In the Mists of Time (6 page)

“Slow is good too,” he said huskily. And then his hands fell away as he straightened and started the car.

Louise swallowed. She'd never been so turned on from a mere kiss. She wanted to jump him in the supermarket carpark, or tell him to drive straight to a hotel. Or just stop by a roadside ditch. She wouldn't feel the cold any more than she had on the misty hill two days ago.

But she said nothing, just sat beside him, watching his capable hands turn the wheel and shift gears while her lips, her whole body, tingled from his kiss. And that was nice too.

* * * * *

As they approached Ardknocken, Thierry said casually, “I can build your computer up at the house if that's easier. Or I can do it at yours, get your files off the old computer for safekeeping while I'm building the new one.”

“The faster the better, I suppose.”

“Okay. I can come down later this afternoon.”

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly.

As Thierry drew to a halt at the B&B, she said, “Don't get out. I'll grab my bags from the boot.”

The village would see her get out of the car, but with luck, they wouldn't register who was in it. She'd conducted romances in the village spotlight before. In Ardknocken, there wasn't really another way to do it, but she was determined that this, whatever
this
was with Thierry, would be as private as she could make it. She still smarted from all the people who'd asked her about Dave the television cameraman after he'd stopped coming.

It didn't strike her until she'd put the key in the door that what she'd actually wanted to do before she got out was lean over and kiss him again. A promise. Oh yes.

What the hell am I doing?
she thought wildly. And that was before she found Aidan waiting for her in the living room.

“Aidan,” she said in surprise, dropping her bags on the floor. “I thought you'd be down at the cottage.”

“I was and I will be,” Aidan replied. He sat on the sofa opposite their napping parents, his laptop open on his crossed knee. “I let Cerys go early, since I was around. Thought you'd like to know there's no whisper of sexual misconduct against our Ron. On the other hand—”

“On the other hand, he broke into Thierry's caravan up at the big house,” Louise blurted. “We have to get rid of this guy.”

“Maybe. I'd certainly keep the doors locked.”

“He actually asked me where Nicole lived.”

Aidan frowned, pushing the computer onto the sofa beside him. “Really? I wonder if Nicole's not telling us the whole truth? Surely he can't be as unperceptive as that.”

“Unperceptive? Seems he is! As well as being a creep.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why? What did you find out about him?” She threw her jacket over a chair and walked towards him.

“He's a private investigator,” Aidan said wryly. “Like me. Reputable firm, retained by a large insurance company, which is where virtually all their work comes from.”

“Maybe he'd be happier in some sleazy resort for his holidays,” Louise muttered.

“He isn't on holiday,” Aidan said. “He's working. The insurance company that's paying him is London and Scottish Life, based in Edinburgh. They're the guys Thierry Duplessis ripped off.”

Louise sat down too fast, staring at her brother. “But he's done his time, hasn't he? He gave the money back.”

“Most of it,” Aidan agreed. “But London and Scottish think there's more. There was another fraud, one they can't even link to him positively, but they're sure he did it and they want that money back.”

The silly fantasy she'd been creating began to crumble around her ears. It felt a bit like the world falling in on her. She stared at Aidan. “Do you believe them? Or do you still trust Thierry?”

Aidan shifted uncomfortably. “I wouldn't put this past him. A second fraud with the first as cover would be quite in character. They called him Frog because he could jump out of trouble, you know, not because he was French.”

“But Chrissy wouldn't be okay with that,” Louise said. “Neither would Glenn. This could wreck everything they're trying to do at Ardknocken House. Doesn't Thierry know that? Wouldn't he care?”

“I don't really know Thierry,” Aidan said. “Glenn says the story's shite but won't elaborate. If he knows.”

Louise gave an unhappy smile. “I never thought I'd say that Glenn was too trusting.”
Or me, or me…

“I feel impelled to save him from himself,” Aidan said ruefully. “Look, I don't trust
Ron
and I certainly don't like him. I've got my own best people chasing the lost money now, but to be frank, I don't back any of them against Thierry. The guy's a legend in his own field.”

“What can we do?” Her lips felt stiff.

“I don't have a cover to investigate from,” Aidan said, his gaze steady on hers. “But you do.”

