Moon Witch

by Anne Mather

  'Not so much of the child, Jarrod,' returned Tracy defensively. 'Sara's having a birthday in eleven days' time. While you're out there in the sun! Her eighteenth!'

  'It that so?' Jarrod frowned. 'I must try and remember.'

  'I shouldn't bother,' murmured Sara, almost in-audibly, but he grinned at her, and she knew he had heard every word.

  They dined soon afterwards, and then Jarrod said: 'I think you ought to have an early night, Sara. We have to be out to the airport for seven in the morning.'

  Tracy frowned at him. 'And are you having an early night, too?'

  Sara thought this was highly unlikely. Very much more likely was the idea that she should retire leaving Tracy and himself alone. However, she was wrong, for Jarrod said:

  'I have to go out and see Matt. He's meeting us at the airport, but there are various things that have to be tied up at the office. However, I'm sure an early night won't do you any harm, Tracy.'

  Tracy now looked a little put out for the first time. 'I'm not a child, Jarrod. Can't I go with you? Surely what you have to do won't take that long? Heavens, my being here in the first place is so ridiculous! Only J.K. would think of something like this. You're almost old enough to be Sara's father, does he honestly imagine you're not to be trusted!'

  Jarrod's expression was hard now. 'He didn't imagine anything, Tracy. Your presence here was my idea. I don't want Sara's reputation jeopardised because she has to spend a night in my apartment.'

  Tracy grimaced. 'Why should it be? Are you afraid you might make violent passionate love to her if I'm not here to restrain you?' She laughed harshly, and Sara felt something inside her curl up and die. Tracy wasn't so different from Lauren after all, only her approach was different!

  'I--I would like to go to bed,' she said awkwardly.

  Jarrod rose from his place at the table. 'All right. I'll take you.'

  'I thought--I mean--Hastings said----' Sara's

  voice trailed away.

  'Come along,' said Jarrod firmly, taking her arm. Tracy lit another cigarette, regarding them both moodily, and Sara sighed. Oh, I wish this holiday was over, she thought longingly.

  Her room was large, not so large as her room at Malthorpe, but equally luxurious, with a white carpet, white walls, and hangings and bedcovers of green and blue. The adjoining bathroom was also green-tiled and marble-floored, with a bath large enough for three people.

  'I have no servants here, to speak of,' remarked Jarrod dryly. 'Hastings attends to all my needs, so I'm afraid you'll have to run your own bath and lay out your own clothes.'

  'I--I can manage,' said Sara, nodding uncomfortably.

  'For heaven's sake,' he exclaimed, 'stop acting so nervously. I'm quite harmless, really.'

  Sara stiffened her shoulders. 'I never imagined you were anything else,' she denied, and turned her back on him.

  'No, but your opinion of me hasn't improved with age. Why? What have I done, apart from having a few altercations with you?'

  'Nothing--nothing.' Sara hunched her shoulders. 'Now I'd like to go to bed.'

  'Would you? Very well, go to bed. I shall be back

  later. Tracy will still be here if you need anything.'

  Sara glanced round, unable to resist saying: 'Will she be waiting up for you?'

  His eyes narrowed. 'Just what do you mean by that?'

  Sara flushed. 'Nothing.'

  'Not much! Heavens, what do you imagine we do--sleep together?' He gave a short mirthless laugh. 'Contrary to your beliefs, I do sleep alone sometimes!'

  Sara allowed her eyes to rest on him for an insolent moment. 'How very unenterprising of you!' she remarked, and without waiting for his angry retaliation, she disappeared inside the bathroom, locking the door with an unusual sense of satisfaction. Nevertheless, it was some time before she ventured out again, only to find he had gone, the door closed quietly behind him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE journey to Jamaica was not the ordeal Sara had expected it to be. To begin with John Matthews, Matt, was one of the nicest men she had ever met, and he provided a buffer between herself and Jarrod. Not that one was really needed. From the moment the plane left Heathrow Jarrod seemed absorbed in his own affairs, studying a file of papers he had brought with him, and only occasionally discussing different aspects of it with Matt. They spent Saturday night in New York, Matt providing Sara with an evening meal while Jarrod took himself off to the New York Hilton to meet Charles Jefferson, a business colleague. After dinner, Matt took Sara for a taxi ride through the fastest living city in the world, but she was unimpressed by the claustrophobic height of the buildings, and the hustle and bustle on the streets below. Sunday morning Matt took her to Central Park, and then after a hasty lunch they boarded yet another plane which landed at the International Airport at Montego Bay at seven-thirty in the evening.

