In the Mists of Time (7 page)

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, the 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.”

Nicole lifted her chin. “There are bruises. Friends say I should report you to the police.” In fact, she'd completely shelved that idea when Aidan Grieve had told her Ron was an investigator. It seemed to make it even less likely that the police would believe her. Aidan had warned him off and she was relieved to let it go at that.

“Christ, I'm sorry,” Ron said with apparently genuine shame. “I can't believe I was so rough. Go to the cops if you need to. I'll admit everything.”

She regarded him curiously. “I believe you would,” she observed, and walked past him.

Chapter Seven

The afternoon was sunny and smelled of spring. It all added an extra sparkle to Izzy's contentedness as she walked up from the school with her son, Jack, and the dog.

“Can Sean come tomorrow and stay for a sleepover?” Jack asked suddenly, bouncing around with the dog as they approached the front door.

“I don't think a sleepover's a good idea,” Izzy said cautiously. “I'll speak to Sean's mum.” In fact, she doubted Sean's parents would allow him anywhere near Ardknocken House, although Jack was always welcome at theirs. The knowledge cast the first shadow over her day. Her choices impacted her son's life. Although neither of them regretted her relationship with Glenn, she knew if she didn't live here, many things would be easier for Jack.

“Okay,” Jack said. They'd talked about the pasts of the grown-ups who lived so closely with them, including Glenn, and he'd seemed to understand.

“Do you want to play out the back?” she suggested. “Rover does!”

Glenn was discovered in the kitchen with Jim, who presented Jack with a scone and a grin. Jack gulped his milk and bolted outside with the scone in one hand and the dog's ball in the other.

“Is Thierry around?” Izzy asked casually.

“Caravan,” Jim said, offering her a scone too. “He's been in there for days. Doesn't eat unless I shove something under his nose.”

Izzy frowned. “Is he all right?”

“Fine,” Glenn said. “He's just working on something. I've seen it before.”

Even with this assurance, Izzy got a fright when she entered the caravan. Thierry hadn't answered her knocking, so with something like dread, she opened the door a crack and called to him.

“Thierry? Thierry, are you there? It's Izzy. Can I come in?” Still getting no response, she stepped inside and found him slumped over his laptop. “Oh shit! Thierry!”

She hurried over to him, seizing his shoulder, and he threw back his head with a grunt, his arm flying back, his fist clenched before recognition blinked in his dark, sleep-dazed eyes. A prison reflex. She'd seen it before, in Glenn, just as quickly controlled.

His hand flopped to his side. “
Merde
, Izzy, don't creep up on a man.”

“Creep? I've been making enough noise to wake the dead!”

Thierry dragged his hands over his unshaved face, ran his fingers through his shock of black, curly hair. “What is it? What can I do for you?”

“Message from Louise,” Izzy said casually. “Since you're not answering your phone. She says to pick her up just outside the village, on the Oban road, about six thirty.”

His gaze fell quickly. Izzy understood. As Glenn once had, he imagined women were ashamed to be seen with him.

“Avoiding the Ardknocken gossip,” Izzy said lightly. “Trust me, Louise is wise in such matters. She was born here.”

Thierry shrugged and stared at his computer screen. Izzy turned to go.

“Merde,” Thierry said again, starting to his feet. “Izzy, what day is it?”

“Friday,” she said, only half-amused.

“Fuck.” He slammed the lid on his computer and started throwing things around the caravan. “Where's my bloody towel?”

Izzy left, trying not to laugh. Before she reached the back door, Thierry bolted past her.

* * * * *

Louise's aim was to get as far away from the village as possible before Thierry picked her up. But in the end, she barely got round the first bend before an old banger of a car she'd never seen before tootled along the road and slowed to her pace.

Damn. Someone from the village, probably a kid with his first car that she hadn't yet seen, who now had every chance of seeing Thierry pull up behind him. Ridiculous…

She stopped. So did the car. The passenger door opened, and Thierry's head leaned towards her.

“Want a ride?” he asked in a sleazy voice that made her laugh before she meant to.

“Thierry—”

His hand reached out and grabbed her, hauling her inside. He'd started moving even before she'd shut the door.

