In the Mists of Time (3 page)

“But this is different. If there's a dangerous man roaming the hill waiting for unwary women, you have to tell the police.”

“Who'd believe me?”

“Aidan. I'll talk to Aidan, bring him to see you.” Of course, Aidan was no longer in the police, but he was in private security, and he surely had some kind of sway with the local plods like George Harris. Such as they were.

“Maybe,” Nicole said vaguely.

Louise dragged her phone from her bag. “What's your phone number?”

Nicole recited her local landline number, which Louise keyed into her phone. She doubted Nicole had a mobile.

“Are you going up to the High Street?” Louise asked in friendly spirit.

“No, down to the church.” With a slightly shy smile, and a nod, Nicole set off down the road in the opposite direction to Louise.

Louise carried on towards the post office, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. And angry. What the hell had their supposedly friendly little village done to that girl so that she didn't even think of reporting crimes like this? Some bastard had attacked her to the extent of needing a kick in the balls and she didn't bother to tell anyone? Because she knew no one would believe her?

Still fuming over it, she walked into the library where her friend Morag, the librarian, was sustaining a visit from one of the primary school classes. Morag winked at her and carried on talking to the children. Louise went in search of reading material.

She was sitting at one of the tables with a few books in front of her when Morag slid into the seat opposite. Louise, who'd been staring blankly at the same page for some time and hadn't even heard the departure of the children, blinked at her friend in some surprise.

“I was going to say ‘a penny for them',” Morag said, “but you look so intense I'd better make it a fiver.”

“Have you ever had much to do with Nicole Graham?” Louise asked hastily, since the other direction of her thoughts was way too raw to speak about.

“Not really. She was a cute little kid, then I went away, and when I came back, she was grown up and living alone. Where did her parents go?”

“Not sure. There was talk of them emigrating to New Zealand, but Mrs. Campbell told me once they were in Glasgow. I don't think they've ever come back here, and they don't keep in touch much with anyone, so far as I know.”

“Why the interest in Nicole?”

“Someone attacked her yesterday, in the hills.”

Morag frowned. “How do you know that?”

“She told me. Well, I saw her up there, running away from something. She wouldn't tell me what at the time, but I spoke to her again this morning. Some bastard tried to assault her, and she didn't even report it because she thought the police wouldn't believe it. That isn't right, Morag.”

“No,” Morag agreed. “Trouble is, she's probably right. Who was it?”

“She didn't know him. But then, it was awfully misty. It might just have made someone she did know look different. We need to know who it was, have him charged. I need to get Aidan to talk to her.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Aidan's not back until tonight.”

Morag was silent. Someone came into the library and Morag stood to attend to them. When the outer door creaked shut again, Louise started and got to her feet. Save for Morag and herself, the place was empty again.

“What else, Louise?” Morag asked. “What's going on in that anxious little mind of yours?”

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” She peered more closely at Louise. “Are you blushing? Is it a man?”

“Bugger off.”

The door opened again for a couple of elderly gentlemen who came every day to read the newspapers. Louise and Morag both greeted them, and then Morag said, “Never mind. Pub tonight, after craft classes, and you can reveal all.”

“Oh hell, did I sign up for one of those?” Louise demanded in dismay. Chrissy, who managed the Ardknocken House project, a co-operative of ex-prisoners making use of their legitimate talents to make a living for themselves, had arranged a selection of evening workshops and classes for the community. Louise and Morag had both been among the first to sign up, by way of support. Time had crept on, and the first class was indeed tonight.

Morag grinned. “Woodwork.”

At least it wasn't the computer one. Surely it would be easy enough to avoid Thierry? “Which one are you doing?” she asked.

“Art. With the delectable Charlie Gray.”

“Is he, indeed?” Louise said with interest. “Well, I'd better make sure Cerys can do a couple of hours this evening.”

“You arranged it when you first took her on,” Morag said dryly.

“Did I?” Louise drifted towards the door. “How very efficient I am occasionally…”

She'd crossed the road before she realized she'd abandoned her returned books on the library table without checking them in, and had forgotten to take out any others. Annoying, though not as bad as the fact that this was just the sort of thing Morag noticed. She was going to be grilled at the pub tonight. If she went. If she survived the visit to the big house.

