Moon Witch

‘Oh, I don’t know—how about a small sherry?’

‘Yes. That would be fine.’ She relaxed against the red upholstery, thinking with relief that Jarrod would not present his disturbing presence at dinner. Then she frowned. If Jarrod had left, how was she going to get home? ‘Mr.—J.K.?’

He glanced round. ‘Yes?’

‘If—if your son has left—how will I get home? I mean—is there a bus service, or something?’

J.K. shook his head. ‘Naturally Potter will take you in the car.’

‘Potter?’

‘My chauffeur. Now, there you are. I think you’ll find that to your liking.”

Sara sipped the sherry pensively, wondering where Jarrod Kyle had gone.. Obviously he would have plenty of friends and acquaintances in the district. She wondered if he was married. And where was J.K.’s wife?

‘Is your wife——?’ She halted abruptly. It was none of her business after all. Turning red, she hoped he had not noticed her words. But of course he had, and he said:

‘Go on! What were you going to ask? I think you’re entitled to ask a few questions yourself. I’ve done most of the questioning so far. Don’t be nervous!’

‘Well, I was just going to ask where your wife was,’ said Sara.

J.K. nodded. ‘My wife is in Jamaica,’ he said easily. ‘She lives there.’

‘Oh!’ Sara’s mouth belied her astonishment.

He smiled, swallowing some of the Martini in his glass. ‘Do you think that is an unconventional relationship? Don’t be afraid to say.’

Sara shrugged. ‘Well, do you live here?’

‘Most of the time,’ he nodded.

‘Then yes, I do think it’s unconventional. Are you divorced?’

‘No. Just separated, through choice. Helen is not like me; she likes the social life. She also likes a warm climate. Several years ago she developed a mild congestion of the lungs. She was advised not to winter in England, so’—he shrugged—‘she moved to Jamaica.’

‘And you?’

‘Well, for a while—in fact for many years—we had discovered we had nothing in common. Our lives were quite separate. It was a natural course of events that she should eventually leave.’

‘How awful!’ Sara sighed. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Why be sorry? Helen is happy, and so am I. We’re not enemies. We’ve been quite civilised about it since Jarrod was about—oh, seven or eight years old.’ He poured himself another Martini. ‘Helen came from a wealthy Yorkshire family. I think she fell in love with me, although I’m not certain of that. At any rate she was sufficiently interested to marry me, and in so doing provide me with the necessary funds to expand my business.’

Sara’s eyes were wide. ‘You mean—you married her for her money!’

J.K. lifted his shoulders. ‘How cold and calculating you make that sound, Sara. How capable young people are of exposing life to the cold light of day! I would say we married out of a mutual need, at that time. I’ve repaid Helen every penny of the money she loaned me. I don’t consider my actions so despicable.’ He sighed, as he watched the revealing expressions crossing her face. ‘I suppose you do.’

Sara bit her lip. ‘Oh, really—J.K.—it’s nothing to do with me. I mean—I don’t know all the facts or anything. I’m not your judge.’

‘No, perhaps not. But you make me see myself as others might see me.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘How Jarrod would have enjoyed hearing you bare the basic facts of life! I think sometimes he can be a little cruel himself.’

Remembering Jarrod’s mocking, meaningful words in the hall of Malthorpe, Sara thought that was entirely likely.

The evening passed so quickly that Sara could hardly believe it when J.K. told her it was time she was going home. She felt a sense of regret that it should be over so swiftly, but was surprised when J.K. said:

‘Will you come again on Thursday? I can’t invite you tomorow. Jarrod is entertaining some chaps from the Ministry, and it would all be incredibly boring, anyway.’

Sara slid her arms into her coat. ‘Well, yes—I can, if you want me to,’ she said a little breathlessly.

J.K. nodded. ‘Good, good! I’ll look forward to that. Goodnight, Sara.’

‘Goodnight, J.K.,’ she answered him, and followed Morris out to the chauffeur-driven Rolls that waited at the foot of the steps.

Mrs. Mason was very curious about what had happened when Sara returned to their house in Mead Road. ‘What’s going to happen to you?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to live with this Mr. Kyle and his wife?’

Sara sought about awkwardly for words to say. She knew Mrs. Mason of old, and everything she said to her would be spread around the small town of Bridchester within a few days. ‘Nothing has been decided yet, Mrs. Mason,’ she replied honestly. ‘I—I had dinner with the older Mr. Kyle, the one Grandfather used to know. The man who came here—was his son.’

‘I see.’ Mrs. Mason frowned. ‘Did you tell him you couldn’t go on staying here?’

‘I don’t think we discussed that at all, Mrs. Mason.’

‘You didn’t? Well, what did you discuss then?’

‘Oh, mostly about—Grandfather,’ replied Sara, wishing this catechism was over. She ought to have thought about this coming home in the car, and prepared her answers accordingly. ‘Do you mind if I go to bed now?’

Mrs. Mason shrugged. ‘I suppose so. When will you know what’s going on?’

‘I’m having dinner with Mr. Kyle again on Thursday evening,’ said Sara. ‘I—I might have made some plans by then.’

‘What sort of plans?’

Sara gave her a desperate look. ‘I don’t really know. Honestly, Mrs. Mason, I haven’t seemed able to make any plans yet. It’s been so—so sudden. But I will. I thought of going to see the Matron at the hospital to see if she would take me on as a probationer.’

Mrs. Mason frowned. ‘Did you now? Well, our Lily tried that, but she didn’t like it.’

Sara could have said that ‘their Lily’, who was eighteen, didn’t like anything that remotely resembled work, but she held her tongue and merely went upstairs to get washed, thus ending the conversation.

On Thursday afternoon, Potter arrived in the Rolls to take her out to Malthorpe Hall, and Mrs. Mason, who had remained silent during the last couple of days, now said, rather spitefully:

‘I suppose you’ll be thinking you’re too good for the likes of us soon, Miss Robins,’ as Sara left the house.

Sara stared at her in astonishment. ‘Why should I think that, Mrs. Mason?’ she asked in surprise.

Mrs. Mason seemed to regret her impulsive tongue. ‘Oh, nothing, nothing. Go along with you. And don’t be late.’

In the back of the Rolls, Sara felt rather lost and alone. Even the prospect of dinner at Malthorpe Hall did little to assuage her depression. She seemed now to be a representative of neither walks of life. Ostracised and sneered at by Mrs. Mason and her cronies, and tolerated by a man who had once known her grandfather rather well, but who had now passed out of their sphere.

The drive gates were opened at their arrival, and the car sped up the drive to halt at the main entrance. Potter had not spoken on the journey. He had kept the glass partition between the two compartments firmly closed and Sara had not had the heart to attempt any kind of conversation. Besides, he was probably not accustomed to talking with his passengers. They most likely had plenty of other things with which to occupy them. Unlike Sara, who would have been glad of anything to lighten her mood.