And she had lied to him once, he knew, about her nightmare. She was a spectacularly bad liar another part of her puzzle that made the option of her being a scheming mercenary less feasible.
However, what she had told him was enough for him to realise that something was connecting them and it was much more than magnificent sex. He wasn’t ready to believe it was something else, a legend or myth brought to life in the form of a tall, curvaceous, annoyingly adorable American woman with leonine hair, but it was something.
Something was definitely not right about Sibyl Godwin. She was not what he expected her to be and, that morning, he was going to find out what, exactly, she was.
When he walked into his office the morning after the incident in the chalet he expected to see Robert Fitzwilliam, the investigator who he had sent on Sibyl’s trail. He’d set the meeting as his first order of business of the morning.
Colin did not expect to see Marian Byrne in his outer office, nor to see his secretary glaring at the older woman with barely concealed distrust.
“Mr. Morgan,” his secretary, Mandy, popped up the minute he entered the room and said, unnecessarily and unusually forcefully, “Mr. Fitzwilliam is here to see you.”
“Thank you Mandy, I can see that,” Colin replied but his eyes were on Mrs. Byrne who seemed quite content and smiled happily at him.
Before he could greet the older woman, Mandy continued, “And this woman, who, by the way, was here yesterday and said she was Neil’s mother but now says she’s not, is Marian Byrne and she says she needs to speak with you urgently. I explained you have a very busy morning but she said she would wait,” Mandy announced, her words coming out in an angry rush.
Colin raised his brows at the Neil comment, wondering why on earth Marian Byrne would pretend to be one of his employee’s mother.
She was still smiling and shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, giving nothing away.
He’d decided he’d find out soon enough.
“I know Mrs. Byrne. I’ll see her after I speak with Mr. Fitzwilliam.” He turned his attention to the investigator and motioned to the door to his office, inviting, “Robert.” Then Colin walked passed Marian Byrne and nodded politely at her in greeting, saying, “Mrs. Byrne.”
She calmly returned the gesture.
Colin had just settled into his desk chair when the door opened and Mandy brought in a tray of coffee, her usual morning task. She set it on his desk, handed Colin his cup and gave one to Robert then left without a word.
Colin ignored her.
“Shall we start?” Colin invited, ready to hear some answers.
Robert took a sip and put his cup on Colin’s desk.
“Pretty basic stuff, you’ll be pleased to know,” he began, his words slightly surprised Colin and Colin watched him pull a thick file out of a briefcase.
“Sibyl Jezebel Godwin,” Robert started and something shifted inside Colin as Robert read out her full name, her real name, truly she was a Godwin. Some part of him never believed that, for some reason. To have it read to him so calmly felt like a blow.
Christ, did Beatrice Godwin’s descendant walk into Lacybourne three weeks ago?
Dear Christ, had she done so only to have him shout at her?
“Born to Albert Godwin, an Englishman.” Robert lifted his eyes to Colin and the other man’s were benign. They showed no signs that anything he was about to say would be life changing even though, with the two pieces of information he’d given Colin, they already were.
Sibyl’s father was English. She could be descended from Beatrice’s family.
Robert continued. “Her father was born in Wells. He teaches Medieval History and took his first post in Arizona where he met his wife, Marguerite. She was born Marguerite Wilhemina Den in Sedona, Arizona. Bit of a wild one, is Marguerite, an aging hippy, studies witchcraft, been arrested seven times, mostly during demonstrations for civil rights, women’s rights, anti-war, stuff like that. Nothing serious.”
Colin sat in stunned silence as the pieces of Sibyl’s puzzle flew together. Everything about her fit, the damned granola she always seemed to be eating, her lecture about fuel economy, her pets’ names. Not to mentions Sibyl’s bizarre muttered comments of “Oh my goddess” were because her mother had brought her up Wiccan.
Robert went on, “Albert and Marguerite had two children, both girls, yours, of course, Sibyl, and a younger daughter, Scarlett. They both were straight A students, honour role, Who’s Who, barely missed school, travelled a lot with their parents as the father went from university to university. Never showed any signs of trouble with all the moving around, as kids sometimes do. Though Scarlett is a bit of a wild one, like her mother. Sibyl seems less, er… prone to that, or at least in that way. Sibyl has two degrees, a Bachelor of Arts in languages and another in Social Work. Scarlett is finishing up the final months of a neurology residency.”
Robert kept talking and Colin felt his gut clench painfully as the information flowed at him, something about Customs and Immigration, something else about a domestic abuse charity and something alarming about an animal shelter.
Sibyl owned Brightrose Cottage outright, deeded over to her by her parents upon her move to England over a year ago.
She had only had three boyfriends that Robert could find, a fact Colin could hardly believe.
She had close relationships with family and friends, a fact Colin definitely believed.
She currently worked part-time at a community centre on a deprived council estate in Weston-super-Mare (which must be the source of “the girls” who needed her).
Robert only imparted one small piece of information to Colin that he already knew. Sibyl ran a small, but rather lucrative, business on the side making bath salts and shampoo. It would have been very lucrative if she didn’t divide forty percent of her profits between Amnesty International and a small, local animal shelter that took in abused cats that couldn’t be re-homed.
“From what I heard, they love her at the Centre and she spends more time there then she gets paid for. Pretty tight with the family that runs the place as volunteers, a Kyle and Tina and especially their daughter Jemma. There was a little bit of trouble a few weeks ago but you saw to that, obviously,” Robert finished and nodded at Colin, with what, Colin thought, was a strange gesture of respect.
Colin stared at him. He had no idea what the man was talking about. He hadn’t even known Sibyl worked at a community centre.
Therefore, he asked, “Sorry?”
“The minibus. Your girl was making some waves about the local minibus company the council had contracted with to transport the pensioners. Some issue with a blind lady who was living in squalor, your girl found out about it, cleaned up the woman’s house and set up a rota to look after her. She raised hell with Social Services that the driver didn’t report it. They couldn’t do a thing and your girl was furious. She lost her nut with the minibus driver when she saw him. A few days later, during a delivery to the Day Centre, one of the pensioners fell out of the bus, broke a hip. Apparently this lady was a particular favourite of Sibyl’s and she took it hard. Then, out-of-the-blue, there was a convenient ‘anonymous’ donation, clearly from you, fifty thousand pounds. Bang, new minibus, enough to train one of the volunteers as a driver, insure the bus, well… I don’t have to tell you.”
Colin felt his heart squeeze painfully and he found he was having difficulty breathing but Fitzwilliam wasn’t done.
“Lucky she met you. Found herself a nice patron, you two make a striking couple if you don’t mind my saying. Of course, investigating her I had to watch you for awhile, you understand, since you spend so much time with her. Can’t say I blame you…”