  Even so, it was Sara's first taste of real luxury travelling. She had never known such deference from servants, stewardesses, hoteliers; a deference which Jarrod accepted with casual indifference, and which even Matt didn't seem to find at all surprising. Nevertheless, Sara appreciated the quality of her seat on each of the planes, snuggled down in the softness of her bed at the hotel in New York, and luxuriated in the depth of the baths that were run for her.

  As it was dark when they arrived, she had no sense of her surroundings, and Matt said consolingly: 'The view from the terrace of Flamingo Lodge is almost an aerial one of the coastline below, and tomorrow morning you'll see for yourself what I mean.'

  The International Airport was like all international airports, air-conditioned and impersonal, and it wasn't until they emerged from the airport buildings on to the tarmac that Sara realised just how far from London they had come. The velvet warmth of the night air was sweet-scented and buzzing with sounds and vibrations, entirely alien to her. To her surprise, they had not collected their luggage, and she caught Matt's arm, and said: 'Where are we going now?'

  Jarrod glanced round with a lazy expression. 'We haven't finished with aeroplanes yet, Sara. Now we take the flight to Kingston. Only this time it's a little different.'

  Sara frowned, and Matt grinned. 'He means it's not a scheduled trip,' he elucidated. 'This time we have no professional pilot.'

  'Whatever do you mean?' Sara felt her stomach churning. So far she had not been air-sick, but her nerves were causing butterflies to disturb her stomach now.

  Jarrod looked a little bored. 'He means, Sara, that it's my plane. I'm the pilot!'

  'What!' Sara looked horrified, and Jarrod sighed heavily.

  'Oh hell, what did you have to tell her for?' he asked Matt with some annoyance. 'We'd have boarded the plane, and she wouldn't have known until we were airborne. As it is she'll probably panic herself into something nauseating!'

  Sara stiffened angrily. 'Don't you dare speak to me like that,' she exclaimed. 'I'm perfectly all right, and I intend to stay that way, whoever is handling the aircraft!'

  'Good girl!' said Matt, laughing. 'Take no notice of Jarrod. He's only kidding!'

  Sara doubted this, and her nerves were further increased by the discovery that the plane they were to use, Jarrod's plane, was a small jet, powerful and fast, and nothing like the twin-engined craft she had schooled herself to expect.

  She was helped inside, to discover that the interior resembled a small lounge, comfortably furnished with armchairs and tables, a cocktail cabinet occupying one corner, and a bookcase the other. There was even a small film projector, which Matt explained was merely an added luxury and seldom used. Jarrod's compartment, at the front of the plane, was twin-seated, and she wondered what it would be like to fly beside him. However, she was strapped into one of the armchairs, while Matt occupied another, and Jarrod shed his jacket, and seated himself behind the controls. He was cleared for take-off, and with only the faintest sensations of speed the plane left the ground as smoothly as the huge liner had done. Matt released his strap and helped Sara to release hers, and then went to prepare some drinks
. During their speedy passage through Customs, and afterwards, their cases had been installed aboard the plane, and Sara thought this was yet another example of the things Jarrod, and his contemporaries, took for granted. She was tremendously thrilled, and her butterflies disappeared with a welcoming sense of wellbeing that flooded through her being. After all, here she was, flying across one of the most beautiful areas in the world, in company with two attractive men, with the prospect of two weeks' holiday before her, with absolutely nothing to do but take it easy and recover her health and spirits. In such surroundings, she could not go on feeling depressed. J.K. had been right as usual, the trip was going to do her good.

  She accepted a mixed fruit drink from Matt, and then accompanied him when he took Jarrod a tall glass of whisky and soda to the front compartment.

  Jarrod glanced round and saw her, as he lit a cigar, and said: 'How do you feel now? Queasy?'

  'Of course not,' she said, allowing a smile to play around her lips. 'Actually, I'm beginning to feel much better. Mentally, at least.'

  Jarrod raised his dark eyebrows, and then looked at Matt. 'It must be your company, friend,' he said lazily, 'mine has never achieved that effect.'

