In the Mists of Time

by Marie Treanor

  * * * * *

  As he strode through the village towards the B&B, his two large shoulder bags of computer bits bumping against his thighs, Thierry felt like singing. Because Louise liked him. The mundanity of the coffee shop, and shopping with him, had seemed to break through the barriers she’d flung up against him since their wild interlude in the mist. She’d agreed to a proper date, and she’d kissed him, not just tolerated his kiss. And she tasted divine, sweet and open and sexy as sin…

  His arms ached to hold her again, to breathe passion into that beautiful, elfin face and make her his. Over and over. But he’d wait now, just enjoy being in the same house as her for a couple of hours, being whatever help he could be.

  A little pathetic, perhaps, for a hardened denizen of Barlinnie Prison. But then, he’d never been that hard, and Louise was already special.

  As he came up to the B&B, he saw someone coming down the outside steps from the flat at the top of the house. The memory of Ron’s presence in his caravan, of the anonymous emails, acted like a bucket of cold water on him. But, no, it wasn’t Ron; it was Aidan, Louise’s brother. The ex-cop and security consultant.

  His stomach twisted. Apparently Aidan had many reasons for visiting Ron, but the idea of them in the same room made him inherently uncomfortable. Although Thierry rather liked Aidan, and Glenn seemed to trust him both on his own account and Chrissy’s, he didn’t discount the man’s intelligence or perception.

  “Hello,” Aidan greeted him amiably enough. “I hear you’re resuscitating Louise’s computer.”

  “More of a rebirth,” Thierry said, patting his bags. He glanced up at the flat. “You have a dodgy tenant,” he observed. “Or is he an ex-tenant?”

  “He’s a warned tenant,” Aidan replied, “for now.”

  That surprised Thierry. He’d thought Aidan more careful of his sister.

  “Louise said he broke into your caravan,” Aidan said casually. “Although he claims he was just waiting for you. Any idea why he was in there or what he wanted?”

  Thierry shrugged. “None. I’d never met the guy. See you later.”

  There was a gap between Thierry ringing the bell and Louise throwing open the door. She looked flustered.

  “Hi, come in,” she said and dashed across the hall to what he thought was a bathroom, although since he heard her voice talking to someone as he closed the front door behind him, perhaps he was wrong.

  He walked down the hall towards the little office he’d been in before, past what he’d thought to be the bathroom. The room had a short, square little passage of its own, and a wheelchair stood there.

  Thierry walked on to the office and dumped his bags and his jacket. He’d just connected the computer to his external hard drive when he heard Louise’s voice.

  “Thierry?”

  He moved and stuck his head out the door into the hall. Louise stood beside a wheelchair, in which sat a frail little lady with silver hair.

  “This is my mother,” Louise said in a rush. “Mum, Thierry Duplessis, who’s fixing the computer up for us.”

  “Good for you,” Mrs. Grieve approved. “Don’t understand the wretched things myself. Louise says you’re from the big house.”

  “Yes,” Thierry said resignedly. It was generally considered to be a bad place to come from, although, according to Izzy, the village was much better about its disreputable neighbour than it had been at the beginning.

  “Nice people,” Mrs. Grieve said comfortably. “I don’t believe they did half the things they were accused of.”

  Thierry kept his mouth firmly shut.

  “Coffee?” Louise said brightly as her mother expertly turned the chair and wheeled herself up the hall.

  “Oh, Rob!” Mrs. Grieve exclaimed, shooting the chair through the doorway to the left of the front door.

  Louise swore under her breath and dashed after her. Thierry followed and found Louise kneeling by a frail old man on his hands and knees, while Mrs. Grieve wrung her hands helplessly.

  “Come on, Dad, straighten up,” Louise was saying, hauling him upright onto his knees. “After three, we’ll get you back in your chair.”

  She had her arms around his chest from behind in a familiar way that told Thierry she’d done this before. Thierry frowned. Although her father was not a big man, heaving him around could not have been good for her.

