In the Mists of Time

by Marie Treanor

  “Small-town disease,” Thierry said with a hint of bitterness. “It only hurts when you let it, when you care too much. My mother cared, and her neighbours made her life hell when I went to prison. My fiancée—” He broke off, waving one dismissive hand.

  “Fiancée?” Louise repeated, blinking. “I never heard about a fiancée before!”

  “Well, she wasn’t for long, as it turned out.”

  “What happened?”

  Thierry shrugged, but the almost studied carelessness told her more than words. “She dumped me when I was arrested. Can’t really blame her. It’s not as if I asked her permission, either to take the money or to give it back.”

  No, he didn’t blame her, Louise thought, but it had hurt him, added to his isolation as the cold reality of conviction and prison replaced the lost cause of his little sister’s life.

  Thierry drew in his breath. “Trouble is, I could never quite lose the idea that she didn’t end it because of me, but because of the publicity. Village gossip on a larger scale. It happens everywhere, Louise, not just here. You can’t hide from it altogether.”

  “You’ve just told me to avoid you because of the journalists,” she said dryly.

  A smile flickered across his face. “I never said I was consistent.”

  Louise laughed and stood. “I’m going to take these books back home. I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay.”

  * * * * *

  Returning to the big house, Thierry found Izzy doing a quick vacuum around the communal sitting room. Catching sight of him, she switched off the machine to say hello.

  “Know any meteorologists?” he asked bluntly. “The librarian—Morag?—said you might.”

  “Yes, as it happens. Why?”

  “I’m curious about the recent mists.”

  Izzy released the vacuum cleaner. “Because of Ron?”

  “Partly,” he agreed with caution. He held her gaze. “They just don’t seem right to me.”

  She searched his face for a moment, then walked across and unplugged the Hoover. “Come on up to the flat, and I’ll email a couple. You can tell me what to ask.”

  Thierry carried the vacuum cleaner to the cupboard under the main stairs and followed her up to the flat. For quickness, she entered through the study that had once been Glenn’s bedroom, and went straight across to the computer.

  A little awkwardly, Thierry said, “I just want to know if they’d spotted anything unusual about the mists on Monday afternoon, Wednesday night, Friday night and Sunday afternoon. Either as to what caused them, or where they formed, or anything really.”

  Izzy typed quickly, adding what he’d said to her original friendly greeting, then addressed the message to three different people. “Hopefully one of them will answer quickly,” she murmured, and pressed Send.

  “Thanks, Izzy.”

  “No worries. Want a coffee?”

  “No thanks, I should get some work done.”

  “On your game?”

  He nodded.

  “Sounds a great idea. Glenn’s quite excited about it.”

  “Well, he’s the composer in demand for computer games these days. Not surprised.”

  Izzy smiled. She always did when someone praised Glenn, and it never seemed to be reflected glory, just genuine pleasure that he was appreciated. It was one of the things Thierry liked about her.

  “I hear you’re seeing a lot of Louise,” she said unexpectedly, just when he thought he’d get away with it and was about to head for the door.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Do you mind?”

  “God, no. Even if it was my place to, which it isn’t! I was just going to ask you to eat with us tonight. I know it must be difficult to meet up without the Ardknocken grapevine—especially now we have some media interest again.”

  Although it was his instinct to prevent anyone, even Izzy, from interfering, an instant’s reflection told him he needed all the help he could get, at least until the danger of a media frenzy was past, and he and Louise had more clue as to where the hell this was going.

  “Thanks,” he said. “That’d be great.”

  * * * * *

  “You invited them here?” Glenn asked Izzy later with more dismay than pleasure.

  “Well, why not? They’re friends, with nowhere very discreet they can go.”

  Glenn tugged at his hair in a way that always made her want to kiss him. So she did. But although his arms came around her immediately, he said, “How far has this relationship gone? Do you know?”

  “I know they like each other,” Izzy said cautiously. “A lot. It’s not like you to talk about it.”