The words sang in her ears like a death knell for the excitement, the pleasure she'd begun to anticipate in Thierry's company.

“What makes you say that?” she managed.

“The word at the big house is that he likes you. Chrissy says you like him, though she's tight-lipped on detail.”

“So she bloody should be. You want me to spy on him.”

“I'm suggesting you try to find out what the hell—if anything—he's up to, before he ends up back in clink and the Ardknocken project is shut down.”

Chapter Six

Louise stared at her brother with hostility. “Who do you think I am? Mata Hari? I can't pretend if my life depends on it. Which it probably does. Got over the protective-brother bit?”

“No,” Aidan said steadily. “But I've been around Thierry enough to know he isn't violent. Glenn agrees. He won't hurt you, Louise. I wouldn't let him in the house if I thought there was the tiniest risk of that.”

Louise jumped up, waving one irritated hand in dismissal. “Risk isn't the point. I can't do ‘undercover'. I'm always just boring old Louise.”

“Then it's as well he likes boring old Louise.”

“Yes, well, he doesn't like me enough to tell me the truth.” If Aidan was right, then Thierry had already lied to her. If Aidan was right, Thierry was not the man she'd imagined him to be. And, frankly, imagination was all there was: she'd just wanted to think the best of the man she'd inexplicably fucked senseless in the mist, without even knowing his name. The man she had a date with on Friday night, who gave her butterflies just by thinking about him. Who'd kissed her so stunningly only an hour ago.

Aidan said, “Besides, the best covers are natural ones.”

“Well, what's natural for me is that I ask him if he did it,” Louise retorted.

“If that works,” Aidan said steadily, “do it. I trust your judgment.”

She stared at him as he closed the laptop and got to his feet. He wouldn't trust her if he knew what had already happened between her and Thierry. And he shouldn't. He'd no idea the position he'd put her in.

“I think Ron's back,” he said, stuffing the computer into his bag and swinging it over his shoulder. “I'll just go up and have a word before I go.”

When he'd left, Louise set about some serious housework, which helped her work off her anger with both Aidan and Thierry, and gave her space to think.

Reluctantly, she had to admit that Aidan was right. For the sake of Chrissy and Glenn and the others who depended on the Ardknocken House project, even for Thierry himself, they had to know why London and Scottish were after him and what the consequences of their investigation could be.

* * * * *

As he strode through the village towards the B&B, his two large shoulder bags of computer bits bumping against his thighs, Thierry felt like singing. Because Louise liked him. The mundanity of the coffee shop, and shopping with him, had seemed to break through the barriers she'd flung up against him since their wild interlude in the mist. She'd agreed to a proper date, and she'd kissed him, not just tolerated his kiss. And she tasted divine, sweet and open and sexy as sin…

His arms ached to hold her again, to breathe passion into that beautiful, elfin face and make her his. Over and over. But he'd wait now, just enjoy being in the same house as her for a couple of hours, being whatever help he could be.

A little pathetic, perhaps, for a hardened denizen of Barlinnie Prison. But then, he'd never been that hard, and Louise was already special.

As he came up to the B&B, he saw someone coming down the outside steps from the flat at the top of the house. The memory of Ron's presence in his caravan, of the anonymous emails, acted like a bucket of cold water on him. But, no, it wasn't Ron; it was Aidan, Louise's brother. The ex-cop and security consultant.

His stomach twisted. Apparently Aidan had many reasons for visiting Ron, but the idea of them in the same room made him inherently uncomfortable. Although Thierry rather liked Aidan, and Glenn seemed to trust him both on his own account and Chrissy's, he didn't discount the man's intelligence or perception.

“Hello,” Aidan greeted him amiably enough. “I hear you're resuscitating Louise's computer.”

“More of a rebirth,” Thierry said, patting his bags. He glanced up at the flat. “You have a dodgy tenant,” he observed. “Or is he an ex-tenant?”

“He's a warned tenant,” Aidan replied, “for now.”

That surprised Thierry. He'd thought Aidan more careful of his sister.

“Louise said he broke into your caravan,” Aidan said casually. “Although he claims he was just waiting for you. Any idea why he was in there or what he wanted?”

