The Actuary's Wife

by K T Bowes

  “This whole place is beautiful. I love what you’ve done with the room we sat in.” Barker nodded with approval, jerking his head back towards the house. “How did you know the colours would work?”

  “My friend told me.” Emma smiled. “Freda Ayers.”

  Barker bit his lip and widened his eyes. “Did she used to own this place, then?”

  “You don’t know your Market Harborough history very well, do you?” Emma mocked, narrowing her eyes and nudging his elbow. “It’s complicated. She’s directly related to the late Lord Ayers but no, sadly she never owned Wingate Hall.” Emma looked at the weeds wreaking havoc between the layers of cracked concrete as they entered the courtyard around which twenty stables stood empty. “You’re right though. I do need someone to help me with the grounds; they’re a mess.”

  “One can never get good help nowadays,” Barker commented and Emma laughed at his mock accent, mimicking the nasal expressions of a bygone age.

  “I’ve never had to try before,” she mused. “It’s been me and Nicky forever. Where do I start?”

  Barker cocked his head on one side and looked at her. Then he took a step forward, so they stood close, his green eyes serious. “I shouldn’t be telling you this...” he paused in obvious confusion. “It’s not professional.” He bit his lip and fought an internal dilemma. “My dad just lost his job. They were all made redundant at the paint works in Leicester and now he’s in his fifties he can’t find anything else. He loves gardening and I know he’d work hard for you.” Paul Barker swiped a nervous hand across his top lip and stepped back. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that. Forget it. I’m taking liberties.”

  “What can you do?” Nicky called, flipping the board with the toe of his trainer and failing in his bid to make it right itself. “I can’t do very much.”

  Barker hurried over to the child and bent to his level, explaining something about the dynamics of the skate board. Emma watched his interaction with her son, pondering on his hastily imparted words. A feeling of discomfort worked its way forward in her brain, making the hairs stand up on her arms and giving her a strange sense of foreboding. She glanced over her shoulder and felt the eerie sensation of someone watching. The stable block had apartments overhead and Emma’s eyes moved upwards to the tiny panes of blown glass rimmed by decaying wooden frames above the old office. Dolan. Emma couldn’t see him but felt his eyes boring into her, encroaching on her privacy and space. Rohan didn’t trust him and that should be enough to make her send the Irishman away, but Emma acknowledged a deep sense of mistrust in her husband. Again she felt trapped between the two men, a pawn in a game she would never understand.

  As she watched, Barker’s perfectly shined shoe flipped the edge of the skateboard and it executed a perfect arc and landed in his outstretched hand. Nicky’s eyes lit up with admiration and Emma smiled at his childish excitement. Barker bent and explained something technical. Nicky looked up at him and then at the board, communicating his enthusiasm through wide blue eyes and an eagerness to try again.

  “I did it, Mum! Look at me! I did it!” Nicky’s voice held an edge of hysteria as he flipped the skateboard from the concrete into his hand with the flick of his toes. “Fanks, Mr Policeman!” he said with a glance across at Emma. Then he ruined his nice behaviour. “I know you’re not all bullies. Fat Brian said the pigs are fascists but Mummy said...”

  “Nicky!” Emma was too far away to perform her usual trick with her hand over his mouth, but the boy read the angry communication in her eyes and had the decency to look guilty. “Apologise!” she exclaimed, tiredness creeping into her voice.

  “Sorry, Mr Policeman,” Nicky said. “Next time I see Fat Brian, I’ll tell ‘im I’ve met two good pigs, you ‘n Kaylee’s daddy. He’ll think it’s amazing!” The child drew out his adjective to a point way past decent and Emma gritted her teeth and glared at him.

  “I’m going in now, it’s too cold. Let Detective Barker go and you come in too.” She eyed the blank windows of the apartment and shivered.

  “I can just stay here in the stable yard,” Nicky began and Emma shook her head.

  “No. In. Now.” She held her arm outstretched to indicate her final decision and Nicky’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t argue with me!” Emma insisted, looking up at Barker’s throat clearing.

