 
## The Actuary

The Calculated Risk Mystery Series

K T Bowes

Published by Hakarimata Press  
Copyright 2015

# Would you like to be part of it?

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Unless it's underwear because that's super dodgy.

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

I don't want stinky reviews.

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Each of the novels below are free series starters.

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#  Acknowledgment

It's gratifying when someone likes my work enough to want to be part of it. Although I have invented the character of Allaine, I have used her real name with her permission and I'm grateful for her ceaseless encouragement.

I also want to acknowledge Dave Carson, UK, who helped me with some particularly difficult chapters relating to the main character, Rohan Andreyev. His help was based on his own painful experience and I'm grateful for his openness and honesty with me. I sincerely hope I've managed to do justice to his daily struggle.

# Chapter 1

"Congratulations, Susan!" The dark-haired woman leaned in and kissed her friend on the cheek, her pretty skin flushed with the heat of the room. "You look so happy; I'm pleased for you."

"Oh, Emma! It's been a long time coming. I finally feel lucky."

Emma wrapped her arms around her friend, trying not to get lipstick on the delicate fabric of her ivory wedding dress. Over her shoulder, she saw Susan's new husband, Frederik. Handsome and sophisticated, his salt and pepper hair suited his courtly appearance. "He's pretty fit," Emma whispered in her friend's ear, laughing at Susan's squeal of delight.

"My sister says he is," she sniggered, covering her mouth with her hand. "She described him to me before she introduced us."

Emma felt hot breath on her leg and looked down. She smiled and offered her hand to the fluffy white retriever at Susan's side. He grinned back, his tongue lolling sideways from his mouth and he sat abruptly on his backside, yanking the harness from his blind mistress' hand. "Oh Jay!" Susan complained. "I know you've had enough but this is my wedding day!"

"He did a good job of escorting you down the aisle," Emma joked, stroking the soft, downy hair on the top of Jay's head. She smoothed her thumb down the bridge of his nose and the dog closed his eyes with a dreamy expression on his face. "You're such a flirt!" she chastised him, ruffling his feathery ears and shaking her head. Dark curls cascaded down her back and bounced with the movement.

"It's been a beautiful day," Susan sighed. The strobe lights caught her red hair giving her an ethereal glow. "You'll stay a bit longer, won't you?" She couldn't see the uncomfortable look on Emma's face as she battled with issues Susan could not contemplate. The borrowed green silk dress bit into Emma's waist and the rental car outside needed returning to the hire company by midnight. The thought of the three-hour drive south in the dark daunted her.

"Just a little while," Emma promised. "But then I must get Nicky home. We had an early start this morning."

"Well say goodbye before you go, won't you?" Susan's face pleaded with her as Emma nodded and squeezed her hand. "I wanted to talk about your work in the school archives. I need to tell you what we've been doing with ours. I thought it might help."

"I'd love to, but I do have to go soon." Emma winced as the band started up after its intermission, deafening everyone nearby. The guide dog whined and looked like he wanted to stick his paws over his ears. "Would you like me to take you to Frederik?" Emma yelled over the din and Susan nodded.

"Yes please. I think if I ask Jay to take me, I'll end up at the car."

Emma laughed. "Oh gosh, yeah. Remember the time you told him to take you to the vets and he walked you around for hours and then took you home?"

"Pardon?" Susan shrieked back and Emma shook her head, leading her friend by the hand towards her tall new husband over at the bar.

The place teemed with bodies and Emma sighed as she recognised one of them. Her six-year-old son stood at the side of the buffet table, paper plate towering with food. His blond wavy hair spilled over a face covered in chocolate. He grinned, displaying brown teeth covered in goo and waved, his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His plate tipped and a sausage roll bounced to the floor. Not realising it fell from his plate, he looked up at the ceiling to see where it came from and then back at his mother. She held her free hand up in the air, fingers splayed and mouthed, "Five more minutes."

The child nodded with enthusiasm and began cramming delicacies into his mouth, making use of the time left to get his fill. Emma cringed. _Definitely time to leave_. She weaved through the bodies, navigating Susan and Jay towards the landmark of Frederik's head, standing high above everyone else's. As Jay realised Emma led him back into the throng, his feet ceased their happy padding along the dance floor. He stopped dead.

Susan yanked on Emma's arm in warning, but Jay made a valiant rush for the open door, hauling the two women after him. He cut through the dancing crowd like a heat-seeking missile, making his bid for freedom with the women as ballast. Susan had no choice with her wrist caught in the strap of his leash and her fingers clamped around the handle of the harness. Emma displayed extreme loyalty, clinging to her friend's other hand for dear life and clopping along in the borrowed heels.

From the corner of her eye, Emma saw Susan halt as Frederik's capable hand seized the harness and halted Jay's unauthorised kidnapping of his bride. Unable to stop, Emma sped past the knot of man, woman and dog, feeling herself tilt dangerously in the open doorway as Susan let go of her hand. Too late, Emma remembered the stairs down to the entrance. She let out a strangled scream as a body stepped in the way, taking the full brunt of her hasty exit. The male figure grunted and grabbed her upper arms, keeping her upright and allowing Emma the dignity of a few seconds in which to collect herself. "Thank you," she gulped, spying with horror the awful sight of her buttons undoing themselves over her cleavage.

"Are you all right, Emma?" Susan's voice sounded squeaky with concern and Emma nodded as she fumbled with the fiddly pearl buttons, failing to close them before they popped open again.

"Yep, yep. I'm fine thanks. Just catching my breath." She heard Susan behind her, admonishing her furry companion.

"You made it!" came Frederik's voice and his hand appeared next to Emma, shaking her saviour's strong digits with enthusiasm. "Awesome! I'll just sit my wife down and then we'll catch up."

"Oh, bloody hell!" Emma breathed as another button sidled out of its hole as soon as she put the one above back in. A male snort made Emma's head whip up as familiar fingers brushed her shaking hands away.

"Here, let me, vozlyublennaya."

Emma gulped and closed her eyes. If she didn't look up, then it couldn't be true. She'd had the experience before, feeling her heart pound in her throat only to see another Russian face in front of her. The ensuing disappointment and relief made for a miserable soup of emotions. The unexpected flare of regret took her by surprise and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment. "I'm fine," she bit. "I'm leaving anyway." She pushed the fingers away as their buttoning action brushed the soft flesh of her exposed breasts. Emma dared to look up with indignation in her eyes and her heart bounced in her chest.

The tall Russian looked every bit as striking as she remembered. A strand of the disobedient blond fringe flipped over his left eye, bumped by the action of his long lashes. Vibrant blue eyes stared at her in question, bright like azure diamonds. "Hi, Em," he said, his voice seeming to touch the deeper, buried parts of her soul.

"I don't think we know each other," Emma ventured, drawing her shoulders back and looking sideways at possible escape routes. To her irritation, he threw his head back and laughed.

"I think I know you better than you know yourself." He smiled but the expression failed to reach his eyes.

"I need to go!" Emma stepped sideways, looking for help. Her head moved from side to side in a frantic arc. Frederik and a disgraced Jay settled a shaken Susan on an armchair in a seating area, not even looking her way. Susan wagged her index finger in reprimand at the wilful dog who looked around the room and purposely ignored her.

Emma took another step sideways and the blond man blocked her. "If you want to dance, we need to be over there." He pointed at the polished wooden floor. Emma followed his gaze and while distracted, found her wrist seized in a vice-like grip. He led her to the throng of couples gyrating to an upbeat tune which failed to reflect her mood. Emma groaned as the music dropped to a slow dance and the man smiled. He settled his hands either side of her neat waist. Fixing penetrating blue eyes on her face, he pulled her in close in an easy, fluid motion. Emma stood in front of him like a log and he sighed and grasped her hands in each of his, placing them around his neck.

"Just like old times." He smiled. "So, how have you been?" His raised his voice against the music, his mouth very close to her ear. Emma closed her eyes against the rising flood of emotions fighting for dominance in her heart.

"Good," she lied. "Lovely to see you, Rohan, but I really should be going."

"Stay." He fingered a lock of her hair, watching in fascination as it wound around his finger and then plummeted down her back. He selected another one and repeated the exercise. Emma whipped her head away and scanned the room, trying to locate her son. She didn't need to search far. He slumped on a chair next to the deserted buffet table with a half-eaten mountain on his plate. He looked sick. Emma sighed in frustration at the thought of a three-hour drive with a vomiting child.

"I really need to go." She withdrew her hands from around the strong neck and turned her body to block the amazing sensation of his groin so close to hers.

"Okay." He sounded sad and his resignation made Emma's breath catch in her chest. He gave her a tiny smile, revealing the dent from a scar above his lip and another under his eye. Emma's brown eyes made the mistake of straying from his brilliant blue irises, to his full lips and back again. His smirk blossomed like a lightning strike. Catching her up before she could resist, he put his hand at the back of her neck and tugged her forward. His lips on hers felt gentle and paralysing. Emma opened her mouth to protest and his tongue slid in with natural ease, familiar and dangerous. She reached up and put her arms either side of his chest, feeling the rippling muscles beneath her palms. He seemed taller, stronger, older and different. But so was she.

With a huge act of will, Emma broke the connection, inhaling sharply as she put the back of her hand to lips swollen by the familiar kiss.

"Em!" she heard him shout at she fled the dance floor. She gripped her son by his wrist and ran for the toilets, remembering another exit at the end of that corridor.

"Night, miss," the door attendant said and she nodded in acknowledgement and ran, dragging the small boy behind her.

"Mum!" the child complained. "Don't bounce me. I'm gonna puke!"

"I've got a bag," Emma insisted, hurling her stiletto shoes onto the back seat of the car. "Get in the front and you won't feel so bad. I'll put the cold air on."

"But my booster seat is in the back!" he grumbled and Emma's patience snapped.

"As soon as we get away from here, I'll pull over and sort everything out," she promised. "Please, Nicky, just do as I ask."

"Ok then!" he complained. "But if a policeman tells you off, it's coming out of your pocket money, not mine! I enjoyed talking to Harley Man before you ruined it!"

"Nicky!" Emma exclaimed, panic making her cruel. "Harley Man isn't real! He's just a character you've seen in a comic or on television. He can't talk to you."

"He can, Mum. My friends have seen 'im. He stops and talks to me back home and he was here tonight!"

"Okay, Nick, okay." Emma fumbled with the car key and ignition in the darkness. She banished talk of her son's imaginary friend to the back of her mind as she dealt with the immediate issue of escape. She started the engine on the rented saloon and spun the wheels. The lights flicked on at the last minute as she sped by the front doors of the hotel, blinding the door attendant. The handsome, blond Russian emerged from the doors at a run, his suit jacket hanging open and his tie flapping in the breeze. His face looked ashen.

"That's your friend what you was kissin'," Nicky informed his mother as they careened past. "Harley Man saw him kissin' ya and he said, 'Uh oh, that's not gonna end well.' Funny hey?" The child lifted his tiny hand and waved at the blond man, who stopped and gaped. His face became a mask of agony at the sight of the small, carbon copy of himself on the front seat. Panic leapt into Emma's throat and she navigated the minor roads until the motorway, feeling sicker than she thought possible. Her hands shook on the steering wheel and she gripped it until her knuckles shone white against the lights of oncoming cars. She glanced sideways at her small son, hoping he didn't notice her anxiety.

"There he is!" Nicky squealed and dipped forward in his seat, craning his neck to look in the side mirror. Emma swerved and swore.

"Don't do that!"

"But he's behind us, Mummy, look."

"Who is, Nicky, who?"

"Harley Man! Who else?"

Emma peered in the rear view mirror at the motorcyclist two vehicles behind. He kept a steady pace, his visor blocking out any facial features. He held his place in the traffic, keeping a neat line in the centre of his lane. He looked unconcerned with passing her. Emma kept an eye on him, cursing herself for buying into Nicky's overactive imaginary world, but then the bike took off at the next roundabout, taking the outside lane and moving off ahead. Nicky sat back in his seat oozing disappointment. "You scared 'im off! Coz you kept starin'. It's rude to stare!"

Emma sighed as her petulant son sulked in the oversized seatbelt next to her. Thoughts of the blond man overrode any irritation at Nicky's grumpy mood and she battled with images of his soft hands caressing her skin. Stifling an involuntary sob, Emma pressed her fingers either side of the bridge of her nose and Nicky looked instantly contrite. "Sorry, Mummy. I'm sorry. S'not your fault. Harley Man will come back, he always does."

"Yeah, he certainly seems to." Emma kept the sarcasm from her voice as she fought the inner tide of misery. She focussed on the motorway, grateful for the tiny hand that reached over and rested against her thigh.

At the first service station, they stopped and used the bathrooms. "I can go in the big boy ones," Nicky insisted, veering off towards the men's toilets.

"Er, I don't think so, buddy!" Emma grabbed the back of his shirt and pushed him towards the door adorned with a female silhouette. Nicky turned to face the door while Emma used the facilities, disgusted with his demotion to child status.

"It's oomiliatin'," he complained.

"It's life!" Emma retorted. "Did you really think I was gonna let you go into a gents' toilets in the back end of nowhere in a service station, with every nomad weirdo passing through?"

"I can take care of myself," Nicky said, his voice filled with touching sincerity. "When Big Jason jumped me last week, I kicked him in the jewels." He turned around as Emma flushed the toilet, his blue eyes alight with victory.

Emma righted her dress and looked down at her son. "Big Jason is a forty year old midget!" she said. "I could defend myself against him!"

"He's not a midget!" Nicky insisted with indignation. "He's just got delicate bones."

Emma bought Nicky a bottle of mineral water to help him look a little less green around the gills, although much of his sickness had passed. She topped up the car with petrol and prayed it would still look full when she dropped it off at the rental depot. More excitement ensued at the counter, as Nicky spotted a leather-clad motorcyclist in another queue. He waved and Emma looked away, embarrassed. The man's muscular physique looked poured into his protective leather gear. He stood at the till with his legs slightly splayed and Emma found herself staring at the outline of his pert backside. He kept his helmet on with the visor raised and Emma looked away as he turned. "See ya later," Nicky intoned with a beautiful smile and a wave.

Emma cringed, ignoring the tug on her skirt from the small boy. "Harley Man ruffled my hair," Nicky whispered, his eyes alight with pleasure. Emma nodded; her mortification complete. Her son's fixation with Harley Man bordered on the need for a psychologist, not that his underfunded, forgotten primary school had access to such professionals.

Emma fixed Nicky's rented booster seat into the front of the vehicle, settled him in and left as he nodded off to sleep. With a sigh, she headed south to Lincoln and the government owned house on the notorious Greyfriars Estate.

# Chapter 2

"Mum!"

"I'm just upstairs, love."

Emma heard her son clumping up the stairs in his trainers. She saw no point telling him to take his shoes off indoors. The bare wooden floors played hell with the soles of his threadbare socks. "Mum!" He yelled from the top of the stairs and Emma poked her head through her bedroom door. "Oh, there you are. I took your dress back to Marie's house but she's not there. Kane said his dad gave her a slap last night and she's in the hospital."