  “I can lift him,” Thierry said, walking forward.

  Her eyes flew to his over her father’s head. “That’s all right, thanks. We’re used to it.”

  “Louise,” her mother intervened. “He’s stronger than you are.”

  Thierry crouched down in front of the old man, who regarded him with faint surprise. “Hello,” Thierry said to him. “Can I give you a hand there?”

  Reluctantly, it seemed, Louise released him, and Thierry lifted him into the nearest chair. Mrs. Grieve glided over to his other side, patting her husband’s agitated hand. Her presence seemed to soothe him.

  Thierry said, “Maybe I could make the coffee?”

  “It’s fine now,” Louise assured him. “Dad, this is Thierry.”

  Her father nodded and smiled, and Thierry murmured a greeting before following Louise through an inner door into the kitchen.

  “Sorry,” she said lightly. “We have a lot of such minor crises.”

  “Alzheimer’s?” Thierry asked.

  Louise nodded. “He won’t remember who you are, but you didn’t upset him. Some strangers do. He gets agitated sometimes when my mother leaves the room. I think he tries to follow, but he can’t remember how to walk.”

  “And your mother?”

  “Partially paralysed after a car crash. But she’s much more independent, now she has the chair. She even goes out in the village occasionally, in her mobility scooter. She just needs a bit of extra help just now because her hip is sore. You caught us at a bad moment when you rang the bell.”

  As Louise set about making tea and coffee, he watched her. “You do all this and run a B&B?”

  “With help,” Louise pointed out. “It’s much better since Aidan came home. Plus, he pays for Cerys and we have a stairlift now, and carers who come in every day to help me get them in and out of bed.”

  He turned and took the milk out of the fridge. As he handed it to her, he said, “You’re quite a woman, you know.”

  Something like a snort escaped her. It might have been a derisive laugh. “I’m just boring old Louise.”

  “Boring?” he repeated, startled. “I can’t think of an adjective that fits you less.”

  She flushed in the way he loved, dragging her gaze free of his. “Go and entertain my mother,” she commanded.

  Patiently, Thierry obeyed. He didn’t have a long private conversation with Mrs. Grieve, but it was informative.

  * * * * *

  “How’s it going?” Louise asked.

  She’d stood in the office doorway, watching him work, oblivious to her presence, busy with a tiny screwdriver among circuit boards and fans and wires, which he’d crammed neatly into a much smaller case than the massive tower she currently used. Slowly, her gaze had lifted to his focused face. His dark good looks tugged at her libido, as they always had, but more than that she wanted to know the man behind those secretive eyes. And she needed to know what those secrets were.

  At her words, his gaze flew up as if she’d genuinely startled him, and a smile immediately lit his eyes. Her stomach began to hurt.

  “Almost finished,” he said. “We’ve just to transfer the stuff from your old computer. It’s on this disk for now—you can keep it as a backup.” He tossed down his screwdriver and bent to plug in the new computer. It started up immediately.

  “That was quick!” She felt almost panicked that he was almost done, with no further reason to stay.

  He sat, connecting her old mouse and keyboard to
the new computer. “I’ll get the operating system up and running, sort you out with antivirus software and so on.”

  “Thanks,” she said in relief.

  His mouse hand moved, clicking. Then both hands flew across the keyboard. He didn’t look at them, but at the screen. “Met Aidan on the way in. I was surprised he didn’t evict your guest in the top flat.” Briefly, his gaze lifted to hers, then returned to the screen. “I can’t imagine he’s comfortable with such a character so close to you and your parents.”

  “I imagine Ron’s card is marked,” Louise said defensively.

  Thierry clicked on something and pushed the mouse away before sitting back and regarding her. Louise’s stomach twisted. She couldn’t play this bloody game of Aidan’s.

  “Aidan discovered who he was,” she blurted. “He’s giving him a chance to do his job.”

  Thierry’s eyes didn’t blink. “Which is?”