  His lips twisted. “It’s not like me to disapprove either.”

  She stared up at him, frowning. “No, it isn’t,” she agreed. “What’s eating you?”

  He sighed and tugged her down onto the sofa beside him. “A dream,” he said with reluctance. “I don’t think Thierry should be with Louise. Something bad will happen.”

  “To whom?” Izzy demanded, gazing into his troubled face.

  “All of them.” Glenn swallowed. “It looked to me like Thierry…wounded Louise’s dad. With a bread knife.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “You didn’t need to pick me up!” Louise said as she climbed into the car with Izzy. “I could have walked easily enough.”

  “Well, this way, everyone knows you’re with me,” Izzy replied, pulling away from the kerb.

  “Am I not?” Louise enquired.

  “Well, me and Glenn and Jack. And Thierry.”

  “Ah. I see.” Louise flushed slightly. “Matchmaking.”

  “Hardly. I was under the impression the match was already made.”

  Louise gave a derisive snort and looked out the window without seeing. “How did you manage it then? You and Glenn, in the glare of the Ardknocken spotlight?”

  Izzy shrugged. “I admit I didn’t want to be the subject of gossip, especially for Jack’s sake. But I suppose I never cared about that as much as you must.” She glanced at Louise. “They were never my people. I liked them, but apart from you and Morag, I didn’t call any of them friends. You grew up here, so it’s harder.”

  As she turned up the hill towards the big house, Izzy kept her eyes on the road. “Are you serious about Thierry?”

  “Izzy, I’ve known him a week!” Louise protested. Then she sighed. “Maybe I’d like to be,” she admitted. “There’s just so much shit happening just now.”

  “How’re your parents?” Izzy asked.

  “Mum’s hip’s less sore, which is good. But I think Dad might be getting a cold. He’s awfully droopy and sniffly, and he didn’t seem to recognize Mum this afternoon. To be honest, it’s getting harder to tell how he is physically.”

  “And then there’s Ron,” Izzy observed. “Had to fight off any reporters?”

  “Not yet. Thierry said Glenn gave a couple of local journalists their marching orders.”

  Izzy laughed. “Glenn doesn’t have to order. He just looks. They all know who he is. I was talking to Thierry about your mist.”

  Louise eyed her cautiously. “Did he tell you his theories?”

  “Not exactly. Just that he thinks these mists are unnatural. I emailed a couple of weather people I know from the old days.”

  “What did they say?”

  “That mists are the least of our troubles. Apparently we’re getting really high tides over the next few days, and with a storm due to hit on Wednesday, half the village is liable to get flooded.”

  * * * * *

  Dinner with Izzy and Jack had always been fun for Louise, ever since the days they’d lived in the B&B flat. Dining with Glenn was still more of a novelty, but a surprisingly pleasant one. Somewhere in the last few months, she’d stopped thinking of him as a Glasgow hardman tamed by Izzy an
d Jack. Now he was simply Glenn, a quiet man with a quirky sense of humour and a strong streak of kindness. That he made Izzy and Jack happy was a welcome bonus.

  Thierry on the other hand… She was slightly piqued that Jack had to be sent to the caravan to fetch him. She’d hoped he would be eager to see her.

  “He’ll be working on the game,” Glenn said, walking towards the dining room window. “If you want a laugh, see how completely dazed he is when Jack drags him out of the caravan.”

  Reluctantly, she followed Glenn to the window in time to see Jack banging on the caravan door. Although it was dark, the outside lights illuminated the caravan and the boy like a vignette. Several seconds later, a dishevelled Thierry pushed open the door and blinked in clear surprise at the child. Jack spoke. Thierry dragged his hand through his hair as if trying to readjust his brain. Jack seized his hand and tugged. Thierry resisted, looking back into the caravan, but Jack hung on until Thierry stumbled outside with him. Thierry shook himself like a dog, walked several paces, then stopped again.

  “Now he thinks he should clean himself up to come visiting,” Glenn observed with clear amusement.