"Really?" Emma's jaw dropped open and Nicky nodded at the enthusiastic response to his news flash.

"And I saw Big Jason McArthur outside their house smokin' weed. He said he's gonna come round and give you one." Nicky licked his lips and looked worried. "Is he gonna give you a slap or a weed stick?"

"Neither, Nicky. We don't take anything off Big Jason."

Nicky followed her from one side of the room to the other, tripping over the sleeping bag serving as Emma's bed. "Mum, if he tries to give you something you don't want, do you think I could give 'im a slap?"

Emma squatted down next to her son's loyal face. He oozed concern for her in his sad blue eyes. "No babe. He's a forty-four-year-old smack addict and a patched gang member. You're a beautiful six-year-old boy with a big heart and it won't go well for either of us."

"Well, I've been thinking 'bout it and I reckon me an' Mo can probably pop the tyres on his Harley."

"Seriously Nicky, if you want us in big trouble, that's the way to go. And anyway, it's not really a Harley, he just thinks it is."

"Ok then." He looked too happy.

Emma's brow furrowed in fear. "Don't do it, Nicky. I'm telling you. I'll be really cross!"

"Oh." His shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Mum?" He fixed intelligent eyes on her face. "I saw that man last night kissin' you a real long time. And he was enjoyin' it. Why did he do kissin' wiv you?"

Emma gulped. "He gave me a new year's kiss."

Nicky rolled his eyes. "Well that's dumb! It's only November!"

"He's Russian," Emma said, biting her top lip and transferring clean washing from the black bin liner into the suitcase balanced on a rickety cupboard. "Everything's upside down there."

"What even Christmas?" Nicky sounded indignant. "That's sucky!"

"Yep," Emma answered. "Now please could you wheel your suitcase here for me? Then I can put your clean clothes back in it."

The child skipped off to his room and brought back his wardrobe on wheels. "I miss Nana Lucya's house," he said softly. "With proper beds and wardrobes and stuff. Can we go back there?"

"Nana Lucya died, remember?" Emma's heart constricted in her chest and she rested her hands on her son's slumped shoulders. He face planted roughly into her stomach and put his free hand around her waist.

"But I still miss her, Mummy," he sniffed.

"Me too," Emma whispered. "Me too."

Nicky balanced his chin on the belt of Emma's jeans. "Mum? Nana was Russian too, hey? But she had Christmas and New Year at the right time. Maybe the man got mixed up."

"Clever boy!" Emma faked her joviality, realising her mistake too late with this highly intelligent child. Each year it got harder and harder to deflect his questions. "It must be me getting mixed up. Silly Mummy."

Nicky laughed and repeated the label. "Silly Mummy," he chortled, placing his neatly rolled clothes into the suitcase and wheeling it back to his bedroom.

Emma breathed a sigh of relief and suppressed the sick feeling in her stomach. "Damn! Susan!" The sudden flash of realisation bit into her consciousness and Emma grappled in her jeans pocket for her mobile phone. She needed to text her friend to apologise for her hasty exit, but also to stop her passing on Emma's contact details to Frederik's handsome friend. She typed in the hurried text and pressed 'send'. The phone bleeped immediately and Emma peered at the screen. 'Insufficient credit,' the message stated and her text flashed back on screen with an option to try again. "Not much point really, is there?" Emma grumbled. "The last of my money went on refuelling the hire car and then the taxi home." Her mind flicked to her late-night argument with the taxi driver.

"I'm not driving on that estate," he'd scoffed and Emma argued with him.

"It's literally down there!" she said. "I can see the house from here!"

"Well you bloody walk there then," he'd replied, revving the engine.

"So, you won't drive onto the estate, but it's okay for me to walk there in the dark with a sleeping child?" Emma bit.

The man shrugged. "You chose to live there," he'd replied in an irritating sing-song voice. "Ten quid please."

Emma had thrown the money onto the passenger seat and hitched the sleeping Nicky higher over her shoulder. She balanced him there and kept a stiletto in either hand to defend herself. "Actually," she'd hissed through the open passenger window at the smug man behind the steering wheel. "Nobody chooses to live on this estate. God forbid you ever hit hard times!"

"Oh, sod off!" he'd replied and pulled away from the curb, activating his central locking at the same time as closing the electric windows.

It took Emma five minutes to walk through the darkened no-go area. The smashed streetlamps offered no reprieve. She walked barefoot, listening out for sounds indicating danger. Many pairs of eyes watched but she arrived home unharmed, with sore feet from the frozen ground and a hole in both soles of her work tights.

Emma stood in her empty bedroom in the cold light of day and contemplated the calamity of no phone credit. Susan wouldn't betray her. They went through university, struggling together, one with a toddler and the other with progressive blindness, both robbed of aspects of life but for different reasons. "She won't give him it," Emma concluded with a nod of satisfaction.

"I hope you don't either!" Nicky said with austerity, kneeling next to the black bag and reaching inside for his freshly laundered school shorts.

"You hope I don't what?" Emma asked her son, switching her mind back to the present.

"I hope you don't give Big Jason IT!" He grunted as he found his faded sports shirt and flicked it in the air, inspecting it for clumps of the cheap washing powder Emma used.

"I won't!" Emma promised, shivering at the thought.

"Marie did!" Nicky piped up. "That's why Kane's dad gave 'er a slap and put 'er in the hospital."

Emma shook her head and exhaled. She stared around her at the near derelict house and wondered how much longer she could sustain this pitiful lifestyle.

# Chapter 3

The insistent knocking on the front door didn't sound like anyone Emma knew and she stood just inside the hallway door, waiting.

"What ya waitin' for, Mum?" Nicky whispered. "Is it the repo man?"

Emma snorted and held her arms out. "There's nothing to take! Just go and hide in the cupboard in case it's trouble."

Nicky kissed the bottom of Emma's back and skipped down the hallway, shutting himself quietly in the cupboard under the stairs. Emma watched as he closed the door tightly and then braced herself to open the front door.

The watery mid-afternoon sun glinted off the broken glass in the street, contrasting with the expensive black Mercedes Benz parked on her cracked driveway. Emma looked at the vehicle currently inviting much interest from her curious neighbours and swore. A crowd of people gathered around the pristine piece of engineering perfection, like zombies around a corpse.

"Nice welcome," her visitor commented, leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets.

Emma paled and stared at Rohan open mouthed. "What the hell are you doing here?" she squeaked. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"I'll karate chop 'im!" Nicky burst from the cupboard under the stairs waving his arms and kicking out with his legs.

"Bloody hell, it's Harry Potter!" Rohan looked astounded.

Nicky stopped dead when he saw Rohan. "Oh. Are you a bit simple?"

"Pardon me?" Rohan's brow knitted.

"Eugh. Did you fart?" Nicky stood next to Emma, putting his arm in front of her in a protective motion.

"Er, no." The tall blond man looked completely wrong footed. He stood up straight and took his hands out of his pockets. Half the rotten doorframe tumbled on to the frayed door mat and the rest stuck to the back of Rohan's sweatshirt.

"I think he's a bit simple, Mum. Look, he broke the door frame. Will I get Fat Brian to beat 'im up?"

"No! Nobody needs to beat anyone up."

"But he thinks Christmas is upside down and that I'm a magic boy. He can't be normal. I'll get Fat Brian."

Nicky took a step towards the door and Emma grabbed hold of the back of his sweater. Nicky made exaggerated choking sounds. "Pack it in!" Emma warned him. "But yes, go and get Fat Brian, please. Tell him I've got a problem."

"Seriously?" Rohan stood up to his full height, another piece of crumbling wood falling from the back of his clothing and landing on the floor. Emma counted four woodlice running for their lives. She knew how they felt. Rohan looked angry and the tell-tale vein pulsed in his neck. "I turn up to talk to you and you want someone called Fat Brian to beat me up?" He looked a mixture of dismayed and irritated.

Emma shook her head. "No! Don't be ridiculous! How much cash have you got on you?"

Rohan's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Rohan, will you just answer me?" Emma watched the crowd of onlookers edge closer to the shiny black car. He followed her gaze and opened his mouth to speak as a skinny man completely tattooed from forehead to waistband, tried the locked passenger door.

"About fifty quid," he replied, sounding stunned. "Why?"

Nicky appeared at the end of the driveway, flanked by an elderly man with gang tattoos on his bare chest and swear words on his cheeks. Rohan hid a smirk at the unfortunate spelling mistake on his forehead. Fork off, was written in a beautiful font, but at the violence on the man's face, the tall blond man wiped all expression from his eyes, leaving a regimental nondescript mask.

"You all right, girl?" Fat Brian was so fat, he couldn't get on the front step at the same time as Rohan and pushed past him, ridges of hairy flesh smelling of lager and cigarettes. His flaccid face and bulging eyes were inches from Emma's delicate features. Rohan's eyes widened in amazement as Emma kissed the man gently on the cheek.

"Thanks for coming, Brian." She smiled. "I have a visitor and his car is becoming something of a problem. I wondered if you'd take care of it for me. He won't be staying long."

Fat Brian smiled, displaying two pink rows of gums. "Hell yeah!" He held his hand out towards Rohan with enthusiasm and the blond man looked at Emma for a clue.

"Brian will take your car to his house until you want to leave," Emma informed him helpfully. She jerked her head towards the wallet she knew he kept in the front pocket of his trousers and Rohan rolled his eyes and drew out a fifty pound note. He handed it reluctantly over and Brian put out his other hand.

"Erm...I..."

"Give Brian your keys," Emma said nicely and smirked with enjoyment at the horror on Rohan's face.

Rohan drew out the key fob and seemed to choke as he placed it carefully on the sweaty pink palm. "I'm assuming you've got a full licence?" he asked the man in front of him and Brian gave a beautiful smile.

"I don't believe in corrupt political certification," Brian stated with complete seriousness and Rohan watched him set off towards the crowd of forty people, all touching the expensive motor car.

Speechless, Rohan watched Brian start his car, rev it loudly a few times and screech off down the street. He opened his mouth numerous times but nothing came out. He shook his head at Emma and stayed on the step, looking in the direction his car was last seen.

"You might as well come in," she sighed. "Turn around first though. You're wearing half my dry rot on your sweater."

"I really liked that car!" Rohan sounded heart broken and Emma laughed.

"You'll get it back when you leave. I'll send Nicky round to Brian's and he'll bring it back. That's what the fifty quid was for. Safe keeping. Nobody will touch it on Fat Brian's driveway."

"Fat Brian likes my mum," Nicky added helpfully. "When 'is missus beats him up, he sleeps on our lounge floor. Lots of people with nowhere to go do that, sleep on our lounge floor. That's why we're protected by Fat Brian and lots of other people. Cause my mum's right kind." Nicky smiled in approval at Emma and she felt her heart give a little flip flop in her chest. The child observed the tall blond man with open curiosity and his next question sent Emma's brain scrambling. "Where're you from? Your accent sounds like my..."

"Nicky?" Emma interrupted, jerking her head towards the hallway. "Please would you go and play in your room for a while, while I talk to the man?"

The six year old scoffed like an old man. "What wiv, Mum? Me sleepin' bag?"

"Try, your homework!" she chided him and the boy pulled a face.

"Okay," he said cheerfully. "Then will you test me?"

Emma smiled and nodded and the child climbed the rickety stairs, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He stopped at the top and opened his mouth. Emma winced. "Oh, Big Jason said..."

"Thanks!" Emma stopped his repetition of something vile and waved him away.

Rohan looked utterly horrified by everything around him and Emma felt pity at the sight of his wide eyes and pale complexion. "You okay?" she asked kindly.

He shook his head. "You're bringing up a child in a freakin' war zone, Em! I was in the Helmand Province in Afghanistan and this makes it look like a bloody suburb of London!"

Emma laughed. "You get used to it eventually." She turned away and walked towards the kitchen, muttering under her breath, "Or you kill yourself!"

Rohan stuck close to Emma down the hallway, almost walking on her heels. He did a lot of head shaking but to her relief, kept his extensive opinions to himself. Emma placed water into a saucepan and lit the gas hob. While she waited for it to boil, she put instant coffee into two mugs with a spoon left over from a spoon bending competition by the looks of the handle. She took a carton of milk off the windowsill and sniffed it, pulling a face and then adding it to the mugs. When the water boiled she added it to the mixture and handed Rohan the mug with less chips in the rim. He took it, his blue eyes never leaving her face. "How did you find me?" she asked, leaning her backside against the battered work surface behind her. Rohan looked around for somewhere to sit, quickly realising there was no furniture.

"Do you not own anything?" he asked, disbelief in his voice.

Emma shrugged. "Things come and go really. Sometimes other people need things more. I owned a dining table for a while, but Marie up the road borrowed it for a family party. The party turned a bit nasty and it was collateral damage."

Rohan gaped for a second and then closed his mouth, running his free hand across the lower half of his face. Emma heard the scratching sound of his blond stubble on the palm of his hand and it sent a curious shiver through her body. "I asked how you found me." An edge appeared in her voice and it made Rohan jump and bring himself back to the situation in hand.

"Frederik got your address from Susan," he replied and Emma looked shocked.

"I don't believe you!" She sounded aggressive and he looked surprised.

"Oh, she doesn't know. He was my sergeant at Camp Bastion. It was a favour."

"Great!" Emma plonked her mug down on the work surface, looking at the handle in surprise as it came off in her hand.

"Em, talk to me. What the hell happened? I got back and you were gone..."

Emma took a step away from Rohan, hardening her face and her heart. "Well, thanks for stopping by. Fat Brian lives at number forty-three. It's only a three minute walk on foot and he'll have put the word out. You should be fine." Emma backed away further and Rohan put his mug down, ready for a fight.

He jumped when the sharp tapping came on the kitchen window. "What's going on in there?" a muffled voice called through the curtainless glass. Rohan bridled at the sight of the tattooed face peering through the window, readying his fists and recalling his military drill.

"Go away, Big Jason!" Emma called to the ridiculously small man. "And I've told you to stop standing on my flower pots to see in the window!"

"Just looking out for ya, darlin'," the tattooed mouth called, stepping back and disappearing with a cry of pain.

"He keeps doing that," Emma sniggered and Rohan shook his head in disbelief.

"It's a bloody circus for weirdoes," he breathed and Emma laughed out loud.

"It kinda is, hey?" she snorted. "There's Fat Brian and Big Jason. I'm the Bearded Lady!" She burst into raucous laughter and Rohan halted at her beauty in the incongruous surroundings. He shook his head in confusion.

Emma wiped her eyes and stared at Rohan. "Well, this is...awkward." She sniggered again at the inappropriateness of the situation and he stared at her.

