The Actuary's Wife

by K T Bowes

  Emma rolled her husband over so she straddled his prone body, staring into his deep blue eyes. His pupils dilated so she could hardly see the azure irises and she smiled. “It won’t happen, Ro.”

  “Nicky tells me the nice young policeman shows him skateboard tricks and impresses him. What if he impresses you?”

  Emma crossed her arms over her chest and seized the sides of her nightdress, hauling the satiny material over her head. Her hair covered her shoulders in ringlets and the necklace settled the wedding ring between her breasts. “He’s impressive,” she agreed. “But he’s not for me. The first time I slapped him or grabbed a stranger by the balls because they annoyed me, he’d die of shock. He didn’t braid my hair when I was six or hold my hand when Alanya shouted at me for not calling her ‘Mama’. He didn’t climb into the toy box with me and hold me when I cried and he didn’t make love to me when I was sixteen and sobbing. He’ll never know Anton and he won’t see the real Emma.” She put her arms above her hair and plaited her dark locks, her breasts trembling with the action as she made Rohan wait, feasting on her sexuality like a starving man.

  “You were there, Ro. You’re my history and my future. I bore you a son and I’m carrying your child.” Emma splayed her fingers over her stomach and he stared at her, the pregnant nakedness intimate and secret. Her fingers moved lower, splaying across her thighs. “It’s ok if you’re not up to it,” she teased, squirming over him and feeling the heat.

  Rohan’s eyes lit with laughter and he growled, pulling her on top of him and burying his face in her neck. “I love you, Emma Andreyev,” he whispered.

  Emma kissed him, feeling the urgency of his fingers as he pushed into her dark places. “Stay with me,” she begged. “Stay all night.”

  “Ok,” he whispered, groaning as he bit his bottom lip and he felt her sacred warmth enfold him.

  Chapter 27

  “Emma, don’t scream!” Rohan’s voice pulled her from sleep, his hand clamped over her mouth. “I need to go.” Rohan slipped from the bed, jamming his knee into his prosthesis and completing the seal. He stood, boxer shorts already in place as he made the metal leg secure.

  “No, stay; you promised!” Emma objected.

  “I fell asleep,” Rohan hissed. “I missed something important. Just trust me.”

  Emma turned on her side and smirked at her husband in the firelight. “Did I wear you out, soldier boy?”

  “Too much, devotchka. I agreed to be somewhere an hour ago.”

  “You promised you’d stay with me.” Emma’s voice held accusation. “You said!”

  “And I did!” Rohan hissed. “But I need to go now.”

  “Why? Where’re you going?” Suspicion laced her tone and she screwed up her face in a sulk.

  “Someone’s in the house, Emma. I heard them. I need to go.” Rohan paused at the door.

  “It’ll be Christopher moving around,” Emma grumbled, still sleepy. “Nicky keeps his door locked and so do I normally. It’s fine. I thought he wasn’t meant to know you were here so don’t go running out there in your underwear. Just lock the door.”

  “It’s not just Dolan!” Rohan spat the Irishman’s name. “He’s got trouble with him.”

  “Well, what about Nicky?” Emma sat up and Rohan put his finger to his lips.

  “He’s ok,” he mouthed in the light from the fire embers. “They’re not interested in Nicky. But someone’s coming so keep still.” He shifted his muscular body behind the door, the metal leg joint making the faintest squeak in the darkness.

  With terror growing, Emma stuffed the sheet into her mouth and lay on her side, her body rigid as she narrowed her eyes enough to see in the darkness.

  The door opened and a shape entered the room with stealthy precision. Emma held her breath as another followed. She heard Christopher Dolan’s whispered voice. “You’re just talking to her, right?”

  “Where’s the boy?” a heavily accented voice asked and Christopher replied.

  “Along the corridor. That’s not the deal.”

  The taller shape turned to leave, flicking on a flashlight and moving towards Nicky’s door across the hall. Emma gulped as the remaining outline reached the end of the four poster bed and took another step forward. She pressed the sheet into her mouth as a dull thud sounded in the silent room, followed by the sound of something heavy being dragged across the boards. The bathroom door opened and then clicked closed.

  “His door’s locked,” Christopher’s voice hissed, stress making his Irish accent stronger. “But that’s not the deal. The Actuary said he’d talk. It doesn’t need to involve his kid. Where are you? Stop mucking around!”

