The Actuary's Wife

by K T Bowes

  “Threatened you?” Rohan’s eyes widened and fury lit a flame in his irises.

  Emma waved her hand, realising too late she’d dismissed his concern. “She tried to blackmail me with lies from my former boss, but I sent a message back to him that might stem his bile permanently. I said I had the luck of the Irish.”

  Christopher laughed and Rohan’s eyes flashed danger. “What?”

  Emma regretted the look of isolation in her husband’s face as Christopher enjoyed her little joke and she gave him a shortened version. “Christopher beat him up.”

  Rohan glanced at the Irishman. “Was that before or after I got you to plant porn on his office computer and get him investigated by the Ministry of Education.”

  Christopher looked duly contrite. “After.”

  “Nice,” Rohan bit. “Real nice. I didn’t realise it was a competition.”

  Emma groaned. “Should I carry on or just tell whoever survives your dog fight?” Her tone dripped with intended sarcasm and the men continued an eyebrow war with intermittent glaring.

  “So, Clarissa definitely didn’t want me to find out the family secret, but I’m not sure she knew there was a plaque. Someone in the distant past removed all school logs dating from 1860 to 1864, although the 1865 one mentioned nothing about a grand opening, which is odd in itself to an archivist. When I told Dalton about the plaque, he would have informed her as chairperson straight away.”

  “Explain the relevance of the plaque,” Rohan asked, his face betraying his confusion.

  Emma sighed in frustration. “Over a hundred and fifty years ago, a Jameson killed an Arden over an affair and was hanged for it. I couldn’t find definitive proof he actually died or had a reprieve, but it was the crime of the century in this small community. He was the original schoolmaster and caused a huge local scandal. Someone removed the plaque from the wall which gave the original date of the school opening, destroyed or removed the log books and waited for the dust to settle. I’ve checked and the one hundred year celebration was held five years too late. The Jamesons seem determined for this event to go ahead on the wrong date again and the plaque and me are the only things standing in the way.”

  Rohan shook his head and opened his arms wide in front of him. “That’s it?” He looked disappointed. “Half a million sterling for this?” He turned to Emma. “If you were a Jameson, what would you do?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “If I was the headmaster, I’d use it for publicity. It’d make a fantastic media opportunity. The public love a story like that and whoever went to all that trouble to hide the real dates is long since dead. A bit of newspaper coverage would draw amazing crowds and raise enough money to fund whole new buildings.” Emma gnawed on the inside of her cheek. “But if I was Clarissa Jameson, I’d probably be mortified. Anyone else would take it in their stride, but she’s set herself up as the queen of Market Harborough, so it’d be a painful, public humiliation.”

  “And awkward,” Christopher added. “Her ancestors killed a member of her husband’s family generations ago. Maybe he doesn’t know.”

  Rohan sneered. “This is stupid!” he exclaimed. “The risks I recover for that kind of payment are hard drives which can destroy corporations or high ranking officials who have more to lose than reputation.” His Russian accent made his disgust seem more brutal. “This is melochi!” He waved his arms. “Trivia!”

  “Not to Adam Jameson maybe,” Emma countered. She peered at the sheet in front of her. “Look, he’s a justice of the peace and acts as patron to a victim support charity. If he’s anything like Clarissa, it’s all about social standing and garnering respect. I suppose the descendant of a murderer might feel awkward as the patron of a charity for victims of crime.”

  “Especially as his ancestors went to such lengths to cover it up,” Christopher mused.

  “So, what’s the link to the Triads?” Rohan asked.

  Christopher gulped. “When I pulled the Contessa out of the fire she was unconscious. The burns to her face and hands weren’t pleasant. We came out through a front window and she sustained bad gashes as well. I was coughing and she was a dead weight...”

  “How did you get away?” Rohan’s jaw worked in his face and Emma looked for signs of guilt, seeing nothing.

  “One of her men was outside checking the perimeter. I suspect he hid while youse left because he was only a wee lad, about nineteen. He helped me carry her to the nearest house. We hid from fire vehicles and cops and she didn’t wake up. At the first farm I hotwired a car and drove to the nearest city. We parted company and I don’t know where they went. I let them keep the car and made my way back here.”