Chapter Three

Glenn ran downstairs into the basement studio where he would be running his music workshop. There had been a lot of interest in that one from teenage kids under eighteen—possibly without their parents' approval—but Chrissy had had to turn them away, since none of the ex-cons, especially not Glenn, had the necessary permission to work with children. Pity.

He bent and turned on the main power—and the basement tilted into another room entirely. But it was a room he knew. The B&B living room. Thierry was there—Frog as he'd always been known in prison, with awe rather than derision. Now, he bent over an old man. Louise's father. Fear and tension filled the room, and Glenn quickly saw why. In his hand, Thierry held a large kitchen knife which glinted red in the light. He looked up at Louise, who was staring at him in horror.

“I'm so sorry,” Thierry whispered.

And then a wall of what looked like water wiped the scene away. Glenn sat on the floor of his studio. Surreptitiously, he glanced around to make sure he was alone. The dreams, second sight, whatever he wanted to call these visions, didn't come so often these days. But still, they were not something he wanted to talk about with anyone but Izzy. In particular, he didn't want to talk about this one.

Except, of course, he might have to. Getting to his feet, he knew he had to prevent Thierry doing whatever he'd done in Louise's house. Thierry was not a violent man, far from it, but some tragedy involving Louise's vulnerable father was going to tear him apart. Through accident or temper—to which he was not immune—Thierry was going to hurt someone and Glenn really didn't like the look of that red knife…

Of course, the dreams were only ever possible futures, but enough of them came true to make Glenn very uneasy over this one. The best bet would be to steer Thierry away from Louise, which wouldn't have been difficult, given the relative isolation of Ardknocken House residents. Only, Glenn had already asked him to help Louise with her computer.

Irritation and unreasonable guilt forced him across the room with unnecessary speed, turning equipment on, placing chairs and instruments. He had to concentrate on the reality of tonight's workshop and thrust the dream back where it belonged. After all, there was nothing he could do about it.

* * * * *

When Louise left for the big house that evening, Ron, the fisherman staying in the self-contained flat, was sitting on his stairs watching the sunset. He called an amiable greeting to her, asked if she was heading to the pub.

“Might do later,” Louise replied. “I'm going to my first-ever woodwork class!”

“Do you have to go to the college in Oban for that?”

“Oh no. They're starting classes up at the big house.”

“I thought the village would shun them,” Ron said.

“Why?” Louise asked pleasantly. “You haven't.” Ardknocken House had given him the rights to fish the river.

Ron smiled. “True. But I live in London. I'm only here for two weeks. You folks have them in your backyard.”

Louise, who'd once been so uneasy about their presence that she'd forbidden her friend Izzy to apply for a job at the big house—much good that had done her—found herself bridling now in their defence. “I suppose we must have got used to them. In fact, they're quite an asset to the community.”

“Must be,” Ron said peaceably. “Don't let me keep you. Might see you in the pub later.”

Louise smiled and hurried on to Morag's house. It crossed her mind that Ron might have been interested in her, which was flattering. He was a bit older, of course, maybe late forties, but he was attractive enough. Recently divorced, worked in insurance down in London. She tried to think of him as a possible boyfriend and instead found her head full of Thierry's face clouded with passion, his lips contorted as he began to come, Thierry's mouth on hers, his hands on her breasts, her hips, between her legs.

Oh Jesus Christ, please don't let me run into him tonight!

* * * * *

Thierry stared at his computer screen.

WHERE'S THE REST OF THE MONEY? TELL ME NOW OR YOU'LL GO BACK TO JAIL.

His stomach twisted. The anonymous email had appeared in his Ardknocken House inbox with the stark words all in caps.

Somebody had connected him to the missing money. Up until now, his misdirections seemed to have worked, for the authorities had regarded it as several unconnected lesser frauds. But it looked as if someone was definitely connecting those lesser threads now.

