The Actuary's Wife E-Book

K T Bowes

• Herausgeber: K T Bowes
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

He lied to her face and now she's in danger.
Two men love Emma but hate each other. One has power. The other wants it.

One night of passion left Emma back where she started and she should have known better. She allowed her emotions to strip away her hard-won mask of independence and let the handsome Russian back under her skin.

He can't be trusted. He's lied to her before.

And then there's Dolan, the Irishman who makes promises he can't keep.

As another mystery reaches out its tainted fingers and drags Emma into the intrigue, only Anton's generous gift could help her keep her head above water. That is, until she stares at a knife blade aimed at her face and makes the choice to save a stranger.

Download The Actuary's Wife today and fantasize about this series' intelligent heroes. This English mystery is guaranteed to spin out of control.

Leseprobe

The Actuary’s Wife

The Calculated Risk Series

K T Bowes

Hakarimata Press

Copyright 2015

Table of Contents

Copyright Page

Would you like to be part of it?

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Other books by this author:

Last Chance

About the Author

Copyright Notice

Disclaimer

Would you like to be part of it?

I’m a believer in ‘try before you buy.’

There’s nothing worse than forking out your hard earned cash on a doozy and regretting it.

I don’t want stinky reviews.

I want you to love my work and feel like you got value for money.

Al of the novels below are free series starters.

If you’d like to be part of that, then click the link below.

I will take care of your email address and won’t be sharing it or spamming you.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

You can unsubscribe at any time.

I promise not to send Rohan Andreyev after you...maybe.

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JOIN me on my writing journey and meet a scary Russian and a breath taking Māori.

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Acknowledgements

Thank you to my faithful beta readers and editors, Demelza, Maureen and Charlotte. You’re the ones who nip tangents in the bud and provide the honesty I need.

I’m also grateful to my Market Harborough friends who refresh my memory of the town so I can bring it alive in my work. Thank you to Kim, who really was a vicar at St Di’s, Tracey, who has the town’s blood in her veins and Nicki, who almost got herself arrested taking covert pictures of the church so my characters could break in.

Dedication

For Freda, gone but never forgotten.

She loved her John with an honest passion and his loss was a knife wound which never healed. Freda was wonderfully outrageous and delighted to give me multiple heart failures as a mother. She fed my toddlers cranberry juice in silver goblets at a glass coffee table nestled on a cream carpet. They adored her. We all adored her. Her absence leaves a hole in this world which only an elderly woman with a wide smile, crazy hats and half-mast pop socks can fill.

Freda was one of society’s ‘outsiders’. She worked it like a boss.

Chapter 1

Emma Andreyev looked at the phone in her hand, rubbing her thumb across the screen and watching the words move up and down. Her heart beat in a familiar tattoo, induced by fear and sustained by experience.

‘Don’t let him leave.’

Emma swallowed and texted back, ‘Who is this?’

The reply was swift. ‘You know, Emma!’

She stamped her foot in frustration. Her past life on the housing estate in Lincoln brought contact with thugs and criminals. Fat Brian’s face floated across her vision accompanied by Big Jason’s toothless smile. Two years of living on the estate and they’d never texted her. They’d hammered on her front door and accosted her in the street, yes; but never texted.

‘Go away!’

Emma stuffed the phone into her pocket and gnawed on her bottom lip. The mysterious texts began the day her husband returned from a business trip to London.

“It’s just a simple job, dorogaya.” Rohan sounded confident as he ran his large hand across Emma’s soft stomach, fascinated by her budding pregnancy. “It’s a retrieval but no complications.” His deep Russian voice rumbled against her skin as Rohan kissed his unborn child. “No danger. Obeshchayu. I promise.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard your promises before,” Emma breathed, stroking his wavy blond hair and smoothing it back from his forehead.

“I never lie!” Rohan Andreyev looked indignant, the scar on his chin puckering as he studied Emma with practiced intensity.

“That’s debatable.” Emma squealed as he tickled the soft skin on her waist and pushed her shirt up, exposing the vulnerable flesh over her ribs.

A week ago the texts began, showing up on Emma’s new private number. The phone vibrated in her pocket again and Emma bit back a scream of frustration. She unlocked the screen and stared at the glinting message. ‘DON’T let him leave.’

Her eyes caught a movement in her peripheral vision as dread snaked round her heart. Rohan Andreyev moved into full view, wiping the glossy black car with a strip of leather to remove the drips. Over six feet tall and muscular, Emma’s husband shined the car, working against the worsening weather and the failing light. He walked around the Mercedes admiring his handiwork, listing to the right as his prosthetic leg coped with the camber of the gravel. He bent to scratch at a piece of flaking paint on the wing with his fingernail.

“Mummy did it!” The small boy bounced into view riding a skateboard. His cheeks were pink from the effort of balancing and he trailed one foot along the gravel. “She can’t drive this car. She swears all the time driving it. You should get her another car, Daddy. One with rubber round it to stop her dinging things.”

Emma cringed and shrank back from the huge bay window, not wanting to acknowledge her failure. The glass muffled their voices and she squeezed the bridge of her nose, trying to put the texts out of her mind. The first threatened her not to tell Rohan, but she toyed with the idea of dumping the whole problem on his broad shoulders.

“Should I, Nikolai?” Rohan smirked and caught his son by the scruff as the skateboard tipped. He let go of the child and rubbed the cloth over the dent, smirking to himself at his wife’s discomfort as he caught sight of her lurking behind the shutters. “A rubber car? You think she would be better in one? Good idea, da.” Rohan’s blond hair ruffled in the sharp Arctic breeze and his blue eyes glittered like diamonds with amusement. He pivoted and looked straight at the window, narrowing his eyes at the beautiful woman hiding behind the glass. “Zagadka?” he shouted, splaying his arms dramatically and despite herself, Emma laughed.

“I don’t know,” she mouthed, unable to answer the Russian word for puzzle. “I don’t know why I can’t drive it. It’s just too big!”

Rohan stuck his bottom lip out and pretended to wipe his eyes with a shaking hand and Emma watched his neat bum as he bent to pour the dirty water onto the front lawn. The bubbles tumbled happily into the acre of grass and disappeared. Emma glanced at her phone again and sighed.

