Moon Witch. Anne Mather

‘Your father is quite well, Mr. Jarrod. He is waiting for you in the library. Will you be wanting any supper, sir?’

      Jarrod mounted the steps followed closely by Matt, carrying his briefcase and overcoat. ‘No, thanks, not tonight. See you later, Matt.’

      Matt nodded and turned to follow Morris up the stairs to the first landing. Jarrod crossed the wide hall, and entered a room on the far side. The hall was lit by an exquisite crystal chandelier and Jarrod heard the prisms tinkling slightly in the sudden draught from the front door. The hall was carpeted in dark blue and gold, the balustrade of the staircase echoing the gold in filigree work overlaying the mellowed panelling which Jarrod’s father had retained. The library which he entered was carpeted in dark green, its walls lined with hundreds of hidebound books that Jarrod was sure his father had never even opened. J.K. was not a scholarly man, his success had been due to his hard work and personality, and he was not content to sit back and let someone else handle all the action. Unfortunately, a severe heart attack eight years ago had convinced him that to carry on living at the rate he was doing would kill him inside a year, so he had handed over the chairmanship of the Kyle companies to his son Jarrod, with the intention of retaining an active role in its administration. However, he had acted without thought to Jarrod’s own part in the proceedings, and found that his son could be as obstinate as he was. Thus, Jarrod took complete control of the business, only consulting his father rarely, much to J.K.’s chagrin. Now, though, he found he admired his son immensely, and what he had done was no less than he would have done in his place.

      Tonight J.K. was sitting beside a roaring fire, smoking a cigar and drinking some superlative cognac from a balloon glass as his son entered. Although the whole house was centrally heated, J.K. insisted that he retained the fire in the library. He looked up as Jarrod entered, and smiled warmly.

      ‘Well, hello, Jarrod,’ he said, nodding to the chair opposite him. ‘Come and sit down! Is it freezing outside?’

      ‘Not according to Matt,’ remarked Jarrod, pouring himself some brandy and taking the seat his father indicated. ‘But it’s bloody cold!’

      J.K. laughed. ‘You’ve grown soft, out there in the Caribbean. Don’t know how you stand the heat myself. Give me a crisp autumn day and a good fire, and I’m content.’

      ‘You’re getting old, J.K.,’ said Jarrod deliberately, and laughed when his father looked annoyed. ‘Say, but let’s not waste time on trivialities; what’s all this about some kid I’m guardian to?’

      J.K. drew on his cigar, nodding. ‘Yes, Sara Robins. Old Jeff’s granddaughter!’

      ‘But this is crazy, isn’t it?’ Jarrod looked impatient, running a hand through the silvery hair which grew low on the back of his neck. ‘Hell, how did he come to make you his granddaughter’s guardian?’

      ‘Not me, you!’ said J.K. with some satisfaction. ‘You, Jarrod! The chairman of Kyle Textiles!’

      ‘That’s only a formality,’ muttered Jarrod, chewing his cigar. ‘You know damn fine it was you, and not me, he was talking about. Anyway, you still haven’t explained.’

      J.K. shrugged his broad shoulders. He was like his son; he had the same thick hair, but his was iron grey, and his features were more deeply carved. Also, his eyes were grey; Jarrod got his unusual eyes from his mother. ‘When I was a young man, Jeff and I were good friends. I guess when his daughter and son-in-law both died he felt disturbed for the child’s welfare. After all, his own wife died during the war, he must have felt the girl was completely alone.’

      ‘But why pick on you? For the money?’

      J.K.’s lips curled. ‘If you had known Jeff Robins you wouldn’t say a thing like that. He was the most honest, upstanding man I know. If he had wanted money he could have had it. I offered him plenty of chances one way and another. No, Jarrod, it must just have been a kind of hopeful desperation, I guess. I don’t think he knew about his heart condition, or if he did, he didn’t broadcast it. I guess he hoped to be around till Sara was old enough to find herself a man and get married.’ He sighed. ‘But it wasn’t to be!’

      ‘And the child, have you seen her? Since her grandfather died, I mean.’

      ‘I’ve never seen her,’ said his father, lying back in his chair reflectively. ‘I suppose I ought to have gone over to Bridchester this past week, but I thought I’d wait——’

      ‘And let me do it,’ said Jarrod dryly. ‘Clever!’

      His father grinned. ‘Well, Jarrod, you did insist on taking over every part of my duties. How was I to know you wouldn’t object to me interfering?’

      ‘Crafty devil!’ muttered Jarrod, walking across to help himself to another drink. ‘Okay, okay, what are we doing about it?’ He leant against a table, looking at his father. ‘Seriously!’

      His father frowned. ‘Well, I guess it would be an easy matter to contest the will. After all, it wouldn’t be difficult to prove that it was I, and not you, who ought to be the—how shall I put it?—trustee! And as I’m now retired, I imagine that would absolve our responsibilities legally.’ He rocked the liquid in his glass. ‘Besides, the will was made without our consent, and I suppose that means something.’

      Jarrod heaved a sigh. ‘What a situation! What will happen to the kid if we do—absolve ourselves?’

      ‘I suppose she’ll be put into a foster home, or something. Unless we provide funds to keep her until she’s capable of keeping herself.’

      ‘Where is she now?’

      ‘Staying with a neighbour, but as this neighbour has seven children of her own she’s made it plain, to the solicitors at least, that it can’t be a lasting arrangement.’

      ‘Poor kid!’ Jarrod swallowed the remainder of his brandy. ‘Well, I suppose you expect me to go see her.’

      ‘One of us has to,’ said his father, leaning forward. ‘After all, it’s only the decent thing to do.’

      ‘And then what?’ Jarrod stood down his glass, and loosened the top button of his shirt. ‘That’s better,’ he sighed. ‘I guess the best thing is to provide for her, isn’t it?’

      His father shrugged. ‘I have a fancy to see Jeff’s granddaughter, Jarrod. Bring her here, to see me.’

      Jarrod raised his dark eyebrows. ‘Are you serious?’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Well, I mean, you’re going to bring a kid here, to see—well—all this, and then put her back in her place! Don’t you think it’s likely to make her discontented?’

      ‘Not if she’s Jeff’s granddaughter,’ replied J.K. firmly. ‘He’ll have seen she has both feet on the ground.’

      ‘Anyway, how old is she?’ Jarrod frowned. ‘You never did get round to that.’

      J.K. shrugged. ‘I’m not exactly sure. Fifteen or so, I think.’

      ‘Fifteen!’ Jarrod glared at him. ‘Fifteen. Don’t you realise that girls of fifteen are practically grown up!’

      His father narrowed his eyes. ‘How do you know that, Jarrod? Or are your tastes in women changing?’

      Jarrod threw the end of his cigar on the fire. ‘If anyone else had said that to me …’ he said harshly.

      ‘I know, I know.’ His father rose to his feet. ‘Nevertheless, you have known plenty of women, and maybe you’re right. Maybe she’s not a child after all. If this is the case, it would make our job easier. Unless …’ J.K. looked thoughtful. ‘I always wanted a daughter, Jarrod,’ he said reflectively. ‘Oh, I know I wanted a son—but afterwards——’ He sighed.

      Jarrod walked to the door, stretching. ‘Oh, brother,’ he said with some sarcasm. ‘The brandy must be making you maudlin. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.