In the Mists of Time (9 page)

She woke to sunlight and a child's voice close by, a child she knew. Jack Ross, Izzy's son. He must be playing in the yard—with the dog, judging by the panting and the barking she could hear. Louise smiled. Not yet ready to think beyond the general gladness and total sexual fulfilment that reached all the way down to her toes, she let the happy sounds mix with her own wellbeing.

A warm male was wrapped around her, spooned into her back with one arm lying heavily over her body. She was holding the hand at the end of that arm. When she opened her eyes, she spent a long time gazing at it. Long-fingered and capable—and, boy, did it know its way around a woman's body. Louise felt dazed all over again as the stages of last night's sexual marathon flashed through her mind. She wanted to turn and look at him, at his face, almost as if without that, none of what she remembered would be real. Though his arm, his body were solid enough, his breathing deep and even.

This was nice. She could get used to waking like this, even in a messy caravan.

Shit, what's the time?
Though there were no guests in the B&B, she still had to get her parents up and make last-minute preparations for the three fishing guests arriving today.

Reluctantly, she released his hand, eased out from under his arm and slid onto the floor, where she crawled over her discarded clothes to get to her bag and her phone. Just after eight thirty. Could have been worse. Aidan had told her not to hurry back, that he and Chrissy would stay the night and be there for their parents in the morning. But still, she'd been doing it for so long it went against the grain to leave it to someone else, even her brother.

Hastily, she gathered together her clothes and climbed into them. The man on the bed didn't move. She was almost afraid to look at him now, as if one glimpse would be enough to keep her here instead of where she needed to be.

So she moved instead to the window and peeped behind the crumpled curtain. Thierry had said most of the guys were away on a bender, but even if she managed to escape from here unseen, she had to walk down the hill into the village wearing the same clothes as last night. The cat would be out of the bag in no time.

Slowly, unable not to any longer, she turned her head and looked at the sleeping man on the bed. Thierry, her lover. A complicated man she didn't yet fully understand. He'd broken the law for his sister's life, gone to prison to make a point. And yet he'd still got one over on the insurance company. Gazing at him as he slept like a baby didn't bring her any revelations, though it brought a half-pleasant, half-aching lump to her throat.

His tangled hair fell forward over his thin, dark face, shadowing the hollow cheeks. Long, thick, black lashes that most women would envy curved against his skin. He almost looked like a sleeping child. Apart from the sinful mouth. And the hint of stubble.

The ache spread from her throat to her chest and stomach. She'd liked being with him last night. Not just the mind- and body-blowing sex, but talking to him, walking with him in the mist, being with him. A man of quick intelligence and limitless imagination, judging by the story he'd told her last night. He intrigued her. A lot. She wanted to know more, much more…and, of course, there was that mind- and body-blowing sex.

Shit, it was too soon to let this loose. Gossip could spoil their relationship before she did, and in any case, if the village knew…when this ended, or even if it went no farther than last night—well it would be like Dave all over again, only worse. She hated pity, the patronizing sympathy, whether real or faked in order to gain a bit more juicy information. It would be bad enough that Aidan and Chrissy knew. And Izzy.

Hmm. Izzy…

Saturday morning, with Jack and Rover playing outside. What would Izzy be doing? Louise took a last, long look at Thierry. Probably much the same as what Louise wanted to be doing. Instead, she turned away, took out her phone and quickly texted Izzy.

“You're dressed.” The deep, sleepy voice from the bed slid over her senses like warm silk.

Hastily, Louise hit Send and turned to face Thierry. He'd propped his head up on his hand, his dark eyes softened by sleep as they gazed up at her. The drooping quilt revealed enough manly chest, shoulder and bicep to set her already erratic pulse racing. He shouldn't be allowed to smile like that.

She swallowed. “Yes, I've got to go, let Aidan escape. Busy day.”

“Of course.” The thick, black lashes came down, hiding however he felt about that.

Shit. She wouldn't let this become an embarrassing morning after the one-night stand that shouldn't have happened. She needed to get out before the suspicion became incontrovertible reality.

She gave him a bright smile and a wink. “You've got my number. See you!”

She dropped the phone in her bag and stepped over fallen clothes, books and computer bits to the door. She'd closed her fingers around the handle before she registered the sudden movement and Thierry's hand closed over hers.

Stark-naked, he brushed against her. And, God, he was gorgeous.

“Come back,” he said seriously, and her smile was no longer an effort.

“If you like,” she managed.