“Help me do tricks, Dad?” the child implored and Rohan nodded.

“Later, Nikolai. I can teach you the physics but not show you, da?” He tapped the complicated piece of machinery making up his lower right leg and Nicky nodded.

“Yeah, that’s cool. In a while then.”

Emma sat in the window seat of her sitting room which dated back to the Norman Conquest, listening to the sound of her husband clattering around in the cavernous reception hall. He banged the front door shut against the elements and hurried along the corridor. Emma snuggled into the cushions and desperately tried to master her emotions. “Hey, dorogaya,” Rohan whispered, closing the sitting room door against the draught that followed him inside. “I’ve checked the car and it has fuel for a few days. You’ll be fine until I come home again.” He sat heavily on the seat next to Emma’s feet and cupped them in hands which felt freezing through her woolly socks. He massaged her toes and she moaned and laid her head back against the shutter behind her. “I cleaned it so it’s easier to see the next set of scratches from your driving.” Rohan smiled and then leaned forward, lifting Emma’s chin with his finger. “What’s wrong, Em? I’m not cross.”

“I don’t want you to go.” She gulped, an old memory surfacing and taking her breath away. Rohan looked unnerved but also suspicious.

“I thought you were fine. We talked about the job when I got back from London last week and I explained it. Why didn’t you say something then?”

“I don’t know...I...” Emma exhaled and ran her hand across her stomach.

“Is it the baby?” Rohan looked concerned and reached out to cover her fingers.

Emma shook her head. “No. Sorry. It feels like before when I was pregnant with Nicky. It brings back bad memories.” She gritted her teeth, her jawline becoming a hard outline in her pink cheeks.

Rohan’s mouth opened and hurt flashed in his eyes. “I didn’t know you were pregnant,” he said sullenly. “And I didn’t just leave, Em. I came home to see you before a deployment to Afghanistan. Captains in the British army can’t decide they don’t fancy going anymore and not show up on parade.”

“I know! Forget I mentioned it!” Emma thudded her head against the shutter in anger, causing a clank of protest from the ancient wood. Guilt ran riot in her brain and she struggled with herself. “Tell me about the job,” she asked, forcing herself to sound interested. “When will you be home?”

Rohan wasn’t fooled. His handsome face looked rugged in the failing light and his blue eyes sparkled with curiosity. He obliged his wife but studied her as though she were a new mathematical equation in his world of risk management. “A laptop containing sensitive information was stolen from a vehicle in a secure government compound. It belonged to a senior cabinet minister and the backups went to a server in Whitehall. Someone diverted and encrypted the backups and then stole the laptop, so the government have nothing. There’s a ransom to release the backups which they won’t pay, but they need that laptop.”

“What’s on it?” Emma asked.

Rohan raised an eyebrow and slanted his head. His lips drew back in a sexy smirk. “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you, dorogaya.”

Emma sniffed in indignation. “Whatever, Ro! So, where does the actuary work come in?”

“I’ve analysed the risk of not retrieving the device and it’s catastrophic. There’s enough evidence on it to cause civil unrest. Without the backups or the device, the government will flounder. How can they refute or deny something they can’t see? Whoever diverted the backups was skilled enough to know what they wanted, but the laptop contained other sensitive items which the hackers may not yet realise they have. I’ve given advice on limiting the damage and the spin doctors are ready to act, but the cabinet want the laptop and every copy made of that particular string of incriminating emails. My new tech has traced most of them but I don’t tell the client that.”

“Why?”

Rohan rolled his eyes. “It’s my job to be the hero, rescue them from their incompetency and then accept my fee. I might even send in my tech to offer cyber security advice; after I cash the cheque, obviously. If I make it sound easy, they won’t appreciate paying me the astronomical retrieval fee I’ve negotiated.”

“You’re unscrupulous,” Emma sighed.

Rohan kissed her delicate foot. “No, Em. I’m a businessman and a good one. It’s not my fault their English nepotism leads them to employ morons.”

“How long will you be?” Emma’s voice sounded flat and Rohan observed her with expert suspicion.

“Emma!”

She jumped and looked guilty. “Don’t stop rubbing my feet.” She put a trace of sulk into her voice, trying to distract him. Rohan’s strong fingers massaged her toes and he ran his thumbs along her sensitive instep.

“What’s going on, Em?”

“Nothing.” She shrieked as Rohan grabbed her ankle and tickled her foot, watching as Emma writhed until she almost spilled onto the floor. “Stop!” she begged, alarmed at finding tears so near the surface. Tickle torture, Anton used to call it, convincing the child-Emma that the Russian police used it all the time. At the thought of Rohan’s late brother, the tears threatened harder and her bottom lip wobbled.

Rohan shifted position so he could sit next to her on the window seat. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and kissed the side of her head. Emma pressed her face into his shirt and breathed in his familiar scent, running her finger across his strong abdominal muscles. Not satisfied, she tugged his shirt from the smart black trousers and touched her fingers to his flesh. Rohan tensed at the ticklish sensation and Emma smirked at his immediate interest. He inhaled and lifted her face with his finger, smothering her lips with his urgent kisses. He gathered her to him and bruised her lips with his, flicking his tongue into her mouth, his breath coming in gasps of arousal. “When’s Nicky going out?” he whispered and Emma nuzzled into his neck, administering a quick nip to the sensitive skin.

“Soon. He’s watching Leicester City in the cup final. That’s why he’s hanging around outside; he can’t wait. Will’s bringing him home and he’ll text when they get near so you can open the gates.”

Rohan moaned with pleasure and tugged at Emma’s sweatshirt, pulling the hem up so it became stuck under her armpits. She placed her hand against his chest. “Ro! Not yet!”

He snorted. “Em! It’s a manor house surrounded by acres of grounds. Nobody will see.” His fingers went to work on the button of her jeans, struggling with the smooth metal.

“Only your son! And the cop who’s picking him up!”

Rohan groaned and rested his forehead against Emma’s back as she slid past him, making a dash for it as he tried to grab her round the waist. “Nicky’s shouting for you,” Emma snorted as she pulled away. “You promised to help him.”

