There was a narrow staircase rising up the wall to his right with stout beams holding it up. It looked contradictorily like it could crumble at any second at the same time completely sound. The wood of the outside banister had been lovingly refinished and there was a rope handrail against the opposite wall, leading upstairs.
The stairway separated the dining area from the cosy living room which was filled with deep, comfortable chairs and couches liberally dosed with tasselled pillows and soft throws, all of which surrounded an even larger, inglenook fireplace, which was the room’s focal point. Under the stairs, ancient, arched windows had been uncovered and lovingly restored with stained glass that was a swirl of ivory and buttery yellow. More heavy wrought iron was there, these being candlesticks in the window and higher ones standing on the floor, holding thick rust, ivory and yellow candles.
All the windows were warped with age, diamond-paned and held window seats filled with inviting cushions. There was no television set that he could see but there were bookcases filling the entire side wall beyond the arched windows. The cases had been expertly built around two big windows and they were filled with books and unusual artefacts that invited perusal.
If a woman wearing a tall, conical, pointed hat with her face half-hidden behind a shimmering veil were to walk into the room at that very moment, he would not have been surprised.
Colin felt a slight uneasiness at the entire feel of the house. It was not where he expected an accomplished con artist would live.
Then he mentally shrugged. He knew little of where such people would live and there was a good possibility, the house close to confirming it, that Sibyl was exactly what she appeared to be – a beautiful American living in England who liked to visit National Trust houses and made poor choices on who to date.
He heard noise and voices coming from the behind the house.
“I thought I told you not to carry those boxes.” It was again the gruff man’s voice.
Then he heard laughter that had to be Sibyl’s and, at the husky, sweet sound of it, Colin’s body went completely still.
There was something achingly familiar about it even though he’d never heard it before in his life.
Her voice was a charming alto, he knew. Her laughter as well, was as rich as her voice and unbelievably musical.
“It doesn’t weigh anything, Kyle.”
Through the windows at the side of the house, opened to the unusual warmth of the spring day, Colin saw an older man with a shock of white hair (but strangely, the long sideburns were still completely black) walk by. The man disappeared around the back of the house and then Colin heard a masculine “omph”.
“Doesn’t weigh anything, my arse,” Kyle said.
Again, Colin heard her familiar, effective laughter.
Colin saw Kyle again, this time carrying a box and shouting over his shoulder, “How much more?”
Sibyl followed and Colin felt his body instinctively, and pleasantly, react to the sight of her.
“That’s it, just those four. The two for Clevedon and the two for Clifton. You’re an absolute love, I owe you one,” she was saying as she walked behind the man.
Colin moved to the entryway and could easily see them outside, Kyle was loading up the back of the Fiesta and Sibyl was standing talking to him as he did so. Colin could not hear them and he found himself curious to know what they were saying, considering how intent Sibyl looked as she spoke.
She was wearing jeans, the pant legs so long the backs of the slightly flared hems were frayed from where she walked on them. A pair of kelly green flats peeked out at the bottom and she wore a matching sweater that managed to be both lovingly fitted to her upper body and also looked fluffy and warm. She had a brightly-coloured long scarf wrapped round and round her neck and her glorious hair was pulled up in a precarious bunch at the crown of her head, locks falling haphazardly from it. Around her neck and shoulders were tendrils that had never made it to the knot at the crown in the first place.
Watching her, Colin liked his plan all the more.
Because, he knew, one way or the other, he’d have her.
Just then the enormous beast she’d cleverly (he wondered if that touch was hers or Mrs. Byrne’s) named or renamed Mallory came loping toward him.
Colin figured the canine would bark. Instead, the dog just swung his heavy head toward Colin, stopped when he arrived at Colin’s legs, sniffed Colin’s thigh and then sat, resting his body against Colin’s legs comfortably.
“Good dog,” he whispered and Mallory turned his head and licked Colin’s hand.
This too, seemed vaguely familiar, just as it had the first several times the dog did it.
He pushed back the thought as he saw the Ford take off and Sibyl waved it on its way. She spent some time watching it out of sight then turned with a strangely despondent jerk and walked toward the house, staring her feet, apparently lost in unhappy thought.
Colin moved deeper into the house, the dog following him. Once she was inside, she closed the door, never looking up, and she threw the bolt home.
It was then that Mallory gave a gentle woof.
Her head came around and she spied Colin.
Her eyes rounded, her mouth dropped open and she stared. Regardless of her open surprise, Colin couldn’t help himself, he thought she looked adorable.
She snapped her mouth closed so fast, he could hear the crashing of teeth.
Then she breathed, “What are you doing here?”
He had planted his feet apart, and, at her words, he crossed his arms on his chest and didn’t answer.
Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were flashing and he noticed her sweater had a lovely deep v-neck that showed a nice hint of her breasts below the drape of scarf.
“I thought I explained it wasn’t wise for us to see each other again,” she told him, her voice rising and the dog, who sat next to him again, stood up and let out a loud bark.
“Quiet,” Colin told the dog and he sat down again and wagged his tail.
For some reason, his command to the dog made her angry.
“Don’t tell my dog what to do,” she snapped.
He again remained silent and watched her in appreciation, whether it was real or a fine performance, he didn’t much care.
She dragged both of her hands through her hair and then belatedly realised it was tied up in a knot. She then tugged something impatiently out of it and Colin watched in fascination as it tumbled around her face, neck and shoulders.
Then she treated him to a true show.
She slid her fingers through her hair, gathering it up in a massive golden fall of tumbling waves and shaking it gloriously. Then she twisted it again and whatever she was holding was wound around it and then it fell, looking just as delightfully messy as it was before she fixed it.
Colin felt his body jerk to attention at the sight.
“That was quite affecting,” Colin commented, attempting to ignore his body’s reaction to her.
Her eyes narrowed on him.
“What, on this good earth, did I do to deserve this?” she asked the ceiling, her voice convincingly disgruntled.
So convincing he felt a shimmer of doubt.
And, he had to admit, a long-dead resurgence of hope.
He dug into the pocket of his trousers and found what he was looking for. He held out his hand, turned it palm up, and opened his fist, her red earrings and leather strapped pendant in his palm.
“My jewellery!” she gasped, her face showing a flash of appealing delight and she took two quick steps forward.
He closed his hand again and crossed his arms on his chest.
The dog settled into a lying position with a very loud groan.