"Just come in here!" He seized her arm and led her out into the hallway, checking there were no windows they could be viewed through. Then he crushed her into his chest and stroked her hair. It caught Emma off guard and she forgot to resist, caught up in the moment and the heady sense of comfort she hadn't felt for far too long. She smelled the clean scent of fresh linen and deodorant on Rohan, satiating herself with the essence of him before the God who surely hated her, snatched him away again and left her alone with her tiny son to fend for. Emma gasped as Rohan tilted her chin upwards and kissed her, wasting no time in turning her on and making her hot and bothered.

"No!" She pushed him away, leaning back against the plaster wall and hearing the clink as a piece of the lath behind fell into the cavity.

"Emma, is he my son?"

"Rohan, leave things the way they are, please?" Emma's inner panic showed in the dilation of her pupils and the way she worried at her lower lip.

"No, I can't. Why did you run away? My mother said..."

"Don't talk to me about her!" Emma shouted, pushing at Rohan's broad chest. "Don't mention her name, not now! It's taken me years to...to..." Emma's breath caught and she lifted her hands to her face, covering her eyes in misery. She writhed with an inner agony and felt Rohan's arms draw her in again, strong and comforting. "Please go," she whispered. "I need you to go."

Rohan lifted Emma's chin and his face was a mask of confusion. "I don't understand, Em. Please explain what the hell happened?"

"No." Emma inhaled and wiped her weeping eyes with the sleeve of her ratty fleece. "It's in my past and I'm not going there again. It's best if you just leave. I don't want to upset Nicky."

"I'm already upset." Nicky's voice echoed in the empty hallway. He peeked around the top spindle, his face ashen. Emma exhaled as she heard a clunk on the wood above.

"Put the baseball bat down, Nicky!" she told him, running her sleeve across her eyes and nose before facing him properly. "I'm fine. Go back to your room, please."

"No, I'm not going 'cause you're cryin'."

"I'm not, baby, I'm absolutely fine. Honestly. Go and put the bat away and I'll see if there's anything nice in the cupboard for tea."

"There isn't." Nicky stood up and dragged the bat slowly across the bare floorboards above. "I'll put it back, but in a minute I'm comin' down and if that man's being mean to ya, I'm gonna chop 'im."

Rohan watched the space where Nicky had been and then dropped his gaze to Emma's face. Emma saw the reflection of her empty house in his irises and bit her lip. "Em, come away with me?" he begged. "I've got room for you and the boy. Please? You can't stay here."

"No! I've got a job here and responsibilities. I can't just leave on a whim."

Rohan stuck out his chin and postured in front of her, his six feet and four inch bearing casting a shadow over Emma. "Well, I'm not leaving without you!" he stated with determination.

Emma giggled despite herself. "Don't be ridiculous. There's nowhere for you to stay."

"I'm not leaving." Rohan set his jaw, his blue eyes flashing dangerously.

Emma shrugged, tired with the battle. "Then you should probably visit a cash machine. Because if you don't give Fat Brian another fifty tomorrow, he'll start selling your car piece by piece!"

# Chapter 4

"I'm gutted about my car," Rohan whispered into the darkness. Emma rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.

"It'll be fine for tonight. But Sunday's not a great day to leave town. Everyone gets drunk after tea. Brian will be rat-faced and probably forget who you are if you turn up wanting your car. Last weekend his wife clouted him round the head with a frying pan and he was senseless until Tuesday."

"I'm astounded you noticed!" Rohan breathed and Emma giggled.

"You sound so stuck up. I don't remember you being like this."

Rohan turned on his stomach on the sleeping mat, grunting in annoyance as Emma's fleece and coat slipped off his body and left him uncovered in the freezing cold room.

"You're such a baby!" she complained. She opened out her sleeping bag and shuffled her sleeping mat next to his. The draught was unbearable as Emma flapped the bag into a wide rectangle and draped it over the two of them. Rohan lifted his head off the foam mat and scooted over, groaning as he buried his face in Emma's pillow.

"It smells of you," he whispered, sounding pleased.

"In what way?" Emma's voice betrayed her nervousness. It was her greatest fear that her living conditions made her and Nicky smell, but nobody had the courage to tell her.

Rohan inhaled loudly. "Shampoo and perfume. I've missed you so much."

Emma smiled in the darkness and felt wistful. She wanted to thank him for the compliment but couldn't face the idea of where it might take them. "Just get some sleep," she whispered. "Sometimes they kick off breaking windows and stuff after midnight and then you'll be awake until morning. The cops and the council won't come out here at night so we're on our own." Emma turned on her side facing away from him, stunned when Rohan moved across behind her. He fitted his long body into hers, perfectly placed and snugly tight against Emma's back. She inhaled slowly and tried to stop the intense feeling in her stomach from blossoming into full blown attraction. She couldn't be with this man, not ever.

"I didn't know it was possible to be so creative with such a tiny amount of food," Rohan whispered and Emma heard the smile in his voice. "It was like the feeding of the five thousand. Jesus couldn't have done better with a few slices of a bread and tin of tuna." She chose to ignore it and the silence poured in between them. "Night," he breathed finally into the back of her neck. Rohan planted a single, tender kiss on her hair and inhaled deeply. Emma bit her lip, not sure what to do. She remembered every single inch of his beautiful body, ingrained on her mind from their stolen moments in the Gretna Green motel and then at his mother's house. She writhed inwardly and tried to detach from his crushing embrace. Fully dressed, Rohan slipped his left hand around her waist and separated her pyjama top from the trousers. Emma breathed in as his fingers settled gently over her stomach. She waited for his hand to rove further but it didn't. Rohan sighed in satisfaction and rested his cheek against the top of her head.

Emma swallowed as the memory reluctantly surfaced, the same hand resting on her bare stomach. She was sixteen and in love, her stomach still childishly flat and her pregnancy not yet evident. Emma felt suddenly embarrassed by the ridged silver stretch marks on her flesh and tried to push Rohan's hand away. He sighed into her hair and clamped his fingers over her hand, making it part of his strange embrace. He was strong and Emma gave up eventually, succumbing to the feeling of safety, Rohan's body cupping hers in a comforting encirclement.

Emma woke when night was at its darkest, her body tense and instantly alert. She stopped and listened, taking her bearings and readying herself to defend her son. She groped above her for the cricket bat, panicking when it wasn't in its usual spot behind her pillow. The street sounded silent, no wandering troublemaker calling out in drunken shouts, no sound of distant breaking glass. Emma lay and listened, noticing the clammy warmth at her back and remembering her guest. She shifted slightly on the mat, realising the back of her pyjamas were soaked and uncomfortable. Then Rohan shuddered and she heard him make a choking sound which sounded incongruous in the silence of the night.

"Ro?" Emma whispered, managing to turn herself in the small space he allowed her. His body felt slumped over hers and he tightened his grip. Then he whimpered and gripped her even harder.

"He's dead," he hissed.

"Who?" Panic lit a fire underneath her and she pushed at Rohan's body. "Who's dead, Rohan, who?"

He muttered a name she didn't know and Emma relaxed. "Not Nicky?"

Rohan's grip constricted so her body was pressed hard into his rigid frame. Her back arched and it felt painful. His hand slid up to the back of her neck and he mashed her face into his chest. Emma felt the coarse hair against her cheek and began to struggle. Something cold with a sharp edge cut into her shin and she moved her leg away. Rohan's hand slid over her hair and he gasped, "Where's your helmet?" There was panic in his voice. "Don't move, there's shrapnel everywhere."

Emma knew then. Rohan was trapped in some hideous nightmare filled with the monsters of unreasonable men and destructive weapons manned by sons, brothers and fathers. She stilled in his arms and heard him whimper, his chin wedged painfully on the top of her head. "My legs," he let out a tiny wail. "I can't feel my legs."

"Ssshh, Rohan. It's okay, babe." Emma worked her arms free from the vice around her and used her weight to tip him onto his back, so she was half on top. She rubbed at his left thigh and tried to soothe him. "Your legs are fine." She reached under herself and rubbed at his other leg, managing to reach only his hip. "It's just a dream, see?"

Rohan felt soaked, sweat dripping down the sides of his face and underneath his hair. He groaned and Emma knew she needed to wake him up and release him from the nightmare. Her heart flickered with fear of what the trained killer might do if left in his war scenario. "Ro! Wake up, babe. Ro!" Emma stroked his face, feeling his taut, frightened body underneath her. Nothing. He inhaled as though there wasn't enough oxygen in his nightmare and as Emma heard the sharp intake of breath, she kissed him.

She wasn't sure why. As soon as her lips contacted his, she knew it was a huge mistake because she wanted it so much. It felt like putting on a familiar, comfortable pair of favourite shoes and Emma was instantly sunk.

Rohan jumped from hell to heaven with breathtaking speed. There were no soft kisses in the terrifying dream places which sleep forced him from and Emma felt his body jerk awake. He was stronger than she remembered and as he kissed her in a frenzy of instant need, she doubted she could make him stop. His strong arms crossed over her back and pressed her into him and Emma felt every part of him wake. She cursed her own body which responded with practiced haste and tried desperately to halt this new road to destruction.

Rohan's lips caressed hers and they struggled for breath between them. One hand released her but made its way to the bottom of her pyjama top and began the journey under the hem and up the inside. Emma's brain played hideous games with her. Yes. No. Yes. No. No.

"Stop!" she cried, breaking her lips from Rohan's and his sensuous activity ceased. His body felt like a furnace and he panted beneath her. Emma felt his heart through their combined chest walls as he plummeted back to earth after visiting dizzying extremes of emotion.

"Em?" He sounded tearful and confused, driving a stab of sorrow into her heart. The material from his trousers felt rough against Emma's stomach and his belt buckle dug into her flesh.

"Yes," she whispered. "You were having a nightmare about something and I couldn't wake you. Everything's fine now."

Rohan exhaled and Emma felt him struggling to control his breathing and gain control. "Did I hurt you?" he asked and his voice sounded numb. His fingers shifted against her soft back, ticklish and guilty.

"No," she whispered. "I think we both just defaulted to...what we were."

Rohan sighed and the hand against Emma's silky skin moved slowly across her back, stroking and sampling before being ordered to leave the comfort of her pyjama top. Emma felt the electricity between them and resisted. It was a bitter road and she couldn't go back. For Nicky's sake.

She slid off Rohan's body and slumped to the side of him, tumbling into the gap between the two sleeping mats and contacting the cold floorboards. Rohan's palm slid with her, lingering on Emma's side and sweeping across her stomach as she pulled away and lay on her back. The clink of metal attracted her attention and Emma reached up, feeling around Rohan's shoulder until she found what she wanted. She seized the dog tags in her fingers, rubbing the familiar surface and reciting what was written there in her head. The chain felt just the same, tiny links made of metal balls, strong and unbreakable until snapped a certain way by the hand of another soldier, collecting a dead man's identity for his family.

Emma sighed and let it drop down the side of Rohan's neck, hearing the clink of the two metal rectangles. "You're still serving?" she asked with interest and waited for him to answer.

"No."

"Oh. When did you come out?"

"Six years ago."

Emma leaned up on her elbow and looked at the space where she knew his face should be. Her hip wedged in the gap between the mats and tipped her so her breasts touched Rohan's side through her clothing. "Why don't you take them off then?" She knew as she asked it, the question was a dumb one. Who knew the inner workings and complications of a soldier's mind? In the absence of her pillow, Emma balanced her head in the crook of her arm. "It's okay. It's none of my business."

"It's fine." Rohan stretched his arm out and laid the back of his hand on Emma's hip. "I keep it on because it reminds me that I'm alive. In a practical way, it identifies my body for the authorities if something happens. Anton's...well, it feels like part of me, I suppose."

Emma nodded slowly, not really understanding but pushing her nose close to Rohan's shoulder. He hadn't mentioned his mother and relief coursed through her. She nursed the faint hope that Alanya Andreyev-Harrington had cut ties with Rohan as she had with Anton. It seemed wrong to mention her name. Rohan would know she wished the spiteful woman ill. He'd never seen the evil bound up in the woman's unstable behaviour. It had been a source of friction between them.

Snuggling closer, Emma smelled Rohan's familiar scent, breathing it in and trying to satiate more than six years of craving. He snuffed and gave a small laugh. "That's ticklish, Em."

"Sorry." She got up and shifted the mats together again, making Rohan lift his head off the pillow so she could turn it over and move some onto her side. Dragging her coat and fleece over them and the damp sleeping bag, Emma finally settled down after a trip to the dilapidated bathroom, shifting around to get comfortable.

"Here." Rohan lifted his arm and put it around Emma, pulling her into him in the darkness. She scooted across with surprising speed, pressing her nose into the downy fluff of his armpit. "I don't know why you always did that," he chuckled, his voice light.

"Mmmnnn," Emma sighed and felt Rohan's chest jerk as he laughed again.

In the silence as she drifted off to sleep, she sensed the veil of sadness drape itself over her head. "I missed you too much, Em," Rohan whispered, so soft it was almost inaudible. She tried to rouse herself again, wondering in her sleep fuddled state what it was about his brother, Anton that seemed unreliable. Or did he say it was his mother, who wouldn't be able to identify his corpse.

They woke at six in the morning with the sound of the dawn chorus. Emma loved how the birds didn't distinguish between the Greyfriars housing estate and Buckingham Palace, trilling for them all with equal enthusiasm. Rohan's arm felt heavy over her left side, pinning her to the floor. As he stirred and yawned, his fingers flexed against her skin, invoking an erotic tickling sensation. Emma gasped.

"Morning," Rohan whispered and kissed the side of her head. "I haven't slept on the floor since the army. I actually feel okay." He sounded surprised, withdrawing his hand from Emma's back and rolling over. He swore. "Forget that last comment. My body disagrees."

"Welcome to my world," Emma smiled. "Mine feels like that every morning." She shifted onto her back and sat up, hugging her knees. Rohan touched the bare spot between the pieces of her pyjamas, caressing the soft skin at the bottom of her back and Emma closed her eyes, deliberately staying silent. She felt strangely disappointed when he withdrew his hand.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, his voice tightening as he used his stomach muscles to sit up.

"Almost two years," Emma replied, glancing back at Rohan. Her hair was a tangle of black curls and he pulled them away from her face and tucked them behind her ear.

"Why?"

Emma bit her lip and shrugged. "Nowhere else to go really. I got the job at the school and this was the only thing on offer. I can't really afford anything else and because the school's on the estate, you kinda have to live here to be accepted. It just made sense."

"I get that." Rohan rested his chin on her shoulder and Emma felt his stubble through her sleeve. It caused a plunging sensation to start in the pit of her stomach and she fought it valiantly. It was as though Rohan sensed it and he grazed the side of her face with his, seeing her close her eyes in defiance and exhale slowly through full, pink lips. "Em," he whispered, kissing the space under her ear which used to drive her mad for him. Emma shivered.

Rohan carefully moved her long curls out of the way, placing them gently down her spine. Emma was like a scorpion, tail coiled in threat and body rigid. Rohan willingly diced with death, waiting for her to strike as he snuffed sensuously in her ear and nibbled the soft skin of her neck. When she attacked, she saw he still felt stunned, even though her rejection hung over him like a cudgel. "I'm not doing this!" Emma pushed herself away from him, sitting at the end of her thin sleeping mat and running her hands down her face. "Why are you here, Ro? What do you want?"

