Moon Witch. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ he? Yes, well, maybe I’ll take a rain check on that,’ said Jarrod, swinging round a jay-walking pedestrian.

      ‘Do you think you should? You know—his blood-pressure——’

      ‘All right, all right,’ muttered Jarrod impatiently. ‘All right, Matt, we’ll just call at the apartment and leave my things for Hastings, What a life! Six weeks in Jamaica, and within an hour of arriving back in this country I feel as though I’ve never been away.’

      Malthorpe in the Forest was in Yorkshire, a comfortable village not far from the textile mills of Leeds and Bradford where the Kyle empire had had its source. Now, with factories in most of the larger countries of the world, it was an international organisation whose head office was in London. Jarrod’s father had founded the business before the Second World War and even he had had no idea of the impact his materials, carpets and designs would have on the rest of the world.

      Jarrod and Matt arrived at the outskirts of Malthorpe late in the evening of the same day. J.K., as Jarrod’s father was always called, liked the kind of country squireship he had assumed upon buying the old country home of the Malthorpe family, all of whom were now only remembered by the gravestones in the cemetery beside the village church. Malthorpe Hall was large and sprawling, without much elegance of design outside. Its part-Georgian façade had been added to by succeeding generations without much discrimination and in consequence it now belonged to no period. Inside, Jarrod’s father had installed every kind of modern convenience. The large rooms suited his expansive personality, and he had spared nothing to make it the most talked about house in the district, much envied and admired by his friends and acquaintances. It stood in thickly wooded grounds, which stretched for some distance across the fields that gave on to the open moors. A high fence prevented would-be sightseers from getting too close, and as Jarrod approached its entrance he was forced to stop and identify himself to Hedley, the lodge-keeper.

      ‘Well, we’re in,’ he remarked dryly to Matt, as the car sped up the dark tree-lined drive. ‘It gets a little more like Fort Knox every time I come!’

      ‘Your father is afraid someone will steal his precious antiques,’ said Matt, as Jarrod brought the car to a halt in the gravelled courtyard before the front doors. ‘And every new piece he gets adds to his collection.’

      ‘And to his nerves,’ said Jarrod, sliding out of the car. ‘God, it’s cold! Have you had any snow yet?’

      ‘No, not yet. And it’s not that cold, Jarrod. It’s not even freezing, or you wouldn’t have been able to go as fast as you did on the motorway.’

      ‘Want a bet?’ asked Jarrod, mockingly, as the doors opened and light flooded out on to them. ‘Hello, Morris. On cue as ever!’

      The uniformed butler bowed politely. ‘Good evening, Mr. Jarrod. I trust you’ve had a good journey.’

      Jarrod nodded, walking round to the rear of the Mercedes and opening the boot. ‘Fine. How’s my father?’ He extracted his cases easily.

      Morris came forward and took the cases from him firmly. ‘Your father is quite well, Mr. Jarrod. He is waiting for you in the library. Will you be wanting any supper, sir?’

      Jarrod mounted the steps followed closely by Matt, carrying his briefcase and overcoat. ‘No, thanks, not tonight. See you later, Matt.’

      Matt nodded and turned to follow Morris up the stairs to the first landing. Jarrod crossed the wide hall, and entered a room on the far side. The hall was lit by an exquisite crystal chandelier and Jarrod heard the prisms tinkling slightly in the sudden draught from the front door. The hall was carpeted in dark blue and gold, the balustrade of the staircase echoing the gold in filigree work overlaying the mellowed panelling which Jarrod’s father had retained. The library which he entered was carpeted in dark green, its walls lined with hundreds of hidebound books that Jarrod was sure his father had never even opened. J.K. was not a scholarly man, his success had been due to his hard work and personality, and he was not content to sit back and let someone else handle all the action. Unfortunately, a severe heart attack eight years ago had convinced him that to carry on living at the rate he was doing would kill him inside a year, so he had handed over the chairmanship of the Kyle companies to his son Jarrod, with the intention of retaining an active role in its administration. However, he had acted without thought to Jarrod’s own part in the proceedings, and found that his son could be as obstinate as he was. Thus, Jarrod took complete control of the business, only consulting his father rarely, much to J.K.’s chagrin. Now, though, he found he admired his son immensely, and what he had done was no less than he would have done in his place.

      Tonight J.K. was sitting beside a roaring fire, smoking a cigar and drinking some superlative cognac from a balloon glass as his son entered. Although the whole house was centrally heated, J.K. insisted that he retained the fire in the library. He looked up as Jarrod entered, and smiled warmly.

      ‘Well, hello, Jarrod,’ he said, nodding to the chair opposite him. ‘Come and sit down! Is it freezing outside?’

      ‘Not according to Matt,’ remarked Jarrod, pouring himself some brandy and taking the seat his father indicated. ‘But it’s bloody cold!’

      J.K. laughed. ‘You’ve grown soft, out there in the Caribbean. Don’t know how you stand the heat myself. Give me a crisp autumn day and a good fire, and I’m content.’

      ‘You’re getting old, J.K.,’ said Jarrod deliberately, and laughed when his father looked annoyed. ‘Say, but let’s not waste time on trivialities; what’s all this about some kid I’m guardian to?’

      J.K. drew on his cigar, nodding. ‘Yes, Sara Robins. Old Jeff’s granddaughter!’

      ‘But this is crazy, isn’t it?’ Jarrod looked impatient, running a hand through the silvery hair which grew low on the back of his neck. ‘Hell, how did he come to make you his granddaughter’s guardian?’

      ‘Not me, you!’ said J.K. with some satisfaction. ‘You, Jarrod! The chairman of Kyle Textiles!’

      ‘That’s only a formality,’ muttered Jarrod, chewing his cigar. ‘You know damn fine it was you, and not me, he was talking about. Anyway, you still haven’t explained.’

      J.K. shrugged his broad shoulders. He was like his son; he had the same thick hair, but his was iron grey, and his features were more deeply carved. Also, his eyes were grey; Jarrod got his unusual eyes from his mother. ‘When I was a young man, Jeff and I were good friends. I guess when his daughter and son-in-law both died he felt disturbed for the child’s welfare. After all, his own wife died during the war, he must have felt the girl was completely alone.’

      ‘But why pick on you? For the money?’

      J.K.’s lips curled. ‘If you had known Jeff Robins you wouldn’t say a thing like that. He was the most honest, upstanding man I know. If he had wanted money he could have had it. I offered him plenty of chances one way and another. No, Jarrod, it must just have been a kind of hopeful desperation, I guess. I don’t think he knew about his heart condition, or if he did, he didn’t broadcast it. I guess he hoped to be around till Sara was old enough to find herself a man and get married.’ He sighed. ‘But it wasn’t to be!’

      ‘And the child, have you seen her? Since her grandfather died, I mean.’

      ‘I’ve never seen her,’ said his father, lying back in his chair reflectively. ‘I suppose I ought to have gone over to Bridchester this past week, but I thought I’d wait——’

      ‘And СКАЧАТЬ