Moon Witch Page 4

  'Either come in or go out,' he said shortly, and with a grimace she entered and closed the door. 'That's better.' He studied her intently for a moment, noticing her pale cheeks, and the faint shadows round her eyes. 'You don't look at all well.'

  Sara straightened her shoulders. 'I'm perfectly all right, Mr. Kyle,' she replied coolly.

  'Well, I'll take your word for that, for the moment. Tell me, have you fixed yourself up with a job?'

  'I'm--I'm waiting for the results of my interview with the Matron of the Bridchester General,' replied Sara carefully. 'I'm very hopeful.'

  'I myself contacted the Matron this morning,' he said, surprisingly. 'You were accepted as a student nurse. I told her you would not be going.'

  'You did what!' Sara stared at him in horror. 'What do you mean by interfering in my affairs! Of course I shall be going! Oh, I shall have to get in touch with her at once----'

  'No, you won't,' he interrupted smoothly. 'Because you will not be needing a job. You're coming to live at Malthorpe--at least for the year which my father stipulated the other night 1'

  Sara raised her head with a little touch of pride. 'Oh no, Mr. Kyle. Now you're mistaken! I have no intention of coming to live at Malthorpe--not now, or at some future date!'

  'But you are,' he responded, with equal firmness. 'Now, don't let's waste any more time. I shall see your headmaster myself, and you can collect your things. You won't be coming back here.'

  'Don't try your boardroom tactics on me, Mr. Kyle, because they just won't work!' she exclaimed angrily.

  'Boardroom tactics!' he said, half amused at her fervour. 'Boardroom tactics! You haven't the first idea what boardroom tactics may be!'

  'Well, maybe not,' she said hotly. 'But you can't make me do anything!'

  He thrust his hands into the pockets of his thick suede car coat. 'Ah well, Miss Robins, there you are wrong,' he said smoothly. 'You're forgetting! However unpleasant you may find the news, I am your guardian, and as such, I have absolute power over you. Unless, of course, you'd care to take me to court to prove otherwise. But somehow I don't think you will. I could employ such a more satisfactory lawyer than you could!'

  Sara couldn't believe her ears. 'But why? Why? Heavens, only a week ago you were suggesting I was trying to--well, you know what you said!'

  'I know. My opinion has changed very little. However'--he held up a hand as she would have protested--'however, my father is insistent that you be allowed to come to Malthorpe, and he can be very persuasive.'

  Sara's eyes mirrored her disbelief. 'Oh really,' she exclaimed. 'I can't believe the hard, powerful Jarrod Kyle, chairman of Kyle Textiles, and Lord of the Universe, could be persuaded by his father!' As soon as the words were spoken she was aghast at her own temerity, but instead of censure she saw a reluctant trace of admiration in his blue eyes.

  Then, as suddenly, it was gone, and he said quietly: 'My father has a heart condition; that's why he retired as chairman in the first place. Last Friday he had another mild attack. I'm not prepared to risk his health for my own amusement. If he wants you so desperately, then he shall have you.'

  Sara's heart softened ever so slightly. 'Does--does J.K. know you're here?'

  Jarrod gave her an exasperated look. 'You must be joking! Of course he knows I'm here! Do you imagine I'm doing this to surprise him! Oh no! I'm well aware of his fallibilities. I'm almost certain his attack was contrived, but I'm not prepared to gamble on anything less than a certainty. Therefore, will you go and collect your things, Miss Robins?'

  Sara hesitated. 'And if I refuse?'

  'I'm pretty certain your heart is softer than mine,' replied Jarrod, stubbing out his cigar lazily. 'You couldn't take that risk either, could you, Miss Robins?' and Sara knew he was right.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TODAY Jarrod was driving a dark green sports car, and Sara looked at it with some interest as she climbed inside. 'A Ferrari,' remarked Jarrod dryly, as though in answer to her unspoken question. 'Very expensive 1 Would you like my father to buy you one?'

  Sara tightened her lips, not deigning to reply, although his words were hurtful. She would not enter into a battle of wits with a man much more capable of choosing his weapons than she was. Besides, she was vulnerable; he was not.