"You." His face was straight and full of determination. There was no edge to it. He spoke the truth.

"For a divorce?" Emma asked, dreading the answer. Her body tensed as she waited for the defining blow.

"No, Em. Never," Rohan answered, his face more confident than he felt. "I told you all those years ago when we married, I'm Russian Orthodox; I won't divorce you. You agreed to it so you're stuck with me. You might want to live like this..." he cast his hand around him, taking in the peeling wallpaper and the damp patch in the corner of the room from a roof leak. "But we'll stay married until one of us dies." He smiled pensively at her. "And hopefully that won't be any time soon, unless one of us catches pneumonia in this shit hole. It's always funny until someone croaks."

Emma closed her mouth with a snap and looked offended. "Nicky caught pneumonia last winter and spent a week in hospital." Emma was allowed to stay on the children's ward with him and they ate well and slept warmly. But when they returned home, there were squatters in the downstairs rooms and Emma stood on the front lawn and cried through sheer exhaustion. Fat Brian sorted it out for her, ejecting the uninvited guests from the dining room window face first. Then he boarded up their unfortunate exit point with graffitied chipboard.

"Sorry, that was tactless." Rohan looked down and bit his lip.

"It's fine. Lelano, to sdelano."

Rohan's jaw dropped and he looked at Emma with sudden alertness. His blue eyes narrowed. "My father used to say that. What's done is done."

"Did he?" Emma smiled brightly and brushed the moment aside as inconsequential. Damn!

Rohan watched her with a soldier's intensity as Emma fluffed around the empty bedroom, grabbing clean clothes from her suitcase and fleeing to the bathroom. She showered without peace, the sound of the pipe-clanking orchestra dulling her pain until the boiler chucked a fit and she was doused with freezing water.

# Chapter 5

"What do you mean? I don't understand." Emma stood in front of the headmaster with a look of incredulity on her face. Nicky stopped dead in the corridor, holding Rohan's hand as he showed him a piece of his artwork clinging to a corridor display. The males looked towards the site of the trouble and Nicky turned his body and tensed.

"Is he shoutin' at my mum?" he spat and Rohan shook his head.

"No mate. Hold on. I think she's shouting at him."

"My mum dun't shout," Nicky replied and tried to shuck Rohan's hand.

"Wait!" Rohan sounded irritated and Nicky squeezed his face into a scowl.

Emma postured at the end of the corridor and saw the headmaster sweep her appearance with approval. Black hair curled down her back in sedate ringlets and her figure had remained trim. Emma's body appeared rigid beneath her smart grey trousers and white blouse. Her brown eyes flashed with danger. Paul Brown let his lascivious glance wander down her neat figure and Emma felt bile stir in her stomach. "We can't afford to keep you on," he said with a smirk, his expression as oily as his greying hair.

Emma took a threatening step towards him. "Is this because I knocked you back?" she hissed. "You're firing me because I wouldn't let you cheat on your wife with me?" Her voice climbed at the end of her sentence and Brown shot a look at Rohan and Nicky. He blanched at the sight of Rohan's tall, muscular frame and his firm grip on Emma's son. Realisation dawned and he took a step away from the vitriolic woman.

"I don't want any trouble." He gulped. "You're not a permanent staff member, so put in a timesheet for the last few weeks and I'll pay you as normal."

"You're a disgrace of a man!" Emma raised her voice and scorn filled her eyes. "You're a dirty, sexual harassing piece of..."

"Problem, Em?" Rohan appeared next to her and Emma halted in her tirade. Nicky clutched Rohan's big hand and his blue eyes had widened in fear.

Paul Brown bent like a spindly reed in the face of Rohan's masculinity and Emma sneered. She leaned in close to his face. "One day, you'll bite off more than you can chew, you pathetic little man!"

Rohan's eyes moved from Emma to the cowed, skinny man and back again, but the headmaster cut his losses and backed away. "Off the premises, Miss Harrington, or I'll call...someone." He suffered a moment of confusion, knowing the police would take ages, turning up reluctantly if at all.

Emma's cheeks appeared flushed and angry, her brown eyes on fire above her heightened colour. She turned to Rohan with disbelief. "What an ars..." She thought better of it, seeing the distress on her son's face.

"I don't think I want to go into class." Nicky's bottom lip wobbled and the machoism disappeared like water down a drain. "What we gonna do, Mum? How we gonna eat and pay for stuff?" Panic lit in the boy's eyes and he pressed the flat of his hand to Emma's stomach. "Mummy?"

"Hey, enough!" Rohan bent from the waist and scooped Nicky up into his arms. The child was too big for pick-ups but he clung to the former soldier like a drowning man to driftwood. Rohan put a firm arm around Emma's shoulders, feeling her heave with shock. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "Unless you want me to smack him hard enough to make his head fall off, we should probably leave."

Emma glanced up at the sound of small children bouncing into the building and disgorging themselves from outdoor clothing. "Hello, Miss Harrington," they chorused as they passed her. Emma gulped and forced a smile onto her face as a boy with beautiful brown eyes and skin the colour of melted chocolate pressed a piece of paper into her hand.

"I done this for you, Miss H. Nicky said he dun't mind if I marry you." The child beamed, his wide eyes searching for approval. Emma smiled, fighting tears as she patted his afro.

"Bless you, Mohammed." She smiled.

The child glanced up at Nicky. He'd buried his face in Rohan's collar. He yanked on Nicky's shoe. "Is this your dad?" The brown eyes roved with approval over Rohan's impressive physique and he edged closer and yanked on Nicky's foot again. "Share 'im, Nick? Can he be my dad too?"

Nicky popped out of Rohan's neck, displaying a face was streaked with tears. He opened his mouth and certain he was about to blurt out her unfortunate circumstances, Emma stopped the touching moment from progressing. "We're just heading out, Mo. See you later."

Taking her lead, Rohan strode from the building carrying Emma's son like an army kit bag over his shoulder, his other arm in a protective arc around her. Going against the tide of people felt painful for Emma. Everyone acknowledged her with a wave or a greeting. "Day off? All right for some," one woman joked with a smile and Emma didn't put her straight. Every single pair of eyes stared warily at Rohan and by the time they reached the peeling front door, his brow had furrowed into a line.

"I think they've stared holes in me!" he commented, trying to stand Nicky up on the hall floor of Emma's house. The child clung to his neck and refused to get down.

"Nicky, stop!" Emma snapped. "I'll sort it all out, don't worry! When have you ever gone hungry?" She stalked through to the kitchen, angry at herself for attacking her son. He hadn't gone hungry, but she often did. Emma flicked the kettle on to boil and leaned her backside against the work surface. She blew out slowly through pursed lips and heard Rohan whispering something to Nicky in the hall. She thought about Mohammed's cute face and his desperation for a male role model in his life. " _Is this your dad?_ " His question punished Emma and she shook her head and wished life had taken different turns for her. She pulled out the childish love letter jammed in her pocket and smiled at the drawing of a small brown stick man holding hands with a fat stick woman drawn in yellow. ' _Can yoo b mi wif?_ ' he'd written, presumably without help. Emma folded it and put it back into her pocket. "No point crying over spilt milk," she whispered to herself, jumping as Rohan strode past her into the room. He lifted the milk carton from the windowsill and poked his nose into the hole.

"Ugh!" He held it at arm's length and pulled a face. "I dunno, Em. I think this could get pretty close to crying." He tipped it down the sink, swilling it away and washing the carton out under the tap.

"I'll get some more after you leave," Emma replied, knowing full well she wouldn't have any money for another few days, not until she could get into town and sign on at the benefit office. She groaned and shook her head, feeling sick at the thought of begging for handouts once again. She heard Nicky's footsteps clomping overhead and raised an eyebrow at Rohan in question.

"He's a bit upset," Rohan commented, making the understatement of the year. He spun round looking for the dustbin.

"Just leave it on the side. I'll deal with everything once we've got your car back and you're safely on your way." Emma smiled woodenly, panicking inside. Her brain performed flips and cartwheels as she tried to work out how to salvage her situation.

Rohan walked towards the door, stopping at the last minute to enfold Emma in a tight hug. "Don't be nice to me," she muttered into his sweater. "It'll make me feel worse."

Rohan sniffed and kissed the top of her head. "Idiot! I'll be nice to you if I want to. You can't stop me, _vozlyublennaya_."

Emma pressed her face against his chest and closed her eyes. Her hands strayed to his waist and she allowed herself to fantasise about how different life could have been if the army hadn't sent Rohan to Afghanistan and she hadn't ended up left alone with...

"Em," Rohan whispered. "Why did that guy fire you? Was it because he came onto you and you refused?"

Emma nodded. "Yeah. He's a total sleaze. You're only safe if you're over fifty and sometimes, not even then. He's been working up to it for a while, but then he tried to touch me on Friday. I told him no and at the time he seemed okay. I thought I'd got away with it. Most women just leave, but a couple have been desperate enough to go there just to keep their jobs." She inhaled and looked around the derelict kitchen. "The question is; how desperate is _that_ desperate?"

"I wanted to knock him into next week!" Rohan spat and Emma grinned and squeezed herself closer against him, feeling a wave of gratitude from her toes to the top of her head.

"Then he'd delight in having you arrested and ruining your life too. And as for complaining about him, don't even go there. Many have tried. His brother is the chairman of the board of governors, so nothing sticks."

Emma jumped at the hollow banging sound coming from the front of the house. She held her breath, realising it originated inside. She wriggled from Rohan's clutches and walked into the hallway. "What are you doing?" she demanded, furrowing her brow as Nicky thumped his suitcase down every single stair.

"Movin' out!" he said. His jaw ground against his soft cheek.

Emma's face fell and she panicked. "No, Nicky!"

The child ran to the top of the stairs and began the operation again. Her suitcase banged down every step until it got too heavy halfway and he let go, watching in dismay as it plummeted to the bottom and took a dent out of the wall. "Oops!" he said, his hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

Emma intercepted her son, pulling him to sit on the step with her. She lowered her voice so Rohan couldn't hear. "Nicky, we've nowhere to go, baby. Let Rohan leave and then I'll sort this mess out. Okay?"

Nicky shook his head with certainty. "No Mum, we're leaving now." As Rohan's handsome face appeared at the bottom of the stairs, Nicky pointed at him. "We're goin' wiv him. He said so. I'll just grab the sleepin' bags and mats." The child stood and trotted up the stairs, leaving Emma with her head in her hands. She glared at Rohan through her fingers.

"I can sort my own life out, thanks!" she bit. He shrugged and smiled, a cute dimple appearing on his right cheek.

"I didn't say you couldn't. But you need a break, even for a couple of weeks." He jerked his head at their surroundings. "Come away from here for a little while and things will feel less...desperate." He held his hand out towards her and Emma closed her eyes and ignored it.

"Nicky has school," she replied stiffly.

"We'll enrol him at the school near me and before you say it, I'll pay for his uniform. It's not a big deal there anyway. He can keep his black trousers and shoes and it's just a royal blue jumper or sweatshirt. It won't hurt him to be somewhere different for a while."

"I don't know!" Emma sounded agonised.

Rohan grinned as Nicky appeared at the top. The child threw the sleeping bags down the stairs, remembering at the last minute that Emma sat halfway down. "Sorry Mummy!"

His mother shook her head from beneath the bedding. It smelled slightly damp. She heard both males sniggering. Nicky's shoes clumped down next to her and Emma felt his spindly arms around her neck. His sweater covered her face. "I'm taking Uncle Ro to Fat Brian's to get his car. Then we'll go. Everyfink's gonna be okay, Mummy. I'll take care of you."

Nicky released her and thudded down the remainder of the stairs. By the time Emma fought her way out of the sleeping bags, the front door rocked back and forth on its hinges in the breeze. She'd left her objection too late, but her heart quivered at the thought of coming face to face with her stepmother again. She would never be safe around Alanya Harrington but worse, nor would her son. The woman would find a way to hurt them, just like before.

# Chapter 6

"What do you do for a living now?" Emma tried to make conversation as Rohan indicated and pulled out onto the main highway, moving south through the English countryside.

"I'm an actuary," he replied, knitting his brow at a transit van following too close behind. "Em, just look behind us, will you? Did you notice that transit anywhere around your house over the last twenty-four hours?"

Emma turned her head, taking a cursory look out the back window but mainly checking on Nicky. He slept on the back seat, his cheeks pink and his blond hair tousled. A line of dribble worked its way down his chin. "Nope. I don't remember it. It can't have been on our estate. It's still got wheels."

Rohan snorted with laughter and then realised she meant it. "It was pretty bad there," he agreed. "Thank goodness for Fat Brian and his protection racket!"

"He's actually quite a good bloke," Emma sighed. "They all are really, just stuck in a bad rut. Like me." She looked out of the window at the green fields rolling by and stretched her body out, feeling the tension leave her spine. "You always liked maths at school, so I guess an actuary was your kind of thing."

"You know what one is?" He sounded impressed.

"Isn't it someone who works out risk for major corporations? So if there's a massive earthquake and buildings get damaged, you work out how much to put everyone's insurance premiums up by next year to cover the debt and ensure the company doesn't suffer a loss?"

"Kind of," Rohan answered. "That's basically it, yeah." Rohan turned the indicator on and moved into the outside lane as a light rain began to speckle the windscreen. "Okay, so, say a disgruntled employee at a bank steals a list of highly sensitive information, well, knowledge is power and he can potentially use it in a number of ways."

"Like the bank teller recently, who stole information about customers involved in tax evasion and handed it over to the British government?"

"Yeah, sort of like that. So the company he worked for would have got actuaries crunching the numbers straight away, working out the financial risks involved with each possible outcome. The employee could have held them to ransom or published the information on a blog or public forum. Or he could do what he did and hand it over to Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs. He's out of a job the second he acted, but an actuary works out the significant risks of different situations based on mathematical calculation and in my case, experience. Each of those scenarios carries a level of threat and the bank needed to know what each one entailed; how every single one would affect them as a corporate, right from the financial hit they could potentially take on the stock market, to the cost in terms of customer perception and goodwill. Ultimately, they'll pass the risk on to the customer, so an actuary works out how much it can be spread across a particular set of clients without disrupting business or sending customers to find another bank. If it's so obvious it makes customers leave, it's counterproductive, because the bank ends up paying for the risk anyway. It's a complicated business and the bank would have brought in heaps of people with different skill sets to sort it out from public relations to operations managers. I'm part of that whole process, but I'm brought in usually when it's all gone a bit too far."

Emma watched the concentration on Rohan's face as he changed lanes again, increasing the speed of the wipers to cope with the deluge. "Do you work for a bank then?"

Rohan shook his head. "No, I'm...free-lance, I guess. I work for whoever pays me at the time. Ultimately I work for myself."