  “Why was she so badly hurt and yet you weren’t?” Emma asked. She remembered the night Christopher met her in Allaine’s garden and pictured the cuts and bruises on his face.

  Christopher snuffed, his short laugh full of sarcasm. “I was hurt, Em.” He stared at Rohan, his face full of accusation. “But not as badly as her. Yer man here knocked me out and left me to die. I woke up as the Calor gas heater in the corner of the room exploded. I hoped it had a natural leak because it only takes the smallest amount to create an inferno, doesn’t it Rohan?”

  Emma’s lips parted in horror. “Are you accusing my husband of turning the gas on?” She put her hands on her hips and stared at the Irishman, her lovely face a vision of righteous indignation. She took a step towards Christopher. “I remember the explosion because it brought me out of unconsciousness. Rohan was outside, loading me into his hire car with the soldier who knocked me out. I’m sorry you were left there, Christopher, but the house was completely ablaze when Rohan gave the order to leave you. He wouldn’t do something like that, would you?” She glanced at Rohan, horrified at the time he took to answer.

  “I would,” he confirmed. “It was a good idea and I wish I’d thought of it. You double crossed me and I didn’t care if you became collateral damage in your own foolish game. I’m sorry Hack, but you brought it on yourself.”

  Emma closed her eyes and held her breath. When she opened them again, she found Rohan and Christopher shaking hands. Her jaw dropped. “What the hell?” she exclaimed.

  Rohan smirked and Christopher shrugged, neither offering an explanation. Emma huffed in anger. “I’ll never understand men; I give up.” Her brain returned to the problem. “So, the Contessa and Adam Jameson could have a link through her need for plastic surgery?” she asked. “Or maybe she’s had surgery and feels indebted to him? She’s an actuary, so why doesn’t she recover the plaque and wipe you two out at the same time? That’d work.”

  Christopher shook his head, his eyes narrowed as his brain worked. “It was only a few months ago and that girl’s gonna be havin’ surgery for a very long time. The side of her face melted, Emma; it was beyond bad. And she’ll need reconstructive surgery to her jaw after Rohan shot her in the face.”

  “I didn’t shoot her in the face!” Rohan looked affronted, his gaze fixed on Christopher as he jutted out his chin. “I didn’t use my gun.” His fingers reached towards the back of his trousers and then stopped and he shot a quick glance in Emma’s direction. Her eyes widened.

  “You carry a gun?” she asked. “How come I’ve never noticed?”

  “Maybe you don’t touch the right places,” Christopher said, the snarky comment lighting up his face.

  “You’d know!” Rohan snapped and Emma saw the argument beginning again.

  “So, who shot her in the face?” she demanded. “If it wasn’t either of you, could it have been one of Frederik’s men?”

  “No. They inventoried their rounds and accounted for every shot, just like they always do. Fred told me afterwards when we talked. Besides, our men were elsewhere when it really kicked off.” Rohan’s eyes narrowed. “The only other person in the room besides us was...”

  “The Contessa’s bodyguard.” Christopher finished Rohan’s sentence, ignoring the other man’s flash of irritation. “Bloody hell! What’s going on?”


  “It’s irrelevant right now.” Rohan stood up straight and touched the phone in his top pocket. “My syn’s waking. We’ll talk after we get the plaque back.” He turned to Emma. “Get ready for work as normal and we’ll see if your caretaker friend’s there. If not, we need to find him.”

  “I’ll keep searching,” Christopher said, running his hand through his hair. His dark eyes looked tired and a growth of stubble covered the lower half of his face. He dismissed the Andreyevs with an uplifted eyebrow and they left his loft apartment with the basis of a plan.

  Chapter 33

  “What did you do?” Emma snarled, appearing from behind Sam’s car as he cleared frost off the windscreen.