“Bandits, twelve o'clock,” he explained, and, sure enough, Harry the solicitor's car cruised around the next corner, heading into the village. Louise turned her face towards the sea.

“You're laughing at me,” she observed when Harry was safely past.

“Only because it's funny.”

She turned back and stuck out her tongue, which seemed to make his eyes flicker, but otherwise he only smiled.

“It's all right,” he assured her. “I know how poisonous small-town gossip can be.”

There was a story there too, she thought, dragging down her hood.

“You look lovely,” he said.

Louise flushed. “Thank you.” She'd made an effort, pinned her hair up, applied a little light makeup, worn her least shabby skirt and top and the sandals her parents had given her for her birthday last summer.

Thierry's hair would never be anything other than unruly, but with his smart white shirt and dark trousers, he looked much smarter than usual, in a vaguely Byronic kind of way.

“You don't look so shabby yourself,” Louise said cordially. “Where are we going?”

“Izzy recommended a hotel restaurant.”

Louise glanced at him. “We don't need to go anywhere posh,” she said awkwardly. “Most of my nights out are a couple of pints in the pub and a fish supper carry out.”

Thierry wrinkled his nose. “A Scottish addiction to deep-fried fat I will never understand. So is Aidan parent sitting?”

“He and Chrissy are there.”

He glanced at her. “Do they know you're with me?”

“Yes, but they're discretion on two legs. Each.”

“Do they mind?”

“I didn't ask and they didn't say,” she said, delving around for a change of subject. “The computer's great, by the way. Super fast! Makes booking over the phone so much easier.”

“Are you getting more bookings now?”

“Got a family for the Easter holidays. And the Ardknocken fishing trips get underway tomorrow, so we'll be a lot busier after that.”

“Then your business is looking up?”

“I hope so. What about yours?”

“Not many people want a convict repairing their computer. I suppose it might improve with time. I've got a few more ideas.”

“Izzy said you were slaving over something.”

She thought his skin might have darkened, though it was hard to tell in the dark.

“Sorry I missed your texts,” he said uncomfortably. “I got involved. Glad you didn't just give up on me.”

“The night is young,” she said, and he laughed. She liked his laugh, deep and soft and sudden, almost as if he was surprised to be amused.

* * * * *

“So what did Dave do to piss off your mother?” Thierry asked casually, refilling her glass. They were on the delicious second course, and although it may have been the wine, Louise felt quite at ease in his company.

She shrugged. “Dumped me, probably. She's biased, bless her. How do you know about Dave anyway? He was before your time.”

“Your mother. Apparently she prefers me to your previous boyfriend who could barely spare them the time of day and treated you appallingly besides.”

Louise put down her fork. “How come my mother can still surprise me? That's just not the sort of thing she tells the man who fixes the computer! No matter how helpful he is.”

“How appallingly did he treat you?”

“He didn't,” Louise protested. “He just stopped coming to Ardknocken, took up with someone closer to home. It wasn't a big deal. Only in Ardknocken would anyone have considered it a serious romance!”

“Did you?” he asked steadily.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “I liked Dave. He was fun, and he was different, and when he stopped coming, I missed not have something to look forward to, but he wasn't…special.” She reached for her wine, took a sip and then another before she confessed, “I may have wanted him to be in my weaker moments, but I always knew he wasn't.”

“What constitutes special?” he asked. “To you?”

She shrugged. “When inconveniences don't matter. Like Glenn to Izzy. And Chrissy to Aidan.”

“Have you ever met anyone like that?”

She shook her head, picked up her knife and fork. Her heart was suddenly beating too fast, because in some ways Thierry was already special, not least because she'd screwed him within minutes of their first hello. Twice, with abandon and violent pleasure. Worse, it came to her that the suspicion Aidan had sown was her inconvenience that didn't matter. He intrigued her too much.

But it was only intrigue. And, no doubt, sexual frustration. She didn't know Thierry and probably never would.

He said, “I can't imagine no one's tried to sweep you off your feet.”

“And away from Ardknocken to the bright lights?” She smiled. “Believe it or not, I like it here. Even without ties to my parents, I wouldn't want to leave.”

