In the Mists of Time

by Marie Treanor

  “It had better be run and separate,” she said shakily. “This time.”

  He slid one finger under her chin to tip up her face, and pressed a brief, hard kiss on her lips. Then he released her, grabbed her hand and ran for the garage. He had his old car unlocked before they got to it. They jumped in, and he reversed out, turned and headed down the drive to the gate, still fastening his seat belt with one hand.

  As they drove down the hill towards the village, Louise twisted around to peer out the back window. Unusually, there was another car behind them. Beyond it, she could still make out mist in the distance. As if they’d awakened it but not yet attracted it. If you could believe their surely impossible conjectures.

  She straightened in her seat. “I’d like to sort this out, Thierry.”

  His gaze flickered to the mirror. “The mist? Or us?”

  She licked her lips. “Both. If you do.”

  His faint smile was twisted, almost rueful. “It’s all going to be twice as difficult with journalists on our tail.”

  “What?” She jerked around once more, staring at the lights of the car behind.

  “They were watching, waiting for us only a few yards up the road from the gates. They were probably there when Izzy brought you up, but they might not know who you are. I’m going to drive criminally fast now, and by a longer way round than normal. As soon as I stop, jump out and get into the house. I’ll lead them round the village again before I go home.”

  On the last word, he accelerated, screeching around the corner into the High Street, away from the B&B. There weren’t many streets to drive around, and he went straight past the B&B once to fool them.

  “Do you think they know who you are?” Louise asked, watching the curtains twitch as people glared after the outrageously speeding car in their quiet road.

  “I think we can safely assume that,” Thierry said dryly. “It’s why they’re following.” Making use of quick turns, and his own knowledge of the village, he managed to get to the B&B next time without a glimpse of any other car lights.

  He halted with only the faintest screech of brakes. Louise used the momentum of being thrown forward to hurl herself out of the car, shoving the door shut behind her. The car was already around the corner and heading for the church before she reached her front door.

  As she closed it behind her, she heard the engine of the car following.

  For a moment, she leaned her back against the door, listening to the beat of her own heart. What seemed to bother her most about the whole incident was that she hadn’t even said good night to Thierry. Nor he to her.

  Come to that, he hadn’t even looked best pleased when she’d said she’d wanted to sort things out.

  Shit, she was reading too much into this, moving ahead too fast…

  “Louise? Are you all right?” Cerys stood in the living room doorway, concern on her young face.

  Louise smiled and straightened. “Yes, of course. Everything okay here?”

  “Yes, they’re both asleep now. The carers were a bit concerned about your dad, said they’d asked for the doctor to visit in the morning.”

  “Okay. Did his cold seem worse?”

  “Yes, seems to have come right down on him. He was coughing and wheezing by the time he went to bed. Can’t hear him now, though.”

  Louise nodded, fighting guilt on several fronts. “Thanks, Cerys. I wouldn’t have gone out if I’d thought—”

  “How could you have known?” Cerys said reasonably, reaching for her smart leather jacket on the hallstand. “Anyway, it’s only a cold. We all get those!”

  * * * * *

  Only after she’d checked on her parents and spent some time listening to her father’s stertorous breathing did she remember about the mist. Going to the window, she found it had more or less vanished, leaving only a hint over the tops of the hills.

  Which didn’t make much sense. If the mist only thrived when she and Thierry were together, then why had it appeared last Wednesday night when they’d been apart? Still trying to get them together again, maybe? A kind of chicken-and-egg situation? The mist brought them together and grew stronger when they were together, feeding off their sexual energy? God knew, there was plenty of that…

  Only, why pick on her and Thierry? Was Izzy right that it was some kind of descendant thing? After all, Izzy reckoned she was descended from the ghost of Ardknocken House, which was why she’d been able to see it. Descent made sense to Izzy. Louise wasn’t so sure. Whatever the cause, she wasn’t used to being picked out as special. Aidan was the brilliant one, the maverick, the star who shone too brightly for Ardknocken…

  Louise had been angry with Aidan from time to time—they were siblings, after all—but she’d never been jealous of him. She’d always known she was ordinary, and was content to be so.

