Moon Witch

by Anne Mather

  'Nothing--nothing!' Sara felt a breathless inertia overtaking her. It was so late, and the wind outside isolated them from the rest of the world, and her own thoughts of a few minutes ago were still very much uppermost in her mind. Jarrod was very close, and she could smell the clean male smell about him combined with cigar smoke and a faint odour of brandy. She was fast losing the urge to escape from him, and she wondered what he would do if instead of trying to draw away she moved closer to him so that he was completely aware of her.

  Jarrod was aware of the moment, too. His eyes were no longer mocking but warm and disturbing, the sensual curve of his mouth an indication of his emotions. He slid his fingers up her wrist, over her forearm to her shoulder, and taking a strand of her hair in his fingers, twined it round his hand. His eyes held hers, only occasionally shifting to her mouth so that Sara almost felt that he had caressed her.

  'Jarrod,' she murmured achingly, longing for the fulfilment of passion, when he tugged his hand savagely away from her hair, causing her to wince in pain as he made for the head of the stairs.

  'Go to bed, Sara,' he said harshly.

  She stared at him without speaking, hugging herself shakily, and he swore violently. 'For God's sake, Sara, go to bed, before I change my mind!'

  She stared at him for a moment longer, and then without a word sped along the corridor to her room, opening her door with trembling fingers, closing it behind her, and almost convulsively turning the key in the lock for the first time. Then she went to the mirror, gazing at herself with agonised eyes, seeing the hurt and bewilderment mirrored there Oh God, she thought, shivering uncontrollably, what have I done? What have I done?

  When she went down to breakfast next morning there were dark rings round her eyes, and J.K. who was sitting reading a newspaper with his coffee, frowned when he noticed them. 'Didn't you sleep?' he asked bluntly.

  Sara seated herself before replying. 'Not--not very well,' she murmured. 'I--well, the wind was very strong.'

  J.K. looked sceptical, and then, pouring himself another cup of coffee, he said: 'Jarrod arrived last night.'

  Sara controlled her colour with difficulty. 'Oh-- oh, did he?' she said, sipping her fruit juice. 'Did you know he was coming?'

  'Not really, although I suspected he might after your argument on the phone last evening. No matter how you see it, Jarrod is not vindictive. He probably needs to apologise. Besides, it will give us the ideal opportunity to discuss this trip. I thought you might leave at the end of the week.'

  'At the end of the week?' Sara's eyes were wide. 'But--but we couldn't--we couldn't possibly!'

  'Why not? You know you obtained your passport weeks ago. There's absolutely nothing to stop you. Jarrod is perfectly well aware of the proximity of the departure date.'

  Sara felt all traces of appetite leaving her. She couldn't go abroad with Jarrod right now, not immediately. She needed time to think, to gather together her scattered senses, to get things into perspective, to achieve that detached aloofness that would prevent her from making a complete fool of herself.

  'Where--where is Jarrod?' she asked in a small voice.

  'He went out about six-thirty--on Alexander. It's quite a bracing morning, for all the cold, and I expect he'll ride over to the Maxwells' for breakfast.'

  'Oh.' She finished her fruit juice. 'What--what

  did he say?'

  'Nothing much. Why?' J.K. regarded her speculatively. 'He can't have slept much last night. He didn't get here until after midnight--much later than that, actually, and to be out so early . ..' He shrugged. 'Maybe his conscience is troubling him.'

  Sara doubted this, particularly after the incident on the upper landing. At the remembrance of this the colour flooded her cheeks, and J.K. narrowed his eyes. 'Don't let Jarrod hurt you,' he said, surprisingly. 'His bark is much worse than his bite.'

  She managed a half-smile. 'Do you think so? Oh, J.K., I wish you hadn't decided on this trip to Jamaica 1 It will be impossible!'

  J.K. sighed. 'Look, Sara, you're only travelling with Jarrod. When you get there, Helen will be your hostess, and she'll see that you're not left a target for Jarrod's ill-humour. Besides, Jarrod likes Jamaica, and I daresay you may find him a much more agreeable person away from my influence.'

  'You never said a truer word!' a cool, amused voice remarked, and Sara glanced round, startled, to find Jarrod leaning against the door post. 'What a cosy chat you seem to be having,' he remarked, with some dryness. 'The trials and errors of life in a goldfish bowl!'

