Chapter Fifteen
Tranquilliser Dart
Colin was in his office on his phone
He’d gone back to Bristol after visiting Sibyl at the Community Centre to return phone calls and make certain the incredible ass who drove the minibus was, indeed, sacked (which, as Colin threatened, a number of councillors assured him, he would be, first thing in the morning).
Once he’d heard the news from the bus driver’s line manager directly, Colin felt a strange, intensely pleasant sense of satisfaction.
He didn’t question it, he didn’t have time. He had other things to do.
That task completed, Colin also phoned a surveyor to have a look at the Community Centre as a whole. From what he could see, the place was a fire trap, a health hazard and needed significant renovations.
Not to mention better furniture.
And, likely, fumigation.
And finally, he called a contractor, told him to go to the Centre and give Colin a quote on how much it would cost to build an extension so Sibyl could have a decent office, one that didn’t look like a salvage yard.
All of this Colin was going to finance and he didn’t care how much it cost.
It was ridiculous that those people were forced to spend their time in that dilapidated wreck and he certainly wasn’t going to allow Sibyl to do so.
He’d had a few words with the Councillors about that as well.
He wished, two weeks ago, when she’d slapped the briefcase shut on the fifty thousand pounds, that she’d told him then what the money was for.
However, he had to admit, he probably wouldn’t have believed her. She was, on the whole, quite unbelievable.
He’d thought that before Robert Fitzwilliam had told him about her. This feeling solidified after witnessing her in her element at the Centre. He could still see the look of shining adoration in “her girls” eyes as they stared at her and he could hear the esteem in the pensioners’ voices when they spoke to her.
He finished his call, quickly scanned some correspondence that Mandy had left for him to sign, and tried not to think of how he felt when Sibyl had rested her head against his chest.
Except for the night she’d had her nightmare and the morning when she’d attacked him because he was caressing her “sensitive spot” she rarely touched him of her own volition.
And Colin liked it when she did. Very much.
Further, there was something nearly precious about the feeling that he’d done something she approved of.
With a good deal of effort, he’d finally convinced his mother and sister to leave Lacybourne and come back next week when he was ready to introduce them to Sibyl and her family.
They were both beside themselves with the idea of a walking, talking American Godwin wandering around Clevedon. Not to mention the fact that she was in Colin’s life. They didn’t even know yet what she looked like and he hadn’t told them or they would never have left Lacybourne. They would have hunted her down and forced a Morgan Family heirloom ring on her finger, he had no doubts about that.
Colin had a great deal of work ahead of him winning Sibyl’s trust. His meddling mother and equally troublesome sister would likely disrupt his many, varied, rather complicated and extraordinarily fragile plans.
Colin felt (quite rightly) that he’d made great strides that day and that hadn’t even been part of his plan. He found after talking with Robert and Mrs. Byrne that he couldn’t wait a moment longer to see her, which was the only reason he’d gone to the Centre.
Colin’s reaction regarding the minibus driver was instinctive. When he looked out the window at the elderly blind woman who wanted to adopt Sibyl trying to alight while the bastard stood, disinterested and smoking a cigarette, he’d temporarily lost his mind. He hadn’t intentionally gone charging in to score points, although he was happy to accept them if they were a means to his desired end. He’d help every blind lady he encountered if it meant he got what he wanted.
It only made Colin all the more satisfied that the person who had inadvertently pushed Sibyl into selling her body was now to be punished, regardless if the driver knew his flagrant negligence had cost Colin weeks in winning Sibyl and cost Sibyl something even more dear.
But he needed Sibyl right where he wanted her before she learned of Royce and Beatrice, magic and myth, his lifelong knowledge of it, her place in it and especially him keeping it from her. She was likely to lose her temper (justifiably) and Sibyl’s temper, he’d learned, once lost, was rather difficult to get under control.
His mobile rang and he glanced at it distractedly not wishing to talk to another North Somerset Councillor and he saw Sibyl’s name on the screen.
He stared at his phone.
She’d never phoned him. Not once.