Lacybourne Manor (45 page)

Nevertheless, he answered her
honestly, “No.”

She looked startled.

“Why?”

“Because I like what’s happened
before.”

“Well I –”

“
Stop thinking about it
Sibyl.
That
part of it was over almost before it
started.”

She hesitated and he watched as
she struggled briefly with it and finally, with a valiant effort of
will, let it go.

And then he listened as
she pressed her advantage. “So I
don’t
have to do what you tell me
to do.”

“
Of course you do.” He
rolled her onto her back, sliding his thigh between
hers.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You suffer the
consequences.”

At this, she smiled, one of her
heart-stopping, devastating, bedazzling smiles.

This time he rewarded her for
the smile and he kissed her.

Without hesitation, she melted
beneath him.

Several long, heady minutes
later, when she was again wet and ready for him, he dragged his
mouth from hers and warned, “We’ll talk about Royce later.”

Her desire-drugged eyes
rounded with anger
and
alarm.

And he finally, with immense
satisfaction, slid slowly inside her and her anger and alarm fled
and she was, blissfully, completely, all his.

It was then, outside, even
though neither Colin nor Sibyl noticed it, the sun started
shining.

The Calm before the Second
Storm

Colin pulled the BMW out of the
garage on his way to pick up Sibyl and her family to take them to
the Community Centre’s Talent Show.

Last weekend, when Colin
arrived in the BMW to transport the five of them on a day trip to
the Cotswolds, Sibyl walked out of the cottage and had been shocked
at first sight of the car.

“Colin, I didn’t even think.
You had to rent a car!”

He just stared at her and she
quickly, and accurately, interpreted the stare.

“How many cars do you own?” she
asked with narrowed eyes.

“More than one,” he’d answered
carefully.

She’d sighed dramatically as if
she was in fear for his mortal soul.

Then she suggested, “Let’s just
not tell Mags, agreed?”

Spending time with Sibyl’s
mother, Colin had swiftly learned that he could have told Mags he
had twelve cars, with half of them being Land Rovers, as well as a
number of sweat shops in the deepest regions of Vietnam, and Mags
wouldn’t have cared as long as Colin continued to service Sibyl
sexually.

Nevertheless, for Sibyl’s
peace of mind, and to reward her for being the only woman of his
acquaintance who thought owning more than one vehicle a
fault
in
his personality, he’d agreed.

Sibyl
’s surrender had been complete. Colin instantly recognised
just how much she had been holding back when she opened her heart
to him fully. He found the offer of it into his care a gesture so
precious, he wasn’t certain how to handle it but he was certain
that he would not, under any circumstances, let it go.

Regardless, the last two weeks
of Sibyl had been a form of torture. True, most of it was a
splendid kind of torture, but it was torture nonetheless. He
couldn’t imagine a lifetime of it, just as he was looking forward
to it. He was pleasantly contemplating their children (lots of
them) and then old age. Sibyl could use some wrinkles, a few extra
pounds (perhaps a stone or two) and a dozen children to slow her
down.

If she didn’t slow down,
she’d likely kill him. And if she didn’t (or
he
didn’t) control her
rampant benevolence, she’d kill them both.

The sweet torture had started
immediately after their morning at Lacybourne.

Before he had learned about
her, he had planned to catch up on work while her parents were in
England. He wanted to give her some private time with her parents,
therefore, he’d set up meetings in Manchester and Leeds the first
week and the second, he was to be in London for an entire week of
nearly back-to-back meetings he’d postponed since Sibyl.

The first week they were in
town, he attended only one dinner with her and her family. Claire
had gone home the night after dinner at Lacybourne (or, as Sibyl
described it, “The Dinner of Doom”) to return to her family. Phoebe
and Mike had stayed on to spend some time with the people who they
knew (as Colin told them) would soon be part of their extended
family.

Colin had arrived late at the
Indian restaurant and they’d all been ensconced in a huge booth and
tucking into their starter.