  Sara flushed, and as though repenting, he said: 'Come on, kid, come and sit down here, and take a look at the control panel. It's a pity it's not daylight, but still, I'll take you up another day. See, this is the altimeter, and the fuel gauge, and that's the radar system.'

  Sara was fascinated. She was not particularly mechanically minded, but Jarrod explained everything so carefully that she found herself interested in spite of herself. It seemed fantastic to imagine they were flying thousands of feet up in the atmosphere, talking casually like this as though discussing the state of the weather. Jarrod went on to tell her about hurricanes, and tornadoes, and to her astonishment she found herself completely fascinated, her eyes watching his long slender hands as he elaborated some facet of his story. She had never known he was so conversant with things outside the concrete world of his office building, and she felt ashamed that she had ever attempted to find the man behind the computer. That he had an intelligent brain she had never been in any doubt, his prowess in the business world had proved that, but this was an entirely different angle on his character. Maybe J.K. had been right again, maybe Jarrod was a better person away from his influence. At any rate, the half-hour journey was over in a flash, and soon the brilliant collection of lights below them heralded their arrival at Palisadoes, the airport which served the southern part of Jamaica and Kingston. Sara thought she had never seen a sky of that particular shade of deep blue, a kind of purplish quality, that shimmered like rich cloth set with jewels.

  The landing was accomplished smoothly, and she realised afresh what a complex person Jarrod was. His handling of the plane had proved he was no amateur and yet he seemed unaffected and unassuming of his skill. It brought excited awareness of him bubbling to the surface of her being, and with it the knowledge that prolonged periods in his company could be more intoxicating than alcohol. A frightening thought to a girl without any experience of handling a man like that.

  Palisadoes was some distance from Kingston, but when Custom formalities were over Sara found a huge Negro manservant awaiting them with a low-slung cream limousine that she suspected was a Cadillac. He took charge of the luggage helped by one of the airport porters, and gave Jarrod a welcoming grin that conveyed very clearly how glad he was to see him again.

  'This is Aristotle,' remarked Jarrod, flinging his overcoat over one shoulder, and running a lazy hand through his hair. 'He's chauffeur-cum-handy-man-cum-bodyguard to my mother.'

  Sara glanced at him. 'Surely your mother doesn't need a bodyguard!' she exclaimed in alarm.

  Matt grinned now. 'Take no notice of him, Sara,' he said, 'Aristotle has many duties, but bodyguarding is not one of them.'

  'No, but he could be,' returned Jarrod easily, and Sara relaxed. She was unused to this new lazy side of Jarrod Kyle.

  They left the airport behind them swiftly, and Sara glanced back out of the rear window, seeing the lights disappearing into the darkness. Matt sat beside her in the back, while Jarrod himself drove with Aristotle beside him. Their conversation was about the weather, the swimming, the fishing and the golf, and as far as Sara could gather Aristotle accompanied Jarrod almost everywhere while he was in Jamaica.

  They were climbing now, away from the coastline which could faintly be discerned on the horizon, and Sara felt a surge of excitement enveloping her. This was a whole new world, a world she had not even known existed, and she felt determined to gain as much from it as she possibly could. This was no time for self-analysis and recriminations, she must live each day as it came, and enjoy it to the best of her ability.

  The scents of the air were all new to her, and in the glow of the headlights the creamy petals of magnolia could be seen growing in wild profusion.

  Matt glanced at Sara, sensing her animation. 'Excited?' he asked indulgently.

  Sara smiled. 'Oh yes. I wasn't--when we left London--but now I am.'

  Jarrod glanced round, but she could not see his expression in the gloom. 'It's like I said, Matt, you've worked the miracle.'

  Sara was glad he could not see the hot colour run up her cheeks. 'No,' she said, unable to prevent the words. 'It's not only Matt!'

  'Well, thanks!' said Matt in mock derision.

  'No, really, you know what I mean, it's the feel of the place. Can't you feel it?' she appealed to them. 'I mean, it's all so--so--different!'

  'The pull of the islands,' remarked Jarrod, a trifle sardonically.

  'Well, yes.'

  'And all that goes with it, I suppose. Witchcraft, voodoo, black magic I'

  'Don't be so sarcastic! You must know what I mean.'

  'Okay,' he said lazily. 'Yes, I guess I do. It used to effect me that way, too. Say, Aristo, do we have some equipment for Sara to go skin-diving?'

