The Actuary's Wife

by K T Bowes

  “What day is it?” Emma asked in a small voice. “Why isn’t Nicky in school still? Isn’t it early for him to be home?” She craned her neck to see the clock, trying not to disturb the wound. “It’s lunchtime.”

  “It’s Saturday.” Rohan shifted closer and put his arm around his wife. “He was telling you what happened yesterday. We did the drop on Friday night, remember?”

  “Then how did Nicky get home?” Emma pushed herself up the bed and flicked the covers off her feet, feeling as though the world had passed her by and she needed to catch up. Her tee shirt ended at her thighs and her bare legs stretched under the sheets. Her body felt wooden as she tried to stand.

  “I drove to town and fetched him this morning,” Rohan soothed, pulling her back into the bed. “Everything’s taken care of, Em. Trust me.”

  “What about Sam? He gave us the plaque. If he makes a statement to the police and...”

  “Sam will say nothing,” Rohan assured her. “Ray and I had a chat with him earlier this morning while you slept. I told him partial truths which fitted with his experience of Adam Jameson. Last weekend, Clarissa Jameson-Arden visited Sam and they had an unpleasant conversation. She told him Adam wanted the plaque and Sam must find it. Adam had a mean reputation within the family for his violence and unpredictability so Sam was scared.”

  “Sounds like a Jameson trait from generations ago,” Emma interjected and Rohan shrugged, unaware of the angry faces peering from decades of class photos.

  “Sam stole the plaque but when Clarissa turned up to get it, he lied and said he couldn’t find it, feeling overwhelmed by his loyalty to you.” Rohan stroked Emma’s dark fringe back from her forehead. “He said he’d promised to help you when he found out you were pregnant and alone.”

  Emma nodded. “He did. It was very sweet.”

  “You’re not alone, Em and you never were.”

  “I felt it,” she whispered.

  “I know, but you weren’t.” Rohan kept the steady stroking motion on her hair and Emma sighed, fighting exhaustion.

  “So who offered him money?” she asked, yawning.

  “Clarissa. Adam pressurised her to persuade Sam and she tried the promise of a baby to make him comply. She saw him weakening and visited a few times to raise the amount of cash she was offering but Adam Jameson lost patience and engaged us via the Contessa. Sam got a visit yesterday from Clarissa and he sent her away and told her he’d call the police if she didn’t leave him alone. Then he was shaken up by a nasty phone call around tea time from an angry Adam, telling him to watch his back and say nothing to anyone about the plaque. It was probably the last phone call he made. Nice guy, hey? Nobody seems sorry Jameson’s dead; except perhaps his sister.”

  “And Mikhail killed the man at the gate,” Emma said. “It doesn’t make sense, but it kinda fits.”

  “Nyet, he didn’t.” Rohan shook his head. “I don’t know why the Triads came right to the front door but wonder now if it was to warn me about Mikhail’s games. It’s possible they wanted a truce anyway but then the foot soldier died and the plaque was found. I’m not sure. That one remains a mystery and Barker’s told Ray he’s no nearer to solving it.”

  “The Contessa clearly thought Mikhail did it,” Emma said, rubbing her eyes with her left hand.

  “He definitely didn’t,” Rohan replied. “Hack saw the whole thing and it wasn’t Mikhail or anyone connected with him.”

  “If he saw it happen, why didn’t he ‘clear up’ as you both like to call it?”

  Rohan shrugged. “You’d have to ask him that.”

  “I don’t like things unsolved,” Emma complained. “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “It’s fine,” Rohan chuckled. “You’re a perfectionist. Hey, Ray’s settled into the other apartment over the stables; is that ok?”

  “I’m not bothered.” Emma yawned. “I think it’s a mess though.”

  “Da, he wants to renovate it himself and I said that’s fine. I hope it was the right thing to say?”

  Emma peered at her husband sideways, enjoying his deference to her for a change. She pouted. “I guess it’s ok,” she said. “He’ll have to do it in period style though. And it will probably draw the council inspector and heritage people to Christopher’s apartment, which is definitely not in keeping with their idea of how things should be done.”

  Rohan pulled a face and Emma detected a hint of sadness. “He needs to move it anyway. If I’m no longer the Actuary, I don’t need a tech so it’s pointless him staying.” His voice sounded wistful and Emma chewed her lower lip and thought of life without Christopher.

