Читать книгу Moon Witch - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

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, J.K. You have your afternoon tea. I need something a little stronger.’

His father’s lips tightened and he turned away. Then he looked back. ‘Lauren rang this afternoon,’ he remarked casually. ‘She wants you to ring her.’

‘Does she?’ Jarrod was lighting a cigar. ‘And what did you tell her?’

His father smiled. ‘I told her—you’d been—busy!’ His tone was mocking, and Sara was aware of the antagonism between them like a tangible thing in the air.

Jarrod turned to the stairs, taking them two at a time without replying, and his father gave a satisfied little chuckle before taking Sara’s arm to lead her into the long, high-ceilinged lounge.

Sara’s attention was taken by the magnificent décor. The carpet, cream and thick-piled, was the background for deep red and black chairs and the dark polished wood of a corner cocktail bar. There was an enormous television set combined with a radiogram, while concealed lighting above the high coving drew attention to the extravagantly carved ceiling. It was like something out of a film set, and she gasped.

‘Do you like it?’ asked J.K., looking pleased.

‘I—I think it’s marvellous, Mr. Kyle,’ she exclaimed. ‘I—I didn’t know places like this existed in Yorkshire!’

He laughed. ‘Oh, Sara, what a refreshingly youthful remark! And you must call me J.K. Everyone does. It at least distinguishes me from my son.’

Sara did not know how to answer, so she merely smiled, and J.K. rang the bell to summon the maid. ‘Sit down, Sara,’ he said, nodding to a low couch. ‘I want to hear all about you—and your grandfather.’

She subsided on to the couch as he indicated, smoothing the skirt of her dark blue pinafore dress. She wondered what the servants would make of her. She was hardly the usual kind of visitor to Malthorpe Hall. It was so beautifully warm, too, and she thought there would be no need to wear warm clothes in these surroundings.

A neatly uniformed maid brought a tray of tea and placed it on a low table near Sara, and after she had gone, J.K. seated himself opposite her, and said: ‘Can you handle a teapot?’

The cups were small and wafer thin, but Sara managed to accomplish the feat of handling the silver teapot without accident, adding cream and sugar to J.K.’s at his instigation, and only cream to her own. There were sandwiches of ham and salmon, and small scones oozing with jam and fresh cream, but she ate very little, her throat still rather constricted with nerves.

J.K. glanced at a gold cigarette box afterwards, and said: ‘Did your grandfather allow you to smoke?’

Sara smiled, shaking her head, ‘No, not that I was particularly interested—Mr.—I mean J.K.!’ She flushed.

‘Very good, too. It’s a filthy habit in women. But still, it does give one something to do at interviews and suchlike. Anyway, Sara, come on: tell me about yourself. Your school, your plans, what you and old Jeff used to do together.’

He was very easy to talk to, much less frightening than his son, and Sara soon found her nervousness dispersing in the warmth of his interest. She told him about everything, even the Masons, describing her life with such attention to detail that J.K. became really intrigued, to the extent that he forgot the passage of time, and it was only when Morris knocked and entered, interrupting them, that he glanced at his watch.

‘Will the young lady be staying for dinner, sir?’ Morris asked politely.

‘Well, as it’s already almost seven o’clock, I think that would be the most sensible course,’ said J.K., nodding across at Sara. ‘Don’t you agree?’

‘Oh, but—I mean, I’m not dressed for—dinner,’ stammered Sara awkwardly, recalling Jarrod Kyle’s presence with some misgivings.

J.K. gave a deprecatory gesture. ‘That’s of no importance, my dear. I shan’t be changing now, and I don’t suppose Jarrod is still at home. Eh, Morris?’

‘Mr. Jarrod left half an hour ago,’ said Morris evenly. ‘He told me to tell you he might be late.’

J.K. smiled sardonically. ‘Did he? How thoughtful of him! All right, Morris. Dinner for two.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Morris withdrew, and J.K. rose to his feet and crossed to the cocktail bar.

‘What will you have to drink?’ he asked. ‘You must have something. Something innocuous, of course.’

Sara swallowed hard. ‘Wh—what do you suggest?’