  The engine roared to powerful life, and he drove out of the school playground with some impatience, watched by a group of boys who had been playing football. Sara glanced back at the school rather regretfully, and Jarrod said bitingly: 'Surely a school can't arouse sentimentality!'

  Sara's fingers gripped the strap of the leather satchel on her lap. 'Not to someone like you, perhaps,' she replied quietly.

  Mead Road was not busy at this hour of the morning, but Mrs. Mason was standing at her gate, talking to her next door neighbour, Mrs. Isherwood. Sara gave a small sigh when she saw them, and Jarrod said: 'Now what's wrong?' He glanced her way, and then back at the two women by the gate. 'Are you afraid of what they might say?' His tone was mocking.

  'Oh, you wouldn't understand!' she cried hotly, as he brought the car to a snarling halt beside the two women.

  'Credit me with a little common sense,' he said shortly, and pushed open his door and slid out. Leaving Sara to extricate herself, he walked across to Mrs. Mason, looking arrogant and assured. 'Hello again,' he said smoothly. 'You may be relieved to know that Sara is leaving!'

  'Leaving?' Mrs. Mason's voice was shrill, and Sara's heart sank to her shoes. 'Do you mean--she's going to live with you?'

  Jarrod smiled lazily. 'With my father, Mrs. Mason. I knew you would be glad to be rid of the responsibility.'

  Mrs. Mason was speechless for a moment, and then as Mrs. Isherwood looked at her, daring her to protest, she said: 'Well, I don't know about that, Mr. Kyle.'

  'Why?' Jarrod drew out his cigar case and extracted one, lighting it with deliberate slowness. 'You've made it quite plain from the beginning, Mrs. Mason, that you could not keep the child longer than was necessary.'

  'I know, but--well, I----'

  'You didn't think such a thing would materialise, did you, Mrs. Mason? I really believe you expected Sara to go to the Bridchester General without any further assistance from any of us, isn't that right?'

  Mrs. Mason's face was red. 'I didn't think any such thing, and you've no right to say such things,' she replied irritably, as Mrs. Isherwood folded her arms to enjoy this unexpected exchange.

  'Well, I'm glad about that,' said Jarrod, glancing 46

  round to where Sara was standing nervously beside the car. 'Go and pack your things, Sara. If you need any help----'

  Sara shook her head, and approached them, passing Mrs. Mason as she entered the gate. Mrs. Mason looked at her piercingly. 'So you're leaving,' she said tartly.

  Sara nodded uncomfortably.

  'Hmn!' Mrs. Mason said no more, and for the first time Sara was glad of Jarrod's presence.

  It did not take long to pack her things, and when she came out again, carrying her cases, Jarrod was leaning on the bonnet of the car watching Mrs. Mason as she continued her conversation, now somewhat stilted, with Mrs. Isherwood. Straightening, Jarrod threw away the butt of his cigar and came to meet her, taking the cases from her unresisting fingers. Then he looked down at her, his eyes amused. 'That wasn't so bad, was it?' and she shook her head speechlessly.

  She thanked Mrs. Mason for her kindness, for she had been kind, even if that kindness had been tinged with bad humour, and then wishing her goodbye she walked to the Ferrari, conscious of the two women's eyes upon her. She could almost feel the other eyes behind lace curtains down the road, all wondering where she was going and who with. Not that they'd have to wait long, she thought drearily, Mrs. Mason would have informed the whole street by the end of the day. No one would be in any doubt as to her position.

  Jarrod slid behind the wheel, leaning over to push open the door for her. 'Get in, for God's sake,' he muttered. 'No one's got a shotgun on your back!'

  Sara compressed her lips, and did as h
e said, realising he was perfectly aware of her feelings. Then he turned the ignition and the car roared to life. Sara sank back against the soft leather and sighed.

  'Well, it's over,' he remarked, as he turned out of Mead Road into Bridchester High Street. 'What a timid kid you are! Hell, I don't ever remember being like that!'

  'I don't suppose you ever were,' Sara flared, her emotions disturbed by his indifference.

  He gave a short laugh. 'That's better, Sara. Show a bit of spirit! The life you're going to be leading, you're going to be meeting young men and boys who will positively eat you if you continue to act like a mouse!'

  'Men like you?' she asked angrily, unthinkingly.

