by Anne Mather
Julie laughed, too. “Well, I’ll think it over. They don’t go for several weeks yet.”
A few days later Julie was watching television with her parents when during the newscast her heart almost stopped beating, for there, on the television screen, was Manuel Cortez. He was walking across the tarmac at London Airport, and clinging to his arm was one of the most beautiful girls Julie had ever seen in her life. Her expression was possessive as she looked up at Manuel, and she smiled slowly and warmly at something he said.
The commentator’s voice droned on, telling the viewers that Señor Cortez was back in the country to complete the engagements he had been forced to cancel because of illness the previous year. But Julie hardly listened; she was absorbed in watching him, in seeing the familiar smile, the easy dispensation of his charm, and the lean arrogance of his body.
Her heart contracted painfully, and then she became aware that her mother was watching her reactions curiously. Forcing herself to relax, she lay back in her chair again, and tried to assume a casual expression despite the nervous depression she was feeling at seeing Manuel with that girl. The newsreel switched to a sporting item, and Mrs. Kennedy resumed knitting again. But Julie knew that her mother had guessed a little of what she was feeling and it would not be too difficult for her to put two and two together.
But whether she guessed or otherwise, Julie was grateful that her mother did not attempt to discuss the matter with her, and merely allowed Julie time to collect her scattered wits before talking about something entirely different.
Paul came round later in the evening, and they played bridge, but Julie knew she made a lot of errors and that Paul, who partnered her and took his game very seriously, was not very pleased with her.
Time is all I need, she told herself wearily, as she brushed her hair before climbing into bed. Time. It was merely the shock of seeing him without any forewarning that had thrown her system into such disorder.
CHAPTER SIX
THE next day Julie had collected herself. She was glad in a way that she had seen the woman with Manuel. At least it brought it home to her more strongly than any words could have done the completely amoral attitude he possessed.
Marilyn had seen the television as well, however, and said:
“I say, Julie, did you see that Manuel Cortez is back in England?”
Julie managed a casual shrug. “So what?”
“Darling, really!” Marilyn gave her an old-fashioned look. “Surely you aren’t as indifferent as all that! I know you refused a date with him, but I’m sure that was more because of Paul Bannister than anything else.”
Julie tossed her head. “I really can’t see what all the fuss is about. Paul would make four of him!”
“You must be joking!” Marilyn giggled. “Get you! I didn’t know Paul was becoming such a dish all of a sudden. Why? What’s changed him?”
Julie refrained from replying. She had no desire to get involved in an argument about Paul when it meant her stating things that in actual fact were not true. It was no use pretending about Paul’s attractions; he was handsome, yes, and tall, yes, and young; but there was nothing particularly exciting about him and Julie could never understand girls who thought men’s looks were enough. She had known many men, and in her small experience personality mattered far more than mere good looks.
However, during her lunch break she did borrow a newspaper from Miss Fatherstone in the hope that there might be more particulars about the woman with Manuel, but there was not. There was a picture of him at the airport, and a small article, and that was all.
When they left the building that evening it was snowing, and an icy wind was blowing, chilling them to the bone. Julie, wrapped in a loose dark blue mohair coat, hugged her handbag to her as she started along towards the main thoroughfare accompanied by Donna and Marilyn. She wore knee-length white boots, but between the place where her boots ended and the place where her skirt began she felt frozen, and she wondered whether for the winter at least she should go back to normal-length skirts.
Her hair was blowing about her face, for she was wearing no hat, and she walked straight into the man who stood purposely in her way.
“I’m sorry. …” she began hastily, a smile lightening her face, and then: “You!”
Manuel smiled, and her heart leapt treacherously into her throat. She had let go of Donna’s arm in her confusion, but both Marilyn and Donna were staring open-mouthed. Manuel took Julie’s arm, and said smoothly:
“You will excuse me, ladies,” in a mocking tone, and drew Julie across the pavement to the familiar green Ferrari.
“No, wait!” began Julie, but it was no use. Manuel had the car door open, and was propelling her inside, his hard fingers biting cruelly into her arm.
“Don’t argue,” he said, for all the world as though it was a natural occurrence that he should meet her from work.
Julie did not want to create a scene in the street, so she climbed into the luxurious warmth of the car, and sliding across out of the driver’s seat, she allowed him to slide in beside her. He slammed the door, flicked the ignition, and the car moved silently forward, purring like a sated panther.
She stole a glance at him as they turned into the main thoroughfare, and saw, with a sense of inevitability, that far from changing he was much more attractive than she remembered. He turned for a moment to look at her as they stopped at some traffic lights, and said:
“How have you been?”
Julie contemplated her fingernails. “Fine. And you?”
He shrugged, and did not reply, and she felt like hitting him. How dared he sit there knowing that she must have seen him with that girl yesterday! She looked out of the car window, suddenly realizing that she was allowing him to drive her heaven knows where, and she was making no comment.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked in a tight little voice.
“Home,” he said lazily. “Where do you think? I thought I would save you the journey on such a ghastly night. Tell me, how do you stand this climate? It’s terrible. Me, I like the sun, and the sea, and warm water to swim in.”
