Moon Witch

He looked half-amused. ‘Is there a difference?’

‘Yes. My favourite subject is English Lit., but I’m best at art.’

‘Art!’ Jarrod sounded surprised. ‘And don’t you like art?’

‘Well, I passed in “O” level, and I quite like messing about, but Miss Finch, our art teacher, is a bit of a—well——’ She was obviously stumped for a suitable word. ‘Anyway, nobody likes her, so I suppose that’s why I’m not keen on art,’ she finished, sighing.

Jarrod swung the car off the main road on to a minor road which led to Malthorpe in the Forest. As the wheel slid expertly through his hands, Sara noticed the length of his fingers. Long and tanned, they looked hard, capable hands, a broad gold signet ring inset with a huge ruby on the little finger of the right.

It was quite dark when they halted at the lodge gates and Jarrod sounded the horn which brought Hedley to the gate. Sara looked at him again and trembled a little.

Jarrod, as though aware of her nervousness, said: ‘Don’t be alarmed. This is routine procedure. My father has a valuable collection of antiques which he wants to protect.’

‘I see.’ Sara bit her lip. Even in the gloom the place had an air of grandeur to which she was not accustomed, and the thought of the interview ahead filled her with trepidation.

The car halted before the front doors which opened as if by magic. ‘That is our butler, Morris,’ murmured Jarrod, rather mockingly, glancing her way. ‘I’m convinced he has installed radar in the kitchen quarters so that he knows when any car is within a certain radius.’

Sara couldn’t prevent the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. Although Jarrod had said nothing to reassure her, his manner was more relaxed, probably because he’s got me off his hands, she thought uncharitably, and he seemed to be trying to relax her also. As Jarrod slid out, she got out too without waiting for anyone’s assistance, and stood looking awkwardly at the tall, imposing figure of Alister Morris.

‘Good evening, Mr. Jarrod,’ he was saying smoothly. ‘Your father is waiting for you in the lounge.’

‘Thank you, Morris.’ Jarrod mounted the steps easily, and then looked back at Sara standing lost and alone at the foot of the steps. ‘Come on, Sara Robins. Surely you’re not afraid!’ His tone was mocking.

Sara stiffened and climbed the steps too. ‘No, Mr. Kyle, I’m not afraid,’ she said tautly, and he smiled sardonically.

‘Are you not? Then you must indeed be unique. I would have thought these circumstances might represent quite an ordeal to a child like yourself.’

Sara followed Jarrod inside the entrance on to the luxurious blue carpeting of the wide hall. She looked about her in wonder for a moment, and then turned her attention to Jarrod, who was watching her with undisguised sarcasm.

‘My grandfather used to say that only a fool was afraid,’ she said in small clear voice. ‘A coward dies as swiftly as a brave man.’

Jarrod bowed his head in mocking salute to her comments. ‘I think your grandfather had quite a lot to commend him,’ he said. ‘After all, it’s not every man who thinks to endow his granddaughter with the richest guardian available!’

Sara stared at him in shocked surprise. ‘What do you mean by that, Mr. Kyle?’ she exclaimed.

‘My son is a cynic, Sara,’ said a voice from behind her. ‘I heard you arrive, my dear. Welcome to Malthorpe Hall.’

CHAPTER TWO (#udbc3aef5-19c1-538c-9051-d033737104ef)

SARA swung round to confront an older edition of Jarrod Kyle. His father had grey hair, of course, and was a little stooped, but otherwise they were very alike, only the deeply carved lines on the older man’s face belying his age. He was smiling warmly, and looked unlike the formidable individual she had conjured up in her imagination.

‘You’re—Mr. Kyle?’ she said awkwardly. ‘The Mr. Kyle who knew my grandfather?’

‘Correct on both points.’ J.K. looked across at the butler. ‘Close the door, Morris, and take Miss Robins’ coat. Come along, my dear. I’m having tea served in the lounge.’ He gave his son a questioning glance. ‘Will you join us, Jarrod?’

Jarrod Kyle was removing his own overcoat with lazy movements, and Sara became aware of a strange quickening of her senses. She couldn’t understand it, certainly she had never felt anything like it before, but there was something about Jarrod Kyle that disturbed her. Obviously, she had never met a man like him before, but it wasn’t only that. Mentally, she shook herself. She was being fanciful, because of the strangeness of her surroundings.