  Sara shivered. 'Skin-diving!' she exclaimed breathlessly.

  'Sure. You'd like to do that, wouldn't you?'

  'Oh yes, but--well, I don't know how!'

  'Mr. Jarrod, he'll show you fine,' said Aristotle complacently. 'There's a cove, Devil's Point, you like that fine!'

  Jarrod grinned, his white teeth visible in the gloom. 'Sure, she'll like it fine, Aristo,' he agreed, and Sara thought she would, too.

  Flamingo Lodge was approached up a steep incline. The wrought iron gates stood wide, much different, Sara thought, from the almost hermit-like seclusion of Malthorpe Hall. A drive twisted among giant ceiba trees and cedars, ferns and flowers giving the grounds an almost jungle-like density. Then the floodlit front terrace of the lodge was visible, and Sara caught her breath at the beauty of its vine-hung verandas and balconies, all flowering colour and tracery. Shrubs spilled over the veranda -steps, jasmine and jacaranda, hibiscus and frangipani, in brilliant shades that caught the light and threw it back in delicate prisms of colour. The perfumes of the night air were intensified, and mingled with them was the faintest trace of the salty tang of the sea, and a breeze lifted Sara's hair with blessed coolness. Her slack suit was not the most suitable attire for a summer evening in the semi-tropical climate of Kingston, but New York had been cold and damp and she had not thought to change on the plane.

  The Cadillac halted, and Jarrod slid out, holding forward the front seat and giving his hand to Sara to help her to alight. Immediately at his touch she was aware of him, and she drew her hand swiftly away, willing her irresponsible senses to remain

  dormant.

  A woman was coming down the veranda steps to greet them, a tall woman, with curly fair hair that framed her youthful face. She was obviously Jarrod's mother; it wasn't so much her looks, but the way she moved, and the slightly arrogant way she held her head. She looked at her son with warm, welcoming eyes, and although she didn't immediately fling her arms around him and make an enormous fuss of him, it was obvious that they understood one another, and each other's feelings.

&n
bsp; 'Hello, Helen,' said Jarrod, kissing her cheek. 'How have you been?'

  'Oh, I'm perfectly well,' she said, smiling at him. 'How's J.K.?'

  Sara thought it was significant that her first question should be about her husband. It proved Helen was not as indifferent to him as J.K. would have her believe.

  Jarrod reassured her about J.K.'s health, adding that his heart was playing him up ever so slightly, and then drawing Sara forward, he said: 'This is Sara. I guess you know all about her.'

  Helen Kyle studied Sara for a moment, and then said: 'Yes, I suppose I do. You're J.K.'s latest acquisition, I hear--or perhaps I ought to say Jarrod's.' She glanced at her son wryly, and Sara didn't know how to reply. However, Helen continued: 'I'm very pleased to have you here, Sara. You're more than welcome. If it means having my son back with me for two more weeks, I could love you for it!' She took Sara's hand warmly. 'Did you have a good journey?'

  Sara relaxed a little. 'Marvellous, thank you.

  Particularly the final stage.' She looked defiantly at Jarrod. 'I didn't know--Mr. Kyle--could pilot a plane, much less a jet!'

  Helen frowned, and then gave Matt a brief greet-ting. 'You surely don't call Jarrod Mr. Kyle, do you?' she exclaimed. 'Heavens, I'm sure you call J.K. by that abbreviation, don't you?'

  'Well, yes, I do,' admitted Sara, feeling tense again.

  Jarrod mounted the steps to the veranda where a coloured maidservant was standing waiting. Handing his coat to the girl, he said: 'Come on in, for heaven's sake, Helen. I'm sure Sara's name for me is not important. At least to me, it's not. Now, I need a drink. Tell me, Sophie, have you mixed the Martinis as I like them?'

  He disappeared inside, followed by Matt, and Helen said: 'Forgive me for catechising you like this. It's just that I feel so out of touch here, and I'd hate to feel that there were circumstances attached to this affair that I didn't understand.'

  'What do you mean, Mrs. Kyle?' Sara's voice was taut.

  Helen shook her head. 'As I understand it Jarrod is your guardian, is that right?' Sara nodded her assent, and Helen went on: 'But J.K. has taken it upon himself to take Jarrod's place. Why?'