by Anne Mather
Julie sipped her sherry, and accepted the cigarette he offered her. He was very bitter, but that was part of his attraction. She wanted to tell him she didn’t care about his background, or his education, it was the man himself who attracted her.
Dinner was served in a tiny dining room which opened off the lounge. There was a circular rosewood table and chairs, and place mats of Venetian lace which looked wonderful against the polished wood. Candelabra supplied extra lighting, and Julie wondered how it would look to dine by candlelight alone.
King fish salad mayonnaise was followed by a sauté of beef Stroganoff, and fresh raspberries and whipped cream completed the meal. Julie sat back, replete, after it was over and sighed half-regretfully.
“That was marvellous! Does José do the cooking, too?”
“Yes. I shall give him your compliments.”
Julie smiled. “He must be an absolute gem.”
Manuel’s eyes twinkled. “Shall I tell him that also?”
Julie blushed, and looked away. As always he disconcerted her.
Coffee and liqueurs were served in the lounge on a low coffee table and Julie took charge of the wafer-thin china coffee pot automatically. Manuel refused coffee, but drank a liqueur before sitting down. The coffee table was placed beside a leopard-skin-covered couch and Julie had had perforce to sit there. She had deliberately avoided the double seating earlier, but now he seated himself beside her, his collar loosened, the knot of his tie drawn down a little.
He lay back, closed his eyes as though he was tired, and Julie drank her coffee nervously, surveying the room again and the blue velvet of the night sky outside the wide windows.
His brilliant eyes closed, he looked younger, more vulnerable, and Julie felt her heart thumping a little. She replaced her cup on its saucer, and lit a cigarette from the box which José had thoughtfully placed beside her. It was very quiet and peaceful, and after that wonderful meal Julie felt relaxed.
Then she became aware that his eyes had opened and he was looking at her out of the corners of them. Immediately she felt nervous, and he said:
“Do relax. Do you like it here? Isn’t it more comfortable than some hotel lounge?”
“Yes,” Julie nodded. “It’s lovely. Are you tired?”
“A little, perhaps.”
“Maybe you work too hard.”
“I think I do. But I like my work.”
Julie wondered how much time he spent with Dolores Arriviera. She wondered whether the fiery Dolores knew of his other activities; herself, for example.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice startled her.
“Nothing in particular,” she replied, and he shrugged and glanced at the gold watch which encircled his wrist.
“It’s seven-forty-five already,” he remarked. “Time is fleeting.”
“Are you working again this evening?”
“But of course.” He stretched and sat up.
Julie tried not to watch him. She had no desire to appear so interested in him, but he aroused her curiosity, and his attraction was not marred by closer observation. There was something untamed about him, his darkness, his foreignness; a kind of primitive beauty.
He lay back again, and continued his appraisal of herself. She moved restlessly, unable to stand such mockingly persistent staring.
He smiled suddenly. “You’re very beautiful, Julie,” he murmured. “Did I tell you that?”
Julie stubbed out her cigarette without replying, but she did not look at him.
“I like your hair,” he said softly, “and your skin. It’s very fair, and soft and creamy. Julie!”
Julie pretended not to have heard him. Paul never paid her compliments like this. A bashful “you look smashing” was the nearest he ever got to complimenting her on anything.
Manuel rose suddenly to his feet, and Julie almost jumped out of her skin, but Manuel simply walked over to a standard lamp near the television and switched it on, and then walked to the door and switched off the main light which sparkled from a crystal chandelier. The room was infinitely more seductive now, and Manuel was infinitely more dangerous. Julie shivered.
He sat down beside her again, closer this time, and pushed the coffee table to one side with his foot. Then he took hold of a handful of Julie’s hair, and forcibly turned her face to him.
“Stop feeling so scared,” he commanded her, half angrily. “You know damn well you want me to touch you, and goddammit, I want to touch you.”