Thierry shrugged. “None. I'd never met the guy. See you later.”

There was a gap between Thierry ringing the bell and Louise throwing open the door. She looked flustered.

“Hi, come in,” she said and dashed across the hall to what he thought was a bathroom, although since he heard her voice talking to someone as he closed the front door behind him, perhaps he was wrong.

He walked down the hall towards the little office he'd been in before, past what he'd thought to be the bathroom. The room had a short, square little passage of its own, and a wheelchair stood there.

Thierry walked on to the office and dumped his bags and his jacket. He'd just connected the computer to his external hard drive when he heard Louise's voice.

“Thierry?”

He moved and stuck his head out the door into the hall. Louise stood beside a wheelchair, in which sat a frail little lady with silver hair.

“This is my mother,” Louise said in a rush. “Mum, Thierry Duplessis, who's fixing the computer up for us.”

“Good for you,” Mrs. Grieve approved. “Don't understand the wretched things myself. Louise says you're from the big house.”

“Yes,” Thierry said resignedly. It was generally considered to be a bad place to come from, although, according to Izzy, the village was much better about its disreputable neighbour than it had been at the beginning.

“Nice people,” Mrs. Grieve said comfortably. “I don't believe they did half the things they were accused of.”

Thierry kept his mouth firmly shut.

“Coffee?” Louise said brightly as her mother expertly turned the chair and wheeled herself up the hall.

“Oh, Rob!” Mrs. Grieve exclaimed, shooting the chair through the doorway to the left of the front door.

Louise swore under her breath and dashed after her. Thierry followed and found Louise kneeling by a frail old man on his hands and knees, while Mrs. Grieve wrung her hands helplessly.

“Come on, Dad, straighten up,” Louise was saying, hauling him upright onto his knees. “After three, we'll get you back in your chair.”

She had her arms around his chest from behind in a familiar way that told Thierry she'd done this before. Thierry frowned. Although her father was not a big man, heaving him around could not have been good for her.

“I can lift him,” Thierry said, walking forward.

Her eyes flew to his over her father's head. “That's all right, thanks. We're used to it.”

“Louise,” her mother intervened. “He's stronger than you are.”

Thierry crouched down in front of the old man, who regarded him with faint surprise. “Hello,” Thierry said to him. “Can I give you a hand there?”

Reluctantly, it seemed, Louise released him, and Thierry lifted him into the nearest chair. Mrs. Grieve glided over to his other side, patting her husband's agitated hand. Her presence seemed to soothe him.

Thierry said, “Maybe I could make the coffee?”

“It's fine now,” Louise assured him. “Dad, this is Thierry.”

Her father nodded and smiled, and Thierry murmured a greeting before following Louise through an inner door into the kitchen.

“Sorry,” she said lightly. “We have a lot of such minor crises.”

“Alzheimer's?” Thierry asked.

Louise nodded. “He won't remember who you are, but you didn't upset him. Some strangers do. He gets agitated sometimes when my mother leaves the room. I think he tries to follow, but he can't remember how to walk.”

“And your mother?”

“Partially paralysed after a car crash. But she's much more independent, now she has the chair. She even goes out in the village occasionally, in her mobility scooter. She just needs a bit of extra help just now because her hip is sore. You caught us at a bad moment when you rang the bell.”

As Louise set about making tea and coffee, he watched her. “You do all this and run a B&B?”

“With help,” Louise pointed out. “It's much better since Aidan came home. Plus, he pays for Cerys and we have a stairlift now, and carers who come in every day to help me get them in and out of bed.”

He turned and took the milk out of the fridge. As he handed it to her, he said, “You're quite a woman, you know.”

Something like a snort escaped her. It might have been a derisive laugh. “I'm just boring old Louise.”

“Boring?” he repeated, startled. “I can't think of an adjective that fits you less.”

She flushed in the way he loved, dragging her gaze free of his. “Go and entertain my mother,” she commanded.

Patiently, Thierry obeyed. He didn't have a long private conversation with Mrs. Grieve, but it was informative.

* * * * *

“How's it going?” Louise asked.