  Thierry wasn’t ordinary. But for however long, he’d chosen her. Being with him was awakening stuff within her she’d never been aware of before. Curiosity. Not just about sex, but about people and places she wanted suddenly to see and explore with him.

  Or maybe she was just tired of the eternally watchful eyes of the village. She wanted to go somewhere she could be with Thierry without being judged or having her relationship’s progress evaluated in public.

  It didn’t matter right now. She had to make her father well again, solve the mystery of the surely magical mist and find out what had happened to Ron, all while dodging journalists and the police.

  No, that wasn’t so very ordinary.

  * * * * *

  After speeding around the village a couple more times, Thierry slowed to a more reasonable pace before somebody called the police, and drove sedately back up to Ardknocken House. The watching car had caught up with him again before he reached the gates. He lifted one hand in a wave as he turned off the road.

  Heading for the caravan, he met Glenn taking the dog for his final walk.

  “That journalist is still there,” Thierry told him.

  Glenn nodded. “I know. Is he on to Louise?”

  “I hope not. I saw a camera flash while we were driving. I took off like a bat out of hell, and lost him before I dropped her off. Hopefully, he won’t have anything. She hates being watched.”

  “Damn silly place to live, then,” Glenn observed. “Especially now she’s seeing you.”

  “I’m not sure she is,” Thierry said. “We’ve got something, an attraction, but…”

  “But what?”

  Thierry kicked the edge of his caravan. “She can’t be with me, can she? A woman like her.”

  Glenn shrugged. “Izzy’s with me.” He drew in his breath. “On the other hand, if it doesn’t feel right, maybe you should draw back for a bit. Wait and see.”

  Thierry’s lips twisted. “Would you?”

  Glenn paused. “No. But Louise’s situation is…different. Difficult.”

  “And I make it harder for her.”

  “Maybe,” Glenn muttered. “Fuck, Thierry, what do I know? Just stay away from her dad and bread knives.” He strode away towards the wood, whistling to the dog, leaving Thierry to gaze after him in total bafflement.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The following morning, Kev the truck driver had barely left before Dr. Cameron arrived and examined Louise’s father in bed.

  “Definite chest infection,” she pronounced. “I’ll give you a prescription for some antibiotics that should clear it up.”

  “Should he stay in bed?” Louise’s mother asked anxiously.

  “No, no, get him up as usual. You should see an improvement by tomorrow!”

  As she bustled off, Louise muttered, “I feel I should apologise for disturbing her. I’ll run round and get these as soon as Cerys arrives.”

  In the meantime, they had to try to get her father to drink, which he didn’t want to do, so it was something of a tryi
ng morning. Then she had to clean and change Kev’s room, ready it for their four fishing guests who were due to arrive late that afternoon. But it was Tuesday, workshop evening at the big house, and the possibility, surely, of seeing Thierry…

  In the end, she barely had time to show the fishing executives to their rooms before Morag came to collect her. As she left, they were asking Cerys about local restaurants and the girl was directing them to the fish-and-chip shop.

  Louise grinned as she escaped. “Not sure they’ve grasped the simplicity of their midweek fishing break!” she murmured as she followed Morag down the path.

  “Well, they get a posh meal up at the house tomorrow night, don’t they?”

  “The last lot were effusive about their dinner,” Louise remembered.

  “Chrissy wants Glenn and Izzy to eat with the punters, like the laird and his lady. Glenn’s holding out.”

  “I think Chrissy and Izzy should do it. They’re much more sociable, and most of the people booking these trips are men. Got three men and one woman this time, and the next lot are all men again.”

  “Not such a bad idea. Izzy would never do anything to make Glenn miserable anyhow. So what about your mist researches?”

