The Actuary's Wife

by K T Bowes

  “No. I wish he did, but he wasn’t here.” Mischief back lit his dark eyes. “I’d have framed him like a shot. We still could.”

  “I’m not framing Rohan! Who did it?” Emma demanded. “I want the police off my driveway, so if it wasn’t either of you, let’s save them a load of trouble and just tell them.”

  “No way!” Christopher’s voice rose. “You’ve no idea what yer messing with here! That guy was a Triad and he came after you, woman!”

  “Me?” Emma’s colour paled and she took her hands off her hips. “Why would they come after me?”

  “You make me tired, Emma!” Christopher ran a hand over his face and Emma noticed the dark shadows under his eyes. She felt a wave of sympathy. “The Contessa got out of that fire. She’s burned but very much alive and extremely pissed at Rohan. I tried to warn you, you eejit! His new tech guy’s a waste of time and yer stupid husband went off on that last job and walked right into her little trap.”

  Emma’s rosebud lips formed a little ‘o’ of dismay. Don’t let him leave. “I couldn’t stop him,” she protested. “He wouldn’t cancel the job.”

  “I know.” Christopher placed soft lips against Emma’s forehead. “Don’t worry. It’s not yer fault.”

  “He said there was a reason he didn’t come straight home,” Emma said quietly. “Was that it? I thought he was with her.”

  Christopher shrugged. “No idea. He detoured at the end of the job and I thought so too. But then he reappeared after a flight to Moscow, taking out of the way flights. When he arrived home, he had house guests.”

  Emma’s back stiffened at the reminder of the other woman and the baby who resembled Nicky so closely. They had to be family. Her lips pursed in pain and she gritted her jaw. “We both know why he didn’t come home,” she said, her voice sounding wooden. “Let’s not kid ourselves.”

  Christopher reached out and stroked Emma’s cheek with rough fingers. “Don’t fret, Em. I’ll stick around and make sure you’re safe. I need to grab some sleep now though. Obviously the danger periods are at night.”

  “Where are you staying?” Emma asked, as realisation blossomed in her eyes. “In the apartment above the stables? You cheeky git!”

  Christopher Dolan grinned and shrugged. “Aye. It’s empty, so.”

  “How long have you been there?” Emma’s face clouded. “Were you there all the while Rohan was home?”

  The Irishman nodded. “Aye. I never left. He’s a fool, Emma; giving up you and this teaghlach.”

  “What does that mean?” she whispered. “Is it Gaelic?”

  “Aye.” Christopher’s face came closer to hers and she felt his warm breath on her face. “It mean’s family, Em. He’s got the one thing I’ve always wanted and he’s risking it all for something he doesn’t understand.” Christopher jumped back as Emma dodged his clinch and he looked hurt. He eyed her through narrowed eyes. “One day, Emma, you’ll give in to my charms,” he prophesied and she shrugged and shook her head.

  “I told you, I’m off men for life.” She scurried up the stairs, glancing down as she stepped past the first dogleg.

  “Hey!” Christopher’s hissed admonition halted Emma’s flight and she peered over the bannister. “I’m offended you think I’d hide under a bed. It’s against my personal code to lie down for any woman.”

  Emma snorted but there was no mirth in the action. She leaned further over the hand rail. “Maybe that’s where you’re going wrong, Christopher Dolan.” She skipped up to the next level and stopped to weigh the Irishman’s reaction. The space where Christopher stood was empty and once again he had melted into the surroundings with apparent ease, like a ghostly fog dissipating without trace.

  Chapter 20

  “What did that policeman want?” Nicky looked up from the task which previously engrossed his attention.

  “To ask questions; he’s gone now.” Emma watched her son attack his underwear with her nail scissors. “What are you doing?”

  Nicky’s brow furrowed as he worked with a pink tongue poking from between rosebud lips. “The new pants you bought me have itchy tags. I’m doing snipping.”

  Emma tutted at the pile of white threads on the floorboards and ran her hands over her face as Nicky gave an involuntary shiver. She waggled her fingers. “Give them here. You’re freezing!”