  Jarrod's expression was sardonic. 'Hardly, kid! I don't come into either of those categories! But I shall be watching just the same, and I'm expecting a great deal of amusement out of the spectacle!'

  'You are a--a--brute!' she exclaimed, clenching her fists tightly.

  'Oh, am I?' he mocked her. 'Well, you keep on remembering that, and we'll get along fine!'

  Sara was given her own room at Malthorpe Hall. When Hester, the maid, showed her into it, she could not suppress the gasp of pure delight that escaped her. Hester, who was in her fifties, looked on benevolently, as Sara swung round examining everything with an engulfing gaze. The carpet, soft and pale pink, flowed into every corner. A long fitted unit of teakwood supplied a double wardrobe and dressing-table, above which a making-up light was fitted. The bed, a large divan, was covered with a nylon fitted quilt, and the curtains of lilac-striped brocade were reflected in the colour of the bedspread. Hester waited for a moment, and then crossed the room to open a door at the far side.

  'This is your bathroom, Miss Sara,' she said, smiling, and Sara walked quickly across to peep into a large mirror-walled room, with a large step-in bath of pink porcelain. The shelf above the pedestal basin was filled with make-up, skin creams, talcum powders and bath oils, and Sara thought she would spend hours experimenting with them. Her only possessions at the moment in the way of cosmetics were a pink lipstick and an eye-liner, which she had only used once. However, as her skin was creamy coloured, and her dark brows and lashes matched the colour of her hair, she did not really need a lot of make-up.

  Now she looked at Hester with unconcealed pleasure, and said: 'Thank you, very much.'

  Hester smiled dryly, and walked to the door. 'Don't thank me, Miss Sara,' she exclaimed deprecatingly. 'You've Mr. Kyle to thank.'

  'Jarrod!' exclaimed Sara, almost without thinking, and she saw the maid's lips tighten.

  'No, not Mr. Jarrod, miss, Mr. Kyle, senior.'

  'Oh!' Sara twisted her hands together, behind her back. 'Oh yes, of course.'

  'Lunch is in fifteen minutes, miss, if you'll come down to the small lounge.'

  'Which is where?'

  'If you find your way to the hall, I'm sure someone will be around to direct you,' replied Hester,

  and withdrew, closing the door.

  After she had gone, Sara flicked open her suitcases, and began to take out her clothes and lay them on the bed. Then she remembered that the maid had said lunch in fifteen minutes, and she hastily took herself off to the bathroom to wash before the meal. It was quite a novelty, having her reflection thrown back at her from every direction, and she spent several minutes turning from side to side, examining her profile from angles she had never seen before. Then, realising time was passing, she hastily washed, cleaned her teeth and ran a comb through her long hair. Her pinafore dress would have to do, she thought, and at least her blouse was clean. Then she left her room, closing the door behind her.

  As she walked along the corridor to the head of the flight of stairs, she realised that this was the first time she had been at Malthorpe Hall in daylight, and she was eager to explore outside. Maybe after lunch, she thought, with some excitement. Now that she was actually here, the real meaning of her new circumstances was beginning to catch up with her, and with it came a stomach-churning sense of anticipation. After all, she was only seventeen, and only human, and there were so many things to look forward to. Her steps lightened, and she ran down the stairs, jumping the last two down on to the hall carpet.

  Morris was standing in the hall, sorting through some letters on a silver salver. He smiled at her youthful exuberance, and said: 'I gather you found your room satisfactory, miss.'

  'Satisfactory!' exclaimed Sara, smiling. 'It's wonderful! Oh, Morris, I'm so excited suddenly, I

  don't think I could eat a thing!'

  Morris chuckled, and Sara thought she was going to like him very much. He was not at all like the butlers of her imagination, who were always elderly, portly gentlemen, with protruberant eyes. Morris was tall, but slim, and only in his late forties, she estimated.

  'I'm sure you'll find lunch very exciting,' he remarked now. 'Do you know where Mr. Jarrod and his father are?'

  At the mention of Jarrod's name, Sara subsided somewhat. 'No--no, I don't,' she said.

  'Then come this way.' He led the way across the hall and through the arched entrance to a room Sara had not seen before. It was slightly smaller than the lounge, but equally luxurious, with a red carpet, and a suite of green brocade. She thought it was very probably a room used by ladies in bygone days for sewing or needlework, but now it was entirely contemporary in design, huge fitted cupboards of finely polished wood, with glass doors, housing some of J.K.'s collection of jade and porcelain.