“I like. Last night was wonderful. All of it.” His free hand reached up and cupped her cheek. He bent and kissed her upturned mouth.

“I thought so,” she whispered honestly. Both arms came around her then as he kissed her again. His naked erection pushed against her stomach. She ran her fingers through his hair, holding him as she kissed him back.

In her bag, her phone pinged. They both ignored it.

“I've got to go,” Louise said again, breathlessly and a lot more happily than the first time. Releasing him with inevitable reluctance as his arms fell away from her, she grabbed her phone instead. “Izzy,” she explained. “Our secret get-out-of-gossip card.”

She stood on tiptoe to give him a last, quick kiss, then slipped out of the caravan.

The cold morning air blasted her back to reality. Though there was no sign now of last night's mist, the sky was unrelievedly grey. As she walked quickly away from the caravan, Jack and Rover came bounding towards her. Beyond them, Izzy was emerging from the back door of the house, struggling into her jacket. She carried a shoulder bag and the dog's lead.

“Thanks for this,” Louise murmured to Izzy as they walked down the drive behind Jack and Rover. “A family outing is just the cover I need.”

“Well, you've clearly spent the night with
us
,” Izzy agreed. “I gather all went well with Thierry?”

Louise gave her a quick, half-sheepish smile that made Izzy laugh.

“Why didn't you stay in Oban?” Izzy asked.

“I don't know. He didn't seem to want to. It wasn't right, then, for some reason. Then, when we came home, we went for a walk and suddenly it
was
right.”

“Then you're seeing him again?”

“I think so. I hope so.”

Izzy nudged her in friendly approval. “I like Thierry. And I think he's always been a good man.”

“I think so too. In spite of everything. Like Glenn.”

“Not
quite
like Glenn,” Izzy said cautiously. “Glenn must always have been good at heart, but I think he had to learn to be good in practice.”

She didn't usually talk about Glenn's past, or even refer to it, so Louise was intrigued to hear more. When it didn't come, she said instead, “Talking of Glenn, sorry if I dragged you away from a romantic morning.”

To her surprise, Izzy blushed. “No, no, he needs to sleep since he'll be up most of tonight with his fishermen. I'm happy to go into the village to buy breakfast and chaperone you. Should we go to the tea room?”

“I'd love to, but I'd better get home, let Aidan and Chrissy escape. He's going back to Glasgow tomorrow, so they'll want some time at the cottage.”

“Fair enough.” Izzy increased her pace and raised her voice. “Jack! Catch Rover before he gets out the gate!”

* * * * *

Aidan and Chrissy proved to be surprisingly diplomatic, making no mention of her all-night absence. Of course, they'd already brazened out the village gossip and so understood to some degree at least. But, right now, she couldn't imagine anyone could possibly comprehend her amazing night with Thierry.

Aidan did pause at the living room door as Chrissy said goodbye to his parents.

“Learn anything?” he asked her.

“There was more money,” Louise said, “but he says he doesn't have it, doesn't know where it is. He doesn't seem remotely bothered that anyone might trace it to him.”

“Because it isn't with him?” Aidan said slowly, frowning.

Louise said earnestly, “I really don't think it is. I don't think he'd do anything to endanger the project or the guys at the big house.”

“Then what did he do with it? Why did he take it in the first place?”

“For his sister. It was all for his sister.”

This didn't appear to be news to Aidan. “No, we've accounted for all her bills. He paid them off the first money, and gave the rest back. But London and Scottish are sure he's responsible for a second money drain, and you're saying he's admitted to it.”

“Talk to him, Aidan,” she pleaded. “He's not a bad man. He's not a villain.”

Aidan's lips twisted into a smile. “You're empathizing. The curse of undercover work.”

It might have been a double entendre. She didn't find out, since Chrissy hauled him out of the room. She didn't even care. Her head was full of Thierry.

The mild ache between her legs was a constant reminder of their wild night together, which she took with her as she moved through the mundane tasks of normal life.

She found herself singing as she worked and showered and changed. When the fishermen arrived, she found them charming, and they pronounced their accommodation very nice.

“I'll leave you to it, then,” she said brightly. “The beach and the harbour are just around the corner—there's a tea room down at the beach, and a couple of shops in the village High Street. I believe Dougie's going to take you up to the big house about six? Until then, let me know if you need anything.”

They murmured their thanks from their respective bedroom doors. Two of them vanished within. The third and youngest of the three, Stewart Lane, lingered a moment longer.

