In the Mists of Time

by Marie Treanor

  Her mouth fell open. “Really? But wouldn’t I lose all my files? I’ve got bookings and accounts and the website stuff—”

  “It should transfer.” He took a mouthful of coffee and then another.

  She drew in her breath. “But even if you have the stuff, this would use up an awful lot of your time—rather more than twenty pounds’ worth!”

  He shrugged. “Tell your friends how helpful I was. Spread the word and pay me back in advertising.”

  I’d see him again. He’d be here a lot, surely… She forced herself to drop the hand she was pressing to her chest as if smothering the galloping beats of her heart. Excitement warred with acute discomfort.

  “Or dinner,” he said, and she stood abruptly, her face, her whole body flaming in anger she didn’t even understand.

  “Look!” she began, with no clear idea what she’d say next. Fortunately, perhaps, the doorbell interrupted her, and she whisked herself out of the room.

  It was Cerys, bright and happy as ever in her grungy clothes and bleached-blonde hair. “Hi, Louise! What’s first? Just the usual?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’ll be going out, but I’ll come and speak to you first.”

  As Cerys breezed into the living room to greet Louise’s parents, Louise walked back down the hall to the office and stood in the doorway.

  Thierry was screwing the side back onto her computer, his fingers deft and quick. Then he pushed the screwdriver into his back pocket and straightened to face her.

  “You want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

  Instinctively, Louise stepped into the room and closed the door. She didn’t want Cerys or anyone else hearing this. Although as soon as she leaned back against the door, she realized horribly how it must look to him and actually held up one hand to ward him off.

  “That would be stupid,” she said. “But we don’t need to repeat it.”

  His dark eyes searched her face. “Don’t we? It was very—”

  “No,” she interrupted. “We don’t! It was a…an aberration, a moment of madness I can’t afford in my life.”

  “I see.” His eyelids swept down like hoods, long, black lashes fanning out against pale cheeks. Prison palour…

  Ridiculously, it crossed her mind that she’d hurt him. Deep down, she knew she had no power to do that, and yet she couldn’t help trying to make it better. “I don’t do things like that. It isn’t who I am!”

  His heavy eyelids lifted once more. “It must be,” he said with devastating simplicity. He shrugged and turned away, grabbing up his coat and the battered canvas satchel he’d brought with him. “But I make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

  She stumbled out of his way, pulling open the door for him. But it was a small room. She barely had time to panic as he approached her and paused. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body. Worse, she could smell him, the scent of his skin, which had swamped her yesterday as he made amazing love to her. She swallowed convulsively.

  His lips parted as if he was going to speak. He’d kissed her when they’d parted on the hill, when she’d just begun to regret her outrageous behaviour.

  He closed his mouth, his lips twisting into the faintest smile before he brushed past her into the hall. Cerys, emerging from the living room, wished him a cheerful good-morning and opened the door for him. He didn’t glance back.

  “Wow,” Cerys whispered after she’d closed the door. “Is he staying here?”

  Louise cleared her throat. “No. He’s from the big house. He was having a look at the computer for me.”

  “Can he help?”

  “Not sure,” Louise said vaguely. She thought she might have blown her free computer deal. Worse, she’d just let the best lover she’d ever had, or was likely to have, walk away from her.

  As she went upstairs to clean Kev’s room, a word from childhood echoed around her head, accusing and jeering. “Fearty.”

  * * * * *

  Later that morning, she walked round to Nicole’s house on her way to the shops. After pursuing her down the hill yesterday afternoon, she hadn’t been able to catch her. No one had answered the door of her cottage. This time, the cottage door opened as she reached it, and Nicole stepped out.

  “Hello,” Louise said. “I dropped round to see you yesterday—are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She frowned. “Did you see him too?”

  “Who?”

  “The stranger.”

  “Thierry?” Louise asked, adding hastily, “The man who was with me?”

  “No, he’s from the big house, isn’t he? There was someone else on the hill.” She shivered. “Nasty man.”

  “Nasty? In what way?”

  Nicole shrugged. “He grabbed me. I had to kick him where it hurts.”

  “Shit,” Louise said, staring. “Were you running away from him when I met you?”

  “Yes. I hope he floundered about up there for a long time.”

  “So do I,” Louise agreed cordially. “Did you report this to the police?”

  Nicole glanced at her, a shockingly cynical look. “What would be the point?”

  Many of the villagers had always discounted everything Nicole said. Because she was a little odd. And maybe Louise should have been doing the same right now, only she’d seen Nicole’s fear on the hill, and her concern for Louise.

  “But this is different. If there’s a dangerous man roaming the hill waiting for unwary women, you have to tell the police.”

  “Who’d believe me?”

  “Aidan. I’ll talk to Aidan, bring him to see you.” Of course, Aidan was no longer in the police, but he was in private security, and he surely had some kind of sway with the local plods like George Harris. Such as they were.

  “Maybe,” Nicole said vaguely.

  Louise dragged her phone from her bag. “What’s your phone number?”