  “Hey, Nicky, do as your mum says,” he stated. “I’ll come back and show you another trick soon, but not today. There’s stuff going on around here at the moment so you can’t be on your own outside. Get it?”

  Nicky put his head down and grumbled under his breath, picking at a loose sticker on the board. “You probably don’t know any more tricks anyway,” he muttered and Emma exhaled, opening her mouth to chastise her son.

  “Do actually.” Barker seized the skateboard from Nicky’s fingers and slid it along the ground with a fluid movement. He let the board run ahead of him before taking a long, running stride and landing square on its length. He weaved a few times and turned the whole thing in a wide arc before stopping sharply and flicking the board into his outstretched fingers.

  His indignation forgotten, Nicky ran to him, eyes wide and mouth already begging for a lesson. “I wanna do that too,” he protested.

  “I’ll show ya next time,” Barker said with a smile and handed back the board. “But only if you’ve done what your mum says. I’ll ask her.”

  Nicky nodded and looked back at Emma, suspicion in his eyes. Then he ran off towards the house. She shook her head at his retreating back and smiled at the detective. “Thanks. That was nice of you.”

  “Hey, it’s hard on your own,” he replied, sympathy in his voice. Emma closed her eyes and looked away, sensing something poignant in the detective’s words. “My dad brought me up by himself,” he said, lowering his voice to dignify the shared confidence. “My mother suffered from depression so he was practically a solo parent. He gave up a good career to take care of me and my brother. He’s a good bloke, but you don’t have to give him a job; I shouldn’t have said anything.” He ran his hands through his dark hair, hating himself. “It was unprofessional of me.”

  “Hey, it’s fine. You’re a loyal son.” Emma touched his arm as they continued walking back to the main house. She stopped at the red car near the front steps and rested a hand against its cold, metallic surface “I’ll buy him a coffee after work tomorrow and see what I think. No promises though. I never wanted to get a job out of pity and he won’t either.”

  Paul Barker nodded and held out his hand towards Emma. She clasped it in hers and they shook on it. “I’ll meet him at the Baptist Coffee shop at one o’clock. You can explain what I look like to him so he can make himself known.”

  “Thanks. Thanks so much. Dad’s called Ray.”

  Emma smiled and hugged her arms tightly round herself as she walked up the front steps. She felt the detective’s eyes watching her and the misgivings began to flow as soon as she closed the front door behind her.

  Chapter 24

  Ray Barker sat at a table in the coffee shop, twirling an unopened sachet of sugar. His physique was slender like Paul’s, but a line of muscle poked through his shirt as he wiped his brow with his sleeve in a nervous action. Large hands used to physical work shook as he played with the sugar. Emma watched him suffer, her heart softening. She went to the till, smiling at Freda’s friend and ordered an herbal tea and coffee for her guest.

  The dark haired man jumped up as Emma approached his table and offered his hand. “Thanks for meeting with me, Miss Harrington. Paul said you need a gardener.”

  “Call me Emma and yes, a handyman who gardens would be awesome.”

  Ray’s eyes flitted up as the elderly woman placed drinks on the table with a shaking hand. His lips parted in dismay. “Oh, but...”

  “My treat,” Emma said quickly. “Please may we have scones for two, Edna? We can call it lunch.”

  The lady smiled and patted Emma’s shoulder, moving off on her painful hips to fetch the food.
“Freshly baked today,” she said with enthusiasm calling behind her.

  Ray watched Edna’s progress with sympathy. “I’ve never been in here,” he admitted, poking at the Christian literature on the table. “I assumed they’d jump on me and convert me.” His eyes were battle weary.

  Emma shook her head. “They’ve never done that to me. A good friend works here. It’s voluntary and the profits go to charity each year. Freda says it gives her a focus and a reason for getting up in the morning.”

  “Really?” Ray looked impressed, the admiration fading on his face as Emma shook her head.

  “Not at all. She loves a good gossip and it’s the pulse beat of Harborough. It’s heaven for a retired lady in her nineties and a way of being useful whilst getting up Mrs Jameson-Arden’s nose.”

  Ray snorted. “Yeah, I know that woman. Her family bought the factory in Leicester I worked at and ruined it. They sold out to a group of Americans who stripped the assets, crushed the competition and sold the land. Bye-bye loyal workers.”