The sound of the small voice echoed along the hallway, reverberating around the huge reception hall. “Daaaaaad!”

Rohan let go of Emma and stood, his eyes twinkling with unfulfilled lust. “Later then, Mrs Andreyev. I look forward to the udovol’stviye.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Slavic.” Emma bit her lip and tried to dodge out of the way of her randy husband. He brushed his lips across hers and nipped her full bottom lip. His fingers strayed to her shapely bum and he winked.

“It means pleasure,” he whispered.

“Yes, but whose?” Her eyes widened with feigned coyness and she turned away from him.

“Whatever!” he chided. “I’ll have to show you then.” Rohan strode towards the door and into the hall, calling to his son in Russian to be patient. The dog barked from the front step, excited at the promise of Rohan’s presence.

Emma threw another log onto the open fire and felt the smile fade from her face as the phone in her pocket vibrated again.

Chapter 2

“You’re gorgeous.” Rohan punctuated his adoration with a kiss, sighing with satisfaction as he cradled Emma’s slight body in his arms. “I regret the wasted years.” He buried his face in her hair and sighed.

“They weren’t wasted.” Emma yawned and snuggled closer, running her hand across his downy blond chest. The sumptuous old bed groaned beneath them. “We both learned who we were. I’m not sure our marriage would have survived if we stayed together back then, not with the pressure of your mother and everyone around us. I’m glad your grandmother gave me safe haven when I needed it. Lucya was the best person to look after me then. I miss her.”

“From what you’ve said, she sounds a lot like my papa.” Rohan ran his index finger down Emma’s bare shoulder and pressed another kiss to her temple. “He was a good man. Some of the things Nikolai says reminds me of him. Sometimes it makes me sad and other times I’m glad he lives on in my son.”

“Bednyy rebenok.” Emma turned on her side and wrapped her arms around Rohan’s neck. Poor baby. She fitted her naked body into his and played with the soft curls at the back of his head. She grunted as he pulled her on top of him, feeling his strong abdominal muscles like rock under her chest. “Ok, ok,” she conceded with a giggle. “You’re nobody’s poor baby. Just mine.”

“Tvoye,” Rohan whispered. Yours.

“We should get up soon; Nicky will be home. The game must be over by now.” Emma craned her head to see the clock. She left her neck vulnerable to her husband and he took advantage. “No!” Emma squeaked. “We have to get up or we won’t hear them arrive.”

“I told Nikolai the gate code.” Rohan breathed into her hair, his eyes misting over with lust in the soft lamplight. “They can get to the front door.”

“That gives you two minutes extra!” Emma laughed. “Your technique’s slipping!”

“Hey! There’s nothing wrong with my methods, dorogaya. You have nothing to complain about. I sleep with you once after six years and give you rebenok with my first attempt. I’m a big Russian stud!” Rohan pulled Emma tightly into him and ran his fingers across her buttocks. She dipped her head and teased him with her lips, covering his mouth and when he moaned and tried to deepen the kiss, pulling away. “You’re a very bad printsessa,” Rohan rebuked her in a husky whisper, running his fingers through the back of her long hair. When she tried to pull away again after making him breathless, she found herself pinned.

“Cheat!” she giggled, turning her face sideways to escape Rohan’s kisses. He ran his stubbly chin down her neck to her shoulder and she squealed, finding herself flipped so Rohan lay on top of her. “You don’t fight fair,” she whispered.

“I don’t want to fight you at all.” Rohan’s lips were soft on Emma’s and she succumbed to the intensity of his kiss and the sensation of his fingers roving across her skin. His soft Russian endearments were a continuous, whispered love song as he gave and received pleasure to his beautiful wife, treating her as a Russian princess. His honed, muscular body softened from a weapon capable of inflicting pain, to one which brought desire and excitement. Their lovemaking was intense and they collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs, breathless and satiated.

Then Emma heard the sound of her phone vibrating in the sweatshirt she dumped on the bedroom rug. Rohan felt her body stiffen underneath him. “Is that your krovavyy phone that keeps ringing?” he asked, a note of irritation in his voice.

Emma gulped. “Don’t swear. It only did it once, just then.”

“Nyet, it rang a few times. Want me to get it for you?” Rohan lifted his head from Emma’s neck and peered over the side of the bed, raking the floor with his blue eyes.

“Leave it, it’s too far away. It won’t be Nicky; he knows to call you, not me.”

Rohan rolled onto his side and stroked Emma’s damp hair away from her face. His eyes were perceptive as he studied her and Emma felt her heart give a nervous skip. Rohan was a human lie detector and Emma focussed on relaxing under his scrutiny. “What’s wrong, Em?”

She sighed and leaned towards part of the truth. “I’m worried about you leaving me here. It’s a big house and we’re miles from anywhere. What if something goes wrong?” Her brow knitted and she bit her lip, trying not to cry genuine tears.

Rohan tutted. “Dorogaya, you’ll be fine.” He ran his thumb under Emma’s eye and kissed the end of her nose. “I feel like we shouldn’t have moved out here. You felt safe in town, da?”

“No, I wanted to move out here. Your brother left us the house and wanted us to live in it. I just didn’t know you’d be heading off again, leaving me alone and pregnant.” Emma struggled to keep the pique from her voice.

Rohan sighed. “We never discussed it, Emma. You knew how I made a living and I’d have to work away sometimes.”

Emma swallowed. “I hoped you’d stop. Or at least not take another risky job until the baby came.”

“This isn’t a risky job, Em,” Rohan snuffed. “It’s one of the easiest I’ve done. Fred’s bringing the whole gang and we’ll diffuse it quickly.”

“But you don’t need the money.” Emma heard the whine in her voice and knew she ran on thin ice with her husband once she went along that track. “Anton left me a fortune and you said your stocks alone made more than a million pounds since Christmas. You could stay home if you wanted.”

Rohan’s lips quirked into a lopsided smile. “Emma Andreyev! I’m shocked. Is this your way of forcing me to say I don’t want to stay home with you? You devious little obez’yana!”

“Well, don’t you?” Determination lit her eyes with inner fire. “You don’t have to work as the Actuary if you don’t want to.”

