When Louise woke up at six the following morning, she had difficulty separating yesterday’s wild and sexy interlude in the mist from her dreams.
It must have been a dream, she thought, with a weird mixture of relief and disappointment. She didn’t want the discomfort of having behaved so far out of character, the shame of screwing a total stranger on the strength of no more than a hello. More than that, she was appalled by what that might tell him about her loneliness, her desperation for a man. Any man.
On the other hand, the guilty memory was exciting and sweet, and the dark, bold part of her wanted it to be real. That part of her wished she were more like that girl in the mist, a girl who could have no-strings fun, a temptress.
Of course, the other reason for the incident to be merely an erotic dream was the fact that they’d used no protection whatsoever. And there was no excuse for that. Louise was not that stupid and never had been, not before this.
Six o’clock. Time to get up and get breakfast on. There were two guests staying at the B&B. A solitary fisherman had taken the self-catering flat, although he sometimes came in for breakfast. And Kev, one of her regular lorry drivers, had his usual room on the first floor. Kev had an early start.
Crossing the bedroom, she shrugged out of her pyjama top and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She paused, staring, then walked closer to the mirror. Her left breast had a faint red graze across it, just above the nipple. As if she’d fallen awkwardly. Or rubbed against a rock while getting fucked from behind.
Heat flamed. It was real. It had to be real. The heavy, slightly stinging discomfort between her legs was nothing to do with period pain—her period had ended only a couple of days ago, which was just as well in the circumstances—but with being deliciously and furiously screwed. Twice.
“Oh God,” she whispered, dragging her robe from the back of the door and leaving the room, heading for the family bathroom like an automaton. How could she ever hold up her head again? What if he’d told everyone? What if Glenn and Izzy and Chrissy knew? Her brother, Aidan, would hear and accuse both Louise and her lover, whose name she didn’t even know, of God knew what. He’d be right too. She really had indulged in a moment of madness, had unprotected sex with a stranger, an ex-con.
Shit, she’d need to do something about this, get tested…
But she couldn’t think about it right now. She needed to forget about it and start her day. At least he would realize she was Aidan’s sister—he had seemed to recognize her name—and keep his mouth shut. And for Izzy’s sake, surely Glenn himself would frown at any such gossip…? Damn, if she were really that wicked good-time temptress she’d thought she was when she was screwing a stranger in the mist, she wouldn’t care about gossip, would she?
In Ardknocken, you had to care about gossip if you wanted to live here.
* * * * *
The morning rush helped. She checked on her parents, took them tea, then set the guest dining room table and cooked Kev his favourite fry-up. While he ate it, she caught up on all the latest doings of Mrs. Kev and the little Kevs. Ron from the top flat hadn’t come in by the time Kev left, so she dumped the dirty dishes for later and went to help her parents get up.
This was much easier now that a carer came to help, particularly with her father. His dementia was deteriorating rapidly, and he needed to be lifted out of bed and to the stairlift, and then into his chair for the day. Occasionally he still tried to get out of the chair by himself, but, mostly, he couldn’t really be bothered.
She and her parents had had breakfast together and she’d just settled them in the living room when the doorbell rang.
“Must be Cerys,” Louise said. “Bright and early!”
Cerys was the girl from the village who ostensibly came to help Louise with the housework, but whose first priority was really to look after her parents so that Louise could concentrate on other things—like the business and shopping and sanity. Only eighteen years old, Cerys was a breath of fresh air: full of life and fun, and yet caring and sensible. In the last three months, Louise had come to value her hugely, and, more importantly, both her parents liked having her around.
So, Louise opened the front door with a flourish and a smile, a long-standing joke already forming on her lips—and beheld not Cerys but a tall, dark man who was no longer a stranger. Her lover from yesterday.