  Emma’s son held out the underwear and she took it, allowing him to hug his naked self and rub his shivering arms. Emma stripped out the tag with expert precision, removing the tiny stitches and pulling the whole thing away from the seam. “You don’t have to sit here stark naked, you know. You can put on a sweatshirt.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Nicky’s face brightened and he ran to his tallboy and wrenched out a tee shirt and warm sweater. Emma sat on his bed with the scissors in her hand and the pants resting across her leg, observing her son with maternal interest. At nearly seven, his body was lengthening, losing the puppy curves which formerly managed to align his body, even though poverty kept them both from overindulging. Since coming to Harborough he showed signs of earning his father’s impressive height, needing new shoes again as his feet grew. Emma sighed and pitched backwards into the soft duvet, already fearing the day when he banished her from his room and rejected her affection.

  “Fanks, Mum!” Nicky snatched the pants from her knee and pushed his feet through the holes, overbalancing and face planting into the mattress. “Oof!” He laughed at his own antics, sitting to add socks to his ensemble. “Ain’t your feets cold?” he asked, stroking her bare instep with gentle fingers.

  “Yeah.” Emma nodded, hearing her dark hair swishing against the covers. “But I got dressed quickly, like you did.” She peered sideways at her son as he pulled clean tracksuit pants up his thighs. “You’ve put the undies on backwards, you wally.” She smirked and pointed to the bright red briefs which touched his belly button at the front and left a builder’s crack on view at the back. “That’s why the tag’s helpful.”

  “Oh.” Nicky spun round trying to see his error and then started again. “Sorry about the chocolate. Farrell won’t die, will he?” The boy hopped around negotiating his pants and Emma shook her head.

  “Not from a little but don’t do it again. There’s lots of things dogs can’t have.”

  “Sorry, Mummy.” Nicky looked contrite as he pulled his tracksuit bottoms up for the second time. “Daddy bought me chocolate spread when we went to the shops together. I said I’d never had it before and he got me a whole tub to myself. It’s only for treats. I thought I could eat a whole one and he said it’d make me sick and he was right. You can’t have too much of nice things, can you? They make you poorly.”

  Emma closed her eyes against the sudden thought of Rohan’s lips over hers and his fingers tugging up her shirt to gain entrance to her secret places. She sighed. “Yeah, Nicky. Too much of a good thing does make you sick.” Heartsick.

  Nicky clambered onto the bed and lay next to her, shuffling close so he could rest his head on her shoulder. “What will we do, Mummy? How will we cope without Daddy?”

  Emma stroked the soft downy hair and kissed Nicky’s temple. “We’ll cope just fine, baby. It was you and me for six years before Daddy found us, so we’ll manage again. Uncle Anton left us this house and lots of pennies to run it. He also owned a theatre company which I must see sometime soon. It’s in Northampton and having a car will make it easier to visit. A few more weeks and then it’s half term and we can go exploring.”

  “Yeah!” Nicky’s enthusiasm warmed Emma’s heart and she squeezed him close.

  “It’ll be exciting to see what Uncle Anton built,” she mused, her mind filling with memories of the vibrant Russian actor.

  “Did he build it wiv his own hands?” Nicky sounded incredulous and it was endearing and cute.

  Emma snorted. “We’ll find out, won’t we?” She sighed. “I might get a shower to warm up and put clean clothes on. I should probably eat breakfast too.” Emma ran a hand across her abdomen and sighed. The c
hild inside produced a fluttering of tiny arms and legs. Nicky’s fingers strayed across and touched Emma’s sweatshirt and on impulse, she placed his fingers over the butterfly signals under her skin. The communication was faint but discernible and Nicky’s eyes widened, his jaw growing slack with childish wonder.

  “That baby’s talkin’ to me!” His eyes filled with tears. “She’s sayin’ hello. Does she know I’m her brother?” he gushed.

  Emma smiled. “Probably. But it might be a boy. What will you do then?”

  Nicky shook his head emphatically, his blonde curls spinning around his face. “Nope, she’s a girl called Stephanie.”

  Emma gulped and clamped her top teeth over her bottom lip to stem the pain. Her voice was a whisper. “Why that name?”

  “Because Uncle Anton’s special gift name was Stepanovich and he’s got nobody left to take it. I have Nikolai for Daddy and Nana Lucya’s family, so Stephanie will carry Anton’s for him.” The earnestness in Nicky’s glittering blue eyes and the sincerity of his words forced Emma down an emotional road she usually avoided. Pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes, she struggled to stem the unwanted tears. They bubbled up and over, running up her wrists into her sleeves and making her cheeks slick as the salt water dripped into her ears.

