The Actuary's Wife

by K T Bowes

  “What for?” she asked, her voice croaky from the tears.

  “For leaving when you needed me,” he replied. “For believing Mama when she said you cheated and ran away. But mostly for not protecting you.” Rohan swallowed, devastated in a way Emma had never seen.

  She panicked, their roles reversed. “It’s ok,” she urged. “Don’t go back there in your head.” Her brow furrowed as she watched her husband sift through their childhood, torturing himself. “Don’t do it, Ro. I love you. Protect me now.”

  Rohan nodded. “Ok. Don’t paint the plaster cast. I’ll hand over the original and see what happens. It’s fine.” He pressed his lips over Emma’s, tasting the salty tears as he upped the tempo, slipping his tongue through the seam and sighing with pleasure as she gave him entry. Emma put her arms around her husband’s neck and kissed him back, channeling her distress into something safe and familiar.

  The click of the kitchen door sent them skittering apart and Emma wiped her face on the shoulder of Rohan’s shirt before nestling into his neck. Christopher’s quick footsteps echoed along the corridor. “What’re youse doin’?” he demanded. “I’ve spent all day makin’ this feckin’ thing! Somebody just paint it, I don’t care who. Except Ray, he shakes like a bloody junkie.” Exasperation oozed from Christopher’s flailing arms and his expression of ultimate irritation betrayed an Irishman in a funk.

  Emma sat up and turned, her hair tumbling into Rohan’s face and making him splutter. “I’ll do it,” she said, using the bottom of her blue sweater to dab her eyes. “I’ll paint it now.”

  “Fine!” Christopher snapped and strode away. “Then I’ll go set up the tech, which is actually my proper job.”

  Emma swallowed and brushed her long curls out of Rohan’s face. His blue eyes glittered with sorrow. “Don’t do it,” he said, his brow furrowed. “We’ll manage.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll do it for you,” she replied, forcing a smile onto her lips. Emma stood and offered her hand to Rohan, allowing him to haul himself up with her help.

  “Did she burn the trophy too?” he asked, his pupils dilating with fury as Emma nodded.

  “Everything,” she replied. “All my art stuff too; everything. As punishment for putting her in my picture.”

  “Even the art set your father bought for your last birthday before he died?” Rohan’s eyes narrowed in disbelief as Emma nodded. He shook his head and closed his eyes, biting his lower lip. “I’m so sorry, Em.”

  “She took everything from me, Rohan,” Emma said, her face taking on a determined hardness and her eyes flashing. “But piece by piece, I’m taking it all back; my education, Nicky and now you.” She reached out a shaking hand and seized her husband’s strong fingers. “I think today I’ll take back painting.”

  “My brave girl.” Rohan’s thumb across Emma’s cheek offered a soft caress, infusing her with strength and courage. “Istrebitel’.”

  Emma smiled, acknowledging the compliment. “Fighter?” she translated. “Yes, maybe I am.”

  Chapter 37

  “That’s amazing!” Ray breathed, peering at Emma’s finished work.

  She leaned back in her chair and surveyed the mess on the kitchen table; various mugs filled with dusky water and opened paint tubes jockeying for position in an ice cream tub. “I think I’m done,” Emma said with a satisfied sigh. “The verdigris isn’t the right shade of green, but hopefully they won’t have anyone there to verify it.”

  Ray leaned back against the kitchen counter and yawned. “Captain Andreyev thinks they won’t,” he replied.

  “Will you always call him that?” Emma asked with a smile. “How come he gets a posh title and I get, ‘miss’?”

  “He’s earned his.” Ray smirked. “And he doesn’t have green acrylic paint on his face.”

  Emma sighed and face planted onto her forearms. “I could use another sleep,” she said, her voice muffled. “How long do we have left?”

  Ray checked his wristwatch. “Hack said they meet at midnight in the middle of Market Harborough. The message said inside St Dionysius Church.”

  Emma’s head rose slowly, her eyes widening as her head shook from side to side. “Then Rohan mustn’t go!” she said, her tone disbelieving. “It’ll mess everything up.”

  “Like what?” Ray stood up straight and observed Emma through narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong, miss?”