Or it could be a crank, some stupid spam that just happened to mean something to him. Either way, no one could find the money, let alone trace it to him. He wasn't going back to prison, not now, not ever.

“Thierry?” Chrissy's voice broke into his tangled thoughts, followed by a rap on the caravan door. “Workshop time!”

Hastily, he shut down his laptop. “Coming. Have mine all turned up?”

“You've got four out of five so far. Good start!”

Thierry emerged from his caravan and strode in the back door and through the kitchen, where Jim was preparing trays of tea and coffee for every room.

“Nice touch,” Thierry observed.

“Izzy's idea. Less sterile than college classes. It's busy too. Guess the locals are curious.”

It seemed they were. Glenn was leading three young men and a girl—all under twenty, by the look of them—towards the basement studio. Izzy had taken up position at the foot of the main staircase, directing people to whichever class they'd chosen. Rab stood to one side with two men and…Louise.

Louise. His mist goddess. Whatever irresistible attraction had drawn them together in the mist yesterday had been notably absent this morning. He'd expected a little awkwardness—God knew, he'd felt plenty himself—but the frigidity he'd found left him both floundering and miserable. It would have been easier if only his perception of her in the mist had been wrong in the full light of day, if she'd been dull or ugly or even ordinary. But she still shone, the most beautiful and desirable woman he'd ever laid eyes on, never mind hands. And cock.

But she'd made it clear that she didn't feel it too. Whatever she'd desired in him in the mist was no longer there for her. Though it twisted unpleasantly in his gut, he didn't blame her. He wasn't even surprised. He just wished he hadn't wanted so badly to take her on the computer desk or the floor, or up against the door, or anywhere, really, providing he was inside her. He'd been desperate to see her naked.

But there she stood, several yards away from him, unaware of his existence. She didn't look anywhere near him, appeared to be chatting with Rab. He dragged his gaze free and found Izzy watching him approach the staircase.

“Did you manage to take a look at Louise's computer, then?” she asked. “Can you do anything for her?”

“Yes. Not sure she wants me to, though. She doesn't like me.”

Izzy blinked. “Louise? I've never known Louise to dislike anyone.”

Thierry changed the subject. “Are my people in the library?”

“Yes, you've got four, fully paid up!”

As he expected, his workshop members were all middle-aged or older, trying to get their heads around technology they hadn't grown up with or worked with. He began with his full disclosure.

“Hello, I'm Thierry Duplessis, and I hope over the next few weeks to help you do whatever it is you want to with your computer. I have degrees in computer science and I've worked with computers all my life, even the time I spent in prison. You should know that I was convicted of computer fraud—and am therefore not as good as I thought I was. However, I have served my time and wish now to pass on whatever skills I can. Legally, of course…”

* * * * *

Rab, who led the woodwork class, was a young man of few words but great talent with wood. He also turned out to be a good teacher and by the time the workshop ended for the evening, Louise was pretty enthused about her new project to build a coffee table for the B&B lounge, recycling old wood.

The workshop took place in one of the outhouses, where Rab seemed to both live and work. There was a wooden staircase, little more than a ladder up to a private loft area while, apart from a tiny shower room with toilet, the ground floor was taken up with cutting machinery, workbenches, and finished and partially finished furniture. It was a fascinating place to Louise, so she wasn't altogether surprised when time was up and she opened the outhouse door to discover Morag leaning against the wall, waiting for her.

“Must be fun in there,” Morag observed, glancing from Louise up to Rab, who stood behind her at the door. “Come on, drag yourself away to the pub.”

“Lead me to it,” Louise said amiably. “Thanks, Rab!”

Rab nodded. She couldn't be sure because it was dark outside now, but it struck her he might have been blushing. He seemed too young and kind to have done time in prison.

“Chrissy's coming too,” Morag said as they walked across the semi-lit yard to the side of the house. “And Izzy, if Glenn can stay in with Jack.”

“They need a Cerys,” Louise observed, “so they can both come.” Several caravans were scattered across the yard. At the door of one, two men were talking.