  “Bloody hell, Emma!” he squeaked. “Don’t jump out at me.” Sam clutched his heart and paled as Rohan stepped around the brick corner of the house. The Russian’s blue eyes watched Sam like prey and the caretaker lost his nerve within seconds. “What do you want?” he asked, his voice cracking in fear. “My wife’s inside; she’ll call the police.”

  “That’s funny.” Rohan withdrew his hands from his pockets and stepped towards Sam. “Because we watched her leave.” He towered over him and Emma watched her colleague gulp, caught out in his lie.

  “Inside,” Sam hissed, jerking his head towards the house. He unlocked the front door of the semi on Stuart Road and waved the couple in. The house looked meticulously tidy as though someone took great pride in appearances. In the kitchen at the back of the house, Rohan took up position blocking the back door, folding his arms across his massive chest.

  Emma followed Sam into the room and prodded him in the back. “Where is it, you little weasel? I trusted you!”

  “Why aren’t you at work?” he squeaked.

  “I was at work!” Emma snapped. “I went looking for you and had to pretend I felt ill. Where is it?”

  “Where’s what?” Sam asked, his eyes straying towards Rohan’s inert form, his jaw working frantically.

  “Don’t bother, Sam!” Emma snapped. “You know what I’m talking about. Where’s the plaque?”

  “How did you find out?” Sam groaned. “You couldn’t climb up there; you’re pregnant and it’s dangerous.”

  “Well, I did!” Emma replied. “Why did you go back for it?”

  Sam cringed and cast around him, settling his backside into a dining chair. He eyed Rohan with nervous glances. “They said they’d pay for IVF,” he whined, running a shaking hand through his sparse hair. “My marriage is on the line here.”

  “Where’s the plaque?” Emma said, gritting her teeth and resisting the urge to slap Sam’s stupid face.

  “I can’t tell you!” the man groaned. “Please don’t take this chance away from us.”

  “Freda prayed for you; you don’t need IVF,” Emma snapped. “Have you no faith, man?”

  “No!” Sam shouted. “You don’t understand what it’s like. My wife’s desperate. I can’t take anymore and it’s our last hope. I’m the problem, Emma, me. She can leave and get pregnant by someone else anytime she likes!”

  Emma glanced at Rohan, giving her husband a look of frustration. Rohan stepped in, seizing a chair, pulling it out and sitting his neat backside on its wooden surface. “If you give me the plaque now, I’ll fund your first two rounds of IVF.”

  Sam gaped. “Two rounds? They only offered me one. That’s like...” He counted on his fingers. “Twelve thousand pounds.”

  “Where’s the plaque, Sam!” Emma shouted. “You have no idea how important this is.”

  “It’s safe,” he breathed. “I promise.” His eyes strayed to Rohan. “Two rounds of IVF?”

  “You won’t need them!” Emma fumed, surprised by her own vehemence and belief. “Freda prayed for you.”

  “If my wife’s right and you don’t need the treatment, I’ll just give you the money. You can have it today.” Rohan’s face hardly changed and Sam gulped.

  “For real?”

  “He doesn’t break his word!” Emma broke her pacing to slap Sam around the back of the head. “Why aren’t you at work?” she chastised him.

  “You’re not my bloody mother!” Sam complained, grimacing as Emma slapped him again. “I’m sick,” he conceded.

  “Rubbish! You look fine!” Emma snapped. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s a sort of sickness,” Sam whined. “I’ve been having sex every waking moment. I’m knackered. Sal’s just nipped out for more baby oil but I don’t think I can keep this up.”

  Rohan smirked and Emma slapped Sam again. “That’s disgusting!”

  “You asked!” he complained.

  Rohan cocked his head and muttered, “Sounds like fun actually.”

  “Where’s the damn plaque?” Emma yelled, pushing her frustrated face into Sam’s.

  “Alright, alright,” Sam groused. “I hid it upstairs.” He glanced at Rohan. “If I give it to you now, when will you give me twelve thousand pounds?”

  Rohan pulled his phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. “As soon as you give me your bank details,” he said, punching the password into his phone. “And after you tell me who else wants the plaque.”

  “Oh.” Sam’s face paled. “That part might cost extra.”