  There was a prolonged groan and a thud and Christopher fell silent.

  “Rohan!” Emma whimpered and heard him immediately.

  “It’s ok, dorogaya. I’m here.”

  “Can I turn the light on?” she stage whispered. “I’m scared!”

  “Da,” he replied with confidence and Emma flicked the lamp next to her bed with shaking fingers, bringing the room into soft light and shadows.

  “Ah, shite!” Christopher groaned, his voice groggy. “You weren’t supposed to hit me.”

  “Really? Sorry, I forgot that part of the plan.”

  “Aye, well you weren’t meant to be in here. Youse agreed to meet in town.”

  “Got waylaid,” Rohan said, a nasty edge to his voice. “Get up. Double cross me again and I’ll finish this for good.”

  “Where’s the Chinaman?” Emma hissed, holding the sheet up to her chin to cover her nakedness.

  Christopher glanced across and his eyes darkened at the slender outline behind the fluttering fabric. “Oh, right; that kinda busy.”

  “Turn around!” Rohan snapped and Christopher gave a heavy sigh, turning his back towards Emma. She darted from the bed and pulled the slinky nightdress over her head, her eyes widening as Rohan raised an eyebrow and gave her a wink of approval. Emma dragged track pants and a fleecy top from a nearby drawer and pushed her feet into slippers.

  “Where’s the Chinaman?” she asked again.

  “What’s she on about?” Christopher snapped, turning to face her. “What feckin’ Chinaman?”

  Emma pointed to the bathroom door and the groaning coming from behind it.

  “That’s no Chinaman, that’s my wife!” Christopher joked, silenced by Rohan brandishing the poker in line with his throat. “Aye, ya would too, wouldn’t ya? Want me to bend over so youse can do it right?”

  Rohan narrowed his eyes. “That’s your specialty, Irish, not mine.”

  “I’m not gay!” Christopher grew animated and waved his arms. Rohan threatened him with the poker again and he grew quiet. “Fine!” he said angrily. “I’m on your side so feckin’ behave like it!”

  “Well, I’m never entirely sure!” Rohan answered, his teeth gritted.

  “Why is there a strange man in my bedroom?” Emma yelped, desperate to get to her son.

  Rohan shook his head and glared at Christopher. “Good question.”

  “We were trying to sort things out,” Christopher said, sounding doubtful.

  “We?” Rohan snorted.

  The groans increased from the bathroom. Christopher glanced at Emma. “He needed to talk to yer man and the Actuary won’t see him, so he came for you.”

  “I don’t believe this!” Emma hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb. “I thought you were my friend! You brought him to my house and let him in my gate and my front door. I’m guessing you turned the alarm off too?”

  “Of course I turned the bloody alarm off. I always do at night when I’m checking up on youse all! I’m not superhuman!”

  “But you let someone nasty in!” Emma raised her voice in anger and Christopher shook his head.

  Rohan put his finger to his lips and Emma sank onto the bed in defeat.

  The groans from the bathroom were accompanied by shuffling and Rohan turned to Christopher, sticking the sharp iron edge
of the poker beneath his Adam’s apple and pressing. “Last time, Dolan. You’re either with me or you’re not. Make your choice. If you double cross me again, I’ll find you and kill you whatever the result of tonight. Da?”

  “Aye, I’m with ya,” Christopher conceded. “All I wanted was for you to take me back.”

  “Bloody hell!” Emma snapped. “What is this? Aunt Cissy’s agony page? There’s a man in my bathroom!” The end of her sentence was a wail and the men nodded to each other in a hurried truce.

  Rohan stood on one side of the bathroom door and Christopher the other. Rohan seized the door handle and opened the door with force, contacting the person on the other side. There was an almighty smack as the man went down onto the tiles, backwards.

  “Up ya get,” Christopher grunted, pulling the stranger to his knees and hauling him into the bedroom. Emma gulped and backed towards the wall, eyeing the newcomer with fear. Christopher dropped him onto the floor boards, his back against the wall and a long gash bleeding into the man’s eyes.

  “Em, meet Uncle Mikhail,” Rohan said, his teeth gritted. “My backer and Mama’s brother.”

  The man was old, once blonde hair turned ash grey and the familiar blue eyes narrowed in a crinkled face. “You need to get her out of dat prison!” he yelled, galvanised by mention of his sister. Spit sprayed from his lips as he raged and waved gnarled fists.