  Nicole recited her local landline number, which Louise keyed into her phone. She doubted Nicole had a mobile.

  “Are you going up to the High Street?” Louise asked in friendly spirit.

  “No, down to the church.” With a slightly shy smile, and a nod, Nicole set off down the road in the opposite direction to Louise.

  Louise carried on towards the post office, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. And angry. What the hell had their supposedly friendly little village done to that girl so that she didn’t even think of reporting crimes like this? Some bastard had attacked her to the extent of needing a kick in the balls and she didn’t bother to tell anyone? Because she knew no one would believe her?

  Still fuming over it, she walked into the library where her friend Morag, the librarian, was sustaining a visit from one of the primary school classes. Morag winked at her and carried on talking to the children. Louise went in search of reading material.

  She was sitting at one of the tables with a few books in front of her when Morag slid into the seat opposite. Louise, who’d been staring blankly at the same page for some time and hadn’t even heard the departure of the children, blinked at her friend in some surprise.

  “I was going to say ‘a penny for them’,” Morag said, “but you look so intense I’d better make it a fiver.”

  “Have you ever had much to do with Nicole Graham?” Louise asked hastily, since the other direction of her thoughts was way too raw to speak about.

  “Not really. She was a cute little kid, then I went away, and when I came back, she was grown up and living alone. Where did her parents go?”

  “Not sure. There was talk of them emigrating to New Zealand, but Mrs. Campbell told me once they were in Glasgow. I don’t think they’ve ever come back here, and they don’t keep in touch much with anyone, so far as I know.”

  “Why the interest in Nicole?”

  “Someone attacked her yesterday, in the hills.”

 
Morag frowned. “How do you know that?”

  “She told me. Well, I saw her up there, running away from something. She wouldn’t tell me what at the time, but I spoke to her again this morning. Some bastard tried to assault her, and she didn’t even report it because she thought the police wouldn’t believe it. That isn’t right, Morag.”

  “No,” Morag agreed. “Trouble is, she’s probably right. Who was it?”

  “She didn’t know him. But then, it was awfully misty. It might just have made someone she did know look different. We need to know who it was, have him charged. I need to get Aidan to talk to her.”

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “Aidan’s not back until tonight.”

  Morag was silent. Someone came into the library and Morag stood to attend to them. When the outer door creaked shut again, Louise started and got to her feet. Save for Morag and herself, the place was empty again.

  “What else, Louise?” Morag asked. “What’s going on in that anxious little mind of yours?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Try me.” She peered more closely at Louise. “Are you blushing? Is it a man?”

  “Bugger off.”

  The door opened again for a couple of elderly gentlemen who came every day to read the newspapers. Louise and Morag both greeted them, and then Morag said, “Never mind. Pub tonight, after craft classes, and you can reveal all.”

  “Oh hell, did I sign up for one of those?” Louise demanded in dismay. Chrissy, who managed the Ardknocken House project, a co-operative of ex-prisoners making use of their legitimate talents to make a living for themselves, had arranged a selection of evening workshops and classes for the community. Louise and Morag had both been among the first to sign up, by way of support. Time had crept on, and the first class was indeed tonight.

  Morag grinned. “Woodwork.”

  At least it wasn’t the computer one. Surely it would be easy enough to avoid Thierry? “Which one are you doing?” she asked.

  “Art. With the delectable Charlie Gray.”

  “Is he, indeed?” Louise said with interest. “Well, I’d better make sure Cerys can do a couple of hours this evening.”

  “You arranged it when you first took her on,” Morag said dryly.

  “Did I?” Louise drifted towards the door. “How very efficient I am occasionally…”

  She’d crossed the road before she realized she’d abandoned her returned books on the library table without checking them in, and had forgotten to take out any others. Annoying, though not as bad as the fact that this was just the sort of thing Morag noticed. She was going to be grilled at the pub tonight. If she went. If she survived the visit to the big house.

  Chapter Three

  Glenn ran downstairs into the basement studio where he would be running his music workshop. There had been a lot of interest in that one from teenage kids under eighteen—possibly without their parents’ approval—but Chrissy had had to turn them away, since none of the ex-cons, especially not Glenn, had the necessary permission to work with children. Pity.

  He bent and turned on the main power—and the basement tilted into another room entirely. But it was a room he knew. The B&B living room. Thierry was there—Frog as he’d always been known in prison, with awe rather than derision. Now, he bent over an old man. Louise’s father. Fear and tension filled the room, and Glenn quickly saw why. In his hand, Thierry held a large kitchen knife which glinted red in the light. He looked up at Louise, who was staring at him in horror.

  “I’m so sorry,” Thierry whispered.

  And then a wall of what looked like water wiped the scene away. Glenn sat on the floor of his studio. Surreptitiously, he glanced around to make sure he was alone. The dreams, second sight, whatever he wanted to call these visions, didn’t come so often these days. But still, they were not something he wanted to talk about with anyone but Izzy. In particular, he didn’t want to talk about this one.