  Emma whipped round, her long coat flapping around her shins and almost tripping her. “Not bloody likely!” she raged. Her face changed to one of calm vindictiveness. “Actually, don’t pay him anything, Ro. I’ll just go back to work and report a theft. You wait here and don’t let Sam move and I’ll send the police right round to turn his house inside out. I’ve heard they leave an awful mess once they get going. They’re like teenagers looking for the other sock in the pair. Lend me your phone.” She held out her hand and Rohan smirked, putting his device into Emma’s palm.

  “No! No!” Sam shrieked. “Please don’t! I’ll lose my job and Sal will kill me. She can’t stand mess. I’ll get it, I promise. Twelve thousand pounds is more than enough.”

  “Go with him,” Emma ordered her husband as Sam stood. “Don’t let him out of your sight.” She turned to Sam. “Be quick, love. I’m feeling restless and I might not be able to help myself if I’m left alone too long. I love looking in other people’s drawers and getting everything out.”

  “Don’t touch anything!” Sam’s tone betrayed his fear. “I’ll be quick!”

  Emma put her hand against her chest as she heard footsteps overhead. Rohan’s light tread followed Sam’s frightened stomping and Emma tried to calm her pounding heart and concentrate on lowering her blood pressure. “Bloody men!” she hissed to herself. She ran a gentle hand over her swelling belly. “I hope you are a little girl,” she sighed. “It’ll be lovely to have someone who knows what I’m talking about.”

  The men returned within minutes, Rohan looking disgruntled. Emma panicked at the look on his face. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

  Her husband handed over the rectangular shape, wrapped in an unfortunate covering. Rohan wiped his hands down the side of his smart trousers. “He wrapped it in his knickers!” he complained. “It was in his knicker drawer.”

  “They’re not knickers!” Sam protested. “They’re Y-fronts!”

  “Bloody weird,” Rohan muttered. He waved his hand at Emma. “Check it’s there and then I’ll pay this sheister.”

  Emma heard the thud of the heavy metal as she laid the object on the table. She smiled at her husband. “You’ve been listening to Christopher. It’s his favourite word.”

  “Who’s Christopher?” Sam asked, shifting on his feet in a fit of nervousness.

  “Shut up,” Emma said, at the same time as Rohan.

  Chapter 34

  “Did Dalton believe you were sick?” Rohan asked and Emma nodded.

  “Yes, it wasn’t a complete lie either. I’m exhausted. Nicky wasn’t happy about me not staying at school though.”

  “Was Allaine ok with Nikolai staying at her place tonight?”

  Emma shrugged. “She was, but he wasn’t. Nicky and Kaylee are
n’t such good friends now Mo’s gone.”

  “Gone where?” Rohan placed the mug of tea next to the plaque on the kitchen table.

  “Not sure,” Emma yawned. “He disappeared in the night which was weird. Mel seemed happy in Harborough and I know she loved her job at the coffee shop.”

  Rohan sat at the table next to Emma and rested his hand on her thigh. “Get Hack to look for her. He’ll tell you if everything’s ok.” He smiled as Emma nodded and covered another yawn with her hand. “Go to bed, devotchka. Get some rest.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t sleep, Ro. There’s too much going on in my head.” She nudged the plaque with her hand. “Where do you hand this over? Do you have a location yet?”

  Rohan shook his head. “Nyet, but that’s not unusual. The client often leaves it until the last minute to arrange the drop. It’s too risky otherwise.”

  “Will Adam Jameson come himself?”

  “I doubt it, Em. He’ll send someone else. Clients remain anonymous but they arrange a designated collector; sometimes another actuary. I’ve done jobs like that, simple pickups.”

  “It sounds complicated.” Emma stroked the plaque with loving fingers. “Such a small thing to cause so much trouble. I don’t want to part with it really; it goes against my responsibility as an archivist.”

  “To protect artifacts for future generations?” Rohan asked softly, his fingers lingering on her thigh.

  Emma smiled and felt her heart soften. “Yes. I didn’t think you listened when I talked about my work,” she said. “It can sound rather boring compared to your job.”