Rohan inhaled deeply and Emma felt her fringe move as he breathed out again. She tensed. He ran his finger between her eyebrows, smoothing out the worry lines before tracing the outline of her nose. “Emma Andreyev, I keep no secrets from you. I don’t work as the Actuary, printsessa. I am the Actuary. It’s who I am and what I do. I won’t ask you not to be an archivist and work with dusty photos because it’s what you love. If the school didn’t pay you a salary, you’d just go anyway and do it for free. It’s rarely about the money.”

Emma blinked back tears unsuccessfully and they escaped down the side of her face and plopped onto the pillow. “Ask me not to do it and I won’t. I’ll stop work and stay home,” she whispered.

Rohan shook his head, his fringe falling into his eyes. “I won’t ask you, Em.”

Emma put her hand over her mouth and tried to suppress the huge sob which began in her chest. As usual, the mathematician had checkmated her. The misery welled up quickly, spilling from her mouth without restraint and Emma was powerless to hold it. Her chest heaved and her words were unintelligible, punctuated by hysterical jolts. Rohan pulled her face into his chest and held her, his biceps bulging against her tiny fingers as she sought to cling on and keep him pinned down. She sobbed and fought for breath, knowing it was futile. The Actuary was as much a part of Rohan Andreyev as the oxygen he breathed and she loved all of him. “I didn’t know you felt like this,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, Em. I’m truly sorry.”

Emma collected herself enough to allay Rohan’s suspicions, sliding from the bed and washing away her salty tears in the ensuite shower. Will phoned from the front door and Rohan donned his jeans and shirt to greet his excited son. Nicky powered up the stairs to seek his mother, waving a new Leicester City scarf and towing Kaylee behind him. “I won’t be long, Nicky,” Emma called. “I’m just getting into my pyjamas.”

“Ok, Mum,” he called back graciously. “Kaylee just wanted you to see her hat before she goes home.”

“I’m coming.” Emma swiped at her puffy eyes with a towel and pulled on her pyjamas. She pushed her wet hair back from her face and straightened her shoulders, fixing a tight smile on her lips.

In the bedroom, Kaylee bounced on the balls of her feet and as Emma emerged, performed a beautiful pirouette. “Look Emma! Daddy bought me a hat and Nicky a scarf. It’s got Leicester City on it and the fox. Does it suit me?”

“It does!” Emma complimented her. “Blue suits you, Kaylee. How lovely of your daddy.” She turned to face her son and her breath caught in her chest. Nicky observed her with concern in his intense blue eyes. He didn’t smile and pulled the long woolly scarf from his neck, allowing it to trail on the floor.

Emma swallowed and dabbed at her red nose with a piece of toilet roll. “Let’s go and thank Will for taking you to the soccer, Nicky?”

The child shook his head. “No, Mummy. You stay here. I’ll take Kaylee back to her daddy and then I’m comin’ up here to talk to you.”

Emma opened her mouth to reply and then closed it again. Kaylee skipped into the wide hallway and Nicky started to follow her. He paused in the doorway and held out the scarf. “For you, Mummy.”

“No, baby. Will bought it for you.” Emma produced a watery smile for her son but could see he wasn’t convinced. He threw it on the chair between them and followed his little friend to the staircase and Emma listened to them clump down the wooden treads. “Oh no!” She sank onto the unmade bed and put her head in her hands. Nicky inherited Rohan’s interrogative nature and Emma worried for her ability to deceive both of them with any degree of success.

The phone buzzed on the rug again and Emma’s patience snapped. Stalking across to the roaring fire, she seized the poker in an angry fist and smashed the handle onto her balled up sweatshirt. There was the sound of glass shattering as the mobile phone bore the impact. The noise shocked Emma and she stepped back horrified, the poker still raised.

At the sound of Nicky’s feet on the stairs, she laid the poker back on the hearth and threw another log on the fire. Dry wood crackled against the super-heated coal beneath and after a moment’s hesitation, the orange flames licked around it. Her phone was Rohan’s Christmas gift and Emma felt sick at her foolish ingratitude. Misery descended around her head and by the time Nicky reached the bedroom, she was in tears again. “I knew it!” the boy huffed, pressing his face into Emma’s stomach. “I seed you done cryin’ from your red eyes.”

“I’m fine,” Emma sniffed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “There’s nothing to worry about, Nicky. I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was spoil your night. Who won?”

“Leicester. Love you, Mummy.”

“I know, baby. Love you too.”

“You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong.” Nicky’s tiny hands caressed the bottom of Emma’s back through her pyjama top.

“I don’t?” she asked, feeling a wave of relief.

“Na, I already know. You’re scared like when we lived on the estate and you did cryin’ at night when you thinked I didn’t know.” He tipped his head back and rested his chin on her stomach. “But it’s gonna be fine, Mum. I’ll take care of you just like I always did when we was alone.”

“Oh, baby.” Tears poured from Emma’s eyes and dripped onto Nicky’s head. “I’m just so tired of it; I want to be safe, I really do.”

“But Dad’s got big muscles. He can fight the baddies.”

“Yes, he can,” Emma sniffed. “I’m just being silly. Sorry, baby.”

Nicky snuggled in, linking his fingers behind her back. He squeaked as his mother’s tears dropped onto his head but didn’t move. Emma smoothed his soft blond hair and gathered herself, controlling her breathing and sniffing away her tears. “Nick, I don’t want Daddy to know I had a little cry, ok?”

Nicky looked up at her, his eyes filling with suspicion and Emma scrabbled to qualify her odd request. “He’s going away tomorrow for a few days and I don’t want him worrying. I need him to concentrate and come back soon. Yeah?”

Nicky nodded. “Is he leaving us?”

“No, no! I promise he isn’t. It’s just work. He’ll be back.”

Emma’s son looked doubtful and she chastised herself inwardly. He was six years old and already far too wise for his years and just as he started settling and behaving like a normal little boy, she dumped a world of problems on his slender shoulders. “Everything’s fine, Nicky. I love you sweetheart. I don’t want you to worry.”

“Ok, I won’t,” he lied.