  “There’s a folly which the Ayers built deep into the property near the woods on the Great Oxendon side. It’s turn of the century but mock gothic and nobody seems interested in that. Apparently it’s where Freda’s sister was conceived.” Emma saw her husband turn away with a smirk and kept her smile to herself. He didn’t want Christopher to leave either. “Can this thing get wet?” she asked. “I need a shower.”

  Chapter 43

  Emma’s breath caught in her throat as the blonde man emerged from the Mercedes. Rohan slammed his driver’s door and took the baby while Sergei’s wife climbed out. The breeze felt cool on Emma’s legs as she formed the welcoming committee, an Arctic wind whipping around her and teasing her clothes away from her body like a selfish lover.

  Nicky rode his skateboard along the wide coving between the front lawn and the gravel driveway, balancing like an acrobat. He ceased for a moment to look at the blonde baby which looked unerringly familiar but also different.

  “Mum!” His shout sounded panicked as he ran to Emma, staring over his shoulder at the visitors, his eyes wide with wonder. “Mum, it’s...”

  “No!” Emma clasped his shoulders, not wanting the thought to take root in the fragile heart. “It’s not Uncle Anton, baby. It’s his brother, Sergei.” She swallowed, trying to gain control as a stranger approached the steps, a stranger wearing a loved one’s face and body. Emma took short breaths to ease her pounding heart and plastered the smile on her face.

  They could have been twins, Anton and Sergei. Anton’s smile met Emma’s and she choked with emotion, covering the telltale action with a fake cough. Anton’s loss hit her afresh with the arrival of his doppelgänger, raking over the shallowly healed wounds. Sergei held out his hand in greeting, treating Emma to a smattering of heavily accented English. “Please to meet,” he offered.

  Nicky laughed, a raucous blurt of merriment. “You sound just like Uncle Anton,” he giggled. “He used to do that funny accent too.”

  Emma glared at her son, paralysed on the front doormat. Sergei smoothed his blonde hair back from his face like a model and bowed to Nicky. “Da, he did too. He does me and now I do him.”

  Rohan followed the slender beauty, who glided up the stairs and offered her hand to Emma. She leaned in and gave an air kiss to both Emma’s cheeks. “Bella Romanov,” she said with a smile. “Zdravstvuyte.”

  “Hello,” Emma replied with cordial grace. Her eyes fell on her husband and she felt his waves of misery, but didn’t understand them. Finding his brother after losing Anton should be a happy occasion but Rohan seemed distant as though going through the motions. Emma gave her husband a nervous smile and he returned it, his perfect teeth adding to his striking good looks. The smile didn’t reach his eyes and faded before he closed the front door behind him.

  “This is Artyom,” Rohan said, dandling the baby in his arms. The blonde child’s face cracked in a grin which displayed four tiny pearls twinkling from extremely pink gums; a picture of innocence.

  “What is he?” Nicky asked, pointing at the child.

  Bella flapped her arms and looked at Sergei for help, scratching around in their poor joint English. “Er...mladenets,” she replied and furrowed her brow.

  Emma hid her smile and darted a look at Rohan. His face looked blank, giving nothing away. Nicky looked to Emma for clarification, rolling the Russian word for baby arou
nd on his tongue. “Do they think I’m stupid?” he asked his mother in disgust and Emma narrowed her eyes.

  “Don’t be rude, Nicky. He’s your cousin.”

  “Cool!” The child’s eyes lit up and his elation salvaged the moment. He reached out a dirt covered hand to the baby and Artyom gripped his finger and squealed with pleasure. “Can he do skateboarding?” Nicky asked, turning the question on Emma when nobody else answered.

  “Not yet,” she replied. “I don’t think he can walk but you can teach him when he can. Maybe if they stick around you can teach him lots of things. Good things only,” she added in warning.

  Nicky’s face crumpled at the thought of being denied the child’s company even in the future, but the baby grinned with delight. “He looks like me doesn’t he, Mum?” Nicky asked and Emma nodded.

  “In lots of ways, Nicky.” She looked at the shape of the chubby cheeks and earnest expression on Artyom’s tiny face. “And not in others.”

