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. Apparen
tly 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.”
Louise felt her stomach twinge in sympathy. “Which was?”
He grabbed his glass, twisting the stem between his fingers. “Cancer. A rare form, generally regarded as untreatable. She never had much chance, but there was hope in some new, horrendously expensive drug treatment.”
He took a drink, set down the glass, staring at its swirling contents rather than at Louise. “The state wouldn’t pay for anything so experimental and with such low odds of survival, but we had health insurance. I’d taken it out for all of us when I started to earn good money.”
“With London and Scottish,” Louise murmured, beginning to see the picture. “They wouldn’t pay out.”
“No, they wouldn’t. They claimed we weren’t covered for a pre-existing condition, and the doctors all agreed this cancer had been growing undetected in my sister for years, that she’d had it when the policy was taken out. So even though
we hadn’t known, they wouldn’t pay.” His gaze flickered to Louise. “She was fourteen years old.”
Louise swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“So was I. I had nothing much to sell, being young and stupid. I’d earned good money, but I’d never saved. My Paris apartment was rented, my car on finance. I had enough for us to live on for a few months, but nothing like enough for Annette’s treatment. In desperation, I contacted my old firm in America, but they’d filled the position I’d have had, and couldn’t offer me anything else. No one else seemed to be hiring either.” Thierry sat back. “I figured London and Scottish owed us, so I took it. Because I could.”
He took another drink and lowered his glass with a crooked smile. “How’s that for a hard-luck story?”
“Did your sister get the treatment?”
He nodded. “Yes. It gave her another couple of months. The disease was too advanced for more.”
“Shit,” Louise said. “I’m so sorry.”
Thierry gazed into his glass. “I gave the rest of the money back for publicity, so they’d be shamed before the whole world. I don’t think they cared. And I went to prison. Apparently the judge was lenient.”
Louise leaned forward. “But London and Scottish must know how you spent the rest of the money. Surely they don’t think you still have it?”
He shrugged. “Something’s rattled their cage.”
Deliberately casual, Louise swirled the wine in her glass. “Must be the other money, the stuff that you never told them about.”
His eyes focused on hers. Unexpectedly, he smiled. “I suppose it must. Who told you? Ron?”
“Via Aidan. They’re both looking now, Thierry. You have to give it back.”
“I haven’t got it.”
“Thierry—”
“It’s the truth.”
“Then what happened to it?”
“I’ve no idea. I gave it away.”
“Why?”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Actually, it still does.”
In the Mists of Time Page 8