The dull thud sounded through the old house as Rohan closed the front door. Emma ruffled Nicky’s hair. “Come on you. It’s way past your bedtime. Have a quick wash in my bathroom and hop into bed as fast as you can.”

Nicky nodded and dragged his feet towards the ensuite, maintaining eye contact until he walked into the doorframe. Emma laughed. “Idiot! Hurry, Daddy’s coming.”

Nicky wrinkled his nose and closed the door behind him with a click. Emma heaved a sigh of relief and wiped her sleeve across her face, struggling to disguise her desolation for Rohan’s benefit as she heard his uneven tread climbing the stairs. “It’s freezing out there!” He strode into the room bringing cold air with him and Emma shivered. Rohan wrapped his arms around her and Emma’s face sank into his chest. His fingers moved her long hair away from her neck and he kissed the delicate space under her ear. “Where were we?” he whispered.

“Will you read me a story, Mummy?” Nicky stood behind Rohan, his clothes in his hand and his nakedness pale in the lamplight.

Rohan’s body stiffened, caught out in his amorous intent. “Nikolai, it’s late, syn. Time for bed, da?”

“I need Mummy.” Nicky set his lips in stubborn lines and held his father’s gaze. “I want to hug her.”

“Da, I know the feeling.” Rohan smirked and looked to Emma for direction, respecting her six year struggle to raise their son alone. She smiled by way of apology and Rohan’s eyes widened, noticing her distress then. He cocked his head and Emma bit her lip.

“I’ll just put Nicky to bed.” She excused herself, pressing her warm lips against Rohan’s. His face felt cold, making her shudder. Moving quickly from the bedroom she caught Nicky’s hand and led him across the hall and into his room. “Come on, champ. Into your pyjamas and hop into bed.”

Nicky pulled on pyjamas, watching Emma from the corner of his eye as she checked the tepid heat issuing from the radiator. “I need to get these checked again. Surely they’re meant to put out more heat than this. I wonder if it’s because we’ve turned some off in the empty rooms. The man said they’re gravity fed so maybe it’s that.”

“Mum?” Nicky pushed his feet under the sheets of the double bed. “When Daddy’s not here, can you sleep wiv me? I’ll keep you safe.”

“My darling, if I get scared, this will be the first place I’ll come. I promise.” Emma tucked her son into the big bed, his face tiny against the pillows. She climbed onto the bed and cuddled him, stroking his soft face until his eyes drooped. It took only a few minutes.

Emma looked around the room, the powder blue decor reminding her of Anton. His death still held a rawness in her heart and she put a hand up to her chest, remembering the painful reading of his last will and testament. He left everything to her, his stepsister turned sister-in-law and she still didn’t understand why. ‘From Russia, with love’ - his last words to her as the embarrassed solicitor cemented the legal hand over. Emma sighed, remembering the colourful childhood they shared, living his theatrical fantasies to escape the miseries of his murderous Russian mother. ‘You will be the printsessa!’ Anton’s childish Russian accent giggled down the ages as he pushed her into the apple tree which formed their castle. ‘Rohan will be the tsar.’ Only, Rohan didn’t like the games. He lived in a different kind of escape altogether. His serious world was founded on fact and mathematical equations, always evaluating risk and steering a straight course; until the day he gave in and kissed his stepsister.

Emma touched her lips at the memory of the kiss which changed both their lives. The sensible Russian Orthodox boy who was always bound for the ranks of British Army Officers, stopped in the street aged fifteen and kissed the full lips of his twelve year old stepsister. She’d been fighting an older boy at school when the tall Russian waded in and pulled her out. The crowd parted for the silent, authoritative Rohan and Emma felt ashamed, especially as she wielded the upper hand sitting astride the mouthy fourteen year old, ready to smack him in the face. Rohan gripped her wrist until it hurt and Emma threw the tantrum of her life in the middle of a risky housing estate, stunning him with its ferocity. And he kissed her.

It was the first kiss for both of them and the heat and lack of control was spectacular. “Mama will hear of this,” Rohan groaned, that fact dictating the pattern of their lives for the next four years. Emma grew up living for the stolen kisses and delicate touches of their forbidden love. She excelled at school, desperate to impress the studious Rohan and yearning for the electrical jolt of his proud smile.

Emma felt the pull of the Russian’s powerful magnetism through the solid walls of the old house. She left the lamp on in Nicky’s room and stole across the cold hallway into their bedroom. At the doorway she paused. Rohan’s white blond head faced his laptop screen and his face creased in concentration as numbers scrolled up like film credits, performing a complicated calculation. His muscles showed through his clothes and Emma sensed her fingers twitch in acknowledgement of their hardness under his smooth skin. He removed his reading glasses and ran his hands through his hair. As he stretched, Emma heard the creak of the ancient chair under his powerful body and he groaned in satisfaction as his long body straightened.

Emma glided across the wide room like a missile, pushing her way between Rohan and the mahogany desk and planting herself astride his legs. She pressed herself against his strong body and Rohan smiled as his hands found their way under Emma’s pyjama top and caressed the soft skin of her back. His intense blue eyes softened at the sight of her and his face relaxed. “Remember the first time?” Emma whispered, brushing his lips with hers. “After Gretna Green, when we were married?”

“Da.” Rohan nodded. “Of course, I remember, devotchka. Good Russian boys wait until marriage, so I made it worth the wait.”

“I was sixteen and scared,” Emma continued, speaking as she stripped her pyjama top over her head. Rohan’s eyes flared and his pupils dilated. “And you looked so hot in your second lieutenant’s uniform.” Emma bent her head and kissed him again, feeling his body tense under her. She let her lips graze his. “And you looked even hotter without it.”

Rohan’s blue eyes narrowed, his lashes brushing his cheeks. His whole body felt poised and Emma revelled in it, arching her back and pressing her breasts into his chest. He was rigid, fingers locked in place around Emma’s small waist, his thumbs barely touching the underside of her full breasts. “I want it to be like that,” she breathed. “Like we don’t know what we’re doing.”