“Don’t we all?” remarked Julie dryly. “This will do.” They had reached the end of Faulkner Road.
Manuel shook his head. “What number?”
“Forty-seven. But please, I’d rather you didn’t drive along there. It would only cause speculation, and if you should be recognized. …” Her voice trailed away.
“That’s hardly likely tonight,” remarked Manuel coolly, and drove smoothly to her gate where he halted the car.
“Thank you, señor.” Julie gave a slight bow of her head, and made to get out, but Manuel stopped her, his fingers biting into her arm.
“Aren’t you pleased to see me?” he asked mockingly.
Julie looked at him fully. “No, not really.”
“Why?”
“Surely that’s obvious. We have nothing to say to one another.”
“No?”
“No.” Julie brushed back her hair as it fell in waves over her eyes. It glistened with tiny drops of melted snow and she was unaware of how lovely she was looking.
Manuel shrugged, and lay back in his seat. “Go, then.”
Julie felt furious. It always ended this way, with herself feeling the guilty one. Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it! She swung round on him.
“Don’t imagine for one moment that I’ve been brought home believing your little tales!” she cried angrily. “I know perfectly well that the reason you have brought me home is because you could hardly take me to the apartment when you already have one female in residence!”
Manuel stared at her, a dull flush just visible in the muted light of the car rising up his cheeks.
“At last,” exclaimed Julie furiously, with a certain amount of satisfaction, “At last I’ve got under your skin! Sorry, señor, but even I possess some grey matter, even if it isn’t as devious as yours!”
And with that she slid out of the car and slamm
ed the door loudly. She had not heard him move, but when she straightened up he was beside her, his tawny eyes glinting with a brilliance that made her own anger a pitiful thing.
Julie turned and would have run inside the gate, but he was between her and the gate, and he was blazing.
“Let me past!” she said furiously, aware that she was near to tears.
He did not reply, but moved slowly towards her, and she had the terrible premonition that he was going to strike her.
“Manuel,” she exclaimed, her voice more pleading than angry now, “I’m nothing to you, what I say doesn’t matter. Please let me go in!”
Suddenly a car halted behind Manuel’s and a familiar figure slid out. Julie felt her legs turn to jelly.
“Daddy!” she cried thankfully, and without another word Manuel brushed past her, slid into the Ferrari and drove violently away, the snarl of the engine an indication of his feelings.
“Who was that?” asked her father, frowning, as they walked up to the house together.
“Oh… just someone from work who gave me a lift,” lied Julie awkwardly. “Have you had a good day, darling?”
Her father accepted her story. It was too bad a night for driving for him to have taken much notice of the situation being enacted outside his gate.
But Julie was only too aware of what had nearly occurred, although what form her punishment might have taken she would now never know. She only knew Manuel had been angrier than any man she had ever known, and somehow she felt terrible about it. It didn’t seem to matter now that what she had said had been the truth. All that mattered was that Manuel hated her, and would have wreaked some punishment on her had her father not arrived in time.
After their meal, when her parents were preparing to go out – they had a bridge engagement – Julie washed her hair. Paul was coming round and she knew he would be querying her answer to his suggestion of an early wedding again. She wanted with all her heart to say “yes” to him now. She felt that if she was wearing Paul’s ring it would act as a talisman against Manuel’s vengeance.
But, as luck would have it, Paul brought his younger sister Alison with him, as his parents were going out too, and so there was no opportunity for private conversation. Alison was eighteen, and very young in her ways. She was still at school, waiting to go to university after the summer vacation. A brainy child, she adored popular music, and this was her only outlet, so they spent the evening playing records, many of which, much to Julie’s consternation, were her father’s collection of Manuel Cortez. Since getting to know Manuel she had taken care purposely not to listen to his records as his voice had such a compelling quality about it that it came through even though he was not visible to the eye. His music, sometimes wild and gipsyish, sometimes haunting and melodic, filled the room, his guitar casting a spell over his listeners.
Oh God, thought Julie, panicking inside, why did I have to meet him like that? Why? Why me?
After a while she went and made some coffee and sandwiches, escaping from the room like a prisoner from his cell. Paul followed her, leaving Alison sorting through the records.
He caught her in the narrow passage between the lounge and the kitchen, pinning her laughingly against the wall and putting his lips to hers. It was too soon after her seduction by the music for Julie to fully realize that this was not Manuel who was touching her, and her lips parted involuntarily, and her mouth moved restlessly upon his, arousing him to a sensual awareness of her.
With an exclamation, Paul thrust her away from him, and stared at her incredulously. “Julie!”
Julie straightened up as though a douche of cold water had been thrown over her. This was not Manuel, this was Paul, and he was shocked!
Heavens, she thought, shaking her head, was she never to escape from Manuel’s influence, even when Paul kissed her?
Paul was looking strangely at her. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?” he asked coldly.
Julie flushed. “Don’t be silly,” she murmured self-consciously. “I was half asleep, I guess; drugged by the music. Let me go, I want to make the coffee.”
Paul let her go, but she was aware he did not altogether accept her explanation. Allied to her remarks a few weeks ago, even Paul must be realizing something was seriously disturbing Julie. She sighed heavily, and Paul shrugged and walked back into the lounge to join Alison.