“I'm a bit surprised,” he said, “to see such co-operation between the village and Ardknocken House. I thought there would be more ill feeling in the village.”

“Well, there was a bit of a hate campaign in the local media when it first began,” Louise said easily. “And we were certainly all a bit wary at first, but they kept themselves to themselves until we began to accept them. They're just people like us who've paid for their mistakes. And no one objects to the extra business they bring to the village.”

It had become her standard reply to curious outsiders, although, in fact, the residents of the big house were very far from general acceptance. Most people tolerated their presence, at best, although a few were pleasantly surprised, especially those who'd had their cars fixed by Dougie, or who'd bought jewellery or carved ornaments on craft days. And of course the evening workshops were helping too.

“Then you know them quite well?” her guest pursued.

“Well enough to assure you you'll be well looked after, and won't get your pocket picked during dinner.”

He smiled easily. “That
would
be bad for business.”

“Ruinous,” Louise said cheerfully. The doorbell rang. “Excuse me! Just give a shout if you need anything.”

She ran downstairs to the front door and opened it to find George Harris on the doorstep in full uniform.

“Hello, Louise, got a few minutes?”

“Sure.” Thinking it was something to do with Nicole's complaint—Aidan must have persuaded her to go ahead with it after all—she invited the policeman inside, led him into the living room and left him with her parents while she made tea.

“It's about Ronald Main,” he said as she handed him the mug. He'd taken off his hat, laid it on the arm of his chair. “I believe he's been staying in your flat?”

“Yes, that's right.” Louise gave her parents a cup each and turned back to face George. “What about him?”

George gave an apologetic grimace. “Afraid he's dead.”

Chapter Nine

Louise's mouth fell open. “Dead?” she repeated, staring at him.

“Aye. Dan MacDonald found him this morning. Looks like he fell off the rocks up by the waterfall, landed in the river below.”

“Jesus. When?”

George shrugged. “Hard to say. Last night maybe, or early this morning. When did you last see him?”

Louise frowned. “Actually, not since Wednesday, when I think about it. He hasn't come in for breakfast recently.”

“He's been fishing the river on the estate, I hear.”

“Yes.” She hesitated. She didn't want to bring Thierry into this but it went against her nature to hide anything. In any case, it was bound to get out. “But I think he had an ulterior motive for being here. Aidan found out he's a private investigator, working for London and Scottish insurance. Apparently he was investigating one of the guys at Ardknocken House who did time for embezzling them.”

George's eyebrows flew up. Beneath them, his eyes began to gleam. Louise's heart sank. It seemed she'd ignited an old quest for glory—or at least for more interesting police work—in George's bored breast.

“Is that so?” he murmured. “Is Aidan around?”

“At the cottage, I think. George, you don't think Ron's death has anything to do with that, do you?”

“Couldn't say at this stage,” George said with dignity. “No obvious signs of foul play, but he fell a long way. There'll be an autopsy. Anyway, can you let me into the flat? We're looking for his next of kin.”

Louise swallowed. Ron must have had a family, maybe children…and now he was dead. She walked over to the sideboard where she kept spares of all the keys. “Of course…”

* * * * *

Thierry grabbed Charlie as soon as he and the others spilled out of the car. They'd spent the night in Oban, and some of them looked pretty wrecked.

“Hey!” Charlie protested as Thierry pushed him towards the front door. “I didn't know you cared.”

“I've got an idea. For you and Glenn and me.”

Glenn was discovered in the kitchen, conferring with Jim, who was already preparing for his major dinner tonight for the fishing party.

“Got a minute?” Thierry asked. “We need to talk to you.”

“Just a couple,” Glenn said. “Please tell me Dougie's conscious.”

“He's fine,” Charlie said dismissively.

“Okay, what's going on?”

They went into Chrissy's office since it was convenient and Chrissy wasn't there.

Thierry set his laptop down on the desk and opened it. The program he wanted was already open. “A fantasy role-playing game,” he said. “Not one of the huge ones, but something you can play easily on a mobile or tablet, just with far better graphics than you see on most, and incredible music to back it up. I need you for artwork, Charlie, and Glenn for the music.”

Glenn blinked, exchanged glances with Charlie, then looked back at the screen. “Tell me about the game.”

“I've called it Mists of Time,” Thierry said eagerly. “Stories within stories…”

* * * * *

“What do you think?” Thierry asked eagerly.

“I'm in,” Charlie said. His eyes were already distracted, distant, as if seeing the characters or the scenes he'd portray. “But I'm not much on animation…”

“I can deal with that,” Thierry said. “Glenn?”