‘Oh, I don’t know—how about a small sherry?’

‘Yes. That would be fine.’ She relaxed against the red upholstery, thinking with relief that Jarrod would not present his disturbing presence at dinner. Then she frowned. If Jarrod had left, how was she going to get home? ‘Mr.—J.K.?’

He glanced round. ‘Yes?’

‘If—if your son has left—how will I get home? I mean—is there a bus service, or something?’

J.K. shook his head. ‘Naturally Potter will take you in the car.’

‘Potter?’

‘My chauffeur. Now, there you are. I think you’ll find that to your liking.”

Sara sipped the sherry pensively, wondering where Jarrod Kyle had gone.. Obviously he would have plenty of friends and acquaintances in the district. She wondered if he was married. And where was J.K.’s wife?

‘Is your wife——?’ She halted abruptly. It was none of her business after all. Turning red, she hoped he had not noticed her words. But of course he had, and he said:

‘Go on! What were you going to ask? I think you’re entitled to ask a few questions yourself. I’ve done most of the questioning so far. Don’t be nervous!’

‘Well, I was just going to ask where your wife was,’ said Sara.

J.K. nodded. ‘My wife is in Jamaica,’ he said easily. ‘She lives there.’

‘Oh!’ Sara’s mouth belied her astonishment.

He smiled, swallowing some of the Martini in his glass. ‘Do you think that is an unconventional relationship? Don’t be afraid to say.’

Sara shrugged. ‘Well, do you live here?’

‘Most of the time,’ he nodded.

‘Then yes, I do think it’s unconventional. Are you divorced?’

‘No. Just separated, through choice. Helen is not like me; she likes the social life. She also likes a warm climate. Several years ago she developed a mild congestion of the lungs. She was advised not to winter in England, so’—he shrugged—‘she moved to Jamaica.’

‘And you?’

‘Well, for a while—in fact for many years—we had discovered we had nothing in common. Our lives were quite separate. It was a natural course of events that she should eventually leave.’

‘How awful!’ Sara sighed. ‘I am sorry.’

‘Why be sorry? Helen is happy, and so am I. We’re not enemies. We’ve been quite civilised about it since Jarrod was about—oh, seven or eight years old.’ He poured himself another Martini. ‘Helen came from a wealthy Yorkshire family. I think she fell in love with me, although I’m not certain of that. At any rate she was sufficiently interested to marry me, and in so doing provide me with the necessary funds to expand my business.’

Sara’s eyes were wide. ‘You mean—you married her for her money!’

J.K. lifted his shoulders. ‘How cold and calculating you make that sound, Sara. How capable young people are of exposing life to the cold light of day! I would say we married out of a mutual need, at that time. I’ve repaid Helen every penny of the money she loaned me. I don’t consider my actions so despicable.’ He sighed, as he watched the revealing expressions crossing her face. ‘I suppose you do.’

Sara bit her lip. ‘Oh, really—J.K.—it’s nothing to do with me. I mean—I don’t know all the facts or anything. I’m not your judge.’

‘No, perhaps not. But you make me see myself as others might see me.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘How Jarrod would have enjoyed hearing you bare the basic facts of life! I think sometimes he can be a little cruel himself.’

Remembering Jarrod’s mocking, meaningful words in the hall of Malthorpe, Sara thought that was entirely likely.

The evening passed so quickly that Sara could hardly believe it when J.K. told her it was time she was going home. She felt a sense of regret that it should be over so swiftly, but was surprised when J.K. said:

‘Will you come again on Thursday? I can’t invite you tomorow. Jarrod is entertaining some chaps from the Ministry, and it would all be incredibly boring, anyway.’

Sara slid her arms into her coat. ‘Well, yes—I can, if you want me to,’ she said a little breathlessly.

J.K. nodded. ‘Good, good! I’ll look forward to that. Goodnight, Sara.’

‘Goodnight, J.K.,’ she answered him, and followed Morris out to the chauffeur-driven Rolls that waited at the foot of the steps.

Mrs. Mason was very curious about what had happened when Sara returned to their house in Mead Road. ‘What’s going to happen to you?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to live with this Mr. Kyle and his wife?’