  'Don't be so sarcastic, Jarrod,' said J.K. sharply. 'Where's Lauren? I would have thought you would be breakfasting there if you'd been riding with her.'

  Jarrod flung himself into a seat at the table, pouring himself some coffee. 'I have not been riding with Lauren, I haven't even seen Lauren,' he replied sardonically. 'I preferred my own company this morning.' His eyes flickered over Sara swiftly, and she bent her head to avoid the speculation in his gaze. 'Do you not ride these days, Sara?'

  'No.' Sara was abrupt.

  'Sara hasn't done anything since her illness,' replied J.K. 'I believe I told you several times, she's not well, at least she hasn't recovered her spirits since her weeks in bed. This is my dilemma, the reason I asked you to take the trouble to take her to Jamaica!'

  Jarrod studied Sara's bent head. 'How do you feel about it, Sara?' he asked.

  Sara looked up, then applied her attention to her toast. 'As I told you last night, I have no desire to be an encumbrance to you. Maybe I am looking rather washed out, but it will pass. As soon as the weather gets warmer, I shall be fine!'

  'No, you will not!' thundered J.K. 'Not sufficiently fast for me, at any rate. Jarrod, tell the child you'll take her to your mother's with good grace! Don't make her feel such a nuisance!'

  Jarrod raised his dark eyebrows. 'Did I say that? Did I say she was a nuisance?'

  'You apparently said enough,' retorted J.K. 'You're so wrapped up in your own blasted affairs that you have no time to think of anyone but yourself!'

  'Oh, please!' Sara rose to her feet. 'Don't, please, have any more argument over me! I've told you, I don't want to go to Jamaica!'

  Jarrod rose too, towering over her, making her acutely conscious of him. 'Of course you want to go,' he said smoothly. 'And what's more you're going! The arrangements are already made. This morning I telephoned the agency I deal with in London, advising them of my requirements!'

  Sara stared at him. 'But you couldn't possibly. It's only nine-fifteen now. Agencies don't open before nine.'

  Jarrod gave a short laugh. 'My dear Sara, when you're the chairman of a combine like Kyle Textiles there is no such word as don't. The manager of the agency, Robert Leyton, would open his office at two o'clock in the morning if I asked him!'

  Sara compressed her lips. 'Oh really,' she said bitterly. 'You're so sure, aren't you, so confident, so arrogant! You can't believe that I might not want to go with you to Jamaica!'

  'Frankly no. Oh, I don't flatter myself it's my company you're wanting, but you did say you wanted to travel, didn't you, and I'm sure such an opportunity could not go unnoticed!'

  'Jarrod! For God's sake----' J.K. smote his fist

  on the table. 'She's no match for you, and that tongue of yours. Leave her alone! You say you've made arrangements for the flight?'

  Jarrod looked round at his father. 'Yes. Matt is going with us.'

  'Matt?' J.K. frowned. 'Why?'

  'I decided he should.' Jarrod was non-committal.

  'When did you decide this?'

  'This morning, actually. Any objections?'

  Sara sighed. Who was this Matt they were talking about? And why was he going to Jamaica with Jarrod? Had it anything to do with the abandoned way she had acted the previous evening? She had been so wrapped up in her own feelings she had not stopped to think how Jarrod might construe her

  actions.

  J.K. seemed to sense the trend of her thoughts, and he said: 'John Matthews, Matt, as we call him
, is Jarrod's personal assistant, as well as being a close friend. He's nice, you'll like him. Jarrod, are you taking the direct flight?'

  'No. We leave Saturday morning and stay overnight in New York. The flight to Kingston leaves Sunday afternoon.'

  'I see. What do you intend doing in New York? I suppose it's not just by chance that you're staying there overnight.'

  'Well,' Jarrod thrust his hands into the pockets of his pants, 'I thought I might get to meet Jefferson Saturday evening.'

  J.K. clicked his tongue in annoyance. 'Jarrod, this is not to be an excuse for a business trip.'

  'J.K.,' Jarrod's voice was equally hard, 'I make my own rules, and I play by them. Don't try altering the game, because your rules just don't apply!'

  J.K. sighed. 'I'd be interested to know exactly what your game is, Jarrod,' he said dryly.