Rohan opened his mouth and Emma placed her finger over his lips, preventing him saying anything logical or literal to endanger the moment. “Da.” He kissed the slender finger instead, softly turning control back to her. She could see from the intensity of his gaze how much it pained him. Emma ran her lips up the ridged tendons in Rohan’s neck, kissing and nibbling and feeling him shift underneath her. His strong fingers subconsciously kneaded the soft skin of Emma’s back as he groaned, allowing her access to his soft earlobes and the underside of his jaw. Then he snapped.

The compulsive control freak and the army captain came together in one unhealthy moment and Rohan leapt to his feet, keeping hold of Emma as she gripped her legs hard around his hips. His eyes flashed with danger as he stumbled towards the four poster bed and spilled Emma onto it. She felt the bed groan under her, another of Anton’s restoration gifts to her. The oak four poster bed had seen generations of the Ayers family who slept, laughed and loved under the cover of its dark canopy. Emma bit her lip as Rohan stripped his tee shirt over his head, his eyes dark with passion. The long shrapnel scars across his stomach looked like purple lines in the flickering light from the fire and she sighed as Rohan climbed onto the bed, willing her lips not to smirk with anticipation.

Asking Rohan Andreyev to pretend naivety was like asking the sun not to shine. He probably had a mathematical equation for the probable outcome and already dismissed the odds as a long shot.

Chapter 3

“What time do you finish today?” Rohan asked as Emma buttoned her blouse.

“I’ll be home by 12.30. Why?” her fingers shook as she nurtured the faint hope he wouldn’t leave before then.

“I’ll ring you. I should be checked in by then so I’ll have time to spare before my flight boards. My taxi’s due in half an hour.”

“Oh.” Emma bit her lip and willed the tears not to come. “You won’t be able to ring me. My phone’s broken. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Chto?” Rohan stopped and stared at Emma, his long fingers half way through fixing his tie. She knew he watched her squirm. She shook her head.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. I’ll get it fixed.”

“You want the documents? Receipt and guarantee. I’ll get them for you. It’s new.”

“No, it’s fine. It was my fault, so they won’t cover it. Just ring the house phone while you’re away and we’ll talk on that.”

“Show me, Em.”

“No. You need to leave, so get ready. The taxi won’t be able to get in the gate, so you need to be downstairs.” Emma busied herself fighting her curly hair into a long ponytail, irritated by the wet patch on the back of her blouse from its damp weight.

“Hey, go steady.” Rohan took the hair tie from her wrist and stood behind her, gently smoothing her hair back from her face. He teased it with his fingers until the curls ran in the same direction and Emma closed her eyes against the feelings his touch revived. “I need to be able to contact you.”

Emma gritted her teeth and yanked her head away, wincing at the pain as Rohan kept hold of her ponytail. He fixed the hair tie and pinned her by the shoulders, forcing her back into his chest. “Da?”

“You need to contact me, but it doesn’t matter that I can’t contact you! I’ve no idea where you’ll be or if you’re safe, but that’s ok - as long as you can contact me.” Emma wriggled free, cursing herself for her temper. “Just go, Rohan!”

“Nyet! I don’t want to leave this way, not with us arguing, Emma. I don’t want to drive away when we’re fighting. Last time that happened you were gone when I returned.”

“You’re not driving; you’re leaving in a taxi.” Emma pouted, knowing she was being facetious. It pained her but she couldn’t seem to stop. Yesterday’s clothes lay on the rug by the bed, condemning her with the smashed phone inside the pocket. She thought of Rohan choosing it in the shop, gift wrapping it with his careful fingers and felt her betrayal of him like a knife in her chest. The breath came as a sob and she pressed her hand over her lips to suppress it.

“Emma, nothing will happen this time. No kidnappers, no double crossing computer guys and no danger. I’ll be home soon and I won’t take another job until the baby comes. I’ll sit at my desk and crunch numbers for the bean counters but I’ll do no retrievals. Ok?” Rohan lifted her chin with his finger and Emma blinked, feeling stray tears roll down her cheeks. She nodded and they plopped onto the wooden floor. “Oh, Em!” Rohan crushed Emma into his chest, ignoring the lipstick smear across his clean shirt. “You need to explain how you’re feeling, dorogaya. This is where we went wrong before.”

“If I tell you how I feel, Ro, will you stay? I don’t want you to go and I’d beg you if I thought you’d listen.” Emma wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, cursing as black mascara streaked the skin.

Rohan shook his head in exasperation and let her go. He wrapped his hand around the corner post of the huge bed and rested his forehead against it. The rose coloured drapes hanging from the oak rail shivered at his touch. “Where’s this coming from? It’s too late now, Em. You know how this works. I’ve taken the advanced payment so I have to go; I don’t have a choice.” Rohan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He banged his forehead lightly against the heavy oak and shook his head in frustration.

“This is never gonna work.” Emma’s voice sounded flat. “I can’t keep living this way. I want security. Nicky needs a father and so does this baby.” She smoothed her hand across her stomach, hope dying in her eyes.

Rohan ran his fingers through his hair and looked aghast. “This is ridiculous, Em! You can’t dump our marriage over a miscommunication!”

“It’s the same bloody miscommunication every damn time though!” Emma shouted. “You left me pregnant with Nicky and now you’re doing the same again.”

“I didn’t leave you!” Rohan’s anger spilled over, his eyes flashing with fury. “Stop saying that! I was deployed and I didn’t know you were pregnant! Don’t let Nicky hear you say that? Are you trying to destroy my relationship with my son?”

Emma shook her head. “No.”

Rohan flicked his thumbnail on his teeth and paced. “You asked me not to take the job after Christmas and I didn’t, did I?”

“No.”

“You knew I met a contact in London last week, yet you said nothing until now. Why?”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t understand. It wasn’t just the job after Christmas; I was asking you not to take any more jobs. Not ever.” She shrugged and wiped her nose on her hand. “You did it anyway.”

Rohan exhaled loudly and looked up at the ceiling. “Der’mo!” He banged the side of his fist against the bed post. “No more jobs ever? Like, retire?”

Emma nodded. “We both nearly died last time you took a retrieval job, Ro. Nicky almost ended up an orphan.”

Rohan sighed and watched his wife as her fingers writhed against each other in an agony of suppressed emotion. “Emma, listen. I’m sorry, ok. I didn’t understand.”