  “If the exchange is in the church, Clarissa Jameson-Arden will be there.” Emma stood. “This is a disaster. She’s the chairwoman of the school governors and she might have seen Rohan at the nativity last year; he’s quite distinctive and there was a bit of a scene at the ticketing desk. But even if she missed that, what if she sees Rohan at another time with Nicky and me? She’ll know I handed the plaque over and took money for it. She might even be suspicious of the copy because I can’t remember if I told the headmaster it was a brass plaque, or just a plaque.”

  Emma shoved her chair under the table and paced in the space behind it. “This is terrible,” she hissed. “I’m terrible! Archivists don’t sell history to the highest bidder!”

  “It’s hardly like that,” Ray interjected. “The Triads’ involvement makes it much more complicated. And how do you know this woman will be there?”

  “She’s a guide at the church and we think Adam Jameson is her brother. It’s the most obvious place and she’ll have a key. How else could the exchange be made in a church at midnight?”

  Ray ran his palm over his bristly chin. “The Ardens left me with nothing to show for years of loyal service in that damn factory. Bloody family.” He turned to Emma. “I’ll make the drop,” he said. “Leave Rohan out of it.”

  “Where is he?” Emma asked, reaching for the door handle.

  “With Hack,” Ray answered, following close on Emma’s heels as she ran to the front door, shoving her feet into trainers on the door mat. “Lock up!” he warned her sternly. “You don’t know who’s around.”

  Emma pointed a stubborn finger towards the front gate, opening her mouth to deny the danger. She withdrew her hand at Ray’s raised eyebrow. “You’re not my father!” she bit petulantly and Ray snatched the keys from her hand, locking the front door behind them.

  “Lucky for you, miss!” he retorted with a smirk. “Do your shoelaces up.”

  Emma obeyed, pursing her lips in amusement. Her gentle father’s face moved across her inner vision and she missed him with a deep ache. Ray’s teasing revived a desire to be cosseted and Emma beat it down with scorn. At twenty four years old, something in her soul responded to Ray’s paternalism and it left her conflicted and confused. She reminded herself he was her employee and stood up from her ministrations, her face fixed into a stern expression. “They’ll be in Christopher’s apartment,” she said, all gentle femininity replaced by a businesslike demeanour.

  They breached the stairs to the apartment in silence. Emma waved at the camera and wasn’t surprised to meet the Irishman already at the door. “What’s up?” he asked, picking up Emma’s angst.

  Ray explained while they sat around the scruffy lounge, Emma quenching her thirst with a mug of water. She grimaced at the chipped rim but drank anyway, sensing her husband’s blue eyes studying her.

  “Na, youse can’t go,” Christopher said with a definitive nod towards Rohan. “Em’s right. Hell of a risk if this woman sees you later. What about yer wee boy? She could make his life a misery.”

  “And would!” Ray confirmed, nodding his dark head with certainty. “I said I’d go.”

  “But then she’d see you around town later too.” Rohan scratched his chin, staring at the ceiling in thought. “That puts you at risk of reprisals down the line.”

  “I’ll do it,” Christopher offered. He sat on the arm of the sofa next to Emma and she felt the whole thing sag sideways, bracing herself with her feet on the dusty floorboards. “She doesn’t know me and I’ve nothin’ to lose if she sees me again.”

  “What about wearing a balaclava?” Emma
asked innocently. “If Clarissa’s in the church but doesn’t know you, she’d never recognise you again if you covered your face.”

  “It’s a good idea,” Ray said, silenced by Christopher’s scornful scoff.

  “I’m not coverin’ my face!” he snapped. “That’s not what we do! I’m a businessman, not a bloody gangster!”

  Emma stood up and took her mug to the outdated kitchen. She pushed it around on the counter and looked at the elderly oven and cracked sink. It seemed incongruous against the pristine computer room. Emma shook her head and turned to catch her husband’s eye. “What do we do, Ro? What’s the answer?”

  Rohan leaned back in a dilapidated armchair and raised his arms above his head. Emma watched his shirt part, revealing his smooth stomach and the start of one of the long scars. The urge to touch him and sense his fingers on her soft skin felt overwhelming and she closed her eyes, opening them to find his blue irises caressing her face. He communicated strength and leadership in the single smile he gave her and Emma’s body relaxed.

  “Can you handle it, Hack?” Rohan asked, his voice sounding lazy.

  Christopher’s eyes flashed with excitement. “Aye. Sure!” His expression sobered. “But what about the tech stuff? Who’ll do that?”