He shrugged, swallowed some wine. “Why should you?”

“People do. Young folk have to leave to get jobs, or to study. They don't come back, as a rule, except occasionally when they're successful enough to want to ditch the rat race. Hardly any of my school friends are still here.” She paused to raise her glass to him. “And then the Ardknocken House project arrived.”

“Replacing the nice, ambitious kids who left, with a bunch of dodgy ex-cons.”

“Gives us something to talk about. And when Izzy took up with Glenn…” She threw up her hands in mock shock.

“What did you think? Did you approve of the relationship?
Do
you approve?”

“To be honest, I was terrified, at first. I urged her not to take that job at the house, and when she did it anyway, I watched for her coming home—she stayed in the B&B flat then—like a mother hen afraid the fox has taken her chick.”

“And now?”

“Now…I see him with her, with Jack, and how he makes them happy and I like him for who he is. Whatever he's done in the past, he's paid for. I don't think about it anymore.”

His eyes were steady, searching.

“Much,” she added, just in case he thought her too easy a pushover.

A smile flickered across his lips and died.

“And funnily enough Aidan trusts him,” she said.

Thierry took a last forkful of potato and laid down his knife and fork. “Does he trust me?” he asked.

Louise paused, with her cutlery poised, and glanced at him. “He used to,” she said honestly, “until he discovered who Ron was. Now he's afraid for you and the others.”

“
Afraid
is not a word I associate with Aidan.”

Louise shrugged. “There are different kinds of fear. He's not afraid
of
Ron; he's afraid what will be found
because
of Ron.”

Thierry's lip twisted as if he wanted to smile and couldn't. His face gave nothing away at all. In fact, she thought he was just going to leave it there, as though…hurt by her suspicion.

Oh hell. She'd known this would wreck everything before it had begun, and she'd been right. Just as well, really.

“Nothing will be found,” Thierry said. “There's nothing for anyone
to
find. I don't have any London and Scottish money.”

“Then Ron is barking up the wrong tree?”

“Oh yes.”

She frowned suddenly, following her train of thought. “Why did you pick on London and Scottish in the first place? Was their security crap? Or did you think no one would suspect someone in France of defrauding a British company?”

Thierry shrugged. “Everything's international now. Lots of French people have policies with London and Scottish.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. All my family did.” His eyelids flickered down. Something in his tense pose told her he didn't want to talk about this but was forcing himself for the sake of honesty. That meant something, surely.

“It was personal,” Louise said slowly. “You had a grudge against them. Did you work for them too?”

“God, no. I did something much more trivial for a computer game company. For a bit, anyway. The hacking was a side skill I'd been honing since I was at school.”

“But you didn't rob them for fun,” Louise said with certainty.

“No,” Thierry agreed. The smiling waiter appeared to remove their main course and Thierry asked him for the dessert menu. He refilled his own glass, added a splash to Louise's, which was still half-full.

He could have changed the subject. It would have seemed natural at that point and Louise expected him to seize the opportunity. He didn't.

“I needed the money,” he said.

Louise waved one impatient hand. “No one needs that amount of money.”

“True. But if you're going to be hung for a lamb…”

Clearly, he meant to leave it there. Louise didn't. “What did you need money for?” she pursued, thinking of the kind of debts a wild young man could accumulate for house and car, fabulous sound systems, gambling debts, maybe, even drugs. But again Thierry surprised her.

He said, “I lost my job.”

She blinked. “Couldn't you get another? Aren't game programmers in high demand?”

“I was short on time. The company closed down its Paris operation, moved everything back to the States. They offered me a position there, but I couldn't take it.” He stopped talking, pushed at his plate. “I had other responsibilities.”

“Sick parents?” she guessed, since the subject was close to her.

He shook his head. “Not then. My father died when I was a kid.” He paused again, as if he wanted that to be enough; he didn't want to talk about this, yet seemed to force himself. “My sister was sick, and my mother couldn't cope. I thought, in a way, that redundancy might be a blessing. I'd have some time to be with them while I searched for something else. Looking back, I should just have gone to America and sent back everything I earned. But that boat had sailed before we had my sister's final diagnosis.”