  A glance at her husband revealed a stony expression and she saw his jaw working through the stubbly skin of his cheeks. The moment became awkward.

  “Let’s go through to the sitting room,” Emma said, indicating the corridor with a flapping hand. It induced a flurry of shoe removal and seemed ages before everyone was seated in the sunny room. “I’ll make hot drinks,” Emma suggested, looking around. “What would everyone like?”

  In the kitchen she heaved a sigh of relief. Christopher sat at the table eating toast and Ray washed his hands in the sink. Emma shook her head at the Irishman. “You’ve got your own kitchen!” she snapped and he shrugged.

  “So I have,” he replied with a grin. “But it’s got no food in it. Yours does.”

  “Sorry, miss.” Ray looked guilty, drying his hands on a towel. “The lawns are finished and I’ll start on the flower beds tomorrow.”

  “I didn’t mean you,” Emma said. “I meant him.” She pointed at Christopher with a jab of her index finger. “He takes liberties.”

  “Lawn mower’s going fantastic,” Ray said, beaming. “It just needed oil.” His rugged good looks contrasted with Christopher’s more photogenic profile. Emma compared them to Rohan and realised she’d surrounded herself with beautiful men.

  “That’s awesome, Ray,” she agreed. “The place is starting to look loved.”

  “How’s it goin’ with the rellies?” Christopher asked, jerking his head towards the open doorway and dripping jam in a line across the table.

  “Awkward,” Emma replied with a sigh. “Something doesn’t feel right and I’m not sure what.”

  Both men pulled faces and shrugged, leaving her none the wiser. Emma clattered around with coffee and tea pots, laying them on a tray with a glass of water for Nicky. She returned to find the sitting room empty but for Rohan, who stood in the bay window looking out at the front lawn and the main road beyond the trees. “Oh.” Emma laid the tray on the coffee table and looked around her. “Where did everyone go?”

  Rohan jerked his head towards the driveway. “Nicky’s showing them how to skateboard.” Her husband’s hands were jammed into his front pockets and his back felt rock hard under Emma’s touch, every muscle tense. She felt it again that sense of misery coming off him in waves of static.

  “What’s wrong, Ro?” Her heart fluttered in alarm.

  “Nothing, dorogaya.” He released his left hand from its pocket and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. “I love you, Em,” he said and she heard the cry of his heart, unable to decipher the coded message it threw into the ether.

  “You’re right; Sergei’s Anton’s twin. I find it difficult to look at him,” Emma admitted.

  Rohan nodded and looked away, a tight smile on his face. “Yeah.”

  “We’ll be ok, you know,” Emma said with reassurance. Her gaze followed the slender blonde man as he skipped alongside Nicky’s precarious balancing act. Unable to skate on the gravel, the boy traversed the concrete boundary steps which separated driveway from lawn. The council heritage advisor said they were laid in the 1800s and showed open horror at Nicky’s disregard of their protected status. Emma closed her eyes and connected with the child which would join him as an accomplice in badly planned, childish escapades. She ran a questing palm over the growing bump which protruded from her trousers, feeling the fluttery movements of her daughter.

  Rohan saw, laying his big hand over Emma’s and swallowing in a painful action. His blue eyes filled with anguish. “Em?” he said, turning towards her. She smiled with encouragement but his nerve failed and he shook his head. “I love you, Em,” he gushed with a sigh. “You’re all I have, you and my babies.”

  Emma cocked her head and knitted her brow at the strangeness of the statement. Anton’s double laughed and caroused on her driveway with Nicky, taking a turn on the skateboard and balancing his lithe, athletic body on the thin board. Every fibre of him demonstrated Alanya Harrington’s ballerina grace and heritage. She watched her husband’s jaw work and felt again that same sense of foreboding.

  “When will the food be ready?” he asked.

  Emma replied, “Soon.” Watching him from the corner of her eye, she pushed away the nagging sense that Rohan wanted the afternoon over.

  Chapter 44

  “Wait here and Mrs Harrington will be along shortly,” the man said, his medical uniform belying his role as prison guard. He smiled, completing the paradox. “She’s heavily medicated so her mind will occasionally wander and she may say things which make little sense, but her health is good and she’s excited to see you.” The man left the room and the door clicked behind him, sounding more like a jail.