  “But Jack won’t let him,” Izzy said from the other side of the room. She was right.

  “Maybe we should just let him go back to his game,” Louise suggested. “If he doesn’t want to come just now—”

  “He does,” Glenn said briefly.

  And, in fact, when they arrived in the flat, Thierry was laughing at Jack’s chatter and returning it.

  “Got him!” Jack called triumphantly, and dragged Thierry into the room.

  He looked much as he had this morning, only with the sleeves of his sweater pushed up and his hair in rather attractive disarray.

  “Sorry, Izzy,” he said. “I lost track of the time.”

  “Never,” Izzy marvelled. “Give him a drink, Louise, and I’ll see how dinner’s doing. Glenn, can you warm the plates? Jack, wash your hands!”

  As the others scattered to do Izzy’s bidding, Louise and Thierry were left alone with the width of the room between them. Louise struggled desperately for something mundane to say, anything that might break the sudden, intolerable tension. Thierry’s lips twitched into the half smile that melted her, and then he walked across the room, slow and predatory.

  Her stomach plunged. Her lips parted to blurt something stupid about distracting him from work, but the words never came. He walked right up to her, then simply took her in his arms and covered her mouth with his.

  His kiss was long and thorough and just what she needed. Aching tenderness and hot, liquid desire… Her arms lifted of their own accord, wrapping themselves around his neck to draw him closer as she kissed him back. Something almost like pain seemed to rise up from her heart, tightening her throat, flowing from her mouth into his, and she wanted to weep.

  God, I love you…

  The words sprang into her mind unbidden and intense, but at least blessedly silent.

  And then Glenn wandered back into the room. Even so, Thierry didn’t drop her and leap away, merely released her as if everything was quite natural, while Glenn set plates on the table. Izzy appeared with a large casserole and Jack with a plate of fresh, homemade bread.

  In something of a daze, Louise joined them at the table. She smiled and spoke without any clear idea of what she said. It must have been relevant, because no one looked at her as if she were insane, but she didn’t actually care. The hugeness of her discovery that she loved Thierry was all-consuming, and as she let it enfold her, she realized, with wonder, that it made her happy. She was happy.

  And she’d do anything to make Thierry happy too.

  * * * * *

  “So these storms we’re to expect later in the week,” Glenn said over Izzy’s rather excellent apple pie and ice cream. “Are you connecting these to your mist theory?”

  “I don’t really have a viable mist theory,” Thierry said ruefully. “I just have feelings and conjectures that even Louise has difficulty buying into.”

  Glenn shifted uncomfortably, glanced at Izzy, and then put down his spoon. “There are more things in heaven and earth,” he said. “Look, I dream sometimes, about stuff that comes true days or even months later. I saw a lot of water in one. I think it might have been the B&B.”

  Louise nodded ruefully. “It happened once before, apparently, when I was a baby. Freakishly high tide plus high winds, and the sea came right up past the row of houses in front of us. Trashed the garden and caused some damage to the front rooms on the ground floor. It could happen again.”

  “But it’ll be worse for the houses right on the front,” Thierry said. “We should see to Aidan’s boat.”

  “And the cottage,” Louise said. “It’s not far enough up the cliff to avoid the worst of a deluge like that. I hope the council is doing something about sandbags… There’re a lot of old folk living in the cottages by the harbour. They’re going to need help.”

  “We can help,” Glenn said. “If they’ll let us.”

  “Chrissy’s in with the minister,” Izzy observed. “He could introduce you.”

  “What an alliance that would be,” Glenn said wryly.

  “Actually, he’s nice,” Louise interjected. “He’s good with Mum and Dad.”

  Glenn’s gaze lingered on her. “How are your folks?”

  Louise told him what she’d already told Izzy. From there, the conversation veered gradually and by circuitous means back to the mist, and between them, Louise and Thierry outlined their research so far.

  “Any chance you could help us out?” Louise asked Izzy hopefully.