The minute Colin arrived at the
table, Mags or Phoebe would hear of Colin sitting anywhere but
right beside Sibyl. As Sibyl was to the back at the very inside of
the booth next to a window, Scarlett, Mike and Sibyl had to shift
out so Colin could slide in. Once he was in, he was crushed against
the wall with Sibyl practically in his lap. She’d ordered a starter
for him and another upheaval was caused when everyone handed their
plates around to each other.

Forced to rest his arm along
the back of the booth in order to accommodate himself and Sibyl in
their spare space, he ate with one hand, his left. He had no
problem with this, it left his right hand free to stroke the skin
at the nape of Sibyl’s neck and feel her delicate shivers beneath
his fingers.

During dinner, the conversation
was tangled, Scarlett, Mike and Mags in a fierce verbal battle of
one-upmanship as to who could tell the most outrageous story (Mags
won by a landslide). Not in the line of fire, Colin kept to
himself, enjoying the feeling of Sibyl pressed contentedly against
his side while, any time she’d want to share her humour with him,
she looked over her raised shoulder, resting her chin against it as
she prized him with one of her gorgeous smiles.

Bertie, seated opposite
him, noticed Colin’s absence from the conversation and took it upon
himself to draw him into a private one of their own. At first
a
one-sided
private conversation where Bertie explained to
him (in detail) how he felt about what he described as the “Henry,
the Second and Thomas Becket fiasco”. Colin eventually found
himself drawn into Bertie’s passion for his subject and into a
discussion about it, thinking Bertie was undoubtedly a popular
professor considering both of these things.

When they left the restaurant
and arrived at their assorted cars, Mags said to Sibyl, “I’m
guessing you want to spend the night at Lacybourne.” This was not
so much a guess as a command when she produced (to Sibyl’s stunned
glare) a small overnight bag that Sibyl obviously didn’t pack and
knew nothing about. Mags handed it to her daughter with a
meaningful look.

Bertie sighed.

Phoebe and Mike looked
dumbstruck.

Scarlett chuckled.

Colin could have kissed
her.

Sibyl took the bag with a
killing look at her mother and slid into the Mercedes.

“I told you my mother was odd,”
she announced when he reversed out of the parking spot.

“I’m not complaining,” he
pointed out, manoeuvring the car out of the lot.

“You wouldn’t,” she grumbled,
clearly embarrassed.

“Would you like me to take you
back to Brightrose?” he queried politely even though he had no
bloody intention of doing any such thing.

“No,” she mumbled.

“Are you sure?” he couldn’t
keep the smile out of his voice.

She made an irate noise.

“
You have better
sheets
at
Lacybourne,” she told him and he burst out laughing.

He spent the rest of the week
letting himself into Brightrose in the dead of night, calming an
always excited Mallory and then sliding into bed beside her long
after she went to sleep. Once there, she would snuggle against him
or, more to the point, he pulled her into him. He usually left long
before she or her family woke or just in time to give her grumpy
morning face a kiss before leaving to get to work.

Saturday and Sunday were days
of revelation.

Mike and Phoebe had gone home
on Friday morning after exchanging addresses, phone numbers and
e-mails with the Godwins.

Saturday morning, Colin took
Sibyl and her family to Bourton-on-the-Water and the morning passed
in peaceful tranquillity (if you didn’t count Sibyl shouting like a
drill sergeant at her lagging family and marching them into the
newly discovered BMW).

Then, late morning, Colin’s
tranquillity fragmented. While in a fudge shop, Sibyl saw a young
boy at the counter trying to buy a box of fudge and coming up short
by twenty pence. Sibyl sidled up beside the boy and slid the twenty
pence to the clerk. This not being a kind enough gesture, one Colin
would never think of doing, she then handed the boy a two pound
coin.

“
Don’t want to be caught
short, again, do you?” she’d asked with a wink. Then she so
bedazzled the boy with one of her winning smiles, he’d walked
straight into a display of candy. The entire display (which was a
foot taller than him) came crashing in a great clamour to the
floor.

Scooting him kindly on his way
to his parents, Sibyl spent (with Mags and Scarlett) a quarter of
an hour helping the clerk right the candy stand while chatting
amiably and becoming the best of friends with the clerk in the
process.