Blood rushed through her body into her face. How dare he come here to my parents’ house? she thought in panic, and not entirely reasonably. Shame and outrage mingled with insidious excitement, and through it all, awareness that even though she felt oddly persecuted by his appearance, he still looked gorgeous. While she wore old jeans and a tunic no doubt splattered with bacon fat, had her hair dragged back from her face and tied any old how. Unglamorous was the most flattering description she could bring to mind.
“Hello,” he said, his eyes steady and serious on her face. “I understand you have a computer problem.”
Oh God. “You’re Glenn’s computer man,” she blurted, appalled.
“Thierry Duplessis.” He actually offered her his hand.
Were they going to pretend yesterday had never happened? Well, that was fine with her. It would make everything much easier.
She took his hand, very briefly since her own was shaking, and muttered, “Louise Grieve. Come in. The computer’s through here.”
She almost raced past the living room to the tiny space she used as an office, then stood aside to let him go in. She knew she was behaving badly. This wasn’t a paid tradesman. Leaving yesterday aside, he was a friend of a friend who’d offered to do her a favour. At the very least, he deserved the decencies of hospitality.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked, trying not to sound stiff. “Breakfast?”
He was already walking towards the computer. As he bent to switch it on, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Coffee would be nice.”
At least it got her away from him. She wanted to shut him in the office so no one would know he was here. Stupid. Glenn and Chrissy would know he was here.
She made a big pot of coffee and took a cup each to her parents before venturing back to the office with her own and Thierry’s. He’d thrown his jacket over the office chair. Beneath it, he wore a slightly crumpled button-down shirt and faded blue jeans. He’d taken the side off the computer to reveal its guts, and was clicking so fast at things on the screen that Louise couldn’t see what they were.
This, surely, was the man who’d stolen millions from an insurance company by computer fraud. Robbing a B&B that was only just solvent again would be a bit of a comedown. Hell, if he fixed her computer, he could have the twenty pounds and forty-two pence that was still in the business account.
Not that she truly expected to be robbed. He was a friend of Glenn’s. And though Glenn had an exceedingly dodgy past and was just a little scary, she trusted him. This man…she’d trusted him well enough yesterday to have unprotected sex with him.
The cups wobbled as she set the tray on the edge of the desk, desperately trying to dislodge the image of his lust-filled face moving above hers as he pushed and pushed inside her…
She swallowed hard. “Have you found my problem?”
He glanced at her. “I’m afraid you have many problems. Your hardware is old and you have too little memory. Plus, you’re clogged up with temporary files and several nasty little viruses.”
“Oh dear.” She sat on the rickety old kitchen chair at the side of the desk. “Can you fix it?”
“I can clean it up for you, give you a bit more memory. But if you want my advice, get a new computer.”
She gave a crooked smile. “Can I get one for twenty pounds and forty-two pence?”
“Maybe,” he said, still gazing at the screen and clicking.
She blinked. “You didn’t hear what I said, did you?”
He cast her one of his flashing smiles and her heart dived annoyingly downwards. “Yes.” Casually he reached across the desk, curling his long fingers around one of the mugs.
Brought to herself, Louise asked hastily, “Milk? Sugar?”
“No, thanks.” His mouse hand had stilled, and for the first time she sensed she had something like his full attention. She wasn’t sure if this pleased or terrified her. “I have a lot of stuff in my workshop from when we upgraded the computers at the house. Some of it’s new, some secondhand but still better than you have here. If you like, I’ll check out what’s there and see if I can build you a new computer.”
Her mouth fell open. “Really? But wouldn’t I lose all my files? I’ve got bookings and accounts and the website stuff—”
“It should transfer.” He took a mouthful of coffee and then another.
She drew in her breath. “But even if you have the stuff, this would use up an awful lot of your time—rather more than twenty pounds’ worth!”
He shrugged. “Tell your friends how helpful I was. Spread the word and pay me back in advertising.”
I’d see him again. He’d be here a lot, surely… She forced herself to drop the hand she was pressing to her chest as if smothering the galloping beats of her heart. Excitement warred with acute discomfort.