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. “Tell me about yourself so I can get an understanding of how we might work together. I’m worried it could bore you. Mowing lawns, mending fences and fixing random bits that fall off the house doesn’t sound much fun. And it’ll be rather lonely; often only my son and I are there.”

  “I’m fine with that, miss; the chance to work again would be enough. There’s not much to tell about me really; I joined the British army at seventeen and came out after my twenty two years finished. It would’ve been great to stay on but it’s a hard life for families and my wife wasn’t keen, not with the lads being at secondary school age by then.” He paused as Emma’s face fell, her mind cast back to being a dewy eyed, pregnant teenager, secretly married to an army communications officer. “You ok, miss?” he asked, his brows knitted in confusion.

  “I’m fine,” Emma smiled. “You should probably know I’m pregnant and due in August. My husband isn’t living with us.”

  “Oh, sorry, miss.” Ray swallowed a mouthful of coffee and thanked Edna as she arrived with the buttered scones.

  “Just call me Emma,” she said, hiding her misery with a smile. Ray nodded and Emma waited for Edna to stumble back to the counter and leaned closer. “This will sound terrible, but I need someone trustworthy to work for me. I don’t want my affairs broadcast the length and breadth of Harborough for others’ entertainment and I don’t know how to ensure that happens.” Emma felt encouraged by Ray’s sympathetic nod. “Not many people in town know I own Wingate Hall yet and I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible. Do you understand?” Emma worried at her bottom lip and Ray put his knife on the plate with a calculated movement.

  “You’re also aware my son’s a police officer and you don’t want that kind of attention either?” Ray’s question stunned Emma, but she nodded in silent agreement.

  He offered her a hand covered in callouses, a working man’s hand. “You have my word,” he promised. “I won’t perjure myself but I won’t go looking for trouble either.”

  Emma heaved a sigh of relief and let her slender fingers disappear into Ray’s bear-like paw. “Then I just hired myself an employee,” she said with a smile.

  He laughed and gripped her fingers. “I have a strong back and a good head. You plan it out and I’ll make it happen.”

  “Awesome!” Emma exclaimed. “What do you know about ride-on mowers?”

  Ray winked. “Always try before you buy, miss.”

  They ate with appreciation, warm butter slipping onto their fingers from the delicious scones. “You mentioned you had lads,” Emma asked between mouthfuls. “What does your other boy do?”

  Ray shook his head, sadness descending over him. “Hugh died.”

  “I’m so sorry.” A mental image of Anton’s vibrant face danced in front of Emma’s eyes and she closed them, fresh grief biting her again as the old wounds of Lucya and her father’s deaths bit at the periphery. “Losing someone’s awful,” she sighed, placing the remainder of her scone on the plate.

  Ray observed her through keen eyes and nodded. “It is. I can see you know that.” He covered her hand with his paw and smiled. “I think we’ll get along just fine,” he said, pledging fealty to the vulnerable woman with pain in her eyes.

  They parted outside the coffee shop and shook hands. “It’ll be dark by the time I get home,” Emma said with regret. “Come to the hall tomorrow after I finish work and we’ll look round in daylight. I haven’t explored more than the house. I’ll start your contract from tomorrow and we’ll sort out hours, pay and things like that.”

  “Righto. Thanks, miss,” Ray replied, his face made youthful by his happiness. He set off towards the Commons Car Park with a spring in his step and Emma chewed on her bottom lip.

  “He has a car then,” Rohan’s deep voice rumbled in her ear and Emma smirked.

  “I saw you, Mr Actuary,” she said, turning slowly in the small entrance to the coffee shop. “Did you enjoy your chocolate cake? I thought you’d freak out, having the father of a cop on your doorstep.”

  Rohan pushed his face into Emma’s long hair and slipped his hands under her coat. His fingers threaded around her waist, making Emma shiver. “Anyone could be watching, Ro,” she hissed. “You said we’d to stay apart.”

  He nodded, his blonde fringe touching his eyelashes before he scooped it back with long fingers. “Da. I did. But it’s killing me.”