She'd stood in the office doorway, watching him work, oblivious to her presence, busy with a tiny screwdriver among circuit boards and fans and wires, which he'd crammed neatly into a much smaller case than the massive tower she currently used. Slowly, her gaze had lifted to his focused face. His dark good looks tugged at her libido, as they always had, but more than that she wanted to know the man behind those secretive eyes. And she needed to know what those secrets were.

At her words, his gaze flew up as if she'd genuinely startled him, and a smile immediately lit his eyes. Her stomach began to hurt.

“Almost finished,” he said. “We've just to transfer the stuff from your old computer. It's on this disk for now—you can keep it as a backup.” He tossed down his screwdriver and bent to plug in the new computer. It started up immediately.

“That was quick!” She felt almost panicked that he was almost done, with no further reason to stay.

He sat, connecting her old mouse and keyboard to the new computer. “I'll get the operating system up and running, sort you out with antivirus software and so on.”

“Thanks,” she said in relief.

His mouse hand moved, clicking. Then both hands flew across the keyboard. He didn't look at them, but at the screen. “Met Aidan on the way in. I was surprised he didn't evict your guest in the top flat.” Briefly, his gaze lifted to hers, then returned to the screen. “I can't imagine he's comfortable with such a character so close to you and your parents.”

“I imagine Ron's card is marked,” Louise said defensively.

Thierry clicked on something and pushed the mouse away before sitting back and regarding her. Louise's stomach twisted. She couldn't play this bloody game of Aidan's.

“Aidan discovered who he was,” she blurted. “He's giving him a chance to do his job.”

Thierry's eyes didn't blink. “Which is?”

“He does work for an insurance company.” Louise came farther into the room, leaned her hips against the edge of the desk. Just looking at him made her heart race; getting this close to him probably wasn't smart, but she needed to see his reactions.

“Which one?” Thierry asked evenly.

“London and Scottish Life. They employ him as a private investigator.”

Thierry nodded. “I wondered if that was it.”

“Why would he be investigating you? Searching your caravan?”

Thierry shrugged and glanced at the screen. Casually, he clicked a couple of things. “I imagine he believes I still have his employer's money.”

“Do you?” she asked steadily.

A smile flickered across his lips and vanished. “God, no.”

It seemed so natural that her heart rejoiced. Her head, however, remained unconvinced. “Then why would he waste his time up here investigating you?” she demanded.

Thierry shrugged. “Maybe it's easier to blame new frauds on me. Maybe he just likes fishing and I'm an excuse. He'll be paid by the hour, not by results.”

“New frauds?” she pounced. “Then he's not looking for the money you went to prison for?”

“I gave that back,” Thierry said, and returned to the computer screen.

“You told me you only gave
most
of it back.”

“The rest is accounted for.” He concentrated on the screen, although there didn't seem to be anything to see apart from a bar proclaiming the percentage of download completed.

Louise threw what was left of her caution out the window. “Thierry,” she pleaded. “Please tell me you haven't done anything that could endanger you or Ardknocken House.”

“Of course I haven't. Glenn is my friend.” There was an edge to his voice at last, but it didn't please her. “And I like it here. Is Friday off now?”

Unexpectedly, his eyes pinned her, almost like Aidan's did when he was determined to get an answer.

“Not unless you're crapping out,” she said steadily. She thought she read something like relief before his eyelids lowered and his attention reverted to the screen. “But I want to know why Ron suspects you. And I think you know.”

His lips quirked slightly, but it was several moments before he turned his head and met her gaze. “Maybe. I might tell you on Friday.”

“Why wait?” she challenged. “So I'll come?”

“No. I only said I
might
tell you.”

She blinked. Her breath hitched. “But you won't if you think I'm prying, if you think I'm working with Ron.”

“I know you're not working with Ron. Aidan's a different matter.”

So much for her cover. “If you're afraid of Aidan—”

“I'm not afraid of Aidan,” he interrupted. It wasn't machismo or reflex male defence. It was truth. There was nothing for Aidan to find out. Or so Louise desperately wanted to believe. His eyes still held hers. Maybe they weren't so secretive after all. For the first time, she was sure she read layers of pain there, like old, familiar friends. If her distrust bothered him, it was only a surface layer over older and deeper wounds.