  “He does work for an insurance company.” Louise came farther into the room, leaned her hips against the edge of the desk. Just looking at him made her heart race; getting this close to him probably wasn’t smart, but she needed to see his reactions.

  “Which one?” Thierry asked evenly.

  “London and Scottish Life. They employ him as a private investigator.”

  Thierry nodded. “I wondered if that was it.”

  “Why would he be investigating you? Searching your caravan?”

  Thierry shrugged and glanced at the screen. Casually, he clicked a couple of things. “I imagine he believes I still have his employer’s money.”

  “Do you?” she asked steadily.

  A smile flickered across his lips and vanished. “God, no.”

  It seemed so natural that her heart rejoiced. Her head, however, remained unconvinced. “Then why would he waste his time up here investigating you?” she demanded.

  Thierry shrugged. “Maybe it’s easier to blame new frauds on me. Maybe he just likes fishing and I’m an excuse. He’ll be paid by the hour, not by results.”

  “New frauds?” she pounced. “Then he’s not looking for the money you went to prison for?”

  “I gave that back,” Thierry said, and returned to the computer screen.

  “You told me you only gave most of it back.”

  “The rest is accounted for.” He concentrated on the screen, although there didn’t seem to be anything to see apart from a bar proclaiming the percentage of download completed.

  Louise threw what was left of her caution out the window. “Thierry,” she pleaded. “Please tell me you haven’t done anything that could endanger you or Ardknocken House.”

  “Of course I haven’t. Glenn is my friend.” There was an edge to his voice at last, but it didn’t please her. “And I like it here. Is Friday off now?”

  Unexpectedly, his eyes pinned her, almost like Aidan’s did when he was determined to get an answer.

  “Not unless you’re crapping out,” she said steadily. She thought she read something like relief before his eyelids lowered and his attention reverted to the screen. “But I want to know why Ron suspects you. And I think you know.”

  His lips quirked slightly, but it was several moments before he turned his head and met her gaze. “Maybe. I might tell you on Friday.”

  “Why wait?” she challenged. “So I’ll come?”

  “No. I only said I might tell you.”

  She blinked. Her breath hitched. “But you won’t if you think I’m prying, if you think I’m working with Ron.”

  “I know you’re not working with Ron. Aidan’s a different matter.”

  So much for her cover. “If you’re afraid of Aidan—”

  “I’m not afraid of Aidan,” he interrupted. It wasn’t machismo or reflex male defence. It was truth. There was nothing for Aidan to find out. Or so Louise desperately wanted to believe. His eyes still held hers. Maybe they weren’t so secretive after all. For the first time, she was sure she read layers of pain there, like old, familiar friends. If her distrust bothered him, it was only a surface layer over older and deeper wounds.

  Why did you do it? Because he could no longer seemed enough of an answer. But she didn’t ask aloud. She’d wait for Friday.

  “I’ll get you some more coffee.” As she walked away, she felt his eyes burn into her back. Not for the first time, she wondered what she was biting off.

  * * * * *

  Thierry was crossing the yard to the back door, on his way for dinner, when Glenn caught him.

  “Aidan tell you about that guy staying at the B&B?” Glenn asked.

  Thierry nodded. At the door, he paused. “If this is difficult for you, I can go.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Glenn said. He reached for the door handle but didn’t turn it. “You know where to find me if you want to talk.”

  Thierry nodded. Glenn opened the door to enticing cooking smells. Jim’s back was disappearing in the direction of the dining room.

  “I take it you’ve seen Louise at the B&B about her computer,” Glenn said abruptly.

  Again, Thierry nodded.

  Glenn glanced at him over his shoulder. “Archie seems to think you have a thing about her.”

  “Archie’s an eedjit,” Thierry said in the local vernacular. “But, yes,” he admitted. “I like her.”

  Glenn nodded, pausing at the kitchen door with uncharacteristic hesitation. As if he felt obliged to say something he didn’t want to. “Sure that’s a good idea?” he blurted.

  “No,” Thierry said. “Not for her.”