Sara sought about awkwardly for words to say. She knew Mrs. Mason of old, and everything she said to her would be spread around the small town of Bridchester within a few days. ‘Nothing has been decided yet, Mrs. Mason,’ she replied honestly. ‘I—I had dinner with the older Mr. Kyle, the one Grandfather used to know. The man who came here—was his son.’

‘I see.’ Mrs. Mason frowned. ‘Did you tell him you couldn’t go on staying here?’

‘I don’t think we discussed that at all, Mrs. Mason.’

‘You didn’t? Well, what did you discuss then?’

‘Oh, mostly about—Grandfather,’ replied Sara, wishing this catechism was over. She ought to have thought about this coming home in the car, and prepared her answers accordingly. ‘Do you mind if I go to bed now?’

Mrs. Mason shrugged. ‘I suppose so. When will you know what’s going on?’

‘I’m having dinner with Mr. Kyle again on Thursday evening,’ said Sara. ‘I—I might have made some plans by then.’

‘What sort of plans?’

Sara gave her a desperate look. ‘I don’t really know. Honestly, Mrs. Mason, I haven’t seemed able to make any plans yet. It’s been so—so sudden. But I will. I thought of going to see the Matron at the hospital to see if she would take me on as a probationer.’

Mrs. Mason frowned. ‘Did you now? Well, our Lily tried that, but she didn’t like it.’

Sara could have said that ‘their Lily’, who was eighteen, didn’t like anything that remotely resembled work, but she held her tongue and merely went upstairs to get washed, thus ending the conversation.

On Thursday afternoon, Potter arrived in the Rolls to take her out to Malthorpe Hall, and Mrs. Mason, who had remained silent during the last couple of days, now said, rather spitefully:

‘I suppose you’ll be thinking you’re too good for the likes of us soon, Miss Robins,’ as Sara left the house.

Sara stared at her in astonishment. ‘Why should I think that, Mrs. Mason?’ she asked in surprise.

Mrs. Mason seemed to regret her impulsive tongue. ‘Oh, nothing, nothing. Go along with you. And don’t be late.’

In the back of the Rolls, Sara felt rather lost and alone. Even the prospect of dinner at Malthorpe Hall did little to assuage her depression. She seemed now to be a representative of neither walks of life. Ostracised and sneered at by Mrs. Mason and her cronies, and tolerated by a man who had once known her grandfather rather well, but who had now passed out of their sphere.

The drive gates were opened at their arrival, and the car sped up the drive to halt at the main entrance. Potter had not spoken on the journey. He had kept the glass partition between the two compartments firmly closed and Sara had not had the heart to attempt any kind of conversation. Besides, he was probably not accustomed to talking with his passengers. They most likely had plenty of other things with which to occupy them. Unlike Sara, who would have been glad of anything to lighten her mood.

She climbed the steps as Morris opened the door, allowing the warm comfortable glow of the lights to illuminate the forecourt. She was ushered inside, and Morris said: ‘Good evening, miss. Is it cold out?’

Sara relaxed a little, taking off her coat. ‘Yes, it is,’ she said quickly. ‘I think it’s going to snow. The roads are very icy.’

Morris smiled in a friendly way, and then J.K. came out of a door to the left of the hall. ‘Ah, Sara,’ he exclaimed, ‘you’ve arrived! Good! Come in here and get warm. Morris, we’ll have some tea.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Morris nodded, and Sara followed J.K. into a room which was lined with books. Another man was sitting by a roaring fire, but he rose to his feet at her entrance, and Sara recognised him as the solicitor who had advised her of the circumstances of her grandfather’s will, Mr. Grant.

‘Hello, Sara,’ he said, smiling encouragingly. ‘You look very nice. How are you?’

‘Oh, I’m fine, thank you.’ Sara looked questioningly at J.K. ‘Am I intruding?’

J.K. closed the door. ‘Not at all. It’s because of you that Joe’s here; Mr. Grant, that is. We’ve been considering ways and means for you, Sara. I knew when we were talking together the other evening that we had a lot in common, or at least, a common sense of humour!’ He chuckled. ‘At any rate, I liked you, Sara, and I needed time to think, to work things out. Well, I’ve come to a decision, and if you’re agreeable, there’s no possible reason why it shouldn’t work out.’

