LITMIR.BIZ

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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?

       CHAPTER THREE

      ON Tuesday it was difficult for Julie to pretend she had not seen Manuel again, when Donna and Marilyn began discussing him. It was a nine days’ wonder so far as they were concerned, and Julie had to go along with their teasing in good part. But her inner emotions were very different, and she was debating within herself whether or not she ought to be frank with her parents in the matter. The relationship she had with her mother and father was such that she felt very guilty about lying to them, but she was aware how much they liked Paul, and how they expected Julie to marry him one day. They would not like the idea of her going out with a man like Cortez who was, after all, only amusing himself with her, and was definitely not to be taken seriously. But they had not experienced the sense of excitement and vitality he generated, and which enveloped everyone who came into contact with him. She sighed heavily. If she wanted to go on seeing Manuel, she ought not to make a secret of it.

      On Tuesday evening she went to a cinema with Paul. He met her from work and they ate at a Lyons’ Corner House before making their way to the cinema. Paul, who had not said much to her the previous evening, now told her that Neil Parrish had not berated him for Julie’s attitude towards the Mexican singer.

      “Actually, he’s never even mentioned the incident,” he said, with a certain amount of surprise. “And that’s not like Parrish at all. Usually he delights in having a reason to put you on the spot. I like him, and he’s a brilliant man at his job, but sometimes he goes a bit too far.”

      “Well, you should stand up to him,” exclaimed Julie. “He’s only a man, after all. Perhaps he might like that; for someone to be honest with him.”

      Paul grimaced. “In actual fact, sometimes he scares the pants off me,” he said, and Julie had to smile. It was so near the truth.

      When she was getting ready for bed that night her mother came into the room, closing the door, and said quietly:

      “Julie darling, what’s wrong?”

      Julie rose abruptly from the stool in front of the dressing table where she had been combing her hair. She was dressed in only a nylon shortie nightie and looked about sixteen. Her mother clasped her hands together as though she felt awkward, and Julie frowned.

      “Wrong?” she said, feigning surprise. “There’s nothing wrong.”

      “Yes, there is. At least, you’ve got something on your mind. You’ve been like this since you came home last night. What did this Celine person say to you?”

      “Celine?” Julie shrugged helplessly. “Well, we talked over old times, naturally.”

      Her mother looked at her shrewdly. “Julie! Tell me honestly, was it Celine … of indeed a woman you went to dinner with last evening?”

      Julie compressed her lips. She would not tell a direct lie.

      “No, Mother. You’re right, it was a man.” She looked down at the mother-of-pearl handled brush she held in her hands. She looked up again. “I’m sorry, Mum. But I knew if I told you you wouldn’t understand. You know how you expect me to … well … me and Paul …” Her voice trailed away.

      Mrs. Kennedy sighed. “Oh, Julie! Surely you know that all we want is your happiness. Good heavens, yes, we like Paul, but that doesn’t mean you have to marry him to please us! Heavens above, the way you talk frightens

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