"Is that what you did in the army? Her voice sounded small and far away, hurt creeping into her tone. "Calculated risk with mathematical formulae?"

"It was broader than that." Rohan glanced sideways at her, picking up on her perception of something he hadn't actually said. "I monitored security systems and worked out logistics." He scuffed over a role he still couldn't discuss. "In my down time I did university papers and by the end of my army career, I only needed a year's worth of papers left to finish a degree. I had plenty of time to do them because..." Rohan paused and bit his lip, causing Emma to peer at him covertly, disarmed when he continued. "So I graduated with honours. I started working for a major bank which underwrites insurers when I was twenty-two and did more exams fairly continuously for two years. I guess my army experience gave me a route into other kinds of actuary work."

"I remember you doing university papers when you came home on leave." Emma sounded wistful. "I thought you were so clever; I hated maths. I'm glad you carried on. I'm pleased your life didn't stop..." She almost said, _like mine_ , but prevented the words escaping. It wasn't true anyway. She did well under the circumstances. She glanced back at Nicky again and smiled. His eyes were still shut and his head lolled forward. Emma reached round and pushed on his forehead to take the pressure off his neck. The boy grunted and shifted position.

Emma sat round in her seat again, brushing Rohan's arm with her face as she turned. He looked at her and smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "My job title is an actuary, but I've strayed more into the area of risk management so it makes me more money than friends."

"Hence the expensive car," Emma smiled and Rohan narrowed his eyes. "I'm not criticising," Emma added. "It's just my jealousy talking."

Rohan laughed. "That's what I love about you. Your honesty. When we get home, I'll put you on the insurance."

"Don't! I would be too scared to drive it! I'm sure there's buses and I've got perfectly good legs."

Rohan smirked across at Emma, winking like a dodgy second hand car salesman. "You sure have, _vozlyublennaya_."

Emma slapped his thigh playfully. "Dirty old Russian sailor!" She turned in her seat, curling her legs underneath her. Her eyes were wide and frightened and she leaned forward as she spoke. "Ro, on the subject of risk management, how close to your house does your mother live? I cannot afford to run into her. Our last parting was...not good."

"It's been years, Em. I'm sure she'll have got over it."

"No, Rohan! You have to promise me this. It's important. If she turns up, we're gone!"

"Oh." Rohan frowned and looked confused. "I'll have to think about how to manage it then. She normally rings me before she walks over to the house. She's been unwell recently with her arthritis and much worse ever since...well, she's been ill. She doesn't tend to just turn up because she needs to sit down before she walks home. Don't worry. I'll sort it out." Rohan reached across with his left hand and caressed Emma's writhing fingers with his. "Just promise me one thing, Em?"

"What?" Stubbornness shrouded her face and Rohan chuckled.

"Don't just run off without telling me, please?"

"What like going to the shops or down to the park."

"You know exactly what I mean!" Rohan's tone sounded sharp and Emma sighed.

"Fine! If I can find you, I'll tell you."

"No Emma! Find me _and_ tell me! And if you can't find me, you don't get to leave."

"That's not fair!" Emma argued. She lifted one of her hands out from under Rohan's and smoothed the knuckles of his left index finger softly. White lined scars dotted the back of his hand. One looked rugged and pink. On an impulse she kissed it, hearing the tiny gasp which escaped through Rohan's pursed lips.

"Emma!" his tone sounded sharp. "After what I just told you, are you seriously going to defy me and make me find you?"

"No." She pouted like a sulky teenager. "Fine then! I'll tell you before I go missing. Unless it's because the wicked stepmother's appeared. Then I won't have time. I'll be grabbing my son and running like hell!"

Rohan sighed and blew out an exasperated breath. "Do you ever give a straight answer?"

Emma laughed sadly. "I did once." She fixed sultry brown eyes on his face and Rohan knitted his brow and looked stern. "And it ended so badly for me, I don't want a repeat of it, thanks." She shifted so she faced forward, watching the windscreen wipers slapping from side to side.

"Of all the things in my life I'd change, it wouldn't be that." Rohan drove past a town sign that said 'Corby', his face serious and his blue eyes dulled. "I'm glad I married you, Em, whatever you might think. I'd do it again as well."

Emma felt his eyes wander to her face, flushing with the awkwardness of the moment. "What about you? Would you change that part of your life? Marrying me?"

"Fifth amendment," Emma said, salvaging her coy answer with a cheeky smile. Her dark eyes glinted with veiled threat and her hair hung in drapes around her tired face.

"You can't plead the fifth!" Rohan snorted. "This is Britain, not America!"

"It works for me." She grinned at him and Rohan gave in, sensing she wouldn't answer anyway.

"Not far now," he sighed. "Probably about twenty minutes in this weather. Then you'll officially be a resident of Market Harborough, home of the king's army during the Civil War and proud owner of a school house in the centre of town on stilts."

"Oh, goody," Emma remarked with sarcasm and Rohan shook his head.

"I've missed some parts of your humour more than others," he sighed.

Emma shrugged and looked out of the window at the bright green grass and the bare trees. "Hello Market Harborough," she whispered. "Please be kind with me?"

# Chapter 7

"I'll get in touch with Social Security and they'll hopefully sort out my money so I can pay something towards our keep for the next two weeks." Emma breathed out a sigh of frustration and stroked the black dog's soft ears.

"I don't need you to pay rent. You're house sitting for me. Technically you're working for me."

"It's fine. I'll still pay my way. It's so annoying though. I felt I was really getting somewhere with the school's archives and then they just fired me overnight. I didn't do anything wrong."

"The guy's an idiot. He needs a slap."

"True, but I hadn't finished the task. Which means they'll damage things for their centennial and probably use the originals. I didn't get to finish scanning them all and the teacher in charge won't know how."

Emma knitted her brow and slumped onto the couch in the corner of the kitchen. The dog sidled towards her with a dopey look on his face and sat next to her, pressing his furry body against her legs. "I didn't think you were the doggie sort." She smiled at Rohan and he gave her a rude gesture. Emma laughed. Then she remembered her dire circumstances and shook her head in irritation at herself. "I really enjoyed using my degree..." Emma bit her lip and abruptly grew silent.

Rohan stirred the tea with a teaspoon and put the lid on the pot with a clink. He poured brown, steeped liquid into two mugs and added milk. "Sugar?" His blue eyes fixed on Emma's troubled face and waited for her answer. The dog sneezed on Emma's foot and she pulled a face and wrinkled her nose.

"Yuk!"

"Farrell, get away!" Rohan sounded stern and the dog sloped off and threw himself into a bed next to the conservatory door. "That's not how you make friends," his master complained and the dog gave an exaggerated sigh, possibly in agreement. "Em, do you want sugar?" Rohan asked again, lifting one corner of his mouth in a wistful smile.

"Oh, no thanks." Emma flushed pink with embarrassment at her sudden surge in hormones. There seemed something right about living in Rohan's house and it consumed her. _Don't get comfortable_ , she warned herself.

Rohan padded over to her in his socks, offering the steaming mug to her handle first. She took it with a lame smile, almost slopping it over herself as Rohan sat down heavily next to her. Emma pressed herself into the corner of the two-seater sofa, wishing she'd sat sitting at the breakfast bar instead. Her drink burned her lips as she sipped to give herself a distraction from Rohan's powerful proximity. His jeans brushed against her thigh and he rested his left ankle on his right knee, bracing his leg against hers. He exhaled and a look of pain creased his forehead for a fraction of a second. "Long day." He smiled at Emma sideways and she looked away, taking it as a rebuke.

"Sorry," she offered and Rohan tutted.

"I didn't blame you," he said, his voice soothing and lyrical. He rested his drink on the arm of the sofa and stretched out his other arm behind Emma. She sensed it at the back of her neck and felt a slight tug as Rohan twirled one of her curls in his fingers. She pulled her head forward and the curl slipped from his fingers. Rohan looked at her with mischief in his eyes and selected another one.

"Nothing's changed! You're still such a pain!" Emma huffed and he smirked, a handsome lopsided grin which revealed the dimple in his cheek caused by a fall from an apple tree when he was thirteen. His eyes sparkled with danger and he tilted his head to one side. Emma tried not to look at him, diverting her attention to her drink.

"Where did you get your degree?"

"Wales." Emma boxed clever, deliberately not naming the university town and Rohan didn't pick up on her subterfuge. "The work at the school was my first proper job. I started making a dent in my student loan."

"Couldn't have been easy, studying with a little boy."

Emma shook her head and twisted her mug in her hands. "No."

"What did you study?"

"History and librarianship with archives papers. I took a conjoint degree."

Rohan nodded and watched Emma with interest. "Why did you leave Wales? Was there no work there?"

She considered her answer with care. He couldn't know where she'd spent Nicky's early years living. He couldn't know about Lucya. "There was only cafe work and that wasn't getting rid of the debt. I felt like I needed to go back to...where I started and slay my demons. I got the job at the school and because of its location, it paid a little better. I guess nobody else wanted to go near the place. I can't believe they just finished me like that. It sucks!" Emma sighed and banged her fist on her jeans in frustration.

Rohan put his large hand over hers and stilled them. "I really admire you."

Emma's head whipped round and she stared at him, waiting for the catch. Aggression budded in her flashing brown eyes.

"No, really." Rohan stroked her fingers. "You've done well, _vozlyublennaya_. I'm proud of you."

Emma gulped and her face crumpled. She pulled her hand from under Rohan's and squeezed the bridge of her nose to stop the ready tears escaping. Only one other person ever told her they were proud of her and sadly, Lucya would never say those words again. Emma remembered how Nicky entered the world with a healthy gargantuan squall, surrounded by strangers. His first years of life were a blur of part time schooling, breast feeding and extreme tiredness, interspersed by the odd highlights of his first smile, his first word and the first time he told her he loved her. Emma breathed out slowly through pursed lips and grappled for control.

"I hope you'll be happy here," Rohan said, patting her hand and reaching behind her. He twirled another curl and watched it arc around his fingers.

Emma shrugged. "It's only temporary," she replied, putting an unaccustomed hardness into her voice. Rohan let go of her hair and it slithered down her neck and settled over her breast. His hand brushed her shoulder and his fingers sent forgotten sensations along her skin as he withdrew it. Emma shivered and closed her eyes. "If we're here to look after Farrell while you're away, when do you leave?" she asked him, desperate to change the subject.

"I'll head off in a couple of days once you've settled. I need to do some research. I'll spend a few days in London finalising arrangements and then leave."

"How long will you be away?" Emma asked, risking a look at his profile. Her heart hammered at the sight of downy blond hair dusting his strong chest. It seemed thicker than she remembered. Rohan's open shirt displayed a honey coloured tan and Emma battled with the memory of his skin sliding under her fingers. His hair was short at the back but long on top, cut into layers and pushed back over his head in blond waves. Rohan's classic Russian genes gave him a strong profile with a thin nose arching over soft lips. His vibrant blue eyes appeared striking, captivating whoever held his attention. Rohan turned to her and Emma quailed beneath the force of his personality.

"I don't know. I never do. The job takes as long as it takes unfortunately. It hasn't really mattered before, but this time's different."

"Why?" Emma asked, tipping forward with interest.

"Because of him." Rohan nodded towards the dog. Farrell sat up straight and cocked his head in Rohan's direction. "I never kept pets before. I just locked up the house and left."

"Why did you get him then? Doesn't it make life harder for you?" Emma baulked as Rohan's face darkened.

"He's Anton's dog," he replied.

Emma's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Oh, wow. So that's the famous puppy. He showed me photos once." She closed her eyes and frowned. "He warned me he might go away for a while. We've missed him."

Apart from her teenage love for Rohan, Anton had provided the other bright spot in a situation where two selfish adults blended their respective families without consultation. Emma forced her mind to happier thoughts. "Remember when Anton fell out of the apple tree and landed on your head?" She rubbed her eyes, feeling the scratchiness of exhaustion and yawned. Tiredness had made her sloppy.

Rohan's face darkened. "You spoke to Anton, but not to me!"

"Oh." Emma's cheeks flushed at her betrayal and she considered lying.

"You didn't mention it." Rohan's face tightened with stress, crow's feet appearing around his eyes.

Emma swallowed. She'd already broken her promise to Anton by reconnecting with Rohan. Now, she'd betrayed him too. She stared at her hands in shame, the dog's brown eyes watching her from across the room. Farrell sat up and whined. "Please don't be mad at Anton," she whispered. "He's been a good friend." Emma couldn't look at Rohan. His blue irises created fathomless lagoons in his face.

"He died."

She didn't understand him at first, the words jarring and out of place. "What?" Emma blinked; her mascara spread under her eyes from her rubbing. She must have misheard.

"Anton died. Nobody else wanted Farrell. He asked a few things of me. One of them was to take his dog."

Emma's jaw worked but no sound emerged. An image of her vibrant stepbrother danced unbidden across her inner vision. He wore one of his mother's voluminous nightdresses and chased his older brother across the garden with the hosepipe. Rohan lashed out and the fabric ripped, condemning them all to yet another night without dinner. So, Anton climbed down the drainpipe and stole crab apples which made them all sick. "No!" Emma said, sounding certain Rohan played a cruel trick on her. He'd said it with such a lack of emotion, it couldn't be true. "No. I talked to him just a few weeks ago. He's driving up to see us on Boxing Day." Her hands balled into fists. She wanted to hit Rohan for his cruelty.

But he watched her with pity in his blue eyes. The sheen of sadness glittered their surface. "I'm sorry, Em. He died last month." He gulped and took a sip of his drink, his knuckles rubbing at a spot on his right thigh which caused him to wince. He massaged the skin through his jeans, but the action seemed to bring him no comfort. "This is messed up." Rohan's lips curved upwards, but the expression contained no mirth. "He loved you very much and sent his regards." He looked away and Emma saw his jawbone showing through his skin, tight and wooden as he held onto his emotions. "I think he tried to tell me something before he died. About you." He stopped rubbing his thigh and left his hand there, a hard fist encasing his fingers.

"Ro, you're lying! Anton isn't dead." Emma's voice began as a whisper which ended in a sniff. Her body rigidified as though her muscles wrestled an explosion. Rohan leaned forward and dumped his mug on the tiled floor at the same moment as Emma's fell from her hand, cascading tea with it and smashing against the hard surface.

"Hey," he soothed, wrapping her in a firm embrace. "He's gone home. Finally, he's at peace. He told me to say, " _Mother Russia salutes you_ , _printsessa Emma_ ," in that frickin' stupid accent he did. It was horrible, Em. He left it too late to get help and he died in agony. It's better that you didn't see him."

The first of Emma's sobs began as delicate hiccoughs, giving way to a wail of misery. Her body constricted into a small ball and Rohan pulled her into his lap and held her. He rocked and soothed her until her tears ceased. "It's okay," he whispered and the catch in his voice bonded them again in a common grief as Emma cried enough for the both of them. She sat sideways in his lap for a long time, sniffing into his shirt and feeling his chest hair against her cheek. The scene felt comforting and familiar. Rohan stroked her hair and breathed light kisses onto her damp temple.