  Her son stroked the soft skin of her wrist and laid his head on her shoulder. Nicky was quiet as Emma cried for Anton’s loss and the gaping hole he left in their lives. “I miss him too,” Nicky whispered when she finally came up for air. His face was blotchy and the rims of his eyes red from his own grief. Emma kissed his forehead, leaving wet tear stains on his soft, peachy skin. “Every time I cry for him, Mama, it feels better. It’s like the tears wash something bad out.” He smiled at his mother, the wisdom of a child forcing the adult towards reckoning and Emma rewarded him with a watery smile.

  “Whose child are you?” she whispered, cradling his face in her hands. “Because you’re way too clever to be mine.”

  Nicky turned the moment to humour, wiping his wet cheeks on her sweater and giggling. “Can I watch TV?” he asked. “It’s Saturday cartoons.”

  “Yeah.” Emma stroked his face. “Go in the sitting room; I’ve lit the fire. Farrell went to the gates with the policeman so let him back in with you and he’ll lay in front of the fire. Make sure he sits on the towel by the back door for a minute though to dry his feet. I don’t have the energy to clean dog-prints off the floors today.”

  “Ok, Mum.” Nicky kissed the tight, salty skin of Emma’s cheeks and slipped off the bed with a soft thud.

  “No more chocolate spread,” Emma said, waving a tired hand in his direction. Nicky rolled his eyes.

  “Na. I threw the pot away,” he said with emphasis, putting his hands on his hips and mimicking Emma’s serious pose. “If it kills dogs then I don’t want it. It must be poisonous. I’m glad we never afforded it before if it’s that bad for you.” He sauntered off along the corridor and Emma heard him slide down the bannister. She shook her head and huffed crossly. It was pointless shouting at him from that far away, he wouldn’t hear. Emma held her breath until she heard his feet hit the oak floor at the bottom and then exhaled in relief.

  The powder blue of Anton’s old bedroom shrouded Emma in a gentle peace as she laid on her back and soaked up the sense of his presence. Her vicar-father would have told her it was fanciful; the dead didn’t return in God’s careful order. “No,” Emma sighed. “But the living can leave a powerful trace in the world before they go.” If she closed her eyes, she smelled his scent, a faint waft of masculine musk and cologne which eked out from the heavy drapes and lavender rug next to the bed. Grief bit again at Emma’s chest and she pushed it away, sitting up and busying herself with the child’s messy bedroom.

  With the clothing stored away, the bed made and a handful of tags snipped from Nicky’s pants in her hand, Emma closed the door behind her to allow the radiator to spread its ineffectual heat into the huge room. She padded barefoot across the hall and cleared up her own bedroom, changing her sheets to rid herself of Rohan’s distinctive scent and bundling it down to the laundry. Emma set the washing machine going and closed her bedroom door against the cool of the house, putting fresh clothes over the radiator for when she emerged from the shower.

  Emma let the water tumble into her mouth, the toothpaste nulling any other taste as she desired to be washed inside and out. The shampoo added a heady scent of apple and coconut and Emma smoothed her hands over her body, following the budding line of her womb as it distended with the passing weeks. Stephanie. It felt right. All feelings of sadness were banished from her brain as the fluttering began and Emma felt a knowing in her heart. She ran her hands over breasts which swelled with the pregnancy and imagined what it would be like to have a daughter.

  Emma performed her ablutions with regimental precision and leaned against the tiled wall, allowing the water to pound her head and press her dark curls into thick lines against her breasts and shoulders. The water was intoxicating and held her there, avoiding the chill of her bedroom while she wasted hot water. Get out, Emma!

  The internal decision and the action were divided by a moment’s delay, but Emma fumbled the switch to end the watery cascade. She sighed as cool air assailed her body, winding itself around her stomach and thighs like an unwelcome cat. The shower cubicle offered a modicum of cocooned warmth and she huddled there for a moment, watching drips run down the glass creating a domino effect as they merged and parted. The dark shape on the outside moved a fraction, enough to bring realisation with it. What Emma mistook for her dressing gown hanging on the back of the bathroom door became the outline of a man. “Get out!” she snapped with anger. “How dare you?”

