The very idea, the very thought of her parents meeting Colin tore her heart to pieces. They wouldn’t understand, they’d probably even like him (they always liked the men in her life). Her father, she knew, even though he never said, wanted her to find herself a mate, a partner, a husband partly so she wouldn’t be alone and party because her father wanted to know she was protected and safe. Her mother wanted her to be intellectually and sexually gratified (and often). Her mother already was hinting broadly, and sometimes asking straight out, at wanting to meet Colin every time she’d called in the last three weeks.
And this meant Sibyl was going to have to sit through dinner knowing what she was to Colin with her parents sitting right beside her.
She hadn’t been reminded of that, of what she really was to Colin, since he yelled at the minibus driver.
The situation became worse when her parents walked through the arrival doors; Mags saw her daughter and shouted, “Surprise!”
Behind her mother struggling with a fair amount of duty free shopping bags was Scarlett.
At the sight of her sister, Sibyl’s heart plummeted just as it sang with happiness.
Sibyl loved her sister, loved her to death. But her parents were one thing. Scarlett, being Scarlett, was going to be a problem. She read men like books, dissected them with her mind like a psychological biologist. She was good at it because she’d had a lot of practice. Sibyl would not be able to hide what she was to Colin from Scarlett.
There was plenty of room for them in the huge Mercedes sedan that Colin sent for her to use, a sedan that came complete with driver. Sibyl had, that morning at nine o’clock when she’d first clapped eyes on it, considered this an act of extreme thoughtfulness. Her parents could ride to Clevedon in complete luxury after a trying plane trip.
Now she wished she could send the driver home and troop her family into a bus just to be contrary.
Obviously, she could not.
Although her family seemed surprised at their chauffer driven transport, they took one look at her set face and knowingly let the matter slide.
Luckily the sedan had a huge trunk for all of her family’s luggage and Scarlett’s shopping. Scarlett sat in front with the driver and Mags, Bertie and Sibyl sat in the back. As usual, conversation was tangled and loving as they caught up. When they were nearly to Clevedon, Sibyl was forced to break the news.
And pretend to be happy about it.
And, considering her poor talents at prevarication, she was surprised she got away with it.
“We have plans for dinner tomorrow night,” she announced, trying desperately to sound cheerful and she must have succeeded because her mother and sister pounced on this right away.
Mags turned to Sibyl, her eyes bright.
“Really?” She drew this word out dramatically, her dancing green eyes alight with excitement (yet Sibyl had the strange sensation Mags was hiding something).
She had no time to assess this sensation for Scarlett twisted in her seat to stare at Sibyl, her blue eyes not bright with excitement but as usual teasing. “Well then, does this mean we’ll finally learn this mystery man’s name?”
Sibyl asked the goddess silently for patience but said with forced levity, “His name is Colin Morgan and he’d like us all to come to his house for dinner.”
“How delightful,” Bertie murmured, trying not to look too pleased all the while watching his daughter carefully.
“Where does he live? Does he live in Clevedon?” Scarlett asked.
“Yes.” Sibyl hated this whole thing but she knew she hated what she was going to say next the most. “Dad,” she called and her father turned kind eyes to her, “he’s the new owner of Lacybourne Manor.”
Her father, usually rather staid and mellow, gasped and his cheek went pink with pleasure.
“Lacybourne Manor? What’s Lacybourne Manor?” Mags asked.
“Sounds like a house in a Daphne du Maurier book,” Scarlett commented.
“It’s a great manor house, built in medieval times…” Bertie started to explain, breathless with excitement but as usual the rest of the women tuned him out the minute the word “medieval” passed his lips. The Godwin Girls always tuned Bertie out when he started instructing them on medieval history. For her part, Sibyl, who was usually the only one who listened to him (sometimes), found she’d rather spend her time seething, which she did.
Shortly after, when her family were ensconced in their rooms at the cottage all of them having naps to fend off jetlag, Sibyl searched through her bag and took out the business card Colin had given her weeks ago.
She grabbed her phone and went into the garden with Mallory and Bran close on her heels. She sat on one of her sun loungers and Bran jumped into her lap, pressing against her and purring. Mallory collapsed beside the lounger, exhausted from his amble which consisted of the great and taxing distance from living room to garden.
For the life of her (and she wasn’t actually going to ask) she could not fathom why Colin had done this. He had said he wanted to see her while her parents were in England but he’d never said he wanted to meet her parents.
She would never have agreed to that.