Julie felt a pain in the pit of her stomach. Her breath felt as though it was being stifled in her throat, and she felt hot all over. She could smell the scent of his tobacco, and shaving cream, and the clean male smell about him, and she felt as though her whole body had turned to water.
Her lips parted involuntarily and then she felt his mouth against hers, hard and firm and passionately demanding. Her back arched as she pressed herself against him, wholly unable to deny the surge of passion which rose inside her to meet his own. She had never been kissed in such a way, long stirring kisses that left her limp and clinging to him, her mouth turning against his neck as his mouth sought her ears and eyes, and the nape of her neck where her hair grew silkily.
She barely realized her whereabouts in those first few exciting moments when nothing seemed to matter except that he should not stop. She was as one drowning in emotion, and it was not until warning bells of a violent kind began ringing in her head that she became conscious of the pressure of his body on hers and of the fact that this was no inexperienced boy she was dealing with. This man had no respect for her sex and no qualms about demanding his will.
She struggled up out of a world of soft oblivion into harsh reality, releasing herself purposefully, her breath coming swiftly, her hair tangled and wild about a face completely devoid of make-up. She straightened her suit and smoothed her hair, while Manuel lay where she had left him on the couch, watching her. She knew that had he wanted to he could have forced her to remain where she was, but when she had struggled he had immediately released her. Julie didn’t know what to do or say. She was aware that even now she longed for the warmth and protection of his arms, but her brain was functioning again, and it warned her in no uncertain terms of the dangers she was facing and the inevitable outcome should she continue with this alliance.
Manuel did not speak, but his eyes were dark and expressionless. Julie glanced at her watch. It was only about eight-fifteen. It seemed hours since they had finished dinner.
Manuel shrugged and swung his feet to the ground and stood up. He fastened his shirt, straightened his tie.
“I’ll take you home,” he said calmly, and walking across to where he had left their coats, he helped her into hers and then pulled on his own.
Julie felt awful. She knew she ought to be feeling relieved that he had made no scene with her, but instead she was the one who felt guilty, and it was not a condition she enjoyed.
They were silent as they went down in the lift, and silent in the car on the journey to Faulkner Road. When the car halted, Manuel turned to her, his arm along the back of her seat.
“Go back and play with the little boys,” he said coolly and simply. “You’re still in the junior league!”
Julie compressed her lips to stop them trembling. She felt incredibly young and incredibly stupid.
“I think you’re hateful,” she choked. “Do you imagine every girl you date can’t wait for you to make love to them?”
Manuel half-smiled, sardonically. “Darling Julie, don’t be so transparent! Do you think I can’t read what goes on inside that pretty head of yours? You’re just too… how shall I put it?…old-fashioned.” His eyes narrowed. “And besides, I don’t like teasing women.”
“I wasn’t teasing you,” protested Julie, in horror.
“Weren’t you?” He shrugged. “Okay, leave it there. Just put it down to experience.”
Julie put her hand on the door handle and as though relenting, he said: “If I invited you out again, would y
ou come?”
Julie felt mortified. “I… I…I don’t know. Are you asking me?”
Manuel shrugged. “Maybe. I won’t have time this week, but maybe next. A kind of farewell dinner, you might say. I go back to the States at the end of next week.”
“Do you?” Julie’s expression was hidden from him. In truth his words terrified her. She did not know what was the matter with her, but she felt desperately certain that when this man left, she would be more than just depressed.
“Hmm.” He thought for a moment. “How about next Tuesday? I could pick you up, like tonight, and we could go to the White Dragon again. Right?”
“All right,” Julie nodded, and slid out. Despite this date she was beginning to feel terrible now. The aftermath of the affair in the flat, she supposed, but she felt sick and unhappy, and very near to tears.
The car roared away, and Julie walked slowly home. Her mother let her in because after five minutes of searching she couldn’t find her key. There was no sign of her father.