They both jumped at the sound of small feet thundering up the stairs. “Dad!” Nicky’s voice yelled. “Daddy! The taxi’s comin’. I pressed the button and let him in.” His blue eyes were wild as he ran into the room, stopping at the sight of his parents standing stiffly apart. He hovered, looking awkward with one foot covering the other. “I shouldn’t have done it, should I?” The child looked anxious. “I didn’t know what to do so I let it in.”

“It’s fine, Daddy needs to go.” Emma turned a wooden smile on her son. “Thanks baby. Get your coat and shoes on and we’ll head off to school. Please can you give Farrell some biscuits and then let him out?”

Nicky looked unsure. His eyes went from Rohan to Emma and the years of it being just him and his mother won through. He walked along the corridor and Emma heard him slide down the bannister, exactly like she asked him not to a million times. Emma swallowed.

“We’ll talk about this when I get back.” Rohan’s face was blank but the vein in his neck ticked, revealing his stress. “I will be back, Emma, I promise.” His blue eyes flashed.

Emma shrugged and Rohan took a step towards her. Her eyes strayed towards the broken phone, nestling in the folds of her clothes. Now she couldn’t even show him the foundation of her terror; the text messages hidden in the broken glass and crushed plastic. Rohan’s hand felt rough on her face as he caressed her cheek. “What’s this really about, Em?”

She stared at the fireplace, the ashes cold and dead in the grate, as numb as she felt. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” she replied, a sad smile lifting her lips.

His thumb stroked the soft place under her eye and Rohan leaned in and pressed his lips over hers. “Vy kogda-nibud’ mne doveryat’?” His voice was a whisper as he asked her if she ever trusted him. “How can I earn it?” he questioned, waiting for Emma’s damning answer. She shrugged again, grinding her teeth until it hurt.

The doorbell sounded downstairs in the cavernous hall and Rohan’s hand jerked on Emma’s face. She put her left hand up to brush his fingers away and Rohan clasped it, lifting it to his lips. “You have no ring,” he said quietly. “Nyet obruchal’noye kol’tso. I married you and gave you no ring. No wonder you don’t trust me. I’ll make it right, Emma, I promise. I’ll be home soon. Wait for me, da?”

Despite herself she nodded, wanting to cling to his legs and stop her beautiful husband leaving.

‘Don’t let him leave.’

She failed. Fear washed over her as she listened to his heels click along the floorboards and down the stairs. “I didn’t let him leave,” she whispered. “I just couldn’t stop him.”

Chapter 4

“I need to go to my office, Nicky. Just kiss me and join your class.” Emma waved her arm towards Kaylee’s hopeful expression but Nicky clung to her leg and pressed his face into her coat. “Nicky if it’s about this morning, everything’s fine. Daddy’s coming back.”

“No, it’s not.” Nicky shook his head against Emma’s stomach and she cringed at the pressure.

“What then? I need to start work, love. Mr Dalton will get cross.”

Nicky lifted his head, his eyes sparkling like pale blue diamonds. “Mr D is never cross and I’m waitin’ for someone.”

“Who? Kaylee’s waiting for you, so it’s rude to ignore her. Come on, Nicky, your class is lined up to go inside. Quick!”

“Oh!” Nicky’s face lit up like a sunbeam. “Here she is!”

Emma’s mouth dropped open as the elderly lady hauled a suitcase up the huge step into the walled playground. She wore a pair of exceedingly wrinkled knee high tights and her white knees were bare as the wind tugged at her tweed skirt. Skater shoes adorned her tiny feet, the tongue sticking up to her shins and she walked with a swagger. Her purple knitted hat sported a pom pom almost as big as a second head and her pale mackintosh flapped around her thighs, the belt dragging along the dirty floor. “Here I am, here I am!” she sang, spotting Nicky and making a beeline for his shining face.

“Freda!” He abandoned Emma and wrapped his arms around the woman in her ninth decade, hugging her slight frame until she nearly toppled. “Look, Mum. What a surprise, it’s Freda!”

Emma scoffed. “What a surprise my a...armpit!” She glared at her son. “What’s the story young man?”

“Nicky kindly invited me to stay at Wingate Hall while Rohan’s away, so I packed my bag and here I am.” Freda patted the suitcase with too much force and it fell over with a slap onto the playground.

“Did he?” Emma turned her forced smile onto Nicky, who winced.

“I should join my class,” he said with an angelic pout of pure innocence. “Mrs Clarke will sit on me if I’m late.” He leaned in towards Freda and whispered confidentially. “They never found the last kid she sat on.”

“Oh, he’s probably still up there,” Freda whispered.

Emma pointed her finger at the line of bouncing six-year-olds and Nicky joined them, pushing in to stand next to his best friends, Kaylee and New Mo.

“I love his little black friend,” Freda said with far too much volume and indignant adult faces turned in their direction. Emma pursed her lips and hoped her new job at the school lasted past today. “Coo-ee, Mo!” Freda waved to Mohammed and he smiled and waved back.

“Freda,” Emma began. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m happy for you to come and stay with us, but I have to work until lunchtime. Why don’t I leave your suitcase in the staffroom and pick you up from your apartment when I’m finished?”

“Oh no, that won’t do at all!” Freda exclaimed, grinning at Emma. Her top set of false teeth clacked onto the bottoms creating a ghoulish expression. She shoved them back up with a gnarled finger. “I’m here to help you, dear.”

“Help?” Emma gulped and felt sick.

“Yes! Nicky said you’re going through old photographs and records for the 150th anniversary.” Freda waved her arm to take in the expansive school building with its apex roof and Georgian windows. “This was my school. I can probably name everyone in the photos from 1930 to 1935 and many more besides. Mother came here too and my stepfather, God rest his rotten redheaded soul, so I’ll recognise people from the town.” Freda crossed herself in a traditional Catholic movement and winked. Emma knew she was Anglican.

The archivist in Emma desperately wanted to lock Freda in the office and not let her out until she’d named every last photo, but the realist in her prevailed. “I’ll have to check it’s ok with the headmaster,” Emma began, halted by Freda’s shriek.