  “I will,” Rohan answered and Christopher nodded with enthusiasm.

  “Ok, I’ll run you through the new stuff I’ve added. I’m already linked into the cameras around the church so you can watch out for the Russians and Triads. There’s a lot to monitor though.” Christopher’s enthusiasm waned and doubt crept into his voice.

  Rohan nodded. “I’ve done it before, remember?”

  “In the army?” Emma asked and her husband smiled.

  “Slightly different technology but yes.” Rohan looked at his watch and yawned.

  “Slightly inferior technology,” Christopher smirked and Rohan raised a blonde eyebrow.

  “We’ll go into town early and set up,” he said. “I’ll need at least two hours to check the surrounding area and be ready for any surprises.” Rohan rubbed his eyes. “I need to sleep. Ray, can you help Hack set up so I can get my head down for an hour, please? That’ll be enough, then I’ll finish running the checks while Hack sleeps.”

  Emma expected Christopher to protest out of machoism but he didn’t. Their forces training dictated they sleep when possible and Ray nodded his agreement. “I’ll help wherever you need me,” he said and Rohan and Christopher smiled their acceptance.

  “What should I do?” Emma asked, hopeful of inclusion. “Can I do something?”

  Christopher raised an eyebrow and left it to Rohan to break the bad news. Emma’s husband stared indulgently at her. “You’re pregnant, devotchka. You stay here with Ray.”

  “That’s not fair!” Emma protested. “I can’t sit here doing nothing while you two get yourselves killed. You wouldn’t really expect me to do that, would you?”

  “Da,” Rohan said, standing and raising his arms above his head. Emma glimpsed the tiny patch of gorgeous midriff and the sight made her angrier.

  “I’m not happy with this!” she chuntered as her husband took her upper arm and led her from the apartment. Emma glanced back to see Christopher and Ray grinning at each other, which enraged her further.

  Emma bitched and complained all the way down the stairs and across the broken concrete yard to the main house. “I don’t think I like Ray,” she whined, her petulance wasted on the Russian. “He’s not gonna do anything I tell him, not while you’re around. He works for me and naturally defers to you. It’s not fair!”

  Rohan unlocked the main house and stepped over the threshold. A black shape hurtled towards him and sneaked in the gap. “Farrell loves it here,” Rohan smiled. “It’s home for him. He can play for hours and come home when he’s hungry, just like he did when Anton lived here.”

  “He sounds a lot like you,” Emma muttered, pursing her lips at Rohan’s smirked response.

  The wind had tousled Rohan’s blonde hair and given him a windswept sexiness which made Emma pout in annoyance, as though he didn’t deserve his good looks when he wouldn’t include her in his intrigue. Farrell pattered along the corridor to his bed in the kitchen and Emma listened to the sound of him lapping water from his bowl. Rohan sat on a sofa in the reception hall and took off his outdoor shoes, wincing as he rubbed at his right thigh. Emma felt herself softening. “Is it hurting?” she asked.

  “Da,” he said softly. “I’ve been awake for hours and standing too much. I’m too old and banged up for this life.”

  Emma felt hope blossom in her heart and suppressed the excitement bubbling within at the thought he may decommission the Actuary forever. “Lay on the bed and I’ll take the prosthetic off and give your leg a massage,” she offered.

  Rohan held out his hand and Emma hauled him to a standing position. “You’re beautiful, Em,” he breathed, kissing her temple. He released Emma at the bottom of the stairs in exchange for the handrail and made his way up to the first floor. In the bedroom, Emma waited for her husband to remove his trousers and release his stump from the prosthetic sleeve. He snoozed on the bed with his eyes closed while she pulled off the stump sock, huffing at the creases in the material.

  “You put it on in too much of a hurry,” she chastised him. “It’s rucked up and you’ve rubbed a mark next to the scar.”

  Rohan nodded and Emma found some lotion, rubbing it into the stump. Her fingers were tender and her husband sighed with pleasure and said something complimentary in Russian. Emma massaged the tender skin, no longer seeing the scar tissue from an operation carried out under battlefield conditions to seal a leaking artery and severed leg. She saw a two legged teenager who played tennis and rugby with abandon; a serious academic boy who walked her home, held her hand and showered her with secret kisses. She ran her creamy fingers over Rohan’s knee, feeling the blonde hair under her hands, closing her eyes and starting in surprise when the shin ended abruptly beneath her palms. Emma sighed and kissed the stump, tasting jasmine and vanilla on her lips and feeling the lotion’s scent billow over her face.