Sara was trembling a little, even in the heat of the roaring fire, and she sank down weakly on to a low chair. ‘What are you talking about, J.K.?’ she asked.

‘You—and your future,’ replied J.K. ‘Look, have you made any plans yet?’

Sara ran her tongue over her lips. ‘Well, I rang the Matron at Bridchester General Hospital yesterday, and I’ve made an appointment to see her later this week. I hoped she’d be able to take me on, as a probationer.’

‘I see,’ J.K. frowned. ‘Is that what you want to do?’

Sara flushed. ‘Well, I’ve always been interested in nursing,’ she replied defensively.

‘And if your grandfather had been alive? What would you have done then?’

‘I expect I should have stayed on at school for another year and taken my “A” levels,’ she answered, sighing.

‘Hmn. But now, honestly, Sara, if you had a choice, to do anything you wanted to do, what would it be?’

Sara studied her fingers. ‘Oh, so many things,’ she said, a little unsteadily. ‘I mean—I love English and reading, and I enjoy art immensely. I’d like to travel—and to paint!’ She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘So many things!’

J.K. looked pleased, and glanced rather triumphantly at Joe Grant. ‘As I thought,’ he said, nodding. ‘You’re a sensible young woman. Well, Sara,’ he paused with pleasurable anticipation, ‘if you’re agreeable, you can come and live with me—here at Malthorpe, for a year. I say, for a year, because nowadays teenagers know their own minds at eighteen, and I don’t want you to feel—how shall I put it?—obliged to me, in any way. I’m doing this because I want to, just as much as for your sake!’

‘Oh, but——’ she began hastily.

‘No buts.’ J.K. compressed his lips firmly for a moment. ‘Just listen, Sara. Whatever you decide to do with your life can wait for a year. During that year you could do whatever you wanted to, be yourself, not some confined schoolgirl with a limited range of interests. You could travel. I go to the States quite frequently, Jarrod was practically educated there, and sometimes I think he’s more American than English; then I go to Europe—I could even give you a sort of artistic grand tour, if you’d like that.’

Sara turned to Mr. Grant. ‘Oh, please,’ she said, ‘I can’t accept this. I know my grandfather put that clause in the will, but he must have been crazy to do so. J.K. isn’t even the chairman now, anyway. His son is. Surely he should have some say in the matter!’

‘Jarrod will be consulted, of course,’ said J.K. irritably. He did not like to be thwarted, or argued with.

‘How thoughtful of you, J.K.!’ The sardonic voice brought them all to their feet, facing Jarrod Kyle, who had entered silently, and was standing leaning against the door, looking cold and arrogant. He straightened, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his trousers, and allowing his penetrating blue gaze to rest momentarily on each of them. ‘It’s good of you to consider my feelings, J.K. Extraordinarily good of you!’ The sarcasm was very evident. ‘The point you all seem to be missing is that by accepting any part of this will, one automatically accepts all of it.’ He allowed this to have effect before continuing: ‘In other words, Miss Robins has a meal ticket for life, and there’s nothing any of you can do about it.’

‘That’s terrible!’ exclaimed Sara, staring at him.

‘Yes, terrible,’ said J.K. angrily. ‘You’re talking arrant nonsense, Jarrod. At the most we are responsible for Sara until she is eighteen. After that, even should she want to, which I for one don’t believe, she couldn’t make any claims against us!’

‘Oh no?’ Jarrod gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Do you honestly imagine you could get away with—well, refusing to support someone who on your own admission had been supported by you for the last year? My God, J.K.! There are times when I think you’ve reached your dotage. What’s happened to that cold business brain you always used to pride yourself on possessing?’

‘Obviously I’ve passed it on to you to add to the one you already had!’ exclaimed J.K. furiously. ‘How dare you stand there abusing a visitor in your house!’