  J.K. himself came to meet her, smiling warmly. 'Well, Sara,' he said. 'Do you think you can be happy here?'

  'Oh, J.K., what a question!' Sara enthused, and then saw that a young woman was lounging negligently on the low couch, watching her through narrowed blue eyes. She looked soignee and elegant, with red-gold curls cut short, and framing her head like a halo. Her features were narrow and arresting, and she was very slim. As though becoming aware of the direction of Sara's attention, J.K. turned,

  drawing Sara forward.

  'Come and meet Lauren Maxwell,' he said. 'Lauren, this is Sara, Sara Robins.'

  Lauren Maxwell did not rise to her feet, but extended a languid hand which Sara shook awkwardly. Seeing the older woman here made her realise more clearly than anything had yet done what a lot she had to learn if she was to mix with the kind of people J.K. mixed with. Lauren was eyeing her pinafore dress with a mixture of amusement and distaste, and Sara saw that Lauren was wearing jodhpurs and a chunky yellow sweater. Beneath the sweater that was open she could see a lemon heavy silk blouse, and everything about her spelt sophistication.

  'So you're Sara,' she was saying. 'I've been--dying to meet you!'

  Sara was certain that Lauren Maxwell had absolutely no interest in anyone like herself, except in so far as it affected her life, and as Sara did not know anything about her she could not be sure just who she was. J.K. elucidated with his next words.

  'Lauren's family own the land that marches with ours,' he explained. 'Naturally, we've known each other for years, since Lauren was a child, and she treats Malthorpe as her second home.'

  Lauren gave J.K. a provocative smile. 'Darling J.K.,' she said.

  Sara wondered why Lauren's words caused such a sinking feeling in her stomach. Maybe because when she had thought of living at Malthorpe herself she had not really considered that anyone other than J.K. and Jarrod Kyle would be involved. She didn't know why, but she had the strongest feeling that she wasn't going to like Lauren Maxwell, which was absolutely ridiculous.

  J.K. crossed to a tray of drinks on a nearby table, and said: 'What will you drink, Sara? Sherry--or just some cordial?'

  'Er--cordial, please,' said Sara, staying near the entrance as though planning her escape, and when J.K. handed her a tall glass of lime and lemon he drew her into the room and insisted that she seated herself. She perched on the edge of an armchair, hoping there were no ladders in her tights, aware that Lauren was scrutinising her very thoroughly, but discreetly, as though not wanting J.K. to notice.

  'I wish Jarrod would
hurry up,' said Lauren, stretching, and reaching for a cigarette from the box on the coffee table beside her. 'I'm starving!'

  J.K. nodded. 'Well, Sheridan has been trying to get in touch with him for the past two days, but as I've been--well, rather under the weather, Jarrod has managed to put him off.'

  Lauren grimaced. 'Business!' she said scathingly. 'Why doesn't Jarrod just get himself a man who can take over in his absence and give himself more free time?'

  'Because he likes it,' said J.K. not without some satisfaction. 'Kyle Textiles wouldn't be half so successful without Jarrod's personality.' He gave her a wry look.

  'You mean--the way he has with women, don't you?' Lauren commented, rather coolly, and J.K. shrugged his shoulders.

  'Now what have women to do with the world of high finance?' remarked Jarrod lazily, strolling into the room. 'Lauren, you'll be giving our guest a very bad impression of me, if she hasn't already got one, of course.'

  Lauren wriggled in her seat, like a sleepy cat. 'Come and sit down, darling, and I'll demonstrate if you like.'

  'That won't be necessary,' he replied, glancing mockingly at Sara. 'Do you think you're going to like it here, Sara Robins?'

  Sara shook her head. 'As I've only just arrived, I can't be absolutely certain,' she replied, with some temerity, and he gave her another appraising look.

  'Well, I'm quite sure J.K. will endeavour to accommodate you in every way he can I' he murmured, and walking across to the drinks tray he poured himself a large whisky. Then he looked at J.K. 'I'm leaving after lunch,' he said, and swallowed the whisky at a gulp.