“Aye, teaching two women to change their own tires,” one of them said in broad Glasgow accents. “Not exactly what I thought I'd be doing, but actually it was a good laugh. What about you, Froggie? Teaching them to hack the Bank of England?” He broke off to nod and grin at Louise and Morag. Although Louise didn't know his name, she'd seen him around since the project began. Once or twice, he'd been in the pub with Glenn.

She smiled back, just as his companion turned around and she saw that it was Thierry. His gaze locked with hers, but he didn't move or speak, and for once, Louise's tongue seemed to have stuck to the roof of her mouth. Even in the semidarkness, his eyes drowned her—in memory or desire, she didn't know which, and she didn't want to think about it. She just knew her heart beat far too fast.

“Evening,” Morag said, and Louise hurried after her. “Definitely pub time,” Morag murmured.

* * * * *

“So,” Izzy said when she'd delivered the second drink of the evening to the table and sat down. “How come Thierry thinks you don't like him?”

Louise felt her face flame. Since it was a Tuesday evening, the pub was quiet, save for the four women—and Kenny the barfly and Ron the fisherman, who sat at the bar—but she really didn't want to discuss this in public. Or at all, really, even with her best friends.

“Dislike?” Morag said before Louise could speak. “Is that what it was by the caravan?”

“No, of course not,” Louise said hastily. God knew, it was anything but. It was herself she disliked.

“So Thierry
is
going to fix your computer?”

“No, well, maybe, I don't know,” Louise said, flustered. She reached for her glass as if for protection. “He doesn't know if he has all the parts, and in any case, he thinks I should have a new one.” She glanced around the three sceptical, expectant faces of her friends and knocked back half her whisky. “To be honest, I'm not that comfortable about having him around the house.”

Chrissy set down her own glass. “Because he's an ex-con? Louise, he's one of the gentlest men you'll ever meet! I never thought you would be so prejudiced.”

“You mean asking a computer fraudster to build me a new computer?” Louise retorted. “I'm sure that sounds a great idea to most folk!”

Chrissy opened her mouth to retaliate—the men at Ardknocken House were like her children—but before her angry words could emerge, Izzy said, “Oh no, that's not it. You're happy to have Glenn in the house, so I really can't see you baulking at Thierry. Plus you know damned well he's not going to hack the B&B computer.”

Louise sighed.

Morag said, “There
was
a look. At the caravan.”

“What sort of a look?” asked Chrissy, apparently mollified for now.

Morag raised her glass. “I'd say she likes him.”

“Oh sod
off
, Morag,” Louise said crossly.

“Ah,” Izzy said as if it was becoming clearer. “So that's it.”

“No, that isn't it!” Louise exclaimed.

“Then you don't like him?” Izzy teased. “Isn't this where we came in?”

“Oh for—” She took another sip of whisky and plonked her glass on the table. “Right now, I like him a hell of a lot better than I like you guys.”

Izzy frowned at her. “What on earth happened? He only came to look at your computer.”

“And he was only gone an hour,” Chrissy added. “How did he manage to piss you off in that time?”

“He hasn't pissed me off, and it's got nothing to do with this morning!”

“You met him before,” Morag said, intrigued. “I knew there was something. Come on then, spill. If it's good, I'll buy us all another drink. Where did you meet him before? When?”

Louise sighed and gave in to the inevitable. “Yesterday. In the hills. Up by the waterfall. The mist was thick. I was afraid he'd fall off the edge, so I pulled him away.”

The three faces continued to gaze at her.

“And then?” Morag prompted.

“Then…oh wow.” She grabbed her glass again.

Morag began to laugh softly. “Oh, Louise, Louise.”

Izzy and Chrissy stared at her in wonder. “Really?” Chrissy sounded more delighted than anything else. “Did you take him home to the B&B? How did that get past the village?”

“No, I didn't,” Louise said.

“Outside in the mist,” Izzy said just a little dreamily.

“I
blame
the mist,” Louise returned. “There's something isolating about it, as if it cuts you off from everything else just because you can't see it.”

“A little cocoon,” Izzy agreed. “Your own little world… What?” she added, becoming aware of Louise and the others gazing at her.