Moon Witch

She climbed the steps as Morris opened the door, allowing the warm comfortable glow of the lights to illuminate the forecourt. She was ushered inside, and Morris said: ‘Good evening, miss. Is it cold out?’

Sara relaxed a little, taking off her coat. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said quickly. ‘I think it’s going to snow. The roads are very icy.’

Morris smiled in a friendly way, and then J.K. came out of a door to the left of the hall. ‘Ah, Sara,’ he exclaimed, ‘you’ve arrived! Good! Come in here and get warm. Morris, we’ll have some tea.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Morris nodded, and Sara followed J.K. into a room which was lined with books. Another man was sitting by a roaring fire, but he rose to his feet at her entrance, and Sara recognised him as the solicitor who had advised her of the circumstances of her grandfather’s will, Mr. Grant.

‘Hello, Sara,’ he said, smiling encouragingly. ‘You look very nice. How are you?’

‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you.’ Sara looked questioningly at J.K. ‘Am I intruding?’

J.K. closed the door. ‘Not at all. It’s because of you that Joe’s here; Mr. Grant, that is. We’ve been considering ways and means for you, Sara. I knew when we were talking together the other evening that we had a lot in common, or at least, a common sense of humour!’ He chuckled. ‘At any rate, I liked you, Sara, and I needed time to think, to work things out. Well, I’ve come to a decision, and if you’re agreeable, there’s no possible reason why it shouldn’t work out.’

Sara was trembling a little, even in the heat of the roaring fire, and she sank down weakly on to a low chair. ‘What are you talking about, J.K.?’ she asked.

‘You—and your future,’ replied J.K. ‘Look, have you made any plans yet?’

Sara ran her tongue over her lips. ‘Well, I rang the Matron at Bridchester General Hospital yesterday, and I’ve made an appointment to see her later this week. I hoped she’d be able to take me on, as a probationer.’

‘I see,’ J.K. frowned. ‘Is that what you want to do?’

Sara flushed. ‘Well, I’ve always been interested in nursing,’ she replied defensively.

‘And if your grandfather had been alive? What would you have done then?’

‘I expect I should have stayed on at school for another year and taken my “A” levels,’ she answered, sighing.

‘Hmn. But now, honestly, Sara, if you had a choice, to do anything you wanted to do, what would it be?’

Sara studied her fingers. ‘Oh, so many things,’ she said, a little unsteadily. ‘I mean—I love English and reading, and I enjoy art immensely. I’d like to travel—and to paint!’ She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘So many things!’

J.K. looked pleased, and glanced rather triumphantly at Joe Grant. ‘As I thought,’ he said, nodding. ‘You’re a sensible young woman. Well, Sara,’ he paused with pleasurable anticipation, ‘if you’re agreeable, you can come and live with me—here at Malthorpe, for a year. I say, for a year, because nowadays teenagers know their own minds at eighteen, and I don’t want you to feel—how shall I put it?—obliged to me, in any way. I’m doing this because I want to, just as much as for your sake!’

‘Oh, but——’ she began hastily.

‘No buts.’ J.K. compressed his lips firmly for a moment. ‘Just listen, Sara. Whatever you decide to do with your life can wait for a year. During that year you could do whatever you wanted to, be yourself, not some confined schoolgirl with a limited range of interests. You could travel. I go to the States quite frequently, Jarrod was practically educated there, and sometimes I think he’s more American than English; then I go to Europe—I could even give you a sort of artistic grand tour, if you’d like that.’

Sara turned to Mr. Grant. ‘Oh, please,’ she said, ‘I can’t accept this. I know my grandfather put that clause in the will, but he must have been crazy to do so. J.K. isn’t even the chairman now, anyway. His son is. Surely he should have some say in the matter!’

‘Jarrod will be consulted, of course,’ said J.K. irritably. He did not like to be thwarted, or argued with.

‘How thoughtful of you, J.K.!’ The sardonic voice brought them all to their feet, facing Jarrod Kyle, who had entered silently, and was standing leaning against the door, looking cold and arrogant. He straightened, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and allowing his penetrating blue gaze to rest momentarily on each of them. ‘It’s good of you to consider my feelings, J.K. Extraordinarily good of you!’ The sarcasm was very evident. ‘The point you all seem to be missing is that by accepting any part of this will, one automatically accepts all of it.’ He allowed this to have effect before continuing: ‘In other words, Miss Robins has a meal ticket for life, and there’s nothing any of you can do about it.’