“Mrs. Collins is in labour,” explained her mother, ushering her into the lounge. “Julie, whatever is wrong? Your face is as white as a sheet. Are you ill? Has anything happened?”
“Nothing’s happened, but yes, I do feel ill,” said Julie, pressing a hand to her stomach. “Oh, Mum, I think I’m going to be sick!”
And sick she was, violently. Leaning wearily over the basin in the bathroom, Julie wondered whatever had happened to the carefree girl she had been only a few days ago. She felt wretched, and all she wanted to do was to go to bed and lose her anxieties in sleep.
Her mother bathed her hot, tired face, put on her nightdress and helped her into the warmed and scented bed, then she turned down the light and left her. Julie lay in the darkness, staring into space. Sleep eluded her, and anyway her mind was too active to allow unconsciousness to overtake her. It was not until the faint light of dawn was touching the sky at about five o’clock that she finally dozed off.
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE awoke to the dampness of a wet morning. It was pouring with rain and when her mother came in with an early morning cup of tea at seven-thirty, she said:
“Do you feel well enough to go to work, darling, or would you like to take the day off? I could ring Miss Fatherstone and explain that you were ill last night.”
Julie felt like allowing her mother to do exactly that, but she was no coward, and she knew that apart from a faintly queasy feeling in the region of her middle she felt perfectly well enough for work, and staying at home would only be giving in to her emotions.
Shaking her head, she drank her tea and said she would be down directly.
She was glad she had gone to work when she got there, for Donna was absent with a severe cold and had she not arrived Marilyn would have had to cope with the work of three.
The day passed slowly, and she was inordinately relieved when five-thirty came and they could go home. Paul was coming round that evening. He came round every Thursday and providing Dr. Kennedy was at home they played bridge. Julie had always enjoyed these evenings, for bridge was a fascinating game and she was becoming quite skilled at it.
On Friday evening she washed her hair, while Dr. and Mrs. Kennedy went out to dinner with some friends, and then it was Saturday again, and she went out with Paul.
This time they went to a party at Samantha’s. The Barlows’ friends were, in the main, arty types, either painters or sculptors or theatre people and it was always exciting going to their flat as one never knew who one might meet.
Samantha Barlow was a tall, slim girl, with long fair hair, which she wore straight like Julie, and blue eyes usually concealed behind horn-rimmed spectacles. She favoured slacks and shirt blouses, and as, at the moment, she was almost six months pregnant, she was wearing maternity slacks and a smock with sleeves in some gaudy purple and red and green design.
When Paul and Julie arrived, the place was already quite crowded, but Samantha welcomed Julie like a long-lost relative, and said:
“Darling, where have you been all week? I expected you on Wednesday as usual and you didn’t come, and then I thought perhaps you might phone, but nothing!”
Paul, who had been borne off by Benedict to meet some budding singer he had just found, was engrossed in other things, so Julie said: “Sam darling, could we talk, do you suppose? I need to talk to somebody or I’ll go mad!”
Samantha looked at her friend anxiously. “But of course, darling. Ben! Ben, look after the rabble. I’m going into the bedroom for a natter to Julie.”
Ben, big and broad and sporting a Van Dyck moustache and beard, nodded and shouted: “Okay, love,” and the two girls went into the bedroom, which in itself was a revelation with its striped purple and white wallpaper and stark black carpet set with a round bed.
It was on this that the girls seated themselves, and Samantha said warmly: “Come on, ducky. Tell Mama!”
Julie sighed, and with as little prevarication as possible she told Samantha exactly what had happened since their last meeting. Samantha listened, at first surprised, and then incredulous.
“But, darling, Manuel Cortez! It’s fantastic!” Samantha stared at her. “You are very attractive, though, darling, and I hear Manuel is very partial to beautiful women.”
“I know.” Julie’s voice was bitter. “Well, that’s that! I had to tell somebody, it’s been driving me round the bend these last couple of days.”
“And you’re seeing him on Tuesday?”