  He wasn’t the only one motivated by the woman’s name and Emma stepped away from the wall, taking long strides towards the prone male. He looked in his sixties, lithe and ferocious, his crinkled face and staring eyes familial and disturbing. “Why are you in my house?” Emma hissed. “Why do you keep trying to hurt us?”

  “I vant to talk to him, to him!” Mikhail blustered, waving his arms towards Rohan. His eyes strayed from Rohan’s scarred torso to the prosthetic leg and he baulked and grew silent. “What happened to you, syn?” he asked, his voice sad. “I didn’t know.”

  “Why do you want him?” Emma stepped again, resting her foot on the man’s ankle. She kicked his foot inwards and then pinned it there with her weight on one leg. “Why do you want him?” she repeated and pressed.

  “I vant to get Alanya from prison!” he gushed. “But instead he take boy. I want to see boy!”

  Emma eyed Rohan and Christopher in turn, knowing as her eyes settled back on Rohan, he alone knew what the old man wanted. Emma pushed on the joint again. “Why here? Why my house?”

  “Triads follow him here,” he groaned. “They want to make deal. I need to see him.” He jabbed a gnarled finger at Rohan.

  “No more deals, Uncle,” Rohan replied, hefting the heavy poker across his thigh. “My collateral’s too precious nowadays to play your games. I told you in Moscow; I won’t work for you again.”

  “Please, syn, please?” the old man begged. “I’m in trouble.”

  Rohan’s smirk reached his eyes. “Too bad, Uncle.”

  Emma took a step back and released the man’s ankle. “Is he alone or are there more like him outside? More Chinese people?”

  Christopher’s mouth opened in annoyance, his brown eyes flashing. “What’s with the Chinese people?” he snapped. “Are you obsessed or something?”

  Emma blinked. “Aren’t the Triads Chinese?”

  “Aye, but they’re not here!” Christopher sneered. He waved a finger at the collapsed Russian on the floor. “Does he look Chinese, ya eejit?”

  “Hey!” Rohan pushed the poker into Christopher’s throat and swore in Russian. “Watch your mouth, da? You don’t talk to her like that!”

  “But the Triads are here,” Emma pressed, frustration putting a whine into her voice. “The man who died outside the gates was Chinese. Today I saw a man following Rohan and he was Chinese too.”

  “What?” Rohan’s face paled. “No. You saw Uncle’s men. They were across the street and followed as I walked away. It’s why I stopped you in the porch, out of sight.”

  “No!” Emma insisted. “A car passed me and a Chinese man got out. He walked behind you in the school crowd.” She stamped her foot on the rug. “I texted you and you said you knew they were there. Bloody hell, Ro! What kind of spy are you?”

  “Spy?” The Russian man on the floor bridled, shifting his feet and trying to stand. “You are spy, Rohan Andreyev? Der’mo!”

  “No, I’m not a spy, I’m an actuary!” Rohan glared at Emma. He pushed the old man on the shoulder and forced him back to a sitting position. “Tell me about the Chinese man.”

  “I need a drink!” Emma snapped. She pointed at the prostrate male. “And I want him to stop bleeding on the floor.”

  “Vodka?” Mikhail said hopefully, his blue eyes widening as he ran a bloody hand through his hair.

  “No!” Emma replied, her jaw tensed. “Tea!”

  Chapter 28

  “What’s happening, Mummy?” Nicky stood in the kitchen doorway rubbing his eyes and staring at the room full of people. His eyes widened at the sight of Christopher and he gave a small smile of victory and raised an eyebrow in Emma’s direction. “Mummy. Why’s Harley Man in our kitchen?”

  “He brought a friend, baby,” she replied, filling the tea pot and glaring at Christopher.

  “Hey Daddy.” Nicky skipped across to his father and wrapped his arms around Rohan’s scarred stomach, squeezing and kissing the smooth six pack. Rohan stroked the soft blonde hair and kissed his son on the top of his head. “You’re rudey dudey,” Nicky giggled and pointed at Rohan’s boxer shorts.

  The old Russian seated at the kitchen table knitted his brow and eyed Rohan with suspicion. “What is dis, syn? You have family and say nothing to your own uncle?”

  “Are you surprised?” Emma sneered, thumping the teapot on the table. “We nearly died in Falkirk a few months ago, while you had fun with a Triad boss. Why would he give you more ways to hurt him?” Emma added mugs and a milk jug. “You can manage without sugar; there isn’t any,” she told the man.