‘That’s terrible!’ exclaimed Sara, staring at him.

‘Yes, terrible,’ said J.K. angrily. ‘You’re talking arrant nonsense, Jarrod. At the most we are responsible for Sara until she is eighteen. After that, even should she want to, which I for one don’t believe, she couldn’t make any claims against us!’

‘Oh no?’ Jarrod gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Do you honestly imagine you could get away with—well, refusing to support someone who on your own admission had been supported by you for the last year? My God, J.K.! There are times when I think you’ve reached your dotage. What’s happened to that cold business brain you always used to pride yourself on possessing?’

‘Obviously I’ve passed it on to you to add to the one you already had!’ exclaimed J.K. furiously. ‘How dare you stand there abusing a visitor in your house!’

‘Abusing!’ Jarrod gave a short laugh. ‘Abusing!’ He shook his head. ‘I haven’t abused anyone. I’m merely stating the facts as I see them. Unlike you, my vision is not clouded by emotion!’

Sara was shaking visibly now. She had never before been a party to such suppressed violence as Jarrod Kyle was displaying. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please, don’t say any more, any of you! I—I don’t want to hear it! I’m sorry—I’m sorry!’

She brushed past Jarrod and jerked open the library door, rushing out into the hall, not knowing where she was going, only wanting to escape. Morris was bringing the tray of tea and halted in surprise.

‘Why, Miss Robins, where are you going?’

‘Will—will you get my coat, please?’ asked Sara, glancing about desperately. ‘I’m—I’m going home.’

‘Don’t bother, Morris,’ said J.K.’s voice behind her. ‘Sara, Sara, what can I say? You must not allow my son to intimidate you. He—well, he has to be hard in business. It’s the only way, and like me, he’s used to getting what he wants. You mustn’t let our little differences of opinion upset you.’

‘Little differences of opinion,’ echoed Sara wildly. ‘You can’t call that argument a little difference of opinion! He—he doesn’t want me here! He’s made that perfectly plain, and for some reason he doesn’t trust me either. I—I couldn’t be happy—under those circumstances!’

‘Oh, Sara!’ J.K. sighed heavily. ‘I want you here. Isn’t that enough?’

‘But you’re not my guardian,’ she cried. ‘He is!’

‘Yes, and as such he ought to be ashamed of himself,’ muttered J.K. angrily.

Sara shook her head. ‘I want to go home—I mean—back to the Masons, anyway!’

‘You see—you have no home!’ J.K. caught her arm. ‘Sara, be sensible! Jarrod is not here a lot. He spends most of his time in London, or abroad. We won’t have to worry about him, I assure you.’

Sara continued to shake her head. ‘Please get my coat,’ she said tautly. ‘I want to leave!’

J.K. compressed his lips, and then summoned Morris. As she put on her coat, he said: ‘Won’t you change your mind, Sara?’

She moved to the door. ‘Thank you for everything, Mr. Kyle—oh, J.K. then,’ as he began to protest. ‘Is there someone who could take me home?’

‘Morris will have advised Potter,’ said J.K. wearily. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do this, Sara.’

Sara managed a faint smile, and then opened the front door and hurried down the steps to the waiting Rolls. She glanced back once at J.K. standing alone at the top of the steps, and felt tears pricking her eyes. He looked alone, too, and she realised that he, too, was lonely. Oh well, she thought sadly, it’s too late now. Much too late!

At the beginning of the following week, Sara had her interview with the Matron of the hospital. She was kind and sympathetic, and told her she would know the result of the interview within a few days. After that, it was just a question of waiting, and this Sara did with some impatience. In her free time, too many thoughts came to cloud her mind, and she was longing for a real job of work to banish all thoughts of J.K. and Malthorpe Hall, and most of all Jarrod Kyle, from her brain.

One morning, towards the end of that week, the headmaster of the school came to see her while she was in the school library.

‘Ah, there you are Sara,’ he said. ‘You have a visitor.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘He’s waiting in my office.’

‘A visitor!’ exclaimed Sara. ‘But—who, sir?’

‘A Mr. Kyle,’ said the headmaster thoughtfully. ‘Kyle. The name’s familiar. Of course, Kyle Textiles. Do you know him? Is he some relation of the textile manufacturers?’

Sara felt the colour drain out of her cheeks. ‘Is he—is he young—or old?’

‘In his thirties, I’d say.’