  “I needed to check you were ok.” Rohan’s unwelcome presence hit Emma like a train and she almost slipped on the tiles in her fury.

  “Really?” she snapped, her anger doubling at the knowledge that two men roamed her property without restriction. “I told you to get out and I meant it!”

  “Are you sure you weren’t telling Dolan to get out?” Rohan’s voice dripped with mix of acid and sadness, like oil and water.

  Emma blushed at his astuteness and struggled to come up with an answer. “Well, at least you know I’m not interested in him!” she retorted after a few seconds of thought. “Pity you don’t have the same scruples, isn’t it?”

  The cubicle door swung open and Rohan’s dark shape filled the gap. “I have never been unfaithful to you! I didn’t see you for six years and I never touched another woman!”

  The revelation shocked Emma. “You’re lying!” she shouted. “You touched Felicity!” It was a low blow and Rohan’s pupils dilated, almost obscuring his blue irises. Icy air wrapped itself around her nakedness and Emma tried to cover herself with her arms.

  “That’s cheap!” Rohan hissed, stepping into the cubicle fully clothed. His shoes left dark marks on the white tiles underfoot. He ran his fingers over the slight bump at the back of Emma’s head, the ridge from Felicity’s attack lumpy under his pads. “You throw a stalker in my face? A stalker who’s locked up?”

  The sleeves of his jacket felt rough against Emma’s cheek as Rohan’s fingers massaged the back of her head and roved down to caress the muscles in her neck. “What about the blonde baby?” she countered, thinking of the hidden child at the Harborough house.

  “My family, but not my syn,” Rohan breathed, resting his forehead against Emma’s.

  A truce flag hung in the air over them but Emma felt too conflicted to grasp it. She wanted details and answers before she could understand or forgive Rohan’s deceit. She opened her mouth to speak and his lips found hers, filling her with his probing tongue. Emma gasped and inhaled, smelling his hair and the essence of Rohan Andreyev superseding the shower fragrances she’d filled her tiny world with. “Nobody else?” she whispered as he broke the kiss, demanding truth from his blazing eyes. Rohan shook his head, his blonde fringe sticking to her wet face.

  “Never, Em. Never. I
want nobody else.” His breath countered the cool air swirling around her and the fabric of his outdoor clothing felt coarse against her skin. “I love you, Emma. I don’t cheat.” Rohan’s eyes burned with emotion and Emma’s chest felt tight. Her breasts pushed against the cool zipper of his jacket and she gasped as he pressed closer, forcing her against the condensated tiles. Emma shuddered and widened her eyes with the sensation of the icy smoothness on her spine.

  Rohan ran his fingers lightly down Emma’s neck, letting them trail along her shoulder and arm. His thumb brushed the sensitive skin of her ribs and his fingers linked through hers as they fluttered at her side. “Emma,” Rohan breathed, settling his lips against her neck and running them across the butter soft flesh. “Ya lyublyu tebya, moy dorogaya.”

  “I know.” Emma’s words came out as a quiet snuff, silenced by Rohan’s groan of appreciation as his teeth nipped lightly.

  The douse of cold water made them both jump and Rohan laughed, his full lips turning upwards. He leaned past Emma and released the corner of his sleeve from the shower handle and accidentally set it off again. Emma inhaled and bit her lip, her husband’s proximity making her feel irrational and charged with desire as the cold droplets coursed down her flesh. She shivered and Rohan’s brow creased. His arms pulled her close, the jacket rustling. Emma closed her eyes against the droplets sitting on its dark surface, watching them blur and mist through her eyelashes. Rohan’s hands on her body supercharged every nerve ending and Emma felt the pressure of his fingers through her back as an electrical pulse. Rohan’s desire was hard against Emma’s groin and she pushed herself forward in eager anticipation. He released her and Emma gave a small squeak of shock as the cold draught whipped between them.

  Rohan turned and stepped from the shower, holding onto the door as he took care with his footing. He offered Emma his open hand and she shook her head and covered herself, feeling rejection as keenly as a graze. Her eyes searched his in confusion, not understanding why he pulled away. She looked at her feet, seeing the water drain through her toes and onto the tiles, bypassing her glittering toe nails.