  Jarrod smiled. 'I guess you would at that,' he conceded. 'I suppose Sara feels the same way. However,' as Sara walked to the door, 'this is not the time, or the place, for inquisitions on my character. Well, Sara, can you be ready in three days, do you suppose? Potter can bring you down to London on Friday, and you can stay overnight at my apartment.' He gave his father a wry glance. 'I'll ask Tracy to stay there, too.' He looked back at Sara. 'Just so everything is proper.'

  J.K. nodded decisively. 'All right, Jarrod. Sara can manage that. I'll see she does.'

  Sara heaved a sigh. It seemed she had no choice but to give in with good grace. After all, with this Matt along, it would relieve matters, and there would be no intimate moments alone with Jarrod.

  'I--I think I'll go and wash my hair,' she said now, excusing herself, and J.K. frowned.

  'You're not brooding?'

  'No, of course not.'

  'Good,' said Jarrod. 'Because I'm leaving again this afternoon, and I'd hate to feel you were annoyed with me!'

  'My opinion of you can hardly matter one iota,' returned Sara, with some anoyance, hardly able to credit that that little scene on the upper landing had ever occurred. Jarrod, this mocking, sardonic man, could never have looked at her with such melting warmth, never triggered off such an explosion of dangerous awareness between them; it just was not possible.

  As she left the room, Jarrod said: 'I'll see you at lunch, I expect, but if not Friday afternoon, right?'

  'Right,' responded Sara, somewhat wearily, and did not bother to look back at him again. She wanted to get away quite badly, and try and retrieve her lost defences.

  Ventura Court was a tall, imposing block of luxury apartments, favoured by businessmen, television personnel and personalities from the entertainment world. Here they lived in isolated anonymity, in opulent surroundings, separated from the pressures of the outside world by a very capable commissionaire and two porters who resembled retired wrestlers.

  To Sara, it looked cold and uninviting, and although the evening was warmer, and a faint sun was setting as Potter brought the limousine to a halt by the shallow flight of steps that led up to the swing glass doors, she shivered quite uncontrollably, as much from nerves as anything else. She looked down at the orange slack suit she was wearing with some misgivings. Combined with her auburn hair and creamy complexion, it was very attractive, but she felt overdressed and uncomfortable, wishing herself miles away from here.

  Potter opened the door, revealed his identity to the commissionaire, and then escorted her up in the lift, with her cases, to the penthouse apartment that Jarrod occupied. The lift doors opened on to a thickly carpeted hallway, and Potter led the way to the double white doors with KYLE written on them in tiny gold letters.

  'Well, miss,' he said, as he rang the bell, 'here we are! I hope you're going to have an enjoyable holiday in Jamaica. I envy you, I really do.'

  Sara half-smiled, a trifle wanly. 'Believe me, Potter, if I could change places with you, I would.'

  Potter looked taken aback, and she thought she ought not to have said anything so revealing to a chauffeur of J.K.'s. Still, Potter was more like a friend, and he had known she had left rather distressed at leaving J.K. behind. He had looked so lonely, standing on the steps of Malthorpe Hall, and she had wanted to stop the car and dash back to the security of his arms. Somehow, even with her grandfather, who had been an undemonstrative man at best, she had never felt the same sense of

  belonging, and in a short time J.K. had come to mean a lot to her.

  Now the doors of the apartment were opened, and another manservant stood there.

  'This is Hastings,' said Potter, in explanation to Sara. 'Hastings, this is Miss Sara Robins, Mr. Jarrod is expecting her.'

  'Oh yes, Potter,' Hastings nodded, and smiled. He was a little like Morris, Sara thought, and she later discovered that they were cousins. 'Come in, miss. Mr. Jarrod isn't in at the moment, but Miss Merrick is here, waiting to greet you.'

  Immediately Sara's heart sank to her shoes. Another obstacle to meet and overcome! If only Jarrod had allowed her to arrive and make herself at home alone.. As it was she was to meet yet another edition of Lauren Maxwell, all ready to make a verbal meal of her. She didn't know whether she would be able to stand it.

  Potter left her in the wide entrance hall that was hung with chandeliers, and resembled a small drawing-room with its upholstered chairs and table. Then Sara was helped out of the dark cape she was wearing over her suit, and Hastings invited her to follow him.

