In the Mists of Time by Marie Treanor Page A

of.”
    Thierry kept his mouth firmly shut.
    â€œCoffee?” Louise said brightly as her mother expertly turned the chair and wheeled herself up the hall.
    â€œOh, 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.
    â€œCome 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.
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œLouise,” 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?”
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œSorry,” she said lightly. “We have a lot of such minor crises.”
    â€œAlzheimer’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.”
    â€œAnd your mother?”
    â€œPartially 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?”
    â€œWith 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.”
    â€œBoring?” 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.
    * * * * *
    â€œHow’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