“I suppose so. If he turns up. If he doesn’t, I guess I won’t wait as I did on Wednesday. I’m not at all sure I’m doing the right thing by going in the first place.”
“Oh, darling, I don’t know what to say,” said Samantha, sighing. “He is a dish, but a pretty hot one, I would say!” She shrugged. “At any rate, as you say, he has little respect for our sex – and why should he have, when practically every female in every city in the civilized world goes crazy over him?” She reached into her smock pocket and drew out some cigarettes and offered one to Julie. “And of course, his marriage was a complete fiasco!”
“Marriage?” interjected Julie, paler suddenly.
“Yes, marriage, Julie. I read his life story somewhere once. Life magazine, I think. He was married when he was about sixteen to some Mexican girl. She had a baby, a girl, I forget what they called her now. But shortly after that he left her and went to San Francisco, and when he became famous he divorced her. At least, it might have been the other way about, I’m not sure.”
“And the baby?” said Julie, in a tight little voice.
“I believe he got the kid With his money he could afford it. She must be about sixteen now. Cortez is about thirty-three or four, I think.” She shrugged. “I guess it was one of these forced marriages, you know, pregnant and so on. They never work out… or at least, only rarely.”
“Yes.” Julie swallowed hard. “I never knew he’d been married. Or that he had a daughter, of course.”
“Few people do. He keeps his personal affairs reasonably private. He doesn’t go out of his way to invite publicity like some stars do.”
“I know,” said Julie, recalling their visit to the White Dragon. “He doesn’t like crowds at all. He has a marvellous apartment… a penthouse that has a magnificent view of London.”
Samantha patted her shoulder kindly. “Oh, Julie, I think if I were you I’d try and forget all about Manuel Cortez. He’s not for you. His life, his whole environment, has been so different from yours, whatever else you might think. And you know perfectly well from the way he has treated you this far that he has no actually serious intentions towards you. A man doesn’t try to seduce the girl he’s seriously in love with. He respects her.”
Julie sighed. “I know all that is true, Samantha, but somehow I can’t get him out of my mind. His life seems to have been terribly hard until he made a success, and I can’t help but think that this might be why he has so little respect for our sex. Then this marriage …” She shook her head “W
ho knows what the truth about that might be? It’s strange, Samantha, but for all his wealth and fame, I sense he’s a lonely man.”
“Oh, come off it, darling,” exclaimed Samantha, in astonishment. “Manuel Cortez may be many things, but he’s certainly not to be pitied.”
Julie rose to her feet and walked over to the window, looking out unseeingly. Experienced Samantha might be, but she didn’t know Manuel, hadn’t glimpsed the man behind the social mask.
“Well?” said Samantha, raising her eyebrows. “It’s up to you, Julie. But I can’t help thinking I know a little more about men than you do.”
Julie smiled. “All right, Sam. I believe you. But I wish I had a blueprint of what to do now.”
In this Samantha was unable to help her. She had given her opinion, that Manuel Cortez was not her type, that he was without morals, and more, that he had been married and divorced and had a teenage daughter not much younger than Julie herself, but it did not help. He was just as attractive, and just as dangerous to her peace of mind.
In consequence Paul irritated her. His neat, well-brought-up ways began to jar on her. She hated the way he drove with such careful stability; the way he smoked, always holding the cigarette between the tips of his fingers; the way he never drank anything stronger than beer or shandy with an occasional cocktail! It was terrible. She felt torn to pieces by her emotions. Paul’s soft hands were so different from Manuel’s hard fingers, his tall but well-fed body compared to the lean strength she had felt when Manuel had held her in his arms repelled her now, and his soft mouth aroused nothing but revulsion inside her.
On Sunday when she was due to go to lunch at the Bannisters’ she made the excuse that she felt ill again, and spent the whole day at home. She was bored and unhappy, but she couldn’t have borne the polite chatter she would have had to have entered into at the home of Paul’s parents.