“They’re going in, they’re going in!” The old lady battled her suitcase into an upright position and wheeled it up the ramp, following Nicky’s gyrating class of fidgets. She joined the back of the wobbly queue and farted so loud, it must have hurt. Thirty children let out snorts and giggles and Emma put her hand up to her forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

Mr Dalton was happy for Freda’s help, thrilled with the prospect of two archivists for the price of one. “Ooh yes,” he said, sounding enthusiastic. “I’ll just grab a police check form for you.” He bustled down the corridor and promptly forgot.

“A police check?” Freda sounded horrified. “Does he think I’ll steal the photos?”

“No, not at all. Everyone who works with children needs to be police checked.”

“But we won’t be working with children, just photos.”

“Yes, but we might see the children; and this office is right next to the Year 1 and 2 toilets, so we’re bound to bump into a few.”

“Ohhhh.” Freda looked doubtful. “I don’t think I want to help them to the toilet. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“It’s fine,” Emma reassured her. “You won’t have to.”

A low hammering on the door made Freda jump in fright. “Are the police here to do their checks?” she squeaked. “I couldn’t get my corset done up to the top, so I’m underdressed.”

“It’s just Sam. He fetches boxes for me. I can’t lift them from the attic so he gets them. This is his office.” Emma flung the heavy door open and admitted the puffing caretaker as he peered over two large boxes filled with photo frames.

“Just these?” he asked, laying them on the bench and bending double to catch his breath.

“Thank you.” Emma patted him on the shoulder and he reddened in embarrassment.

“Hi, Sam,” Freda said and simpered like a teenager. She fluttered her eyelashes and beamed at the young man. “How old are you?”

“I’m er...I’m...” He gulped at the sight of the old lady in the strange shoes. Then he pointed. “Do they have wheels that pop out the bottom so you can skate?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Freda plopped into a chair and tried to lift her foot. Her tweed skirt slithered upwards revealing skinny white knees and a pair of bloomers. Emma stared, wondering if she could display them at the anniversary celebration. They looked old enough.

Sam looked to Emma for help. “Sam’s thirty two, Freda. He came to this school as a little boy and works here. He’s married.”

“That’s nice.” Freda peered at the sole of her shoe. “Will you help me skate on these shoes, young man?”

“No way!” Emma panicked. “You’re ninety years old. Don’t be crazy; you’ll fall and break something!”

“Maybe not.” Freda smiled and her teeth did the strange clacking thing again.

Emma stared hard at Sam and jerked her head towards the old lady. “Don’t even go there. It won’t be as funny as you might think.”

“Oh, he could put me in the tube. Do you think you could do that, young man? Can you fit me in the tube?”

“Tube?” Sam looked sick, his ruddy skin pinking again.

Emma’s eyes widened in horror. “Not YouTube?”

“Yes, that’s it. I want to be on your tube, skating on my shoes. Let’s get the little wheels out.” Freda scrabbled around on Sam’s desk and retrieved a large screwdriver.

“No!” Sam and Emma lurched for the screwdriver at the same moment but he got there first, moving sharp objects out of Freda’s way with frantic, haphazard shoving actions.

The door burst open and Mr Dalton stood in the gap, his tie resting over his left shoulder where the wind blew it as he chased a Year 3s drawing. “What on earth..?” he started, appalled by the sight of his archivist and caretaker laying into a defenseless old lady.

Emma and Sam darted backwards to reveal the elderly school visitor brandishing a long screwdriver in her gnarled hand. “Bloody ‘ell!” he squeaked, clapping his hand over his mouth and looking around him guiltily at the impromptu slip in decorum. He waved the police check form in Emma’s direction. “I’m not ‘appy about this, Mrs Andreyev!” His Welsh lilt lifted his voice a few octaves and Emma bit her lip and looked crossly at Freda.

“She’s got wheels under her shoes,” Sam offered, snatching the screwdriver from Freda’s hand. “We don’t think it’s a good idea for her to use them.”

“Noooo!” Mr Dalton’s eyes bugged and his lips puckered into an angry pout. “Certainly not! Riding any wheeled device is not permitted in our school!”

Freda looked disappointed and Sam leaned in towards the headmaster, speaking in an undertone of confidentiality. “Someone’s already superglued them in.”

“Oh!” Freda hooked her leg over her thigh and peered at the sole of her shoe, looking disappointed. The bloomers went on show again and Mr Dalton looked scandalised.

“I’ll keep her in here,” Emma said, screwing her face up in apology. She reached for the flapping form and Mr Dalton let it go, a look of concern on his face.

“Ok, then,” he said. He whipped around in his usual high speed fashion and disappeared. The heavy door clicked shut and Emma heard him talking to a child in the corridor. “Oooh, lovely hair tie, Emily Parry. Verrrrry impressive.”

“That was close.” Sam looked at Freda through narrowed brown eyes. “I’ve only had this job a term and I don’t want to lose it.”

Freda ignored him, picking at the sunken wheels with a lined fingernail. She shook her head and the bobble on her hat wobbled like a loose boulder as she smiled up at Emma. “Can we look at the photos now dear? I want to see if my stepfather was as ugly a child as he was an adult, God rest his rotten redheaded little soul.” She crossed herself again and Sam pulled a face and stepped back. He lifted a folder with the label, ‘Maintenance Book’ emblazoned on the front and skirted Freda to reach a set of keys hanging from a hook. His face was pure misery as he stuffed the keys into his overalls pocket and left the room.

Emma sighed. “Freda, you need to behave if you’re staying with me this morning. Sam’s sharing his office because there’s nowhere else. If I get offside with him, I’ll have to leave.”

“Sorry dear.” Freda looked momentarily contrite. “Can we look now?”

Emma dragged a large, collapsing cardboard box towards her. The sides bent to reveal several photographs in frames, the glass covered in a patina of tiny black flies and mildew. “When was your stepfather here?” she asked.

“Around 1914, I think. He might be hard to spot in the sepia photos. Everyone’s hair will look red or brown.” Freda sounded wistful. “I’d recognise my mother perhaps.”

“Did everyone go to school?” Emma asked. “I thought your mother was in service.”