Dangerous Enchantment

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.