Moon Witch. Anne Mather

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      ‘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.

      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 СКАЧАТЬ