  Emma swallowed, fear making her jumpy. The room resembled a waiting room with comfy chairs and a coffee table, the walls adorned with trendy wallpaper and bright, happiness inducing paint effects. The absence of handy ornaments for mental patients to fling, gave the room a stark minimalism. “Does a guard stay with her?” Emma whispered and Rohan frowned before nodding.

  She fidgeted, smoothing her hands over her unborn baby until Rohan gripped her fluttering fingers in his and held them tightly. “It’s ok,” he whispered.

  “Why is she medicated?” Emma asked and Rohan’s eyes widened.

  “She’s not violent, Em!” he hissed. “The antidepressants make her spacey, that’s all.” His look of horror made Emma feel guilty and induced another set of nervous finger spasms.

  “Sorry,” she said, putting enough contrition into her voice to appease Rohan’s sense of injustice.

  “Nyet, I’m sorry.” His brow furrowed. “You’re bound to be scared; it’s understandable.”

  Emma jumped as a different door opened with an electronic hiss and Alanya appeared in the gap. Her slender build verged on emaciation and Emma shot a look of question at Rohan. He stood and held his arms out to his mother. “Zdravstvuyte, Mama,” he greeted her, enfolding her in strong arms. Emma swallowed and watched the white coated guard seat himself in a chair near the door. His eyes were watchful but the smile he gave her was gentle.

  Alanya kissed Rohan on the cheek and sank into the chair opposite, her face devoid of makeup. Emma remained silent, attempting to blend into the furniture until the torturous visit reached its natural conclusion. She expected Alanya to resent her presence, the interloper in a private moment between mother and son. Rohan sat back on the sofa next to his wife, allowing their thighs to touch and drawing attention to her presence. Emma cringed as the vibrant blue eyes of her stepmother rested their gaze on her face. “You came,” Alanya said. “Spasibo.”

  “It’s ok,” Emma whispered, acknowledging the other woman’s thanks.

  “I’m glad you’re vell,” Alanya said, indicating Emma’s blossoming pregnancy with an arthritic finger which barely unfolded. “Rohan said it vill be summer baby.”

  Emma nodded, the familiar Russian cadence of Alanya’s speech washing over her like freezing water.

  “Rohan vas vinter baby,” Alanya sighed, locked into her memories,
her eyes flickering like fading candles. “Anton vas autumn so not too cold yet. Nadia vas summer baby. She vas beautiful.” Alanya’s brow knitted and pain lit her eyes, the colour of the irises dimming in response. The old lady shook her head to clear her mind, but her ghosts haunted her without relief. “Nadia vas stubborn child,” Alanya said softly, her gaze flicking back to Emma’s face. “You always remind me of her.”

  Emma gulped, realising Alanya spoke of her dead daughter and her body froze in horror. She opened and closed her mouth but nothing came out.

  Alanya waved a hand closed by painful, bulbous joints. “The doctors say she wouldn’t survive vis her health problems. She vas...” Alanya searched the ceiling for the word, coming back empty. “Kaleka.”

  “Crippled?” Rohan translated, his tone disbelieving.

  “Da!” Alanya smiled in recognition. “Never walk or speak like boys. But ve love her.”

  “She have vdokhnoveniye.” Alanya looked hopefully at Rohan again.

  “She had spirit,” he said, his voice growing quieter.

  “Born in difficulty,” Alanya said, “but full of life.” She smiled, at once a beautiful woman.

  Emma gulped, her age old assumption that Alanya killed her daughter falling to the ground like a dirty accusation. Her stepmother looked at Emma’s bulging abdomen and touched her own stomach. “I couldn’t protect Nadia,” she whispered. “She catch...” Alanya closed her eyes in thought. “Measle? Da?” She looked at Rohan but he didn’t answer or move. “Da,” she concluded for herself. “I vas punished and new baby die. He vas gone before I vake. I don’t see him.” She gave a tiny smile. “Maybe he look like Anton, or Rohan.” She nodded to herself. “Like Anton Stepanovich.”

  Alanya leaned forward. “I don’t feel him, my baby boy. I know others and sense in my heart.” She touched the gnarled fingers to her breast. “Nadia and Anton are der but not baby boy. Where is he?” she asked, staring straight at Emma.

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t know,” she lied.