Lacybourne Manor Read Online Free PDF Page A

could collect
(quite terrifying infrequently in Mags’s opinion). Then she bent
over backwards, turned herself inside and out and then twisted
herself in knots to sort out all their troubles. And then, even
though most of them would have probably laid down their lives for
her, she scooted them on their way so some other woman could sort
out their new problems of having lost the glory that was
Sibyl.
    “I’ve no idea, Daddy,” she’d
answered his irate question, her voice small, so small he kicked
himself for his sharp tone. “But I feel I need to be there. It’s
the only place I’ve ever been truly happy and at peace.”
    Now, how could a father argue
with that?
    Especially when that peace had
been found mostly in his company and he knew exactly what she was
talking about when it came to Brightrose Cottage.
    They’d then argued about how,
since there was no mortgage on the property, she could live there
without paying. They’d won her over by explaining that Scarlett’s
medical school would cost more than the house was even worth and
they’d signed the deeds over to her.
    Mags and Bertie were thrilled
when Sibyl had found a part-time job in a local community centre
working with old people and children (how much trouble could old
people and children get her into?). She supplemented this with a
small but soon lucrative business selling handmade bath oils,
salts, lotions, shampoos, conditioners and divinely scented candles
to exclusive shops and boutiques around Somerset (oils, salts and
lotions didn’t live and breathe or have angry ex-husbands, which
they felt was a good thing).
    It seemed Sibyl was more at
peace in England, but neither Bertie nor Mags could shake the
feeling that their daughter still seemed restless.
    And they knew exactly why.
    For, as the weeks, months and
years passed, it became more and more clear that Sibyl’s abiding
belief that her one true love would walk in and shine his light on
her life was not going to happen.
    * * * * *
    Throughout the telling of
the dream, Marguerite muttered, “Oh my,” and a couple of times, the
stronger, “Oh my goddess”.
    Sibyl, as usual with her
mother, didn’t leave anything out, including an abbreviated version
of the very passionate activities that preceded her dream lover’s
grisly murder.
    Nor the belief that this
lover was her lover, the man of her dreams, the man who would
change her life forever.
    Which, of course, led to the
distressing fact that at the end he’d been killed.
    “What do you think it means,
Mom?” Sibyl knew her mother read tarot cards, runes, tea leaves and
palms as well as dreams. She wasn’t really good at doing any of
this but she tried very hard.
    “You say this man was vivid in
your dream?” Mags asked.
    “I could draw you a picture,
that is, if I could draw,” Sibyl answered.
    “Describe him,” Mags
demanded.
    Sibyl did, in great detail,
leaving nothing out.
    “Oh my,” Mags whispered.
    “Will you stop saying, ‘oh my’
and tell me what you think this means?” Sibyl was at her wit’s
end.
    Mags sighed hugely. “Honey, it
means you need a man.”
    Sibyl rolled her eyes. Even
being a militant feminist, her mother often solved many serious
issues with the words “you need a man”. Mags was very into the
healing power of sex.
    Then again, Sibyl’s mother had
been lucky enough to marry the love of her life, had a completely
faithful marriage and an active sex life that continued to this
very day (a fact that Sibyl unfortunately knew all too well).
    In order to get her emotion in
check, Sibyl counted to ten. Bertie had taught her this tactic
years ago when it seemed clear that Sibyl would never learn to
control her fiery temper.
    Sometimes it worked, sometimes
it, spectacularly, did not.
    Then Sibyl said, “I need to get
some sleep, I’ve got to be at the Centre tomorrow.”
    “Where’s the cat?” Mags
asked.
    Sibyl had no idea why her
mother would want to know where Bran was. “He’s wandered back