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…”
Colin wasn’t listening to him, he was thinking of Sibyl, who she was and what she’d done.
Sibyl had sold her body for a minibus for old-age pensioners.
Not only that, she’d quit her job (before she could be fired) at the domestic violence charity because she’d been found sitting on the porch of a client training her father’s shotgun on an abuser who had dared to approach his estranged wife’s house in the middle of the night.
And what had Robert said about what she did to the people who brought in the dog who’d been burned by cigarette butts?
He didn’t want to think, couldn’t think, all he could remember was her staring at the money in the briefcase and saying, “Thank you,” like it was the answer to her prayers.
Clearly it was the answer to a prayer, a prayer for a bunch of old people to whom she was not related, who simply came to her Centre. People who were in the hands of a thoughtless driver who wasn’t responsible for them but should have had enough feeling to at least take note and some care, and didn’t.
So, Sibyl did.
“Christ,” he said under his breath.
“What’s that?” Robert asked him.
A memory came to Colin and his tight chest seized.
“What was the date of the accident with the woman who broke her hip?” Robert looked at him curiously and told him the date, a date Colin remembered very well. He remembered Sibyl talking earnestly to her friend Kyle, her body stiff and jerky as she walked back to her house, her mind consumed with something unpleasant.
The date he’d made her his whore.
“Christ,” he clipped viciously, shook his head and found when he looked down at his hands on his desk they were shaking.
He clenched them into fists.
This woman, his woman, walked into his home innocently for a tour and he’d treated her like a common criminal.
Then she’d sold her body to him to make a group of old people safe.
And he’d made her feel like a whore so she could do it.
Money was scarce in the voluntary sector, he knew that, his company received dozens of requests a week for donations and he, personally, was asked to become a benefactor on a regular basis.
It would likely take a small community centre on a deprived council estate years to raise the funds to buy a bus.
Sibyl had seen her chance and grabbed it.
“You should know you have two tails.” Robert was continuing. “The woman out there…” He jerked his head to the door of Colin’s office. “And I think someone else, though can’t get a lock on them. Both have been watching you and Miss Godwin pretty closely. Do you want me to find out why?”
Colin was reeling with the information he’d learned, the fact that Beatrice Godwin, reincarnated had finally walked into his life and he could barely process any more.
“Look into the other one,” he ordered distractedly. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Byrne and I’ll phone you if I need anything further.”
Robert put the file on his desk and stood. “Can I say, Mr. Morgan…?”