  Louise gave her a brief update, finishing with, “How insane is that?”

  “Pretty barking,” Morag replied. “On the other hand, when the mist hit the village on Sunday, I did feel something. At the time, I blamed it on Errol Flynn rather than the mist—yes, my life is that sad that while you’re indulging in all sorts of wild and exotic sex with gorgeous men, I’m watching black-and-white films by myself.”

  “Man,” Louise corrected, blushing. “And don’t malign yourself. You could have any man you wanted.”

  “Actually, I couldn’t, but moving swiftly on—”

  “You don’t still have a thing about Aidan, do you?” Louise interrupted. “You used to.”

  “Everyone used to have a thing about Aidan. Not surprising, really. Fortunately, I grew out of it. Glad to see him so happy with Chrissy, though—another triumph for the Ardknocken House project. Are you going to make it three?”

  Louise cast her eyes upward to the dark, almost starless sky. “God, I don’t know, don’t ask. I’ve never met anyone like him.”

  Morag must have caught the desperation in her voice, for she threaded her arm through Louise’s and gave it a little squeeze. “Don’t be so serious,” she begged. “Enjoy the sex, but remember it isn’t everything. Orgasm isn’t necessarily love, so don’t be fooled.”

  Louise regarded her curiously. It was easier to think about than her own troubled emotions. “As you were fooled?” she hazarded. Morag’s life between leaving Ardknocken when she was eighteen and returning some seven years later, was pretty much a total mystery to Louise. She rarely talked about it, apart from odd funny stories from her university time.

  “Trust me, I am the wise old lady,” Morag assured her.

  Louise stared at her. “You’re thirty, not eighty!”

  “Bless you, my child,” Morag said flippantly. “Just remember, you are wonderful, fun and beautiful, and you can walk away from this whenever you want.”

  A frown tugged at Louise’s brow. “You think I’ve been seeing Thierry because I imagine I can’t get anyone better? Because this is my last chance before I atrophy into the eternal spinster?”

  “No—though I wouldn’t put it past you to think like that. I’m trying to give you a way out. If you want one.” She drew in her breath. “And you might.”

  Puzzled, Louise followed her gaze to two women gossiping by the harbour. She knew them slightly, as she knew most people in the village. Normally, they would have exchanged smiles and hellos. Tonight, they stopped talking to watch her walk past, their faces both pitying and curiously…hostile. The greeting died in Louise’s throat.

  “Evening,” Morag said to them. “The tide’s coming in. You should stand further back.”

  Almost on her final word, a wave sloshed over the harbour wall and splashed over the two gawping women. They exclaimed and leapt back while Morag hurried Louise on.

  “Morag, what the—”

  “The Cry came out this afternoon,” Morag interrupted, referring to the local, weekly newspaper. “I’ve got a copy in my bag. Maybe you should see it.”

  “Oh God,” Louise said with foreboding. “I don’t want to see it. Tell me the worst.”

  “The dead man who fell down the waterfall—”

  “Ron,” Louise interjected.

  “Ron. His death is their lead article, and of course the fact that he was investigating one of the villains at Ardknocken House. Thierry is named and his past crime cast up. It’s annoyingly factual, nothing that would stand a complaint, let alone a libel claim. But the worst is, there’s a photograph of him in his car with you. No accusations, just an unspoken implication that you’re his local accomplice, lover, gangster’s moll, whatever.”

  “Fuck,” Louise said. Blood sang in her ears; futile anger struggled up, looking for something, someone to kick. Soon, very soon, the world would fall in on her.

  “Those two old bats have clearly read it. Worse, you can bet your Sunday hat that Mrs. Campbell grabbed it as soon as it hit the post office. Your cat is out of its bag, Louise, and somewhat distorted to boot.”

  Understanding fought its way through. She turned her head away from the twitching curtains as they crossed to the road up to the big house. “That’s why you want me to end it.”

