In the Mists of Time by Marie Treanor Page B

her train of thought. “Why did you pick on London and Scottish in the first place? Was their security crap? Or did you think no one would suspect someone in France of defrauding a British company?”
    Thierry shrugged. “Everything’s international now. Lots of French people have policies with London and Scottish.”
    â€œDid you?”
    â€œYes. All my family did.” His eyelids flickered down. Something in his tense pose told her he didn’t want to talk about this but was forcing himself for the sake of honesty. That meant something, surely.
    â€œIt was personal,” Louise said slowly. “You had a grudge against them. Did you work for them too?”
    â€œGod, no. I did something much more trivial for a computer game company. For a bit, anyway. The hacking was a side skill I’d been honing since I was at school.”
    â€œBut you didn’t rob them for fun,” Louise said with certainty.
    â€œNo,” Thierry agreed. The smiling waiter appeared to remove their main course and Thierry asked him for the dessert menu. He refilled his own glass, added a splash to Louise’s, which was still half-full.
    He could have changed the subject. It would have seemed natural at that point and Louise expected him to seize the opportunity. He didn’t.
    â€œI needed the money,” he said.
    Louise waved one impatient hand. “No one needs that amount of money.”
    â€œTrue. But if you’re going to be hung for a lamb…”
    Clearly, he meant to leave it there. Louise didn’t. “What did you need money for?” she pursued, thinking of the kind of debts a wild young man could accumulate for house and car, fabulous sound systems, gambling debts, maybe, even drugs. But again Thierry surprised her.
    He said, “I lost my job.”
    She blinked. “Couldn’t you get another? Aren’t game programmers in high demand?”
    â€œI was short on time. The company closed down its Paris operation, moved everything back to the States. They offered me a position there, but I couldn’t take it.” He stopped talking, pushed at his plate. “I had other responsibilities.”
    â€œSick parents?” she guessed, since the subject was close to her.
    He shook his head. “Not then. My father died when I was a kid.” He paused again, as if he wanted that to be enough; he didn’t want to talk about this, yet seemed to force himself. “My sister was sick, and my mother couldn’t cope. I thought, in a way, that redundancy might be a blessing. I’d have some time to be with them while I searched for something else. Looking back, I should just have gone to America and sent back everything I earned. But that boat had sailed before we had my sister’s final diagnosis.”
    Louise felt her stomach twinge in sympathy. “Which was?”
    He grabbed his glass, twisting the stem between his fingers. “Cancer. A rare form, generally regarded as untreatable. She never had much chance, but there was hope in some new, horrendously expensive drug treatment.”
    He took a drink, set down the glass, staring at its swirling contents rather than at Louise. “The state wouldn’t pay for anything so experimental and with such low odds of survival, but we had health insurance. I’d taken it out for all of us when I started to earn good money.”
    â€œWith London and Scottish,” Louise murmured, beginning to see the picture. “They wouldn’t pay out.”
    â€œNo, they wouldn’t. They claimed we weren’t covered for a pre-existing condition, and the doctors all agreed this cancer had been growing undetected in my sister for years, that she’d had it when the policy was taken out. So even though we hadn’t known, they wouldn’t pay.” His gaze flickered to Louise. “She was fourteen years old.”
    Louise swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she