‘Abusing!’ Jarrod gave a short laugh. ‘Abusing!’ He shook his head. ‘I haven’t abused anyone. I’m merely stating the facts as I see them. Unlike you, my vision is not clouded by emotion!’

Sara was shaking visibly now. She had never before been a party to such suppressed violence as Jarrod Kyle was displaying. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please, don’t say any more, any of you! I—I don’t want to hear it! I’m sorry—I’m sorry!’

She brushed past Jarrod and jerked open the library door, rushing out into the hall, not knowing where she was going, only wanting to escape. Morris was bringing the tray of tea and halted in surprise.

‘Why, Miss Robins, where are you going?’

‘Will—will you get my coat, please?’ asked Sara, glancing about desperately. ‘I’m—I’m going home.’

‘Don’t bother, Morris,’ said J.K.’s voice behind her. ‘Sara, Sara, what can I say? You must not allow my son to intimidate you. He—well, he has to be hard in business. It’s the only way, and like me, he’s used to getting what he wants. You mustn’t let our little differences of opinion upset you.’

‘Little differences of opinion,’ echoed Sara wildly. ‘You can’t call that argument a little difference of opinion! He—he doesn’t want me here! He’s made that perfectly plain, and for some reason he doesn’t trust me either. I—I couldn’t be happy—under those circumstances!’

‘Oh, Sara!’ J.K. sighed heavily. ‘I want you here. Isn’t that enough?’

‘But you’re not my guardian,’ she cried. ‘He is!’

‘Yes, and as such he ought to be ashamed of himself,’ muttered J.K. angrily.

Sara shook her head. ‘I want to go home—I mean—back to the Masons, anyway!’

‘You see—you have no home!’ J.K. caught her arm. ‘Sara, be sensible! Jarrod is not here a lot. He spends most of his time in London, or abroad. We won’t have to worry about him, I assure you.’

Sara continued to shake her head. ‘Please get my coat,’ she said tautly. ‘I want to leave!’

J.K. compressed his lips, and then summoned Morris. As she put on her coat, he said: ‘Won’t you change your mind, Sara?’

She moved to the door. ‘Thank you for everything, Mr. Kyle—oh, J.K. then,’ as he began to protest. ‘Is there someone who could take me home?’

‘Morris will have advised Potter,’ said J.K. wearily. ‘I wish you wouldn’t do this, Sara.’

Sara managed a faint smile, and then opened the front door and hurried down the steps to the waiting Rolls. She glanced back once at J.K. standing alone at the top of the steps, and felt tears pricking her eyes. He looked alone, too, and she realised that he, too, was lonely. Oh well, she thought sadly, it’s too late now. Much too late!

At the beginning of the following week, Sara had her interview with the Matron of the hospital. She was kind and sympathetic, and told her she would know the result of the interview within a few days. After that, it was just a question of waiting, and this Sara did with some impatience. In her free time, too many thoughts came to cloud her mind, and she was longing for a real job of work to banish all thoughts of J.K. and Malthorpe Hall, and most of all Jarrod Kyle, from her brain.

One morning, towards the end of that week, the headmaster of the school came to see her while she was in the school library.

‘Ah, there you are Sara,’ he said. ‘You have a visitor.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘He’s waiting in my office.’

‘A visitor!’ exclaimed Sara. ‘But—who, sir?’

‘A Mr. Kyle,’ said the headmaster thoughtfully. ‘Kyle. The name’s familiar. Of course, Kyle Textiles. Do you know him? Is he some relation of the textile manufacturers?’

Sara felt the colour drain out of her cheeks. ‘Is he—is he young—or old?’

‘In his thirties, I’d say.’

‘Then—then he’s the chairman of the corporation,’ said Sara, swallowing hard, feeling slightly sick now. ‘Did he—did he say why he wanted to see me?’

‘The chairman,’ the headmaster was musing to himself reflectively. ‘What? Oh no, Sara, he didn’t say. But he seems very impatient, so I should hurry along if I were you. He’s waiting in my office, I’ll go and wait in the staff room.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Sara managed a faint smile, and then walked quickly along the corridor towards the headmaster’s office. As she neared the office, her footsteps slowed, and she wondered desperately what he could want her for. Reaching the door, she hesitated, and then tapped before entering. Jarrod Kyle was sitting on the edge of the headmaster’s desk, smoking a cigar, looking tall and lean and disturbingly male. In dark clothes, his tan complementing the uncanny fairness of his hair, he looked every inch the rich, powerful businessman he was. In deference to her femininity, he stood up at her entrance, while she hovered beside the door nervously.

