“I just want to go home,” she informed who she hoped would be her saviour.
He seemed to hesitate, clearly reading the mood in the room, when a radio squawked.
“Got another one,” his colleague said, pulling the radio from his leg.
“Sorry,” the kindly paramedic muttered. “Call me tomorrow, my name is Steve. Let me know how you’re getting on.” Then he winked (definitely flirtatiously which, of course, was nice and all but didn’t do her any good at the present moment and further was a bit inappropriate), pressed a card in her hand and followed his colleague out the door.
Sibyl looked from the small, dark woman who was staring at her with polar icecaps as eyes. Then she moved her eyes to Mrs. Byrne who was smiling at her… could she believe it... encouragingly.
Then finally to her dream man, who was looking like he couldn’t decide whether to beat her to a bloody pulp or carry her up to his bedroom for something else altogether.
And that was no joke; honestly, she could read that right in his eyes.
That last thought made her breath flood out of her in a rush and she glared at him with mutinous eyes.
If she couldn’t find a way to escape, Sibyl thought hysterically, it was going to be a long night.
Chapter Five
Tempted
It was the longest night in Sibyl’s life.
Once the paramedics left, Mr. Morgan, the raving lunatic who most definitely needed psychiatric counselling or at the very least, anger management classes, left her and Mrs. Byrne alone. He took the unnamed Ice Queen with him.
The Polar Sorceress came back shortly after with an ice pack and handed it rather ungraciously to Mrs. Byrne, completely avoiding looking at Sibyl at all.
Then she left again.
After Sibyl attempted to talk Mrs. Byrne into making a break for it (that maniac couldn’t actually imprison them in his medieval manor house, for goodness sakes), Mrs. Byrne explained the misunderstanding and how she felt that it was a good idea to let tempers cool and talk about everything in the morning.
“I’m afraid, Mr. Morgan can be a somewhat, er… difficult man,” she admitted.
Indeed, Sibyl thought but did not say nor did she bring up the fact that just the evening before Mrs. Byrne painted an entirely different picture of the man of the house.
And “difficult” she felt, was not exactly the word she would use.
Studying the older woman, Sibyl got the impression that Mrs. Byrne genuinely wanted the opportunity to let tempers cool so they could sort things out in the morning. In fact, it seemed for some reason this was very important to Mrs. Byrne. The woman volunteered for the National Trust and she had, regrettably, if unwittingly, caused this bizarre fiasco. Undoubtedly, she wanted the chance to smooth things over so she wouldn’t get into trouble.
As was Sibyl’s wont (which always got her into trouble and she knew it but had never been able to control it), Sibyl didn’t have the heart to deny the older woman this opportunity.
And anyway, Mr. Morgan may be a raving lunatic but he didn’t seem to be a violent one just a loud and angry one.
So she settled in for the long haul the night would mostly likely be and thought that her mother had never been very good at reading dreams and Sibyl herself had read the dream entirely incorrectly. Last night’s dream had not meant she needed a lover (especially not this lover) and it was not leading her to her dream man. It meant she should not, under any circumstances, go to Lacybourne because its owner was certifiably insane.
As Mrs. Byrne molly-coddled her, Sibyl tried to insist she was well enough to sit up even though she was definitely feeling a bit woozy and, she had to admit, she was not at all certain she could safely take herself and her beloved animals home without assistance even if that opportunity had presented itself when Lady Ice, again, interrupted their tête-à-tête by bringing in two plates of food.
“Colin thought you might want something to eat so I prepared this for you,” she announced, as if preparing food was akin to cleaning toilets at a roadside stopover in the depths of the jungles of Venezuela.
Mrs. Byrne took the food and the other woman walked out of the room again without another word. Sibyl was left stunned that “Colin” considered their hunger at all but then, even though she’d never read the document (and didn’t really wish to), she was still relatively certain that under the Geneva Convention, prisoners were entitled to sustenance.
Each small plate held a single sandwich, if they could be called sandwiches considering they were two pieces of bread which held only a wafer thin slice of ham, no condiments, no butter, nothing. They weren’t even cut in half.
So much for the Ivana of the North’s hostessing skills.
Sibyl set hers aside and when Mrs. Byrne noticed it (she herself tucking into the food like it was the finest delicacy) she encouraged Sibyl, “You must have something. Keep your strength up.”
Sibyl shook her head, slightly alarmed that Mrs. Byrne seemed to be keen on preparing her for battle. “I don’t eat ham. I’m a vegetarian.”
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Bryne muttered then her eyes brightened. “Well, I’ll just have to go see if Mr. Morgan has anything else in the house.”
“No!” Sibyl cried, yes, cried, desperate and everything.
And she did this because she didn’t want Mr. Morgan to remember her existence at all. He seemed ludicrously averse to it. She had to get through the next twelve hours through most of which she hoped she’d be sleeping and she did not want to rock the boat.
Mrs. Byrne smiled at Sibyl, a twinkle in her eye, and ignored her, setting aside her plate to go off in search of different food.
Sibyl sat back on the couch with a weary sigh and placed the ice on her temple. Bran reappeared, completely unfazed by the dramatic events, curled up on Sibyl’s belly and Sibyl idly stroked his soft, fluffy fur.
Sibyl had no idea why the appallingly-attractive-but-clearly-possessed-by-Satan Mr. Morgan had reacted so horribly to her presence at Lacybourne. It was distressing and utterly bizarre. Anyone could see that Mrs. Byrne had made a simple mistake, it wasn’t worth confiscating Sibyl’s license (which he had done, he did not give it back and he also took her handbag with him when he left) and holding them both prisoner. It was almost as if he expected the old woman and Sibyl to be conniving to steal the family silver out from under his nose.
Sibyl could, of course, get up and walk out (albeit unsteadily). However, that would mean leaving Mrs. Byrne behind to face the towering-inferno-also-known-as-Mr. Morgan and that she would not do.