic lucid grey, and their expression again baffled her. But she got the feeling suddenly that they should both tread very carefully, despite the attempt at a lighter tone.

  He changed the subject immediately after that, detailing the rest of the afternoon, and filling her in briefly on the backgrounds of the three men she was to meet that evening as they found their way back to the car with all her purchases, before he took her to a restaurant for lunch. She would have enjoyed herself after that if there hadn’t been that heightened sense of constraint between them again.

  The development about which she had heard so much in the office turned out to be very impressive in reality. It was going to be a vast estate enclosed in its own park, offering a variety of homes, each one subtly different from the others. There was no sense of being on some holiday complex of identikit houses, as with others she had glimpsed along the stretch of coastline they had travelled. She could be genuinely enthusiastic about it, and was glad when Julius seemed pleased by her reaction.

  The show house was a two-storey villa in its own garden, with a private pool. It was fully furnished as he had said and the kitchen was equipped like a cook’s dream.

  ‘There’s even ice in the fridge,’ she told him. ‘Has someone been staying here?’

  ‘I hired a woman to come in and check it out so that we’d have everything for tonight. She’s coming back tomorrow morning to do the washing-up and clear up all the remains. It’s up to her to dispose of any of the food we don’t eat, so you can just leave all the stuff in here when we’ve finished dinner.’

  ‘You don’t want me to clear up?’ She was surprised he was letting her off so lightly.

  ‘You’re acting as hostess,’ he pointed out rather curtly. ‘You can’t be in here and entertaining the guests at the same time. Have you got everything you want?’

  She wondered if he would offer to help her, the way he had done the time she’d cooked for him at his flat, but this time he was obviously expecting her to be the full professional and left her to it. She knew her disappointment was entirely unreasonable.

  She found him sitting on the sofa in his shirt-sleeves when she went into the large living-room to set the table for the evening. He was working, a stack of papers on the floor in front of him and the phone on his knee. He glanced up at her and smiled, not the guarded smile he’d been giving her all day, but the genuine one he’d given her when he was with her and Charlie at home.

  ‘All right?’

  She smiled back. ‘No problems.’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘I don’t know how much time you need to get everything fixed for tonight, but Spaniards eat late.’ He’d already warned her that theyfl wouldn’t be arriving before nine. ‘It could go on until the small hours of the morning. Go and have a rest. You’ll need your energy for this evening.’

  ‘But I’m not tired!’

  ‘You will be.’

  That sounded like an exit line—hers—and, disappointed by his tone, she turned on her heel and left the room. It was as though they were on a kind of emotional see-saw; she wondered if he was aware of his inconsistency, one moment treating her as though he cared about her as a person, and the next virtually dismissing her. Or was it that, because of the way she felt about him, she was over-interpreting what were really only very slight shifts in mood that had nothing to do with her?

  She hadn’t planned to sleep but there were four spacious bedrooms at her disposal; it seemed silly not to take advantage of one of them.

  It was as though only seconds had passed when she woke with a start. Julius was calling her name and knocking loudly on her door. She wondered why he hadn’t just come into the room. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d seen her in bed.

  She had a bath after that, reflections of herself on all four walls amid the gold fittings and marble. Of the two possible outfits she had brought with her to wear on a formal occasion—a yellow jersey top and skirt in a flatteringly draped style, and a peacock-blue taffeta dress with a severely plain front but dramatically low-cut back—common sense told her that if she was unsure of the nature of the evening it would be safer to wear the yellow. But behind her arguments with herself that the sophistication of the other dress would give her confidence was the acknowledged desire to show herself, just once, to Julius in something that would make her look glamorous. So he thought she would turn up to dinner in the aesthetic equivalent of rugger socks and a Snoopy sweatshirt, did he? Well, she had something to show him!

  She fixed her earrings, eyeing the tiny linked gold leaves critically in the mirror. They dangled in little chains each side of her slim neck and were very flattering, but she decided that any more jewellery might be overdoing it—she knew from the last time she had worn it that the pcacock dyes of the taffeta were eyecatching enough. Instead she brushed her hair, sweeping it to one side over her shoulder, and as a concession to make-up darkened her eyelashes and touched a hint of blusher to her cheeks. Very satisfactory.

  When she went back to the bedroom to put on the dress, she found that because she’d lost weight the shoulders had a tendency to slip down. The plunging V that exposed most of her back only made the problem worse, so she tried pulling the waist in tighter with a safety pin. It would keep the shoulders up, but the manoeuvre involved considerable contortions, and she couldn’t see what she was doing. She decided to try the bathroom again—the arrangement of mirrors might give her some idea where to put the pin.

  She didn’t bother to close the door, angling herself so she could see a double reflection while she struggled with the pin. It was difficult to fasten it inside the fabric so that it wouldn’t show. She pricked her finger twice in succession, swore, put it in her mouth—and then realised she had an audience. Julius was standing in the doorway, watching her.

  She was aware from the way her pulses jumped that her heartbeat had suddenly quickened. Their eyes met in the mirror, her own wide and startled. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  ‘Do you want any help with that?’

  She took her finger out of her mouth, and shrugged, pretending to examine the tiny pink scratches the pin had made, acutely aware of him. Then she bent her head so that he couldn’t directly see her expression while she concentrated on the pin again.

  ‘I can manage.’
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  Apart from anything else, it rather spoiled the effect that he’d seen her dress before she was ready to show herself to him, but she didn’t want him to know that. And if he thought she was overdressed—too bad. She wouldn’t take it off now.

  He continued to watch her. She could sense it, even though she didn’t look at him in the mirror. She could feel herself beginning to blush, her face growing hot. For what seemed like a very long time neither of them said anything. Then he was standing behind her, his fingers touching hers as he took the pin from her. She could feel his knuckles against her spine and every inch of her skin seemed suddenly to have sparked alive as he put his hand inside the waist of her dress. She tried, unsuccessfully, to suppress a little shiver. He made no comment. Instead he said, ‘Tell me what you want to do with this.’

  Breathing quickly, she glanced up at him in the mirror, but he was looking down at her back, the angles of his cheekbone and jaw harsh in the artificial lights. She thought he looked displeased. That made her all the more nervous—and all the more determined not to change the dress.

  She explained briefly about the pin.

  ‘Then bend forward and breathe in,’ he instructed curtly.

  She couldn’t even see in the mirror what he was doing—she could only feel. His hand was against her bare back. He must be fully aware of the fact that underneath the dress she was half naked. Inside, her bones felt as though they were melting and she had to fight an overwhelming urge to turn round into his arms.

  She couldn’t help wondering how he’d react if she gave in to it. Both times he had kissed her before, the initiative had been his. But both times he had surely been prompted by his desire for revenge on Fiona. What would he do if she took the initiative now? He was standing very close to her; she would hardly have to move her own body to touch against the length of his.

  She leaned against the basin, digging her nails into the palms of her hands, and stared down unseeing. She wished he’d say something, make the slightest move that would tell her that for a few moments she could give in to all the feelings she was finding it so hard to control. She could remember in a way that was almost physical how, those other times, a kiss that had started innocuously had turned into something very different, so that there had been no consciousness of anything or anyone else. She had given herself up to it completely, and she had known both times that he had done the same, whatever his original motives… Fiona.