  “I’ll see what I can do, but if you’re talking Celts and druids, anything we find is going to be pretty vague and garbled. We could take our coffee down to the library, if you like?”

  Duly armed with coffee cups, they walked downstairs from the flat, through the house, to the rather splendid library on the first floor. Jack brought his own book and lay with Rover, aka Screw, on the rug to read it while Izzy and Glenn filtered out some books and manuscripts that could help.

  “Morag covets these for her local history collection at the public library,” Izzy observed, poring over some bound manuscripts that looked to Louise like a bizarre foreign script. “But I’m thinking we could use the respectable publicity of our own… How about a fertility goddess associated with spring? Offerings dropped down the waterfall.”

  “Yes, we found that,” Louise said eagerly. “Apart from the fertility bit, which sounds about right! What else does it say?”

  “Nothing, really…except that druids used to make these offerings in the spring mists. This is a seventeenth-century manuscript, and probably repeating garbled traditions, at best. At worst, it’s totally made up.”

  “I’d buy it,” Thierry said. “Only why would this mist goddess bother no one for over a thousand years and, now, suddenly start appearing again? What’s new?”

  “You are,” Glenn said. “You’ve never been here before. This is the first spring you’ve been here. Perhaps you’ve disturbed her.”

  “Maybe Ron did,” Louise said ruefully. “Maybe that’s why she took him, as an offering.”

  “She certainly seemed stronger by Sunday,” Thierry mused. “The mist stretched from the hill all the way down to the beach. During a hard rain shower.”

  Izzy and Glenn exchanged glances. “You know,” Izzy said, “you’d sound insane if we hadn’t noticed the same thing. We’ve had…urges too, during these mists. And the guys have been a bit restive.”

  “Cold showers and hard physical labour,” Glenn said.

  “But the mist was there on Sunday, after Ron died,” Izzy objected.

  “Thierry thinks it’s us,” Louise said. “Him and me. We both like walking in mist, and I’ve always been able to see through it—well, feel through it. I don’t lose my sense of direction, an
d I always know where to put my feet.”

  “Maybe you’re both descended from the goddess herself,” Izzy enthused, not entirely joking, Louise thought. “Or from her favourite druids. The Bretons are Celts too. Their druids could easily have visited ours and vice versa, or met up at holy places like Mona…”

  “The question is,” Glenn said, “how do you quieten her down again? All these hormones flying around the place are dangerous.”

  “For Nicole,” Louise remembered, “as well as Ron… Plus, I hate the feeling of being manipulated, however much fun it might be!” She glanced at her watch. “Yikes, I have to go and let Cerys get home. Thanks for the fabby dinner, guys!”

  “I’ll give you a lift,” Thierry said, standing with her.

  They went back up to the flat to grab her coat and bag, and walked down the rickety outside stairs. In the shadows at the foot, Thierry took her into his arms again and kissed her. “I don’t want this to be good night,” he murmured.

  “Neither do I,” she confessed. “But I do have to go home.”

  “I know.” His mouth closed over hers again as he crowded her against the wall of the house, pressing his obvious arousal into her stomach.

  When they came up for air and her dazed eyes fluttered open, she saw, over his shoulder, white streaks of mist drifting down from the hills.

  She clutched his arms. “Thierry. It’s back.”

  He twisted around, only half releasing her. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “as I see it, we have two choices. We can carry on here, to entice it closer more quickly and try and communicate again. Or we can try and outrun it, separate at the B&B and see what happens.”

  Louise closed her eyes, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. Desire lay thick and heavy in the pit of her stomach, all the more tempting because she knew it couldn’t yet be due to the mist. Her urgency was real. This whole feeling for Thierry was real and overwhelming and wonderful, and she didn’t want to lose a moment of it.

  But she had parents whom she loved and whom she’d chosen to take care of, in the teeth of Aidan’s persuasions towards a nursing home. She’d never shirked responsibility before and she wouldn’t start now, not for a man. Not even for Thierry.