"I didn't know he got sick." Emma's voice broke as her lungs complained about the crying. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

"Nor did I until it too late." Rohan kept his lips against her clammy skin, making his voice sound muted. He pulled away, leaving a cool spot as a reminder of what might have been but now never would. "He told me to find you and also look after his dog." Rohan sighed and his chest heaved against Emma. She sat up.

"When did he die? Is that why you brought me here?"

Rohan used the cuff of his expensive shirt to wipe the snot and tears from her flushed face. "Four months ago and no, _vozlyublennaya_. Meeting you at the wedding was pure chance. I hadn't started looking for you yet."

"You weren't going to." Emma's face clouded, her brow knitted in lines of concentration. She looked like a five-year-old and accentuated the image, scrubbing her fingers across her eyes. Rohan pulled her hand away.

"Yeah, I was going to. As soon as I got back from this job."

Emma heard the lie behind Rohan's words and shelved the sense of betrayal. She added it to the little box in her heart, along with all the others. "He promised he'd visit us on Boxing Day." Emma's voice sounded small.

"Em, he lived two weeks longer than the doctors gave him. He wrote your address on a piece of paper, but his hand shook so much it was illegible. His heart gave out that night and I couldn't ask him any questions. He wouldn't talk about it." Rohan's breath caught in his chest. "I would have looked for you."

A light began in Emma's eyes like the rekindling of a fire. She thought it died, but realised it still simmered beneath the ash. It defied her sense of reason. He'd lied to her. He had no intention of seeking her.

Rohan studied her and Emma felt him stir beneath her. He put his hand behind her neck and pulled her forward, resting his forehead against hers. She felt his breath stroking her face and relaxed, waiting for his lips to crush hers and knowing she wanted it. Rohan patted her bottom with the flat of his hand. "Up. I'm getting a dead leg."

Disappointment coursed through Emma's psyche, making her waspish and cross. She retrieved the biggest shards of her broken cup from the soaked tiles and stalked to the dustbin in the corner. Then she grappled with the kitchen roll, dealing with the spill and the smaller broken pieces. Turning, she saw the black dog lapping at the mess between the lumps of cup. He lapped up the spilled tea with a pink tongue. _Anton's black dog_. Rohan remained seated but moved the dog away with his foot, rubbing his right knee at the same time. He looked tired and careworn.

"Sorry, was I too heavy?" Emma asked, bending to retrieve Rohan's cup of cooled tea from the floor next to him.

"No," he replied, sounding exhausted. "Not that." His words made Emma falter in confusion but he dismissed the moment, hauling himself to his feet.

"How did Anton die?" Emma asked, her voice small in the large kitchen.

"Cancer." Rohan brushed a strand of hair from her cheek as he said the curse word. "Diagnosed in the summer and gone two months later. He left it too late to get help thought he must have known for ages."

Emma shook her head at the speed of her stepbrother's demise. Rohan looked wrung out, dark circles appearing under his eyes. She squashed her endless questions, putting them back into the box in her heart.

A knock on the front door made her jump and Rohan smiled in amusement at her overreaction. He walked into the hallway and peered through the leaded glass of the front door. "You're fine down here," he said. "I don't think there's a Fat Brian in this town." When he opened the door, Emma heard a female voice echoing in the porch outside, then the click of heels as someone entered. She steeled herself to meet the visitor, hoping and praying it wouldn't be Rohan's mother. Her fists clenched and her heart rate sped up. It wasn't Alanya, but this visitor's entrance devastated her in a different way.

"Oh, hi." The pretty woman stripped off her long black coat and draped it over the arm of the sofa. She kicked off her stiletto shoes with accomplished ease. "I'm Felicity." She extended a manicured hand and Emma reached out and shook the cold fingers. "How was your trip, darling?" She stood on tip toes next to Rohan and kissed his cheek, leaving a line of pink lipstick like a stamp of ownership.

Rohan shrugged and yawned. "Tiring. But I found a house sitter for Farrell. This is Emma, my..." The pause sounded awkward to Emma. "Stepsister." Rohan struggled for a label and settled on the more obvious one.

Felicity looked and sounded relieved, her face softening at the edges and the threat leaving her body language. "Oh, that's great! How wonderful."

Emma narrowed her brown eyes at the inflection in the other woman's voice. Somehow, she'd managed to make it sound anything but wonderful. Emma swallowed at Rohan's casual dismissal of her to step sibling status, confusion knitting her brow. His earlier affection seemed dirtied by the entrance of someone who behaved like his girlfriend.

"I would have stayed here for you," Felicity simpered, running light fingers up and down Rohan's right biceps. "I'm here most of the time anyway, so I might as well."

"You don't like dogs." The simple statement dismissed her offer and Rohan moved his arm away from her. Emma watched with interest, perplexed by the numbness in his eyes. He left the room without saying anything else, leaving the women standing opposite each other. Awkwardness descended like a curtain. Farrell finished his clean-up operation and sauntered over to Emma, sitting on her foot with apparent acceptance of her guardianship. They both fixed their gaze on Felicity.

She appeared beautiful in a teenage doll kind of way and Emma felt her heart sink at the idea of ever competing with her. She resolved not to bother. It wasn't why she came. _It's temporary_ , she reminded herself. _She promised Anton._

Farrell sneezed twice, letting out a whoosh of doggy spit which sprayed Felicity's bare legs with frightening accuracy. "Bloody hell!" she complained, dabbing at her catwalk couture skirt with red nailed fingers. Emma reached behind her to the kitchen roll and offered it to Felicity. "Thanks." She took it with grace and resumed her dabbing. Giving up on the skirt, she ran the tissue down her shins with a look of disgust.

"Dog snot's awful, isn't it?" Emma sympathised, looking down at her jeans with Farrell's crusty decorations dotted around the ankles. He looked up at the mention of his bodily fluid, smiling and lolling his tongue with an uncanny look of Anton about him. At the thought of her stepbrother's vibrant nature so easily extinguished, Emma took a sharp inhale and tried to imagine a world without his exuberance. She couldn't. The pieces slotted into place and she understood why he didn't acknowledge receipt of her last email containing Nicky's latest school photo.

Rohan reappeared, clumping down the stairs and smiling at the tail wag the dog gave him. He ignored the women as though they didn't exist. "Come on, Faz," he patted his side and the dog lurched forward. "Last go around the garden and then it's bedtime." Rohan slipped his feet into a pair of trainers by the back door, struggling with his right foot. The door clicked shut behind him and the women heard a tennis ball bounce on the paving slabs, accompanied by a happy woof.

"It's a bit early for bed, isn't it?" Felicity asked, watching Rohan's strong frame throw the ball outside. The conservatory light backlit his outline. She bit a cherry coloured lip with sensuous poise.

"Not for me. I'm knackered. It's been a very long weekend!" Emma smiled a painful, wooden expression and left the room, jealousy rising to dangerous levels. She gritted her teeth against its slippery embrace, reminding herself she had no claim on Rohan. A final glance saw Felicity standing in the centre of the kitchen, pirouetting like a graceful ballerina with tissue in hand as she searched for the dustbin.

Emma looked in on Nicky. He lay snuggled up in one corner of the double bed, hugging his favourite Action Man. He snored lightly and Emma retrieved the decongestant oil from her suitcase, spotting a few drops onto his pillow in the half light. "Night baby," she whispered, placing a kiss on his warm cheek. "Don't need you getting sick now." She stood in the doorway and watched her son with love in her eyes, unable to imagine the grief of losing a child. For the first time in her life, she sent vibes of sympathy to Rohan's spiteful mother, not as the inconvenient daughter of a cash rich meal ticket, but from one mother to another.

# Chapter 8

Emma lay awake in the pre-dawn, contemplating her life and displeased with the dreadful turn in her circumstances. She'd become jobless and by the time Rohan got fed up and drove her back to Lincoln, she'd probably be homeless as well. The little furniture she owned before Nicky's stay in the hospital the previous year, was ruined by the time she got home. In less than a week, her house had turned into the local crack convention and Emma shivered at the memory of facing the stoned occupants.

"We thought you weren't coming back," her neighbours had muttered, helping her rid the house of ruined carpets and a two-seater sofa. Someone had put their foot through the ancient tube television, but Nicky sobbed for hours at the state of his bed.

"Ugh!" Emma rolled over in the comfy double bed and covered her face with her hands. The thought of returning forced her stomach to knot. She reached for her usual unwavering sense of optimism and felt its absence. She could start again, find work and a place to rent. A lack of jobs meant another government housing estate and she lacked the energy to push through yet again. A strange sound echoed in the darkness, an odd metallic noise. Emma strained to hear through the closed bedroom door. "Crutches," she whispered to the darkness. "I'm imagining things." The house felt unfamiliar and a sense of threat hung over her. Failing to draw comfort from her depleted inner reserves, Emma sought the next best source.

She slipped from the warm bed and padded across the floorboards in her socks. Light streamed from beneath Rohan's bedroom door and she heard his ensuite toilet flush as she turned the door handle to Nicky's room. The suitcase groaned on the floorboards as Emma tried to open the door. He sat up immediately. "Mummy?"

"Hey baby," she whispered back. "Why's all this stuff against the door? I checked on you last night and it wasn't here." Emma slipped under the covers and pulled her rigid son into her side, rubbing at his stiff back.

"I waked up and got scared," he grumbled. "I found the bathroom but felt too scared to flush. You was snoring so I set a trap so they couldn't get me."

"Who couldn't get you?" Emma whispered. "There's only us and Uncle Ro here. Nobody else." A memory of Felicity sent a dart of pain into her chest. A wave of dread added to it at the thought of facing her over breakfast. She gave Nicky a squeeze. "I don't snore!"

"Yeah you do," Nicky said. He sounded certain. "You sound like a gremlin. I heard noises. My trap didn't work though."

"Yes, it did. The suitcase made it hard to get in." Emma rubbed her son's warm back and kissed the top of his head. She jumped at the sound of a loud twang and a clunk as something hit the wall behind her head. "What was that?"

"Oh, it did work then. Just late."

"What did you do? Please don't damage anything, Nick. Uncle Rohan won't let us stay if we become a problem." Emma heard the fear in her own voice and worked to quell it for the child's sake.

"I set up Action Man bungee jumper. I used his twangy rope like a sling shot and put Lego in it. It should've whacked you in the face, but it sounded too low. I'll have to reset it."

"It might have hit a midget in the face, but only if they moved like a tortoise!" Emma sniggered. "Don't reset it, Nicky. We're safe here. It's not like...home."

"But there are funny noises," Nicky maintained.

"I didn't hear any."

"I think Uncle Ro makes them," the boy whispered. "Through this wall." Nicky raised his arm and tapped the wall behind his head with a forefinger. His blue eyes glinted in the semi-darkness. "It's like this." The child made a whimpering sound and Emma hugged him tighter. She hoped she knew what it was, cringing at the thought her son might have intercepted Felicity's ministrations. But the child already knew too much from his association with Big Jason and Co. He wouldn't have asked about that.

She made her voice light and unperturbed, so Nicky wouldn't detect her sadness. "He's dreaming, Nick. He can't help it. He saw upsetting things as a soldier and it comes out when he sleeps. It's not his fault."

"Okay. Should I pray for him like Father Delaney said?" Nicky's voice sounded earnest and Emma nodded.

"That would be very kind. It would definitely help him."

"Mum? Can I go to school today? I want to go to the one Uncle Ro talked 'bout. In the park."

"I don't think it's actually _in_ the park. I think it's near the park."

"No, they play on it. Uncle Ro said they do rugby training on it and games. There's swings and stuff. He knows somebody there."

"We can maybe look," Emma ventured. "I'm not really sure what the plan is. I don't know if Uncle Ro has work today."

"He doesn't."

"How do you know?" Emma nudged at her child, amazed how he always seemed to know everything. She chided herself about the one thing he _didn't_ know and hoped he didn't ask.

"I heard him tell that screechy woman last night. She came up 'ere after you went to bed and did talking wiv 'im. They didn't do...other things. She finks she's 'is girlfriend." Nicky yawned and pushed his face into Emma's chest.

"She is his girlfriend." Emma heard her voice sounding flat and tinged with disappointment.

"Whatever." Nicky giggled as Emma patted his bottom with the palm of her hand. He pushed his tiny fingers under her ribs and tickled her. Emma's laughter rang like tinkling bells and she snorted and tickled him back.

A knock came on the bedroom door and the giggling pair froze in position. Emma missed her opportunity to clamp her hand over Nicky's mouth and he yelled, "Come in, Uncle Ro!" at the top of his voice, wafting Emma's hair with his breath. She groaned and buried her face under the covers.

Rohan pushed the door slowly open and put a foot across the threshold. There was a more forceful twang and another Lego flew through the air, narrowly missing his head. Rohan swore and Nicky giggled.

"Nicky!" Emma blew, horrified. "You didn't say there were two!" She turned over in the bed and sat up, her hair tumbling around her breasts and down her back. "I'm so sorry," she gushed, her eyes wide and frightened.

" _Der'mo!_ " Nicky exclaimed and Emma drew in a huge intake of breath.

"How does he know Russian swearwords? Not from Anton." Rohan's voice sounded suspicious.

"Nana Lucya said it heaps," Nicky replied. Emma felt him cringe in her arms, obstinacy radiating from his tiny body.

"It's rude!" she chastised. "If you knew what it meant, you wouldn't say it."

"I do know what it means," Nicky said through gritted teeth. "I taught it to Mo."

Emma sighed but Rohan remained pensive, hovering in the doorway. "Who's Lucya?"

"She died," Nicky said, a catch in his voice. "We loved her so much, didn't we Mummy? Then we had to get out of her house and it was very sad. Mummy cried and I cried."

Emma clapped a hand over his mouth. She studied Rohan's expression in the light from the hallway. "Yeah," she replied, her tone wooden. "Very sad." So, Rohan had no knowledge of his paternal grandmother. The awful fact gave her relief. It made it easier to avoid the awkward questions she'd dreaded.

Rohan sighed. "How'd you make that trap?" He directed his question at the child and Emma released her held breath.

Nicky tumbled from the bed and scuttled round to a space behind the door. He produced two dilapidated Action Men which had been third hand by the time he got them as a birthday gift. Emma felt embarrassed and hung her head in shame at their torn, faded outfits. Action Man bungee jumper's face was redrawn in biro, giving him the resemblance of an orc. "I maked 'em into slingshots," the child expounded, preening himself at his success. "The parachute one worked better though and I don't get why." He turned huge blue eyes on Rohan, looking for an explanation. Rohan took the battered parachutist from Nicky's outstretched hands and turned him over a few times, holding his silken accessory out behind him.

"This is why, look." He pulled the material and let it twang back again. "This has more elasticity than the bungee jumper's cable. It shouldn't have, but the cable's frayed and at some point, it's been pulled past its capacity. But this," he twanged the parachute again, "this is still really elastic. It's physics." Rohan looked around the room. "How did you trigger it?"