  “Don’t do that, Em,” Rohan said, his voice husky. “I’m meant to be sleeping otherwise I’ll be a liability tonight.”

  “Ok.” Devilment lit Emma’s eyes and she pushed her fingers through the slickness of the cream and brushed the bottom of Rohan’s boxer shorts. She felt his strong thigh muscles tense and saw his excitement grow.

  “Are you trying to get me killed?” Rohan said, his voice descending into a moan.

  “Nope,” Emma replied, moving her right hand over the top of his thigh and letting her fingers contact the smooth skin of his hip beneath his shorts.

  “You’re still not coming out with us tonight,” Rohan said, as much a threat as a resolution.

  “Ok,” she replied, her eyes glinting with dark mischief as she massaged the inside of his thigh, studying his face for lack of control. When she saw the giveaway vein pulse in Rohan’s neck, she gave a smirk of victory.

  “Bloody hell, woman!” Rohan grunted, sitting up using his strong abdominal muscles. “I’m glad you weren’t on the battlefield!” He seized the tops of her arms and hauled her across the bed, shifting his body on top of hers with alarming ease. “Something bad might’ve happened.” He rained kisses on her face, staying away from her tempting lips and making her wait. “I might have blown my damn leg off!” he joked, pain absent from his eyes for the first time as he mentioned the life changing event.

  “I’d still love you,” Emma whispered, clasping her hands around his neck and feeling the starchy shirt collar under her wrists.

  Rohan pushed questing fingers under her sweatshirt, caressing the budding pregnancy and sensing the nearness of his unborn child. He tugged at her jeans with urgency and kissed her exposed neck. Emma kept eye contact with her husband as she unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it back, exposing defined shoulder muscles and rippling pectorals. “I don’t want to compromise you by making you more tired,” E
mma said, smirking. “Maybe you should just go to sleep.”

  Rohan snorted. “I can’t sleep now!”

  Emma squealed as he tickled her sides, making her squirm and writhe underneath him. Seriousness descended like a blanket as Rohan pressed his soft lips over hers and used up valuable rest time on other exhausting activities.

  Chapter 38

  Rohan lay on his back sleeping deeply as Emma crept from the bedroom. Fresh logs on the fire and a light blanket over his naked form ensured he wouldn’t wake prematurely through discomfort. She closed the door with a gentle click and wandered down the long hallway to the main staircase.

  Christopher leaned over the counterfeit plaque, nodding his head in admiration as Emma walked through the kitchen door. “Not bad, Em,” he complimented her, glancing over his shoulder. “Even together they’re almost identical.”

  “Almost?” Emma asked, pouting. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing.” Christopher furrowed his brow. “Youse did good. Don’t be sensitive!”

  Emma sighed and checked the wall clock. “I’ll wake Ro soon. Then you can get your head down for an hour. You both spent the night chasing Mikhail around the house.”

  Christopher shook his head. “I don’t sleep much anymore. Not since...” He bit his bottom lip and gave her a wavering smile. “Don’t wake the Actuary. Everything’s ready to go, so he only needs a quick run through on the monitors and we’ll head out. Will you be ok here with Ray?”

  Emma nodded her head with a grimace. “I don’t have much choice,” she grumbled.

  Christopher observed her through narrowed eyes. “Aye. Home’s the best place for ya, Em.” He pointed at her belly. “Especially now.”

  Her fingers rested over her bump in a subconscious movement and Emma rolled her eyes as she saw the smirk touch the corners of Christopher’s lips. “Sod off!” she retorted and he laughed. “I painted the back of the plaster version,” Emma said, changing the subject and pointing at the fake. “But I’m worried. What if the Jamesons know it’s counterfeit and come looking for revenge? And what do I do with the original afterwards; I can’t produce it as evidence to put the story straight, can I? It’ll stay hidden forever, so what’s the point of subterfuge? They’ve employed an actuary to neutralise the risk so they can go back to running the town and playing royalty. Half a million pounds is a lot of money to lose when it turns out to be a scam.” Emma’s brow knitted. “I’m scared. It makes me want to run away and start again somewhere new.” She gnawed on the inside of her cheek and Christopher’s frown contained sympathy.