“Or dinner,” he said, and she stood abruptly, her face, her whole body flaming in anger she didn’t even understand.
“Look!” she began, with no clear idea what she’d say next. Fortunately, perhaps, the doorbell interrupted her, and she whisked herself out of the room.
It was Cerys, bright and happy as ever in her grungy clothes and bleached-blonde hair. “Hi, Louise! What’s first? Just the usual?”
“Yes, thanks. I’ll be going out, but I’ll come and speak to you first.”
As Cerys breezed into the living room to greet Louise’s parents, Louise walked back down the hall to the office and stood in the doorway.
Thierry was screwing the side back onto her computer, his fingers deft and quick. Then he pushed the screwdriver into his back pocket and straightened to face her.
“You want to pretend it didn’t happen.”
Instinctively, Louise stepped into the room and closed the door. She didn’t want Cerys or anyone else hearing this. Although as soon as she leaned back against the door, she realized horribly how it must look to him and actually held up one hand to ward him off.
“That would be stupid,” she said. “But we don’t need to repeat it.”
His dark eyes searched her face. “Don’t we? It was very—”
“No,” she interrupted. “We don’t! It was a…an aberration, a moment of madness I can’t afford in my life.”
“I see.” His eyelids swept down like hoods, long, black lashes fanning out against pale cheeks. Prison palour…
Ridiculously, it crossed her mind that she’d hurt him. Deep down, she knew she had no power to do that, and yet she couldn’t help trying to make it better. “I don’t do things like that. It isn’t who I am!”
His heavy eyelids lifted once more. “It must be,” he said with devastating simplicity. He shrugged and turned away, grabbing up his coat and the battered canvas satchel he’d brought with him. “But I make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”
She stumbled out of his way, pulling open the door for him. But it was a small room. She barely had time to panic as he approached her and paused. She could feel the warmth emanating from his body. Worse, she could smell him, the scent of his skin, which had swamped her yesterday as he made amazing love to her. She swallowed convulsively.
His lips parted as if he was going to speak. He’d kissed her when they’d parted on the hill, when she’d just begun to regret her outrageous behaviour.
He closed his mouth, his lips twisting into the faintest smile before he brushed past her into the hall. Cerys, emerging from the living room, wished him a cheerful good-morning and opened the door for him. He didn’t glance back.
“Wow,” Cerys whispered after she’d closed the door. “Is he staying here?”
Louise cleared her throat. “No. He’s from the big house. He was having a look at the computer for me.”
“Can he help?”
“Not sure,” Louise said vaguely. She thought she might have blown her free computer deal. Worse, she’d just let the best lover she’d ever had, or was likely to have, walk away from her.
As she went upstairs to clean Kev’s room, a word from childhood echoed around her head, accusing and jeering. “Fearty.”
* * * * *
Later that morning, she walked round to Nicole’s house on her way to the shops. After pursuing her down the hill yesterday afternoon, she hadn’t been able to catch her. No one had answered the door of her cottage. This time, the cottage door opened as she reached it, and Nicole stepped out.
“Hello,” Louise said. “I dropped round to see you yesterday—are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine.” She frowned. “Did you see him too?”
“Who?”
“The stranger.”
“Thierry?” Louise asked, adding hastily, “The man who was with me?”
“No, he’s from the big house, isn’t he? There was someone else on the hill.” She shivered. “Nasty man.”
“Nasty? In what way?”
Nicole shrugged. “He grabbed me. I had to kick him where it hurts.”
“Shit,” Louise said, staring. “Were you running away from him when I met you?”
“Yes. I hope he floundered about up there for a long time.”
“So do I,” Louise agreed cordially. “Did you report this to the police?”
Nicole glanced at her, a shockingly cynical look. “What would be the point?”
Many of the villagers had always discounted everything Nicole said. Because she was a little odd. And maybe Louise should have been doing the same right now, only she’d seen Nicole’s fear on the hill, and her concern for Louise.
“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.