  Except, of course, he might have to. Getting to his feet, he knew he had to prevent Thierry doing whatever he’d done in Louise’s house. Thierry was not a violent man, far from it, but some tragedy involving Louise’s vulnerable father was going to tear him apart. Through accident or temper—to which he was not immune—Thierry was going to hurt someone and Glenn really didn’t like the look of that red knife…

  Of course, the dreams were only ever possible futures, but enough of them came true to make Glenn very uneasy over this one. The best bet would be to steer Thierry away from Louise, which wouldn’t have been difficult, given the relative isolation of Ardknocken House residents. Only, Glenn had already asked him to help Louise with her computer.

  Irritation and unreasonable guilt forced him across the room with unnecessary speed, turning equipment on, placing chairs and instruments. He had to concentrate on the reality of tonight’s workshop and thrust the dream back where it belonged. After all, there was nothing he could do about it.

  * * * * *

  When Louise left for the big house that evening, Ron, the fisherman staying in the self-contained flat, was sitting on his stairs watching the sunset. He called an amiable greeting to her, asked if she was heading to the pub.

  “Might do later,” Louise replied. “I’m going to my first-ever woodwork class!”

  “Do you have to go to the college in Oban for that?”

  “Oh no. They’re starting classes up at the big house.”

  “I thought the village would shun them,” Ron said.

  “Why?” Louise asked pleasantly. “You haven’t.” Ardknocken House had given him the rights to fish the river.

  Ron smiled. “True. But I live in London. I’m only here for two weeks. You folks have them in your backyard.”

  Louise, who’d once been so uneasy about their presence that she’d forbidden her friend Izzy to apply for a job at the big house—much good that had done her—found herself bridling now in their defence. “I suppose we must have got used to them. In fact, they’re quite an asset to the community.”

  “Must be,” Ron said peaceably. “Don’t let me keep you. Might see you in the pub later.”

  Louise smiled and hurried on to Morag’s house. It crossed her mind that Ron might have been interested in her, which was flattering. He was a bit older, of course, maybe late forties, but he was attractive enough. Recently divorced, worked in insurance down in London. She tried to think of him as a possible boyfriend and instead found her head full of Thierry’s face clouded with passion, his lips contorted as he began to come, Thierry’s mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts, her hips, between her legs.

  Oh Jesus Christ, please don’t let me run into him tonight!

  * * * * *

  Thierry stared at his computer screen.

  WHERE’S THE REST OF THE MONEY? TELL ME NOW OR YOU’LL GO BACK TO JAIL.

  His stomach twisted. The anonymous email had appeared in his Ardknocken House inbox with the stark words all in caps.

  Somebody had connected him to the missing money. Up until now, his misdirections seemed to have worked, for the authorities had regarded it as several unconnected lesser frauds. But it looked as if someone was definitely connecting those lesser threads now.

  Or it could be a crank, some stupid spam that just happened to mean something to him. Either way, no one could find the money, let alone trace it to him. He wasn’t going back to prison, not now, not ever.

  “Thierry?” Chrissy’s voice broke into his tangled thoughts, followed by a rap on the caravan door. “Workshop time!”

  Hastily, he shut down his laptop. “Coming. Have mine all turned up?”

  “You’ve got four out of five so far. Good start!”

  Thierry emerged from his caravan and strode in the back door and through the kitchen, where Jim was preparing trays of tea and coffee for every room.

  “
Nice touch,” Thierry observed.

  “Izzy’s idea. Less sterile than college classes. It’s busy too. Guess the locals are curious.”

  It seemed they were. Glenn was leading three young men and a girl—all under twenty, by the look of them—towards the basement studio. Izzy had taken up position at the foot of the main staircase, directing people to whichever class they’d chosen. Rab stood to one side with two men and…Louise.

  Louise. His mist goddess. Whatever irresistible attraction had drawn them together in the mist yesterday had been notably absent this morning. He’d expected a little awkwardness—God knew, he’d felt plenty himself—but the frigidity he’d found left him both floundering and miserable. It would have been easier if only his perception of her in the mist had been wrong in the full light of day, if she’d been dull or ugly or even ordinary. But she still shone, the most beautiful and desirable woman he’d ever laid eyes on, never mind hands. And cock.

  But she’d made it clear that she didn’t feel it too. Whatever she’d desired in him in the mist was no longer there for her. Though it twisted unpleasantly in his gut, he didn’t blame her. He wasn’t even surprised. He just wished he hadn’t wanted so badly to take her on the computer desk or the floor, or up against the door, or anywhere, really, providing he was inside her. He’d been desperate to see her naked.

  But there she stood, several yards away from him, unaware of his existence. She didn’t look anywhere near him, appeared to be chatting with Rab. He dragged his gaze free and found Izzy watching him approach the staircase.

  “Did you manage to take a look at Louise’s computer, then?” she asked. “Can you do anything for her?”

  “Yes. Not sure she wants me to, though. She doesn’t like me.”

  Izzy blinked. “Louise? I’ve never known Louise to dislike anyone.”

  Thierry changed the subject. “Are my people in the library?”