The Actuary's Wife Read online

  The Actuary’s Wife

  The Calculated Risk Series

  K T Bowes

  Hakarimata Press

  Copyright 2015

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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.

  The Actuary’s

  Wife

  K T Bowes

  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 blonde 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 blonde 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 blonde 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 breat
hed 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.