Moon Witch. Anne Mather
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figure of his father and repented. ‘I’m as you’ve made me, J.K.,’ he said slowly. ‘In your own image!’
Sara Robins walked home from school with Brian Mason, the eldest son of Mrs. Mason, who had been her grandfather’s neighbour for over fifteen years. It was with them that Sara was staying, while her future plans were considered. Although it was only a little over two weeks since her grandfather’s death, Sara felt as though a lifetime had gone by.
The reading of the will, and the discovery that her grandfather had placed her virtually in the care of a complete stranger had come as a shock to her. If she had ever considered her grandfather’s health, she had never dreamed that he might collapse before she had left school and got herself a job. Somehow he had always seemed so young, so robust, that he had never invited any anxiety about his condition. It was only now that Sara realised he must have had some warning of the heart disease he had suffered.
Mrs. Mason and her husband, who always seemed such a meek, long-suffering little man, compared to his domineering wife, had been very kind, but Sara knew that she could not stay with the Masons indefinitely. Accommodation was limited, and at the moment she was sleeping on a camp-bed in their sitting-room. The house next door had been put up for sale, but it was not expected that they would get much for it. Such furniture as had been suitable had been taken to the saleroom, and Sara averted her eyes when she passed the blank empty windows.
A huge cream car was standing at the Masons’ gate this afternoon and Brian said: ‘Gosh! It’s a Mercedes, Sara! It must be someone from that man—that Mr. Kyle, for you!’
Sara shook her head, her mouth suddenly dry. Since the solicitors had first advised her of that clause in the will she had deliberately put all thoughts of it out of her mind. Now, seeing the cream Mercedes, it all came flooding back, and with it a frightening sense of panic.
Brian was looking at her strangely. ‘What’s wrong? You’ve gone all white, Sara! Heavens, there’s nothing to be scared about. I wish it was me that was going to be involved with a man like that—as rich as that!’
Sara looked scornfully at him. ‘Money! Is that all you can think about? I feel like a bartered object—like something at the saleroom!’
Brian laughed. ‘Well, you don’t look like one, Sara. Wait until he sees you. He’ll probably turn out to be a real sugar-daddy!’
‘You mean a dirty old man,’ said Sara gloomily.
‘Is he old?’
‘Well, it stands to reason, he must be,’ exclaimed Sara. ‘He was Grandfather’s contemporary!’
‘Y–e–s,’ said Brian slowly. ‘Well, come on, let’s go and see!’
They entered the narrow hall of the Masons’ house. There was the low murmur of voices coming from the sitting-room, and Sara looked apprehensively at Brian. He grinned cheerfully at her, and then the sitting-room door opened and Mrs. Mason came out. When she saw Sara she quickly closed the door, and came across to her.
‘Mr. Kyle’s here to see you,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘At least he says he’s Mr. Kyle. He’s much younger than I expected, and of course, I didn’t like to ask questions.’
Sara reserved her own opinion. Mrs. Mason was not the type of person not to ask questions, and it could only mean that Mr. Kyle had not appeased her by answering them.
‘He’s waiting to see you,’ went on Mrs. Mason, as Sara did not reply. ‘Do you want me to come in with you?’
Sara bit her lip. ‘Er—no, I don’t think so, Mrs. Mason,’ she said awkwardly.
Mrs. Mason stiffened and folded her arms across her ample breast. ‘Well, of course, if that’s what you want, Sara,’ she said reproachfully.
Sara moved her shoulders. ‘I—I think it would be best, Mrs. Mason.’
‘Very well. Come along, Brian.’ Mrs. Mason swept off along the hall towards the kitchen, and sighing, Sara walked to the sitting-room door. Gathering up her small store of courage she opened the door, and walked in, closing it firmly behind her.
A man rose from his seat in a low armchair at her entrance. He was tall and lean, with crinkly, ash-blond hair that persisted in lying over his forehead, despite his attempts to brush it back. His face was tanned a deep brown, as though he had just spent several weeks in the sun, while he had the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He was not handsome, she thought nervously, but he was certainly no contemporary of her grandfather’s.
If she was surprised at his appearance, he seemed no less surprised at hers. ‘You are Sara Robins?’ he exclaimed.
Sara swallowed hard. ‘Yes, Mr. Kyle. I’m Sara Robins.’
‘How old are you?’
Sara shrugged. ‘Um—well—seventeen, actually,’ she faltered.
‘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