  “Mummy, did you nearly die in Forkip?” Nicky’s eyes were wide and his bottom lip turned down. “Why, Mummy?”

  Emma clicked her fingers and the dog moved off his blanket, appearing by her side like a sylph. She pointed at Nicky. “Farrell can take you to the sitting room while the grown-ups have a chat. Put a nice film on, baby. Don’t watch the channels this late at night.”

  Nicky nodded and patted his thigh. The dog rushed to him and they pitter-pattered from the room. Emma poured four mugs of tea and pushed one towards the old man. She reached behind her and dragged kitchen towel from the roll and dropped it on the table. “You’re bleeding,” she said and pointed to her own forehead. Glittering blue eyes watched her movements as though their owner waited to pounce. Emma took a step back, finding Rohan’s hands on her shoulders.

  Behind the Russian, Christopher withdrew the knife he’d hidden from Nicky and held it against the man’s neck in threat. “Just give me a reason, old man,” he breathed.

  Rohan sighed and pulled out a chair, the wood scraping across the tiles like an intrusion into the forbidding silence. “Speak, Uncle. I’ll give you five minutes and then my friend here will drop you on a lonely road and call the Contessa.”

  Emma felt too disturbed to sit, despite her husband’s sense of calm. Rohan lay back in his chair and folded his arms in a casual guise. Emma saw the telltale vein tick in the side of his neck and sensed the pent up aggression waiting to be unleashed, a paradox to the small smile on his lips. She leaned her bottom against the counter and sipped her tea, deciding the hot liquid would make a ready weapon if required.

  The Russian pulled a mug towards him and added milk, sipping the liquid and smacking his lips in a way which seemed habitual. Emma watched as his eyes flicked towards her and back again. His suit material had an expensive plushness to the way it lay on his shoulders, stained by blood along the wide lapels. His eyes burned into Emma’s face, sizing her up and weighing her value as collateral. She gritted her teeth. “Tick-tock,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “T
ime’s running out.”

  His eyes widened in surprise and Emma saw Rohan smirk, dimples appearing in his cheeks as he tried to hide his amusement. Emma shook her head, not enjoying the game. “Stop staring at me and put some effort into your excuses,” she said. “This is my house and I don’t want you in it.”

  The man sneered and Emma lost patience, setting her mug loudly on the counter. “Fine then,” she snapped. “Police it is.” She reached into her pocket and drew out her mobile phone, waiting for the icons to appear on the screen.

  Chapter 29

  “I told you, I won’t work for you again,” Rohan said, his voice calm.

  “Please, syn, one last time,” Mikhail begged, patting his cut with Emma’s tea towel.

  “He said no, idiot!” Emma spat, casting frightened glances towards her husband and pleading with her eyes. “He’s got responsibilities and we already agreed.” She made her tone sound confident and brave, feeling neither as she watched her husband’s interested expression and the way he cocked his head wanting to hear more.

  “I already accepted.” Alanya’s spiteful brother smirked as though he still possessed the power to make demands and enjoyed Emma’s reaction of badly veiled devastation. “It’s a final wager with the Triads,” he said with a smile, not realising the irony as he nodded to the deal with another peddler in human misery, the faceless Che. “It’s local.” Mikhail’s wrinkled face lit with enthusiasm. “If we neutralise the risk, we get paid and they leave us alone. If not, Che will unpick all of us, piece by piece.” Mikhail’s face collapsed in misery, pointing a gnarled finger at Christopher Dolan. “This is because of you! The Contessa is his niece and you defiled her. Now, we will all be punished.”

  Christopher shared only two words of infinite wisdom. “Ah shite!”

  Mikhail tapped keys on his mobile phone and read in halting English from a contract, detailing both the risk and payment for its neutrality. Rohan sighed in frustration and snatched the phone from the old man’s fingers. “The client’s offering half a million sterling to recover a historical artifact belonging to...” Rohan stopped, biting on his bottom lip and staring at Emma with wide blue eyes. “It’s a brass plaque belonging to Little Arden Church of England School, Market Harborough, which has the potential to defame a prominent local family. The item and any evidence of its existence must not be destroyed, but returned to the client. The handover must be no later than midnight...” Rohan looked at the digital display on his wrist. “Tomorrow.”