The boys grappled around in the corner of the bedroom with Lego pieces and Action Man paraphernalia. Emma looked with misery at the sight of their blond heads close together and cringed inwardly at the coming storm. _You've let desperation push you where you didn't want to go_ , she chastised herself. _Emma, what have you done?_

# Chapter 9

The house dated from around 1930 but showed signs of tasteful renovation. A semi-detached town house, it formed the other half of the only pair like it in the street close to the centre of Harborough. Period fittings and colours with modern appliances made for a tidy, pleasant environment. Emma stood under the shower in ecstasy as the boiler pumped hot water over her head without a trace of brown flecking from dirty pipes. She'd seen no sign of Felicity on her dash to the bathroom on the split-level landing.

"So why do I feel so bloody miserable?" she asked herself, drawing a sad face on the glass of the shower cubicle with her index finger. She shut off the water with her other hand.

"Why do you?" Rohan's voice made her jump and Emma squeaked in shock.

"What are you doing? Get out!" She banged on the glass with her hand and saw him turn, hands in his jeans pockets. The movement appeared casual and frustrated her. He strolled through the open doorway and Emma heard him walk up the split level staircase with his odd, listing gait.

She fumed, opening the cubicle door and almost breaking her neck on the tiles in her efforts to commandeer her towel. Once ensconced in the sumptuous fabric, Emma stormed to her bedroom. Her hair leaked water down her neck in uncomfortable rivulets and the scent of expensive shower gel hung around her in a haze. She slipped again on her way along the hall and cursed as she entered her bedroom and found Rohan sitting on her bed.

"You can't do stuff like this, Ro! Otherwise we're leaving, okay? What if Nicky walked in and saw you ogling me like that? He knows you're his uncle. It's too weird."

Rohan's jaw set hard and his eyes narrowed, glistening with a myriad of internal emotions. "It's not like I haven't seen it all before now." His voice held an edge of stubbornness. The likeness to Emma's son forced her to turn away before it overpowered her.

She knelt on the floor, keeping the towel closed over her breasts as she rifled through her suitcase, pulling out underwear and a pair of cleanish jeans. "My body's different to how it was at sixteen!" she snapped. "It's gone so far south; half my stretch marks could end up in London if I turned fast enough."

Rohan didn't respond to her forced humour. He sat on the edge of the bed, his face a mask of repressed emotion. His tanned fingers picked at a loose thread in the bedspread and his eyes glazed as he sifted through old memories.

"Ro?" He jumped as Emma spoke to him, turning his attention to her. His blue eyes dulled as he waited for the inevitable rebuke. "Sweetheart, you've got Felicity now. Anton's gone and I'm just your stepsister...like you said last night." Emma watched him swallow and finished pressing the blade through his heart. "She seems nice, your girlfriend. You should focus on that relationship. I'll sign any divorce paperwork you want. Just say when you're ready." The words stuck in her throat and she forced a subject change as the air hung heavy between them. "I borrowed the towel from the airing cupboard in Nicky's room, I hope you don't mind. I thought you'd nipped out for more milk."

Rohan didn't reply and Emma retreated to the bathroom with her clothes. She pressed her forehead against the steamed-up mirror, watching the silent tears of agony stream down her blurry face. Her heart pounded in her chest as she gulped for air. She took a long time getting dressed, applying make-up which she then cried off and reapplied. "You shouldn't have come here," she told herself in the mirror, patting her cheeks with cold water for the fifth time. Piling her hair on top of her head, she allowed the riot of wet curls to detract from her blotchy face.

"Come on, Mummy!" Nicky hammered on the door. "I'll be late for my new school."

Emma turned and fixed a wooden smile on her face. She unlocked the door and admired her son in his old school uniform. The trousers weren't too bad apart from the hole in his sock. The polo shirt looked passable and his coat a newer second-hand. "Okay, I'm ready." She steeled herself. "I kinda thought you'd start tomorrow and spend today with me."

"Na. You've got Uncle Ro," Nicky said, fixing his blue-eyed gaze on her face. "He says this new school does woodwork. I'd like to make a proper slingshot with wooden parts. Me an' Ro's gonna do a plan one night. He's got a shed wiv proper tools in it what nobody nicks." He beamed and shrugged. "Mum, do you love Uncle Ro? I think he loves you."

Emma's face paled at the child's perception and she shook her head in denial.

"Yeah he does," Nicky reiterated. "And I don't mind. But Mohammed will be pissed. When he married yer, 'e was gettin' me a PlayStation to make up for it."

After a lengthy conversation about not swearing at his new school and actually, not swearing anyway, Emma clumped down the stairs with her son. At the dogleg they stopped and Nicky looked annoyed about something she said. "That's a low blow, Mum. I never thought about that. You've ruined it now."

Emma rolled her eyes. Rohan looked up from his position on the two-seater sofa in the wide downstairs lobby. "What's wrong?" He placed an envelope on his knee, removed his reading glasses and popped them into his top pocket.

Nicky thudded down the staircase in his socks, his vibrations shaking the house. "Mummy said..." _clump, clump, clump_ , "that ya can't get married till yer sixteen!" Nicky's indignation continued down the last turn and onto the three steps to ground level. "But Mohammed's only six! So that's another ten years wivout a PlayStation. By the time I get one, I'll be an old man!"

Emma bit her lip as Nicky stood in front of Rohan with his hands on his hips, indignation pouring from every nerve and sinew. Rohan smiled and held his gaze. "Mohammed's not marrying your mum anyway," he stated with an eerie calm. "You shouldn't let your most precious things go. It's the pathway to regret."

The two males locked identical blue eyes and Emma held her breath. Reluctant feet kept her frozen halfway down the stairs. She observed Nicky's body language as he relaxed and put his hands out in front of him. "Okay." He capitulated with too much ease. "So, are we goin' then, or what?"

# Chapter 10

The school was a hub of activity from the start of the recreation ground to the playground. The building dated back to the late 1800s, a Victorian structure with huge sash windows and an imposing presence. A six-foot brick wall enclosed the play areas, running around the perimeter like enveloping arms. The park spread beyond it with attractive green trees and open spaces.

Nicky walked down the long concrete pavement underneath laden conker trees, clutching Emma's hand and sticking close to her. Other children bobbed around them, rucksacks bumping on their backs and lunch boxes swinging from their hands. Mothers pushed buggies with other pre-schoolers wrapped up warm against the biting breeze which whipped at coats and scarves with mischievous fingers.

"It's a pretty park, isn't it?" Emma smiled and wiggled her son's hand. The confidence left his gait with each passing moment and his blue eyes projected fear as he nodded.

"When you get to Year 3, you can play soccer in those tennis courts," Rohan said, pointing at the wire fence adjacent to the school. He walked along next to them; his black coat collar turned up against the cold. Emma's thin fleece flapped around her body and she smiled at him with curiosity. He seemed to know a lot about the local primary school.

"I'm in Year 2," Nicky said. "Next year's a long way away. Lots can happen in a year." He took a sharp inward breath filled with biting cold. "I looked forward to going to my school in Aber for ages and then my gran died, we lost our house and had to move to Lincoln." He turned wide blue eyes on Rohan in accusation. "That's why you can't make promises like that. I might not ever get in there." He jabbed a small finger at the tennis courts. Rohan looked to Emma for help, his face grieved and his eyes flashing confusion.

"Nick, we can't live like that. We have to enjoy today and look forward to tomorrow or we'll go mad," she said with a sigh.

Nicky nodded and Emma's shoulders lost some of their tension. They came to a large step up to a tall gate and Emma pushed her son up first. A bottle neck formed behind Rohan as Nicky stood in the gateway and eyed his new life with disdain. He turned to Emma, her face level with his as she pivoted with one foot on the high threshold between park and school. She looked up at him with her trusting brown eyes, the sudden realisation coming much too late. Her hand wasn't quick enough to cover his pouting mouth as pure Big Jason volleyed out from between the rosebud lips. "Love today because today is _it_ ; don't think about tomorrow 'cause it's probably shit."

Emma closed her eyes and felt the hush behind her in the growing knot of people. Then she heard Rohan snort and pushed her backside into him in reprimand. He gave a little, "Oof," in response and by the time Emma collected herself enough to turn around, she caught him wiping the smile off his handsome face.

"Not helpful!" she mouthed to him.

Large wooden planters decorated one corner of the playground and Emma took Nicky behind them to give him the no swearing rule again. "I mean it," she said with force. "It's not that kind of place and you'll end up with no friends if you swear. Nobody will want to know us and our two weeks will end like that." She clicked her fingers for emphasis."

Nicky emerged from behind the planters looking sorry and Emma gripped his hand as Rohan led them through a main door into the building. Everyone else watched them go in with open curiosity as the children lined up in designated groups outside. The ceilings of the corridor reached up to touch an apex above their heads. Enormous doors interspersed along the right-hand side, showing classrooms with miniature tables and chairs. Artwork lined the walls of the corridor and created a cheery atmosphere against the gloom showing through the windows.

Hands in pockets, Rohan led them to the end of the wide corridor and Emma got a great view of the denim pulled taut across his physique. She looked away and sighed as illicit memories burned inside her brain. They turned down another smaller passage and Rohan knocked on an office door.

Emma whipped round and spoke quickly to Nicky. "Why don't you take Uncle Ro to look at the displays?" she asked, begging him with her eyes. He shook his head and looked horrified.

"Noooo! I wanna stay wiv you." Panic infused his body language and he sidled closer, all trace of the confident Greyfriars child swallowed up in this terrifying new experience.

Rohan jerked his head towards the doorway, stepping back so Emma could enter the small office. Her heart sank as Felicity rose to greet her. "Oh, hi, Emma! I didn't know you had children. How cool."

Emma smiled woodenly and tried to occupy the doorway to stop Rohan entering behind her. Nicky pushed his curious face between her leg and the doorframe and peered at Felicity. "Oh great!" Emma heard him mutter. "It's the screechy voice lady with the weird laugh."

Emma batted him lightly with her thigh, squishing him against the doorframe. Chastised, Nicky turned doleful puppy dog eyes on her in apology.

"Luckily, you're in zone, so we've got a place for your son," Felicity intoned as though Emma was a bit stupid. Her voice sounded high and placatory. "Here's a form to fill in and I'll need an original birth certificate to copy. Then we can find your little chap a sweatshirt with the school logo on and some shorts for sports classes. After that, I'll take you all to his new class."

"Mum, it's okay. I don't need a sweatshirt and stuff," Nicky stage whispered and Emma cringed. She saw Rohan ruffle Nicky's hair with his large hand in her peripheral vision as she concentrated on taking the form from Felicity's outstretched hand.

"I'll buy it," Rohan said quietly. Nicky grinned with relief. He patted Emma's leg, to reassure her she wasn't about to be financially embarrassed. Felicity gave Rohan a curious look, eyeing the likeness between him and Nicky as her forehead creased in a series of lines. "Nicky would like school dinners too, please," Rohan stated. Emma exhaled in a whoosh.

Nicky's eyes looked huge in his small head as he twisted his neck round to stare at Rohan. "Really? What, like proper dinners?"

Rohan laughed and Emma squeaked in protest at the cost. Rohan drew his wallet out of his pocket and held out his Visa card. Nicky held onto his wrist in a momentary flash of magnanimity. "You don't have to pay for pudding if you don't want to."

Rohan handed his card over to Felicity and with the other hand, stroked Nicky's hair back from his forehead. "It's fine, mate. I figure it costs the same whether you have it or not."

Emma's silence left it too late for her to back out of the terrible situation unfolding in front of her. Until Rohan produced the money, it was on the tip of her tongue to say they were just enquiring and perhaps sneak back later. She glanced down at the form which shook in her fingers, seeing the boxes in which she was to write the name of Nicky's parents. Her breath came in huge gulps as Felicity processed the payment and handed the card back, stroking against Rohan's fingers on purpose. Emma glanced at his face as it remained impassive and unaffected.

"You need to fill the form in," Felicity stated, watching Emma with curiosity. Her eyes narrowed behind layers of mascara.

"Can I bring it back later?" Emma asked, working hard to keep the pleading from her voice.

"No, sorry. You need to do it before your son starts. Do you have his birth certificate here with you?"

Emma nodded, her neck feeling wooden as she bobbed her chin. She seized a pen from Felicity's desk and turned her back on the males, feeling Nicky's arms hugging her thigh in excitement as his mind strayed no further than his promised hot lunch. She filled in every box apart from Nicky's full name and the name of Nicky's father. The required sighting of his birth certificate denied her the option of writing 'Nicky' under the child's name and the damning word 'unknown' in the accusing rectangle demanding his father's. She took a deep breath and scribbled in the words, keeping the sheets hidden as she handed them over to Felicity.

The woman made a pretence of scanning the sheet, but Emma watched her eyes fix on the declaration of Nicky's parentage, the likeness to Rohan making her suspicious. She heaved a visible sigh of relief and beamed. "That all looks in order," she gushed. "I'll just make a copy of this and be right back." She flapped the birth certificate in her red nailed fingers and smiled at Rohan. "You never said your brother had a son." Having dropped her bombshell, she clip-clopped from the room in her high heels.

Rohan watched her retreating back in confusion. "What does she mean?" His eyes clouded in confusion. The look he gave Emma make her wither on the spot. She met his eyes with burning intensity, seeing surprise there as he expected her to look away first. Defiance flooded through her body. She'd done what she needed to survive and Rohan Andreyev would never understand. "Anton?" His blonde fringe bounced as he shook his head. His fists balled at his sides. "No, tell me you didn't?"

When Emma held her ground and kept her face impassive, Rohan's cheeks flushed and he seemed lost for words. He stepped back towards the door, retreating from the room and disappearing. When she walked into the corridor, he'd gone.

Emma smiled reassurance at her son as Felicity introduced him to his new Year 2 teacher. Poor Nicky shrank behind his mother, terror in his wide blue eyes.

"Who else has school dinners?" the pretty blond teacher asked the children assembled on the carpet in front of her. A little boy put his hand up high into the air. "Thank you, Mohammed." She smiled in gratitude. "Please will you be responsible for Nicky today and show him everything he needs to know?"

The dark-skinned child fixed beautiful liquid brown eyes on Emma's son and beamed. "Yes Mrs Clarke," he intoned in a formal voice. Then he patted the space next to him on the carpet and flapped his hand, so the other children moved outwards to make room.

Nicky turned amused blue eyes on his mother and lifted his face for a kiss. As she pulled back, he grabbed at the lapels of her fleece and yanked her forwards so he could whisper in her ear. "I've been prayin' like Father Delaney said and God sent me another Mo!" He squeezed his face into a look of pure pleasure and shrugged happily.

Emma backed from the doorway with great reluctance and Felicity closed it behind them. The silence in the corridor as school got underway caused them to whisper. "School ends at 3.15 pm and we keep the younger children lined up by the rails outside the playground door. We won't let them go unless their carer is waiting."