Julie pulled down a saucepan and poured milk into it automatically. Taking cups from the cupboard, she opened the jar of instant coffee and spooned coffee into the cups. Then she passed a tired hand over her eyes. She didn’t feel very well, and there was a heaviness behind her eyes which she could only attribute to disturbed nights. “Damn,” she said softly to herself, “damn, damn, damn!”
The following day was Saturday and she spent the whole morning trembling in case Manuel should appear in the store and attempt to rebuke her. But he did not. It was half-day closing, however, so by lunchtime she relaxed. Donna and Marilyn could not resist questioning her about her encounter with Manuel the previous evening, but she managed to fob them off by saying it was a chance meeting, and that he had only taken her home. They looked sceptically at her, but couldn’t force her to say anything more. Then Donna commented:
“By the way, did you see in the paper that he’d brought his daughter with him this time?” She sighed. “I didn’t even know he had a daughter, let alone one who’s almost seventeen!”
Julie froze. “Where did you read this?” she asked tightly.
“In the newspaper, I told you. Anyway, you saw her on telly, didn’t you? That gorgeous creature in the sables, who looks about twenty-five. How marvellous to be able to go everywhere with Manuel Cortez!”
“I wouldn’t want to be his daughter,” giggled Marilyn, and her intervention sent Donna into peals of laughter, successfully diverting attention from Julie’s pale face. His daughter! No wonder he had been so angry with her for jumping to conclusions!
At lunchtime Julie wended her way home wearily. She felt worn out, both physically and mentally, and utterly depressed. Her mother was appalled at her wan face and strained eyes.
“Julie!” she exclaimed. “You look terrible! Are you ill?”
Julie slid her arms out of her coat tiredly. “I think I’m going down with ‘flu,” she said, beginning to mount the stairs. “Would you mind if I went straight to bed? I don’t feel like any lunch.”
“Of course not, honey. Go along. I’ll be up presently with a hot water bottle to slip into the small of your back. Switch on your electric blanket while you undress.”
Julie really did feel ill, and as the day wore on it became apparent that she really was getting a dose of ‘flu. It wasn’t just reaction to Donna’s remarks about Manuel Cortez, as she had half thought at first.
She spent Saturday afternoon and the whole of Sunday in bed, visited by an anxious Paul, who was worried about the dark lines beneath her eyes, and her enervated condition.
She stayed away from work on Monday and Tuesday, but by Wednesday she felt a lot better, and insisted that she must go back to work, despite her father’s warning about after-effects. She went straight to Samantha’s on Wednesday evening, and found her feeding the baby. After agreeing to take over while Samantha prepared supper for the three of them, she followed her friend into the kitchen, and seated herself in a comfortable basket chair before replacing the teat of the bottle in Tony’s mouth. Then she told Samantha about her encounter with Manuel.
“Well?” said Samantha. “How was it? Have your feelings changed?”
Julie shook her head, patting Tony’s back to get his wind up. “I was beastly to him,” she said. “What must he have thought of me?”
“Well! So what do you want to do now?”
“I don’t know. Apologize, I guess.”
“Impossible,” said Samantha firmly.
“I know.” Julie sighed. “Let’s forget me. How long is it until you leave for the States?”
“Only two weeks, darling. And I have
n’t got myself a nanny yet. Have you given it reasonable thought?”
Julie bit her lip. “You mean, going with you?”
“Of course.”
“I have thought about it,” she admitted. “And my parents both think it’s quite a good idea—”
“There you are, then!” Samantha was triumphant.
“I know. It’s tempting. And after this dose of ‘flu I feel in need of a change. But am I being cowardly, running away from my problems?”
“You’re not running away from them, darling. They’ll be here when you come back, so how can you be? Besides, they may not seem like problems when you return.”
“I wish I could believe that,” murmured Julie, sighing.
Ben walked into the kitchen and grinned down at Julie just then.
“Getting your hand in for when we go away?” he asked, laughing.
Julie shook her head. “I haven’t agreed to come yet,” she protested.
Ben frowned. “But I thought… Sam said …”
Julie looked at Samantha who was making frantic signals to her husband over Julie’s head. “What have you said?” she asked good-naturedly.
Ben shrugged. “She said you were coming with us. That you were going to take charge of Tony here.”
“Oh, did she?”
Samantha groaned. “Oh, Ben! Well, anyway, Julie, you will come, won’t you?”
Julie moved her shoulders helplessly. “I want to come,” she said, “but what will Paul say? I haven’t mentioned it to him yet.”
“Then ask him,” said Samantha, spreading some steaks under the grill. “After all, you’re not engaged, yet, or anything.”
Julie nodded. It seemed that between her parents and Samantha and Ben she was going to have little chance to refuse even if she wanted to.
* * *
During the next few days Julie saw notices in the Underground indicating that Manuel Cortez was appearing nightly at Guardinos for a limited period. She wondered whether he ever thought of her now, or whether their last clash had been the final one so far as he was concerned. She could hardly blame him if he didn’t want to see her again. She had treated him abominably, whether there had been justification for her actions or otherwise.