As they walked the streets of
Bourton, every person she passed who had a dog on a lead, no matter
how grand or ugly the dog was (indeed, she lavished more affection
on the ugly ones), she would stop the owner with a joyful cry and
beg, “Can I pet your dog?” Unwilling, or more likely, unable to
decline her friendly request and her sunny smile, the owners would
acquiesce. She’d then crouch, ruffle the dog’s fur and accept
sloppy kisses all over her face and hands. All the while she cooed
at the dogs and she and the Godwins would engage the owners in
friendly conversation about any subject that came to mind – the
unseasonably warm weather, the beauty of Bourton, dogs and what
they thought of the ever-increasing danger of the greenhouse
effect.

Then they’d stopped at a tea
shop for cream teas on the way home. As they were all relaxing over
their scones, clotted cream and jam, Sibyl was staring out the
window with rapt attention. Moments later, without a word, she
abruptly ran from the table and out into the sunny back garden. As
she approached she startled a family who were lazing in the warm
day at a picnic table. She was talking intently and gesturing
carefully and then she herded them solicitously into the tea shop.
To Colin’s stunned surprise, the family joined Colin and the
Godwins for tea, crowding around a too small table, while they
thanked Sibyl profusely for warning them of the beehive that
nestled in the tree above their picnic table.

Not done, Sibyl sought out the
owners of the tea shop to inform them of the hive. Then she stood
outside in the garden with the owners, Bertie and Mags, discussing
(at length) what was to be done about the beehive while Colin sat
with Scarlett, his legs stretched in front of him and crossed at
the ankles, as he took in the scene. He was prepared, if necessary,
to haul Sibyl, kicking and screaming (he had no doubt), to the car
if she tried to climb a ladder and see to the hive herself.

“Nothing to say?” Colin offered
Scarlett her opening, not taking his eyes from Sibyl.

“Not right now,” Scarlett
answered, not taking her eyes from Colin.

Sunday he went to work in the
morning and at noon he left to meet Sibyl and the Godwins on the
seafront. When he arrived he found Bertie seated on a blanket in
the grass with the remains of what appeared to be a vegetarian
picnic. Mags was five feet away, talking animatedly to two women
who both had babies in prams. Colin took in Mags, her red hair not
faded but streaked with comely shafts of white, wearing a bright,
gauzy concoction that looked delicate enough to disintegrate at a
hint of wind.

After greeting Bertie, Colin
asked, “Where are Sibyl and Scarlett?”

Bertie tilted his head across
the green and Colin saw both sisters (Sibyl wearing a
tight-fitting, faded, oft-worn Grateful Dead t-shirt and her
daringly torn jeans, Scarlett wearing a pair of black capri pants
and an emerald green fitted, scoop-necked t-shirt) playing Frisbee
with five men.

Colin watched for precisely
thirty-eight seconds (Bertie timed him). Then he saw one of the men
semi-tackle Sibyl, wrapping his arms about her middle and whirling
her away from the Frisbee she was trying to catch. Her deep laugh
filled the air at what she thought was friendly frolicking and
Colin knew was anything but.

Without hesitation, Colin
prowled toward them and Sibyl caught sight of him.

“Colin!” she cried as she
smiled and ran to him, skidding to a bare-footed halt inches away,
her golden hair flying in an attractive mess about her shoulders.
She touched him with a hand at his waist, hooking her thumb in a
belt loop at the side of his jeans and leaned in to ask playfully,
“Do you want to play Frisbee?” and she asked this as she pulled her
heavy, gorgeous hair away from her face with her other hand.

“No,” he stated shortly.

Her face fell and he ignored
it, dragged her against his body and kissed her hard on the
lips.

When he lifted his head, she
stared up at him, stupefied.

Then she breathed, “What was
that for?”

Colin looked about the green at
five crestfallen male faces and Scarlett’s knowing one and said,
“Just making things clear.”

He dropped his arm, not waiting
for her reply, turned and walked back to Bertie, settling down
beside him on the grass, one leg stretched out, one knee bent, his
wrist dangling on his knee.