  “Did I do anything wrong?” Emma asked, narrowing her eyes in concern.

  Rohan wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “You don’t know if he can landscape or whether he’s honest. You don’t have a CV or references or know if he’s a drunk, gambler or drug taker. He might beat his wife or be a pedophile. What then?”

  “Oh.” Emma’s face paled and her eyes darted after her new employee as she gulped. “Damn.” Her eyes flicked to Rohan’s smiling face as she glared at him. “Why do you look so bloody happy about it then?”

  “Because you have me to take care of your interests,” he said with a sexy smile. “Nikolai told me you offered to meet with the policeman’s father so I checked them both out. Good men. Ray Barker has an unblemished work record, in the army and at the factory. He doesn’t drink, smoke, gamble or whore, so he’ll be fine. If he steps out of line I’ll kill him and bury the body.” Rohan’s fingers strayed to Emma’s curls, twirling a length with interest.

  “How can we be separated if you keep touching me?” Emma asked, her brown eyes laughing.

  “I think we should get back together again,” Rohan mused. “Mama’s place is depressing! Someone died in the lift yesterday and I had to give mouth to mouth and prop them up once they were breathing.”

  Emma cringed and put a hand over her mouth. “Did they have false teeth?”

  Rohan pinched her bottom and she squeaked. The door clattered as a group of elderly customers exited the cafe. “Ooh, hello Mr Andreyev,” a woman simpered, patting his muscular shoulder. “How’re the renovations going with your mother’s flat? A friend of mine was asking when it would be for sale. I mean, it’s not like Alanya’s coming back, is she? If she gets off those murder charges, it’ll be a miracle. Pop by for a cup of tea later; you read poetry much better than anyone else in the apartments.”

  “It’s that gorgeous accent,” another octogenarian commented, her back so bent she stared at her own sturdy shoes. “Can I come?”

  Rohan fixed a wooden smile on his face and waited until the cackling group passed. Then he heaved a sigh of misery. Emma touched his cold cheek with her fingers. “Poetry?” She smirked.

  He shrugged. “They make me do stuff. ‘Please can you carry my shopping, Mr Andreyev? Please can you open this jar of pickle?’ But I can’t stay there forever. They’ll get suspicious eventually.”

  “Was it one of them you kissed?” Emma asked, peering round his burly body and watching the assorted grannies waddle towards the residential home’s minibus.

  Rohan put his palm on Emma’s
cheek and forced her to look at him. His blue eyes were wide in his angular face. “It wasn’t kissing, Em! It was resuscitation. And no, it wasn’t any of them. That poor woman’s still in hospital.”

  “Yeah, your kisses can do that,” Emma snorted. Rohan pushed his face into her neck and nipped the soft skin beneath her hair. Emma groaned and sought his lips in the shadow of the porch.

  “We need to stop,” Rohan breathed, pulling away from the kiss, his eyes shrouded with reluctance and his pupils dilated with desire.

  “You started it,” Emma grumbled, straightening her blouse. “So, how do you get in and out without the warden seeing?” Emma asked. “Freda says that woman has eyes in the back of her bum.”

  “It’s ok in the daytime,” Rohan confessed. “I’ve painted a few walls and wandered in and out with tools. Nighttime’s harder. Freda lets me in the fire escape and I wait until late and sneak along the hallway. We watch TV together and she makes me dinner.”

  Emma’s lower jaw hung in a surprised expression. “You’re sneaking into an old peoples’ home. That’s hilarious! Don’t people usually try to break out?” She snorted.

  Rohan narrowed his eyes and glared at her. “It’s not funny!” he retorted.

  “Oh, it really is!” Emma giggled. She sobered. “Her comment about Alanya wasn’t though. What will you do with her apartment?”

  “Sell it,” Rohan said. “I just don’t know what to do with all her things. Some of the furniture is antique Russian as much my father’s as hers. And her clothes and ornaments. Where do I put it?”

  Emma grasped his cold fingers. “Bring the furniture to the hall. I don’t want her clothes or ornaments, thanks. It’d bring back terrible memories, but for you, I’ll house her furniture.”