Glenn was reading a text that had just arrived on his phone. “I think you've got something. Could be seriously good. I'll see what I can come up with.”

Charlie was already walking purposefully out of the room.

Thierry smiled and closed the laptop. “Good. If we can move quickly, I think we can make a lot of money on this.”

“Talking of money,” Glenn said heavily.

Thierry paused, glanced at him. “What?”

“Ronald Main, B&B guest, fisherman and private investigator.”

“What about him?” Thierry asked steadily.

“He's dead. Managed to fall down the waterfall and kill himself.”

After the first shock, the implications swamped Thierry. He sat on the sofa. “Fuck.”

“He was investigating you, Thierry. The cops will be all over us like a rash.”

“Fuck,” Thierry said again, dragging his hand through his hair and tugging. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?” Glenn asked, and something in his voice caused Thierry's gaze to fly up to his face. “I have to ask, Frog. Did you have anything to do with this?”

Thierry stared. “Of course I bloody didn't. I knew he was here for me—he broke into the caravan to poke around, but there was never anything for him to find. You know that. I'm pretty sure Aidan Grieve knows it too. He's been looking.” He thumped one fist into the cushion. “Merde. Why couldn't the stupid bastard just have gone home?”

“Suppose he was determined to get you, one way or another.”

“Sod it,” Thierry said tiredly. He stood and picked up his laptop. “I haven't got their money, I never had it, and I didn't push him off a cliff. Unless
you
did, we're clear.”

Of course, even as he walked out, he knew it was never going to be as simple as that. Even without the added juice of Ron's investigation, a body turning up so close to a house full of ex-cons was a gift to the local plods.

* * * * *

Weekend meals at Ardknocken House were normally haphazard, at best. If the residents were around, they made do for themselves. The first of the organized fishing trips meant Jim worked full out on his most ambitious three-course dinner while everyone else, apart from Izzy who set the table and acted as waitress for the evening, was forbidden from the dining room. Thierry and Glenn acted as Jim's kitchen porters.

“You should be in there with
them
,” Jim said to Glenn while their guests got stuck into their elegant starter. “Dinner with the laird has more cachet.”

“Not when the laird is Glenn Brody, convicted murderer and ‘top Glasgow gangster'—which is how I last appeared in the press, complete with unflattering mug shot.”

“I don't know,” Thierry said thoughtfully, scrubbing at a saucepan. “It would be something for them to tell their executive pals. Plus, a bit of danger would add spice to their evening.”

Glenn snorted. “Danger? What do you think I'm going to do with them?”

“I suppose one might decide to pick a fight,” Jim said regretfully. “Some idiots do.”

“Not if Izzy was there too,” Thierry said. “The laird and his lady. Izzy can make civilized conversation.”

“While I sit there like some death's head at the top of the table? Fuck off, Thierry.”

“We'll think about it,” Izzy said from the doorway where she'd been listening in to the conversation while keeping an ear on the cutlery clattering in the dining room. “It might make it more of an event if we can find a way for Glenn not to hate it.”

“Try a cardboard cutout,” Glenn suggested.

Thierry laughed with the others. In many ways, it was as if his previous conversation with Glenn hadn't happened. He could almost imagine Ron wasn't dead, that everything wasn't about to go horribly wrong for everyone. Even Louise's text—
Meet me on the beach 10.30
—he knew had more to do with Ron's death than any true desire on her part to see him again. Whatever they'd found last night would inevitably crumble and die in this mess…

After their dinner, which resulted in many compliments to the chef, Dougie took their guests off to the river and the rest of them cleared up. Jim was as delighted with Glenn's praise as with the way his first dinner party had gone. Chrissy, inevitably, had been unable to stay away and popped in to hear about it—and to make the residents' craft items available for sale to their guests upon their return.

Thierry escaped, eventually, grabbed his jacket from the caravan and walked around to the front of the house, where Chrissy's disapproving voice sounded with disastrous clarity. She was in her office with the window open.

“I don't care, Aidan. Louise is the
opposite
of an undercover cop. You should never have asked her to do that.”

“Well he was never going to talk to anyone else,” Aidan said reasonably. “She understands.”

Thierry paused as if the breath had been suddenly whipped away from his body, and then walked on while new pain seeped in, twisting among the old like bindweed. He hadn't really believed the suspicion he'd once voiced to Louise about her working with Aidan to find him out. After last night, it had never even entered his head. But never had he imagined such a clear-cut and calculated investigation. No wonder she'd been so eager to get away this morning.