  * * * * *

  Thierry couldn’t sleep. Not because the walls of the caravan seemed to hem him in like a cell—the draughts and the outdoor noises of the night were a comfort on that score—and not even because London and Scottish seemed to be on to him. He wanted Louise. He wanted her trust and her friendship, wished he could undo the three years of prison and what had gone before—it had been for nothing anyway—so that he didn’t have to defeat the mistrust in her eyes, in her whole body language when she was with him.

  And yet she hadn’t given up. She’d let him help her with her parents, with her computer, and she still meant to keep their date on Friday. He just wished he didn’t doubt her motives. Because, more than anything, he wanted her in his bed. Preferably now, but he could wait until Friday, or even longer if she’d trust him…

  Why the hell should she trust him? He doubted Aidan did now, and Glenn had grown to trust the ex-cop. Maybe he should just leave, move on, rather than let everything here turn sour.

  Restlessly, he rose from the caravan bed and walked, naked, from one end to the other. The length was so short that pacing soon made him dizzy. The cold air chilled his skin, and he welcomed that, at least. In time, it might even cool the hard-on standing up against his stomach.

  His restless gaze fell on his laptop on the table, and he threw himself into the chair in front of it. Ron had tried to worm his way in, but he hadn’t got past his password protection. Nothing had been installed and nothing searched. Ron’s wider search of the caravan had been so discreet that if Thierry hadn’t seen him there, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the tiny migrations of certain objects.

  Why be so discreet if his aim was to rattle Thierry, as he was so clearly trying to do with the emails? Because he was an opportunist, probably, throwing out several attempts to see if any of them worked. Thierry suspected he hadn’t been meant to know about the caravan search, which was why it had been so quick. Ron had planned on a fast in-and-out, on the off chance that Thierry had been careless in his isolated safe haven and left some kind of evidence lying around.

  Dream on, arsewipe.

  Discontented, Thierry clicked on the game he’d downloaded a few days ago. Gaming had been his escape and his joy as a kid, and the experience had come on so much further in the time he’d been inside. The graphics, t
he complexity, fascinated him.

  A pang of lust shot through him, so intense that he almost groaned aloud. He grasped his cock ferociously, closing his eyes, wishing it were Louise’s small, warm fingers that stroked him, her mouth closing around him…

  Abruptly, he released his cock and forced his eyes open.

  Fuck. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

  He leapt to his feet, stumbling around his chair to the window. He drew back the curtain onto the yard, but he couldn’t see a thing except opaque, white swirls and blackness. The mist had come down in the night, as it sometimes did, though it was much thicker than normal. Unfortunate, since it only reminded him of what he’d done with Louise on the foggy hill. Everything reminded him of that.

  He reached for his jeans, meaning to go outside, walk off his lust and lose himself in some mist fantasy that had nothing to do with women or sex… He paused, frowning, the jeans gripped in his still fingers.

  Or maybe it did. Some of those old fantasies swirled in his head, mingling with his desire, with Louise. They were stories he’d vaguely thought he might write one day.

  He dropped his jeans on the floor and sat back down in the chair. He closed down the game and opened a different application. He lifted his hands above the keyboard and flexed his fingers.

  * * * * *

  On Thursday afternoon, Nicole Graham walked out of the post office and came face to face with Ron.

  The old darkness threatened to close down, urging her to run or to curl into a ball on the ground. But she’d decided years ago that she would never back down again, and so she didn’t. While she fought the darkness, she stared at him with all the hostility he deserved and a bit more besides.

  It took a moment before she realized he wasn’t threatening her—of course not, they were in the middle of the High Street. Mrs. Campbell and at least one customer could see through the window, to say nothing of Mrs. Moore passing with her dog on the other side of the road. In fact, he looked…sheepish.

  “Hello,” he said. He tried a smile, which didn’t quite come off, then abandoned the effort. “Um…look, I’m glad I ran into you. Wanted to apologise for the other day on the hill. I didn’t mean to frighten you, or hurt you. Don’t know what got into me, to be honest.”