Moon Witch

A huge cream car was standing at the Masons’ gate this afternoon and Brian said: ‘Gosh! It’s a Mercedes, Sara! It must be someone from that man—that Mr. Kyle, for you!’

Sara shook her head, her mouth suddenly dry. Since the solicitors had first advised her of that clause in the will she had deliberately put all thoughts of it out of her mind. Now, seeing the cream Mercedes, it all came flooding back, and with it a frightening sense of panic.

Brian was looking at her strangely. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve gone all white, Sara! Heavens, there’s nothing to be scared about. I wish it was me that was going to be involved with a man like that—as rich as that!’

Sara looked scornfully at him. ‘Money! Is that all you can think about? I feel like a bartered object—like something at the saleroom!’

Brian laughed. ‘Well, you don’t look like one, Sara. Wait until he sees you. He’ll probably turn out to be a real sugar-daddy!’

‘You mean a dirty old man,’ said Sara gloomily.

‘Is he old?’

‘Well, it stands to reason, he must be,’ exclaimed Sara. ‘He was Grandfather’s contemporary!’

‘Y–e–s,’ said Brian slowly. ‘Well, come on, let’s go and see!’

They entered the narrow hall of the Masons’ house. There was the low murmur of voices coming from the sitting-room, and Sara looked apprehensively at Brian. He grinned cheerfully at her, and then the sitting-room door opened and Mrs. Mason came out. When she saw Sara she quickly closed the door, and came across to her.

‘Mr. Kyle’s here to see you,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘At least he says he’s Mr. Kyle. He’s much younger than I expected, and of course, I didn’t like to ask questions.’

Sara reserved her own opinion. Mrs. Mason was not the type of person not to ask questions, and it could only mean that Mr. Kyle had not appeased her by answering them.

‘He’s waiting to see you,’ went on Mrs. Mason, as Sara did not reply. ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’

Sara bit her lip. ‘Er—no, I don’t think so, Mrs. Mason,’ she said awkwardly.

Mrs. Mason stiffened and folded her arms across her ample breast. ‘Well, of course, if that’s what you want, Sara,’ she said reproachfully.

Sara moved her shoulders. ‘I—I think it would be best, Mrs. Mason.’

‘Very well. Come along, Brian.’ Mrs. Mason swept off along the hall towards the kitchen, and sighing, Sara walked to the sitting-room door. Gathering up her small store of courage she opened the door, and walked in, closing it firmly behind her.

A man rose from his seat in a low armchair at her entrance. He was tall and lean, with crinkly, ash-blond hair that persisted in lying over his forehead, despite his attempts to brush it back. His face was tanned a deep brown, as though he had just spent several weeks in the sun, while he had the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He was not handsome, she thought nervously, but he was certainly no contemporary of her grandfather’s.

If she was surprised at his appearance, he seemed no less surprised at hers. ‘You are Sara Robins?’ he exclaimed.

Sara swallowed hard. ‘Yes, Mr. Kyle. I’m Sara Robins.’

‘How old are you?’

Sara shrugged. ‘Um—well—seventeen, actually,’ she faltered.

‘Seventeen! I see.’ He drew out a cigar case. ‘Do you mind?’ and as she shook her head, he took a cigar out and lit it. ‘My—my father thought you were perhaps fifteen. Instead, you——’ He halted. ‘Are you planning to leave school soon?’

‘I suppose I can leave when I like,’ replied Sara carefully, studying her fingernails. ‘When—when Grandfather was alive I did intend to go on to take “A” levels, but now …’ Her voice trailed away.

He moved impatiently, and gave her a strange look. ‘Well, Sara Robins, haven’t you any questions you want to ask me?’

Sara was taken aback. ‘You—you’re younger than I expected.’

‘Well, maybe so.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Your grandfather made a slight error of judgement. He left your future in the hands of the chairman of Kyle Textiles expecting my father still to be in that position.’

‘Your father!’ Sara stared at him. ‘You mean—it was your father who knew my grandfather!’

‘That’s right. Unfortunately, my father retired eight years ago through ill health. I am now the chairman of Kyle Textiles. My name is Jarrod Kyle, too.’

‘Oh, I see!’ Sara’s expression cleared. ‘That explains it.’

‘Yes, to you perhaps,’ remarked Jarrod thoughtfully, his eyes appraising her very thoroughly, so that Sara felt uncomfortable under his scrutiny. This was definitely a situation her grandfather had not envisaged when he added that awful clause to the will. ‘Tell me,’ went on Jarrod, ‘do you have any relations at all?’

Sara flushed. ‘No,’ she replied, nervously brushing back the swathe of heavy chestnut hair that swung silkily to her shoulders.

‘And what would you have done had that particular clause not been added to your grandfather’s will?’

Her flush deepened. She had the feeling he was being slightly sardonic, even though his expression had not changed. ‘I—I suppose I should have left school immediately and got a job,’ she said defensively.

‘As what?’

She shrugged awkwardly. ‘I don’t know—in an office, or perhaps as a trainee nurse! The nursing profession always appealed to me.’

‘Hmn!’ He seemed to grow tired of this questioning, and turned away, walking to the window overlooking the sparse patch of lawn in front of the small house. ‘Nevertheless, the clause was added, so’—he swung round again—‘collect your coat. We’re leaving!’

‘Leaving?’ Sara’s greenish-hazel eyes were wide. ‘Leaving?’

‘Only temporarily, for the moment,’ he replied smoothly. ‘My father wants to meet you. Afterwards—well, afterwards we shall see!’ he finished enigmatically.

Sara wanted to argue with him. She wanted to say she knew nothing about him and that she didn’t want to leave all that was known and familiar to her for some unknown destination, but her position was too nebulous, too helpless, for her to be intrepid enough to argue with the chairman of Kyle Textiles. He might not be as old as her grandfather, but he was obviously in his thirties, or thereabouts, and that seemed a great age to someone who was only seventeen. So she gave him a reluctant nod and went to explain the position to Mrs. Mason.

The white Mercedes was superbly comfortable, and even after Jarrod had left Bridchester and was moving swiftly along the road towards Malthorpe in the Forest she felt little sensation of speed. In fact she was a little bemused by the whole operation, and couldn’t help but see it in the light of a crazy dream that could not be substantiated with fact.

Jarrod Kyle was wearing a dark lounge suit, a thick fur-collared overcoat overall, and even with her limited experience of life and material possessions, she could tell his clothes were expensively tailored. Her own fur-collared blue tweed, which she had donned in preference to her dark school duffle coat, looked cheap and inelegant by comparison, and she felt faint stirrings of alarm when she contemplated meeting Jarrod Kyle senior. His son was intimidating enough for both of them. He did not seem particularly pleased about something, she thought, and as she had little to go on she could only assume it had something to do with her.

She sighed, and he glanced her way. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘have you spent any time away from Bridchester?’

Sara frowned thoughtfully. ‘Only on holidays,’ she answered. ‘I’ve been to Blackpool twice, and to London, and once we went to Hastings.’

‘I see. You’ve never been abroad, I gather.’

‘No, I’m afraid not.’ She looked across at him solemnly. ‘I—I suppose you have.’

‘Some,’ he replied non-committally, and Sara realised it had been a stupid, childish question to a man like him. ‘What are your interests, then?’ he was asking now. ‘What do you do when you’re not at school?’

She frowned. ‘Well—I like reading, of course, and records, and occasionally Grandfather used to take me to the theatre in Leeds, or even a cinema.’

‘What is your favourite subject at school?’

‘Do you mean my favourite subject—or the one I’m best at?’ she asked candidly.