  They descended two steps to a low hall that ran the length of the apartment. Doors opened to right and left, and Hastings advised her that Miss Merrick would show her her room later. Then he opened the door into a long low lounge, carpeted in scarlet and royal blue, with white chairs and couches, upholstered in real skin. The walls were cream and hung with vivid sketches and paintings and plaques, that gave it an exciting exotic appearance. The lighting was all concealed apart from a couple of standard lamps, very modern things with many branches, while one wall was almost entirely made of glass, hung with an enormous Venetian blind that was flicked open giving a panoramic view of the lights of London below.

  A girl had been fiddling around with a huge television set in one corner, but she jumped to her feet at their entrance, and turned to greet them. Sara had an impression of a cap of silvery blonde hair, slanted blue eyes and a very short red evening dress before the girl came gracefully across to meet them on slender legs. She was tall and very thin, but very elegant.

  'Hello, Sara,' she said, smiling warmly. 'I'm Tracy Merrick, but just call me Tracy, everyone does. Hastings, can we have some ice, love? There isn't any in the container.'

  Hastings nodded smilingly, and then left them alone. Dazedly Sara smiled her own greeting, and then Tracy drew her across to a low couch, and said: 'Come and sit down, and get warm, and tell me all about yourself. Jarrod said you were only seventeen, is that right? How marvellous! When you get to my age you begin to realise how old twenty-five can really be!'

  Sara began to relax. Tracy was not at all like Lauren. For all her assumed air of sophistication, she was not very different from herself, with an easy outgoing manner, that held none of Lauren's bored indifference.

  'Twenty-five isn't old,' she protested, and Tracy laughed.

  'Well, sometimes I feel old,' she confessed. 'Men are so much luckier than women. They don't age half so much, and a man in his thirties is so much more exciting than a woman of the same age. Anyway, at least you don't have to worry about that. When are you eighteen, by the way?'

  'In a little over ten days,' said Sara, brightening. 'It seems to have come round so fast, I can hardly believe it.'

  'Oh, the beginning of April. My birthday is in July. I shall be twenty-six then, worse luck. But enough of that. Are you looking forward to going to Jamaica?'

  Sara hesitated. 'Well, I suppose I am. But--well, I wish J.K. could have taken me.'

  'Who? Oh yes, Jarrod's father. Why? Don't you like Jarrod?'

  Sara flushed. 'Well, yes, but--oh, I don't know. I'm sure he doesn't want to take me--he'd much rather stay here with his--his friends. Like--l
ike yourself, for example.'

  'Oh, Jarrod sees plenty of us, I can assure you. He and Daddy are great friends, and naturally he's often at our house. He's known me since I was your age, of course, and I absolutely adore him. He's the most marvellous companion. I'm sure you'll have great fun in Jamaica. Get Jarrod to take you skin-diving, and water-skiing. He's fabulously good.'

  Tracy's whole conversation seemed to be interspersed by words like 'fabulous' and 'marvellous', and later 'terrific', and Sara began to think that perhaps Tracy was a little young for her age. But she was very kind and very friendly, and Sara soon lost her own inhibitions and they chatted together like old friends, Sara telling her all about her life with her grandfather, and now with J.K. When a key inserted in the door announced the arrival home of Jarrod Kyle, Sara almost felt disappointed, and Tracy jumped to her feet and ran to meet him welcomingly, revealing more potently than words could say just how she felt about him.

  Jarrod was still in the hall, removing his overcoat, and Sara heard him say: 'Not now, Tracy! Is Sara here?'

  Tracy said: 'Oh, Jarrod, you are a pig! Yes, of course Sara's here! We've been having a long interesting conversation!' She preceded him into the lounge, and Sara forced herself to remain seated when all her being longed to remove itself as far from Jarrod Kyle as the room allowed.

  Jarrod looked at her with narrowed eyes, taking in the attractive picture she made in the orange suit, jacket removed to reveal a royal blue slim-fitting roll-collared sweater, her long hair tumbling in disorder about her shoulders, her cheeks flushed from the sherry Tracy had provided her with.

  'Well, Sara,' he said, bowing his head slightly, 'have you made yourself at home? How do you like my small abode?'

  'Small!' Sara ran her tongue over her lips. 'It's hardly that, is it? But I like it.'

  'Oh, praise indeed,' he exclaimed, bowing mockingly again. 'Did you hear that, Tracy? The child likes it.'