He shook his head now in reply to his father’s question. ‘No, I don’t think so, J.K. You have your afternoon tea. I need something a little stronger.’

His father’s lips tightened and he turned away. Then he looked back. ‘Lauren rang this afternoon,’ he remarked casually. ‘She wants you to ring her.’

‘Does she?’ Jarrod was lighting a cigar. ‘And what did you tell her?’

His father smiled. ‘I told her—you’d been—busy!’ His tone was mocking, and Sara was aware of the antagonism between them like a tangible thing in the air.

Jarrod turned to the stairs, taking them two at a time without replying, and his father gave a satisfied little chuckle before taking Sara’s arm to lead her into the long, high-ceilinged lounge.

Sara’s attention was taken by the magnificent décor. The carpet, cream and thick-piled, was the background for deep red and black chairs and the dark polished wood of a corner cocktail bar. There was an enormous television set combined with a radiogram, while concealed lighting above the high coving drew attention to the extravagantly carved ceiling. It was like something out of a film set, and she gasped.

‘Do you like it?’ asked J.K., looking pleased.

‘I—I think it’s marvellous, Mr. Kyle,’ she exclaimed. ‘I—I didn’t know places like this existed in Yorkshire!’

He laughed. ‘Oh, Sara, what a refreshingly youthful remark! And you must call me J.K. Everyone does. It at least distinguishes me from my son.’

Sara did not know how to answer, so she merely smiled, and J.K. rang the bell to summon the maid. ‘Sit down, Sara,’ he said, nodding to a low couch. ‘I want to hear all about you—and your grandfather.’

She subsided on to the couch as he indicated, smoothing the skirt of her dark blue pinafore dress. She wondered what the servants would make of her. She was hardly the usual kind of visitor to Malthorpe Hall. It was so beautifully warm, too, and she thought there would be no need to wear warm clothes in these surroundings.

A neatly uniformed maid brought a tray of tea and placed it on a low table near Sara, and after she had gone, J.K. seated himself opposite her, and said: ‘Can you handle a teapot?’

The cups were small and wafer thin, but Sara managed to accomplish the feat of handling the silver teapot without accident, adding cream and sugar to J.K.’s at his instigation, and only cream to her own. There were sandwiches of ham and salmon, and small scones oozing with jam and fresh cream, but she ate very little, her throat still rather constricted with nerves.

J.K. glanced at a gold cigarette box afterwards, and said: ‘Did your grandfather allow you to smoke?’

Sara smiled, shaking her head, ‘No, not that I was particularly interested—Mr.—I mean J.K.!’ She flushed.

‘Very good, too. It’s a filthy habit in women. But still, it does give one something to do at interviews and suchlike. Anyway, Sara, come on: tell me about yourself. Your school, your plans, what you and old Jeff used to do together.’

He was very easy to talk to, much less frightening than his son, and Sara soon found her nervousness dispersing in the warmth of his interest. She told him about everything, even the Masons, describing her life with such attention to detail that J.K. became really intrigued, to the extent that he forgot the passage of time, and it was only when Morris knocked and entered, interrupting them, that he glanced at his watch.

‘Will the young lady be staying for dinner, sir?’ Morris asked politely.

‘Well, as it’s already almost seven o’clock, I think that would be the most sensible course,’ said J.K., nodding across at Sara. ‘Don’t you agree?’

‘Oh, but—I mean, I’m not dressed for—dinner,’ stammered Sara awkwardly, recalling Jarrod Kyle’s presence with some misgivings.

J.K. gave a deprecatory gesture. ‘That’s of no importance, my dear. I shan’t be changing now, and I don’t suppose Jarrod is still at home. Eh, Morris?’

‘Mr. Jarrod left half an hour ago,’ said Morris evenly. ‘He told me to tell you he might be late.’

J.K. smiled sardonically. ‘Did he? How thoughtful of him! All right, Morris. Dinner for two.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Morris withdrew, and J.K. rose to his feet and crossed to the cocktail bar.

‘What will you have to drink?’ he asked. ‘You must have something. Something innocuous, of course.’

Sara swallowed hard. ‘Wh—what do you suggest?’