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Her mother shook her head. “Julie!” she said reproachfully. “Who is it? Do we know him?”
“Not exactly. You know of him.” Julie turned back to her dressing table. “Don’t ask me, Mum, please. If … if anything comes of it, I’ll tell you then.”
Mrs. Kennedy was really disturbed now. Julie had never lied to her before, nor had any secrets from her. It was difficult to accept this, and the fact that Julie no longer required her confidence. It made her seem so much more adult, somehow. She had still seemed their little girl, but now she had a life of her own, a life moreover which she did not want to share with them.
Julie, too, felt terrible. Particularly as she had the conviction that what she was doing was dangerous. Manuel Cortez was not a man to be trifled with, and although Julie had had plenty of boy-friends she had never associated with a man as experienced as Cortez.
Her mother wished her goodnight and Julie climbed into bed. She heard the telephone ring as she was drowsing off to sleep, signalling a night call for her father, and then she knew no more. The resilience of youth overcame all her problems and she slept soundly.
When she told her mother on Wednesday morning that she would not be home for dinner that evening, her mother gave her a strange glance but did not comment, and as her father was at the breakfast table also Julie was glad. She knew she could trust her mother not to say anything to her father unless she wished it.
She had dressed with care in a new Crimplene two-piece of a delicious shade of salmon pink. The flared skirt was calf-length while the short jacket was double-breasted and scalloped on the neckline. With it she wore her double string of pearls and a beige llama coat, and black accessories completed the ensemble. Her father ran her to work in his car and complimented her upon her appearance.
“Is this for Paul’s benefit, lucky chap?” he asked, grinning.
Julie shook her head. “No. I’m going out with friends. Paul is working this evening.”
“I see.” Her father did not see anything unusual in this. Julie was a popular girl and often went out with other girls. Besides, on Wednesday evenings she usually went to see Samantha.
Donna and Marilyn noticed the clothes, too, and Julie felt convinced they did not believe her when she said she was going to Samantha’s for the evening. But it was a busy day for once in their department of the store, and with Miss Fatherstone on the warpath they’d not have a lot of time for chatter.
At last it was five-thirty, and mentally stiffening her shoulders, Julie went down to meet Manuel Cortez.
But when she reached the street there was no sign of either Manuel or the dashing Ferrari. What an anticlimax! Julie felt her stomach churn horribly. Had he only been joking with her when he asked for another date? Was this his way of paying her back for her outspokenness?
Donna and Marilyn walked past her calling goodnight, and looking back curiously at her, obviously speculating on her appearance. Julie moved about restlessly. She hated waiting about like this, and she hated the provocative looks she was getting from men who passed by.
She waited until a quarter to six and then decided angrily that he was not going to turn up. She felt suspiciously like crying, and chided herself for her stupidity. She ought to have realized he had no intention of seeing her again.
She turned decisively and walked swiftly towards the junction with Oxford Street. She would pick up a bus and go to Samantha’s after all. She knew she was always welcome there. The Barlows lived in Poplar Square off the King’s Road, and had quite a modern flat which Benedict had leased when his first exhibition paid dividends. Anything would be better than going home, she thought unhappily, aware that in truth all she wanted to do was be alone.
Oxford Street was thronged with people. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she thrust her hands into her pockets and was moving into the crowd when she heard her name being called: “Julie! Julie, wait!”
Her heart thumping, she swung round and saw Manuel thrusting his way through the crowds to her side. His hair was ruffled, and the expensive mohair coat he was wearing was flying open, but he was just as attractive as ever, and Julie wanted to fling herself into his arms, so relieved was she.
“Hi,” he said belatedly. “You’re mad, I know, and I’m sorry, but this crazy London traffic; God, it kills me! I’ve had to park the car somewhere out in the provinces!”
Julie laughed. “Was that all?”
“Sure. Did you think I intended standing you up?”
“Yes.” Julie was too relieved to prevaricate.
“Well, I’m here now. Shall we go? I thought we’d have dinner at my apartment, if that’s okay with you.”
Julie’s hands grew clammy. “I … I don’t know,” she began.
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