  “I don’t want you to end it. None of my bloody business,” Morag said sharply. “Just don’t stay for the wrong reasons. Because you think he needs your support.”

  “He does,” Louise said flatly. “He and Glenn and the whole project need all our support, and all those stupid old bags can do is glare at me as if I’m Bonnie to the local Clyde.”

  “Support is good,” Morag agreed. “But don’t confuse it with love.”

  Louise brushed that aside. “Jesus, Morag, I’ve lived here all my life. These people have known me all my life! Do they really imagine I could kill anyone? Let alone one of my parents’ paying guests?”

  “Yes, you’ve lived here all your life, so you know exactly what they’re like,” Morag said dryly. “And you know they’re not the whole village, they’re just the most vocal. Now, let’s go and make furniture and paint flowers.”

  * * * * *

  “A bit quiet, isn’t it?” Thierry said to Chrissy as he wandered into the front hall of the house to meet his workshop members.

  “Less than half of last week’s turnout,” Chrissy said through her teeth as she smiled at one new arrival. “Bloody newspaper.”

  Thierry jerked his head round to her. “What?”

  “See for yourself,” Chrissy said, nodding to the paper folded on the nearest table.

  Reluctantly, Thierry walked over and picked it up. It didn’t take long to gather the gist. He refolded it and dropped it back on the table before going more slowly back to Chrissy.

  “I’ll go,” he said. “I’m spoiling things for you here—”

  “You will not go!” Chrissy said with a rare spurt of temper. “That’d be like an admission of guilt, and it would paint all of us! You’ll take your workshop, even if it’s only one person, and we’ll all go on doing so until this shite blows over.”

  “It’s not just us, though, is it?” Thierry said grimly. “They’ve dragged Louise into it. I’ve dragged Louise into it.”

  Chrissy’s eyes softened. She opened her mouth to say something and then closed it again, for Louise herself walked in with Morag the librarian.

  Thierry could see at once that she knew. Her fine elfin face looked drawn and white. He’d have done anything to wipe that hunted look out of her eyes. More than anything in the world, he wanted to make her happy. Instead, he’d caused her this.

  She caught sight of
him almost at once, and her foot faltered as if she wasn’t quite sure what to do. It was Morag who drew her on, coming right up to him and Chrissy, which was natural, in any case, since Chrissy was their friend.

  “Numbers always drop off after the first week,” Morag said bracingly.

  “Yes, they do,” Chrissy agreed. “And I’m sure they’ll come back up next week when this nonsense is resolved.”

  “You okay?” Thierry asked Louise under his breath.

  “Yes. You?”

  “I’m annoyed by this manufactured shitstorm,” Thierry said.

  “Then let’s fight back,” Chrissy said intensely. “Pub after workshops, persuade others to come too. Nobody has done anything wrong here, so never even look as if you have.”

  * * * * *

  Since there were only Louise and Angus Black at the workshop, it seemed natural for them all to go to the pub together, and so they helped Rab tidy up. Morag and Mrs. Dunn, the joiner’s wife, were waiting for them outside Rab’s workshop, and Angus drove them all down the hill.

  “I can only stay for one,” Louise said, trying to make it sound as though she’d have loved to party all night. “My dad’s not well.”

  “I heard that,” Mrs. Dunn said, clearly concerned. “I hope it’s nothing too serious.”

  “A chest infection. Dr. Cameron thinks the antibiotics should clear it up. But it’s knocked the stuffing out of him, and it worries Mum.”

  Mrs. Dunn took her arm as they entered the pub. “Then let’s have a dram to his speedy recovery.”

  Her simple kindness was like balm to Louise’s raw wounds, a counterweight to the nasty feeling left by the disapproving old bats by the harbour. And somehow it gave her the courage that the support of closer friends could not. Not everyone believed the worst of her, or of Thierry, so stuff those who did.

  Refusing to hide in the corner and pretend not to see the covert and overt observation, Louise collected orders and went to the bar, deliberately catching eyes and saying hello as she went.