* * * * *

With her parents safely in bed, Louise left the house and hurried down to the dark beach. It was generally deserted at this time, the dog walking all done and the teenage parties having retreated somewhere warmer. The night was still and the sea like dark glass, with just a small sparkle of reflected moonlight.

Louise didn't see a soul as she walked over the narrow band of sand which was all the advancing sea had left. Tides were pretty high at this time of year. She could see that, right now, it was only just possible to get round to the beach below the big house, but even so, there was no sign of Thierry or anyone else walking towards her.

Maybe he'd decided not to come. After all, he hadn't answered her text. Perhaps he'd had enough of her. There had been a lot of very intense sex, enough, perhaps, to get whatever he'd seen in her out of his system.

It hadn't felt like that this morning. He'd asked her to come back.

“Hey,” said a voice in the darkness, making her jump and squeak with surprise as she jerked around to face the sound.

A black figure perched on a rock jutting out of the cliffside.

She started towards him. “Jesus, Thierry, you scared the pants off me!”

He didn't move. “What's on your mind?”

She paused, chilled by the distance in his voice. “Ron, among other things. I've been afraid to call you or text you much in case the police look at our phones.”

“Why would that matter? Did you push him?”

“Of course I didn't bloody push him!” She peered through the darkness at his still figure. “What's the matter? Have the police spoken to you?”

“Not yet, but they will. They'll be all over Ardknocken House by Monday, we reckon. What is it you want to know?”

She frowned. “Know? I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Is that Aidan's idea too?”

She closed her lips and glared up at the sky, silently cursing her brother. She'd no idea how to defend herself from the accusations so clearly in his heart, or even if she could. Instead, she said, “Aidan doesn't know anything about the mist.”

At least that surprised him. His head moved in her direction. “The mist?”

She walked forward again, closing the distance between them. “George—PC Harris—says it looks like Ron fell down the waterfall last night or early this morning. Doesn't it seem likely to you that he missed the path in the mist?”

“Possibly,” Thierry allowed.

She grabbed his arm, gave it a little shake. “Then we were up there when he was. I know we never went that far, but we were close by. What are the police going to make of that?”

Thierry inhaled deeply. “At best, we alibi each other and waste all our efforts at discretion.”

“And at worst, we're prime murder suspects. Between us, we have plenty of motive. He was investigating you. I already confronted him about Nicole. Plus, you and I are having this secret affair.”

He looked up at her, his eyes impossible to read or even to see properly in the darkness. “Are we?”

She released his arm as though it burned her. “We were. Anything more is up to you. I came to talk to you about what exactly we should tell the police about our walk in the mist.”

Thierry stood up, so close to her that she could smell him, feel the warmth of his not-quite-touching body through his clothes and hers. “The truth,” he said. “Let's be upfront honest for once. At least it will exonerate you from complicity.”

She stared up at him, wishing she could see his face, and yet knowing she wouldn't like that any better than this. “How exactly will it do that?”

“You were working for Aidan. In effect, you were Ron's accomplice, not mine.”

She couldn't seem to stop this disastrous house of cards. They just kept falling. “Is that all you think I was?” It came out in a whisper.

“No,” he said. “You were a damned good fuck.” Without warning, his head swooped, and his mouth crushed hers in a hard, almost bruising kiss. She knew it was meant to punish rather than seduce, and yet, even so, everything in her leapt at his touch, melting. But he gave her no time to seduce him back. He dropped her after a mere moment and just walked away.

So were you, you bastard!
She wanted to shout the words after him, with fury and hurt at his injustice. But they stuck in her throat, held up by panic and pain because this was it, finished before they'd even acknowledged a relationship.

* * * * *

Since the fishing-trip guys didn't come in until nearly four o'clock in the morning, Louise made a specially late breakfast for them, including cooking a couple of the trout they'd caught last night. They were enthusiastic in their praise of the river, the fish stocks, Dougie's charming rogue persona and the fabulous dinner.

“All without a glimpse of the laird!” one of them said, clearly disappointed.

“Glenn keeps himself to himself,” Louise returned. “He doesn't like to intrude.”

“Heard a rumour the gorgeous waitress is his wife.”

“Izzy?” Louise guessed. “They're not married, but close enough.”

“I must say it's been a great weekend, meeting—and not meeting!—some very interesting people. I'll be recommending this for summer outings and other company events.”