‘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 to her for some unknown destination, but her position was too nebulous, too helpless, for her to be intrepid enough to argue with the chairman of Kyle Textiles. He might not be as old as her grandfather, but he was obviously in his thirties, or thereabouts, and that seemed a great age to someone who was only seventeen. So she gave him a reluctant nod and went to explain the position to Mrs. Mason.
The white Mercedes was superbly comfortable, and even after Jarrod had left Bridchester and was moving swiftly along the road towards Malthorpe in the Forest she felt little sensation of speed. In fact she was a little bemused by the whole operation, and couldn’t help but see it in the light of a crazy dream that could not be substantiated with fact.
Jarrod Kyle was wearing a dark lounge suit, a thick fur-collared overcoat overall, and even with her limited experience of life and material possessions, she could tell his clothes were expensively tailored. Her own fur-collared blue tweed, which she had donned in preference to her dark school duffle coat, looked cheap and inelegant by comparison, and she felt faint stirrings of alarm when she contemplated meeting Jarrod Kyle senior. His son was intimidating enough for both of them. He did not seem particularly pleased about something, she thought, and as she had little to go on she could only assume it had something to do with her.
She sighed, and he glanced her way. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘have you spent any time away from Bridchester?’
Sara frowned thoughtfully. ‘Only on holidays,’ she answered. ‘I’ve been to Blackpool twice, and to London, and once we went to Hastings.’
‘I see. You’ve never been abroad, I gather.’
‘No, I’m afraid not.’ She looked across at him solemnly. ‘I—I suppose you have.’
‘Some,’ he replied non-committally, and Sara realised it had been a stupid, childish question to a man like him. ‘What are your interests, then?’ he was asking now. ‘What do you do when you’re not at school?’
She frowned. ‘Well—I like reading, of course, and records, and occasionally Grandfather used to take me to the theatre in Leeds, or even a cinema.’
‘What is your favourite subject at school?’
‘Do you mean my favourite subject—or the one I’m best at?’ she asked candidly.
He looked half-amused. ‘Is there a difference?’
‘Yes. My favourite subject is English Lit., but I’m best at art.’
‘Art!’ Jarrod sounded surprised. ‘And don’t you like art?’
‘Well, I passed in “O” level, and I quite like messing about, but Miss Finch, our art teacher, is a bit of a—well——’ She was obviously stumped for a suitable word. ‘Anyway, nobody likes her, so I suppose that’s why I’m not keen on art,’ she finished, sighing.
Jarrod swung the car off the main road on to a minor road which led to Malthorpe in the Forest. As the wheel slid expertly through his hands, Sara noticed the length of his fingers. Long and tanned, they looked hard, capable hands, a broad gold signet ring inset with a huge ruby on the little finger of the right.
It was quite dark when they halted at the lodge gates and Jarrod sounded the horn which brought Hedley to the gate. Sara looked at him again and trembled a little.
Jarrod, as though aware of her nervousness, said: ‘Don’t be alarmed. This is routine procedure. My father has a valuable collection of antiques which he wants to protect.’
‘I see.’ Sara bit her lip. Even in the gloom the place had an air of grandeur to which she was not accustomed, and the thought of the interview ahead filled her with trepidation.
The car halted before the front doors which opened as if by magic. ‘That is our butler, Morris,’ murmured Jarrod, rather mockingly, glancing her way. ‘I’m convinced he has installed radar in the kitchen quarters so that he knows when any car is within a certain radius.’
Sara couldn’t prevent the smile that lifted the corners of her mouth. Although Jarrod had said nothing to reassure her, his manner was more relaxed, probably because he’s got me off his hands, she thought uncharitably, and he seemed to be trying to relax her also. As Jarrod slid out, she got out too without waiting for anyone’s assistance, and stood looking awkwardly at the tall, imposing figure of Alister Morris.
‘Good evening, Mr. Jarrod,’ he was saying smoothly. ‘Your father is waiting for you in the lounge.’
‘Thank you, Morris.’ Jarrod mounted the steps easily, and then looked back at Sara standing lost and alone at the foot of the steps. ‘Come on, Sara Robins. Surely you’re not afraid!’ His tone was mocking.
Sara stiffened and climbed the steps too. ‘No, Mr. Kyle, I’m not afraid,’ she said tautly, and he smiled sardonically.
‘Are you not? Then you must indeed be unique. I would have thought these circumstances might represent quite an ordeal to a child like yourself.’
Sara followed Jarrod inside the entrance on to the luxurious blue carpeting of the wide hall. She looked about her in wonder for a moment, and then turned her attention to Jarrod, who was watching her with undisguised sarcasm.
‘My grandfather used to say that only a fool was afraid,’ she said in small clear voice. ‘A coward dies as swiftly as a brave man.’
Jarrod bowed his head in mocking salute to her comments. ‘I think your grandfather had quite a lot to commend him,’ he said. ‘After all, it’s not every man who thinks to endow his granddaughter with the richest guardian available!’
Sara stared at him in shocked surprise. ‘What do you mean by that, Mr. Kyle?’ she exclaimed.
‘My son is a cynic, Sara,’ said a voice from behind her. ‘I heard you arrive, my dear. Welcome to Malthorpe Hall.’
SARA swung round to confront an older edition of Jarrod Kyle. His father had grey hair, of course, and was a little stooped, but otherwise they were very alike, only the deeply carved lines on the older man’s face belying his age. He was smiling warmly, and looked unlike the formidable individual she had conjured up in her imagination.
‘You’re—Mr. Kyle?’ she said awkwardly. ‘The Mr. Kyle who knew my grandfather?’
‘Correct on both points.’ J.K. looked across at the butler. ‘Close the door, Morris, and take Miss Robins’ coat. Come along, my dear. I’m having tea served in the lounge.’ He gave his son a questioning glance. ‘Will you join us, Jarrod?’
Jarrod Kyle was removing his own overcoat with lazy movements, and Sara became aware of a strange quickening of her senses. She couldn’t understand it, certainly she had never felt anything like it before, but there was something about Jarrod Kyle that disturbed her. Obviously, she had never met a man like him before, but it wasn’t only that. Mentally, she shook herself. She was being fanciful, because of the strangeness of her surroundings.
He shook his head now in reply to his father’s question. ‘No, I don’t think so,