‘Either come in or go out,’ he said shortly, and with a grimace she entered and closed the door. ‘That’s better.’ He studied her intently for a moment, noticing her pale cheeks, and the faint shadows round her eyes. ‘You don’t look at all well.’

Sara straightened her shoulders. ‘I’m perfectly all right, Mr. Kyle,’ she replied coolly.

‘Well, I’ll take your word for that, for the moment. Tell me, have you fixed yourself up with a job?’

‘I’m—I’m waiting for the results of my interview with the Matron of the Bridchester General,’ replied Sara carefully. ‘I’m very hopeful.’

‘I myself contacted the Matron this morning,’ he said, surprisingly. ‘You were accepted as a student nurse. I told her you would not be going.’

‘You did what!’ Sara stared at him in horror. ‘What do you mean by interfering in my affairs! Of course I shall be going! Oh, I shall have to get in touch with her at once——’

‘No, you won’t,’ he interrupted smoothly. ‘Because you will not be needing a job. You’re coming to live at Malthorpe—at least for the year which my father stipulated the other night!’

Sara raised her head with a little touch of pride. ‘Oh no, Mr. Kyle. Now you’re mistaken! I have no intention of coming to live at Malthorpe—not now, or at some future date!’

‘But you are,’ he responded, with equal firmness. ‘Now, don’t let’s waste any more time. I shall see your headmaster myself, and you can collect your things. You won’t be coming back here.’

‘Don’t try your boardroom tactics on me, Mr. Kyle, because they just won’t work!’ she exclaimed angrily.

‘Boardroom tactics!’ he said, half amused at her fervour. ‘Boardroom tactics! You haven’t the first idea what boardroom tactics may be!’

‘Well, maybe not,’ she said hotly. ‘But you can’t make me do anything!’

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his thick suede car coat. ‘Ah well, Miss Robins, there you are wrong,’ he said smoothly. ‘You’re forgetting! However unpleasant you may find the news, I am your guardian, and as such, I have absolute power over you. Unless, of course, you’d care to take me to court to prove otherwise. But somehow I don’t think you will. I could employ such a more satisfactory lawyer than you could!’

Sara couldn’t believe her ears. ‘But why? Why? Heavens, only a week ago you were suggesting I was trying to—well, you know what you said!’

‘I know. My opinion has changed very little. However’—he held up a hand as she would have protested—‘however, my father is insistent that you be allowed to come to Malthorpe, and he can be very persuasive.’

Sara’s eyes mirrored her disbelief. ‘Oh really,’ she exclaimed. ‘I can’t believe the hard, powerful Jarrod Kyle, chairman of Kyle Textiles, and Lord of the Universe, could be persuaded by his father!’ As soon as the words were spoken she was aghast at her own temerity, but instead of censure she saw a reluctant trace of admiration in his blue eyes.

Then, as suddenly, it was gone, and he said quietly: ‘My father has a heart condition; that’s why he retired as chairman in the first place. Last Friday he had another mild attack. I’m not prepared to risk his health for my own amusement. If he wants you so desperately, then he shall have you.’

Sara’s heart softened ever so slightly. ‘Does—does J.K. know you’re here?’

Jarrod gave her an exasperated look. ‘You must be joking! Of course he knows I’m here! Do you imagine I’m doing this to surprise him! Oh no! I’m well aware of his fallibilities. I’m almost certain his attack was contrived, but I’m not prepared to gamble on anything less than a certainty. Therefore, will you go and collect your things, Miss Robins?’

Sara hesitated. ‘And if I refuse?’

‘I’m pretty certain your heart is softer than mine,’ replied Jarrod, stubbing out his cigar lazily. ‘You couldn’t take that risk either, could you, Miss Robins?’ and Sara knew he was right.