Emma nodded and headed back along the corridor. It felt like hours ago instead of minutes, her heart enduring agonies in her chest as she strode towards the large red exit door. Felicity hissed a warning, "Oh, the park gate gets locked until playtime. Then the juniors go into the ball courts. You'll have to use the front gate." She raised her delicate arm and pointed towards her office, making sure Emma understood, before giving her a sideways glance which held a trace of animosity.

Emma felt the awful moan rage inside her chest, bursting to get out. It overwhelmed her with its intensity and she lurched for the exit sign. She pursed her lips against the cold outside and tried to find her bearings, stalking across the small front yard through a gate onto an unfamiliar road. "Damn you, Rohan," she breathed.

Emma gasped and heaved huge breaths into lungs which ached as though starved. She fumbled with a pair of ragged gloves and pushed them onto her fingers. She didn't recognise anything about the neat road or ancient towering trees and halted, calming herself by an act of will. She set off left, striding around the perimeter wall and following it as it turned a corner. Emma found herself on the wide concrete path through the park and on an impulse, broke into a run.

She ran past the gate opposite the ball courts and found the play park beyond, the space empty and the swings moving slightly in the breeze as though ridden by invisible children. Emma ran towards them and sank onto a swing, feeling the wet seeping through the hole between her boot and its worn sole. "Damn you too, Anton!" she sobbed, hugging her arms around herself in misery. "I warned you it would come back to bite me, didn't I?" She heard the rustle of Nicky's birth certificate in her pocket and groaned.

Emma cried herself empty, watching the tears splash onto the rubbery black surface underneath the swing. She reached into her pocket for a tissue, feeling the rough paper against her fingers. A fresh wave of grief washed over her and Emma pulled it out, smoothing out the creases and pressing it against her forehead.

"When were you gonna tell me?" Rohan restrained his bitterness as he slumped onto the swing next to her, sitting heavily and stretching one leg out in front of him.

"Nothing to tell." Emma folded the certificate and stuffed it back into her pocket. "It's none of your business."

Rohan's blue eyes fixed on her, flickering with anger. "Like hell it isn't! So, when I was getting shot to shit in a war I didn't want to be in, you were shagging my brother!"

Emma turned to face him, recognising the sense of betrayal and disappointment she saw in the mirror every morning. It stared back at her, Rohan's agony raw and open. She held his gaze with steady eyes that wore no guilt and saw him flinch beneath her stare. "I loved you, Em!" he spat.

She smiled, the expression sad as she blinked away tears which fluttered to her cheeks. They remained there, glittering like diamonds. "And I loved you. I always loved you."

"So why?" Rohan's jaw worked in anger and he wiped the back of his hand across his eyes. Emma reached out to touch him and then withdrew her hand.

"There are things you don't understand. I'm not ready to explain them yet. You can think what you like of me, but don't you dare drag Anton's name through the mud. Everything he did was out of kindness and he doesn't deserve your hatred!"

Rohan shook his head and leaned his elbows on his knees. His eyes bore into the ground as he swallowed all the terrible things he wanted to say. "I thought the boy was my son." He released a ragged sigh. Then he groaned. "I can't believe Anton didn't tell me."

Emma stood up and offered him her hand. He stared at it for a moment as though it seemed distasteful to him. As Emma gave up and withdrew it, Rohan's hand shot out and seized her fingers and her wrist. He pulled her closer and kissed her fingers through the woollen gloves. He pressed his cheek against them, his face warm against the cold flesh which peeked through the holes. "Do you want us to leave now?" Emma asked, keeping her voice level. "We can go today."

"No! Don't be stupid! I asked you here; I'm not kicking you out." Rohan stood and pulled her into his side, his eyes filled with unreadable emotions. They walked back to his house, his arm heavy around her shoulders. His hand caressed the curls at her neck and Emma shivered as his fingers brushed her skin. Occasionally he kissed her temple with slow, deliberate touches of his lips which seemed to turn her inside out with misery. He sighed many times in the fifteen-minute walk and Emma bit her lip and wished for the millionth time that she could go back and do things differently. Nicky's birth certificate nestled in her pocket, not a symbol of accusation, but proof there were still kind, good men in the world. Anton Andreyev had been one of them. His loss left a hole in Emma's heart.

# Chapter 11

"Ro, who's that man across the street?"

Rohan whipped his reading glasses off his nose and stood up, alertness stiffening his muscles. The sofa cushions rose up like inflatables in his wake. "What man?" he snapped.

Emma baulked in the dining room doorway, her brown eyes widening in fear at his reaction. "Just a man. He's been sitting across the street next to the Georgian looking house. He gets out occasionally and goes for a walk, but he always comes back to sit in the car."

"What made you notice him?" Rohan walked to the window and peered into the street, careful not to disturb the voile drapes which offered the room privacy.

Emma hesitated, not wanting to admit she'd spent the last hour crying. She'd sat in the bay window in her bedroom with her backside on the built-in dressing table. "I was watching through the window."

Rohan looked at her again, noticing her puffy eyes and the sad slump of her shoulders. "Come here," he whispered, opening his arms wide.

Emma sniffed and ran around the dining table, burying her face in his armpit and resuming her miserable sobs. "I'm sorry," she hiccoughed. "I will tell you everything, but not yet."

"It's okay," Rohan soothed. "Let's not dwell on what we can't change, hey? It's all in the past now. Anton's not here to defend himself. He can rest in peace."

Emma muttered something into his armpit and Rohan lifted her chin so he could look at her. His blue eyes appeared kind. "Say that again, _vozlyublennaya_?"

Emma couldn't repeat the soft denial again, grief at Anton's death gripping her throat in a vice. She hesitated, before changing the subject. "Remember that white transit you pointed out last night on the motorway? It's the same man but a different vehicle. I've been watching it for the last hour." Emma sniffed and wiped her nose on her tatty sweater sleeve.

"Shit!" Rohan exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

Emma nodded. "Who is he? What does he want?"

Rohan kissed the top of her head. "I don't know. Get cleaned up and we'll take the dog for a walk. I wanna show you the town. We'll see if he follows." He pointed at her stained sweater with its big pulls in the shoulder and her jeans which had frayed at the bottom. "And you're going clothes shopping."

Emma cleaned her face up yet again and donned one of Rohan's spare jackets for the walk into town. It hung past her knees and covered her hands, but the scent of his aftershave and his unique musky smell provided comfort. Rohan strode next to her with the dog on a leash, his limp barely noticeable. Farrell trotted next to his leg, glancing up as though waiting for instructions. Neither of them mentioned Anton, or Nicky's birth certificate bearing his name. But the fact hung heavy between them, an unexpected betrayal that neither wanted to broach.

When the smaller roads gave way to main crossings, the dog sat down at the curb without being asked. Emma pointed at him. "He's a good boy, isn't he?"

Rohan smiled and clicked his tongue, so the dog knew to stand up and walk. "He should be. I trained him for Anton. My brother was useless with anything involving discipline. Too soft." Rohan spoke to the dog and Farrell looked up at him and opened his mouth in a doggy smile, his flowing black tail giving a wave of pleasure. "He treated him like a baby instead of a dog. I don't think he realised he was ruining him."

"What kind of dog is he?" Emma kept pace with Rohan, finding it hard not to drop into old habits and hold his hand. Public displays of affection had played little part in their history; the news would have got back to his mother somehow.

"He's a working cocker spaniel," Rohan said. "They make excellent search dogs. Customs and Excises use them. My brother would have been better off with a poodle he could keep in his man bag."

Emma snorted. "That's so true." She stopped and closed her eyes, feeling her heart begin to stall again. "I can't believe I'll never see him. I have this gap where his laughter should be." She patted her chest with her gloved hand.

Rohan looked down at her and nodded. "I know, _vozlyublennaya_. It's left an ache in my soul. Nothing takes the pain away. He was my only _rodnoy_ _brat_ and I loved him."

"Did he live in this town?" Emma asked and Rohan stared at her with a curious look on his face.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Emma repeated the odd sentence and bit her lip. "So, where did you train the dog?"

"He brought him to me. He thought it easier. You never questioned Anton's motives for anything. If he felt it best, then nothing would stop him. He liked to visit. I fly all over the world and accepted it as the easier option." Rohan sighed. "He talked about buying a house. I figured he had his reasons for wanting to keep me away."

"Did you look for the house?" Emma asked. "I'm sure you would have found it."

Rohan shook his head. "No. I respected his privacy." He frowned and Emma sensed herself straying into dangerous territory.

She shook her head. "I didn't know where he lived either." Shame blushed her soft cheeks. "He always came to see us. I guess he understood our limited funds stopped us travelling to him." The dark flash in Rohan's eyes showed his desperation to pry about Anton's relationship with Nicky. The idea of a man so openly gay with a son by his stepsister seemed utterly incongruous. He struggled with the words and Emma saw him dismiss his questions with difficulty.

"Let's not talk about him now, hey?" Rohan gave a smile which didn't reach his eyes. He changed the subject. "Is that man still following?"

Emma made a show of dropping something onto the pavement while Rohan walked ahead. She sank to her haunches and picked up the conker Nicky gave her that morning for safekeeping. Rohan halted the dog to wait for her and Emma gave a worried nod, too slight for the man behind to see. "Yes. He's keeping his distance but he's still there. Why would he be following us?"

"Me, _vozlyublennaya_. He's following me. I don't know. I mess with some dodgy people in my line of work sometimes and when I crunch the numbers, someone always loses out."

"What are you going to do?" Emma sounded panicked and Rohan grabbed hold of her hand, wincing at the electrical current of familiarity and attraction which passed between them. "Is he going to hurt you?"

Rohan snorted as though the idea amused him. He offered her a tight smile as they crossed a car park and entered the back of a bustling market hall. The sudden volume of noise and people caused Emma a moment of shock. The hall teemed with vendors and stalls selling everything from sausages to fabric. Shoe sellers mixed with craft stands and knitting patterns alongside vegetable stalls, sewing accessories and ribbons. Farrell kept so close to Rohan's left leg, he appeared grafted to it. He took the throngs of bodies and feet in his stride as they passed through unnoticed.

In a busy crush near the main doors, Rohan pressed Emma's hand and smoothed her fingers with his. It felt achingly comfortable and she squeezed back, navigating a dose of pensioner road rage as two elderly people in disability scooters got their handles locked together in the overcrowded aisle. Rohan cut a clear path through, his imposing height making it easy for him. Emma forged behind, using his wake to cut through the crowd. They popped through the front doors and into the bracing cold before Emma had time to prepare. She opened her mouth to protest and felt herself dragged sideways. Tripping, she made a grab for Rohan's jacket with her other hand as the ground rushed up to meet her. When he stopped to help, she almost overbalanced him and for a millisecond, she thought they might both topple to the hard concrete. Rohan recovered first but instead of giving her a moment to breathe, he pulled her to the left and around the corner of the building.

"Take the dog!" he hissed, shoving Farrell's leash into her hands. He pressed a hand to her shoulder and pushed her flat against the wall. Emma stared into the dog's wide brown eyes, rimmed by half-moons of white. "Guard!" Rohan told him and Farrell planted himself on Emma's foot. Rohan blocked her view of the road while he waited for a moment, his body tense and poised. One second he was there and in the next he'd gone.

Emma peeked around the corner, letting just her eyes show. She saw the front of the busy market hall and watched a small man wearing winter clothes emerge and look around him in confusion. Rohan appeared from nowhere, fixing both hands firmly on the man's shoulders. The man jumped in fright and lost his footing on the icy pavement as Rohan steered him towards Emma. "Hi my vriend!" he announced. Feigned conviviality justified his arm around the man's shoulders and after their initial interest, people continued talking and digging in their shopping bags. Emma held her breath at the narrowing of Rohan's eyes as he glanced up and noticed her. She popped back out of sight.

"I just wanted to know what was happening!" she complained to Farrell. The dog's ears pricked up but he remained sitting on her boots. Cold gnawed at her joints until she couldn't feel her toes.

"Long time, no see! Is that not what you Angliyskiy say?" Rohan steered the man around the corner and bumped him against the wall. His fingers held a swathe of the man's coat fabric in a white knuckled grip. "Long time, too much see, actually!" Rohan slipped his forearm across the man's throat, so that only his fear laden eyes flickered over the top.

Emma held her breath as the soldier in Rohan rose to the surface in an ecstasy of bloodlust, his purpose as a killing machine revived. She opened her mouth to stop him and then swallowed instead, praying she could still trust this new version of him.

To her horror, Rohan's left hand produced a flick knife from his jeans pocket He released the blade to lengthen in a lazy arc before holding it up to the man's skinny throat. The lethal point teased a gap between the folds of his scarf and the trembling skin below. "Come on," Rohan said, his friendly voice creating a strange paradox with his actions. "You may as well tell me what you're up to. You're not very good at this."

"I'm just making a few quid guvnor," the man hissed with pain as the blade pressed against his skin. Wiry and with limited muscle tone, he sported an unfortunate comb over which spread twelve frail dark hairs across his receding hairline. His eyes conveyed fear and a realisation he'd strayed out of his depth.

Rohan turned his head to check around the corner, but his arm didn't move from the man's throat. Satisfied they'd drawn no attention; he pressed the man harder against the wall. The sign for the pay-and-display car park shielded his actions and Emma saw the mute appeal in the man's eyes. She focussed her attention the dog, not comfortable with what she'd become involved in.

"Warn!" Rohan's instruction to Farrell took Emma by surprise. As the dog jumped to life, he released her frozen feet and she almost fell. The leash grew taut and Farrell faced the man. His dark top lip peeled back in a dreadful snarl displaying sharp, pointed teeth. A low growl emitted from his throat and Emma kept hold of the leash, fascinated by the dog's still waving tail. She gulped and felt sick at the dog's complicity in a dangerous game.

The man feigned ignorance and claimed he didn't know who paid him to follow the big Russian. His voice held an irritating whine, not helped by his terror of the dog's snapping teeth. Farrell edged closer to the man's hand as his fingers clawed at the sides of his trousers. "Please mate, just lemme go!" he begged. "I ain't done nuffin!"

As the knife blade drew a pebble of blood from the scrawny neck, the dog took a few slavering snaps at the man's hand. With her heart pounding in her chest, Emma lost patience. "For goodness sake!" she exclaimed, dropping Farrell's leash. She crumpled her face in disgust and reached between the man's legs. Seizing hold of what she found there, she squeezed. "Just tell him what he wants to know!" she snapped. "It's freezing out here!" A vicious crushing action between her frigid fingers drew a squeal of pain. Rohan blinked and took a step back. He switched his left hand to hold the man's throat and gave Emma more room to work.

"Help!" the man tried to scream. The airy sound would have delighted St Di's Church choir master. He tried to bat Emma's hand away, but Rohan increased the pressure on his throat. A clever sleight of hand made the knife blade retract and it disappeared into his pocket.

"Just talk," Rohan advised. "Or spend your life singing soprano."

"I'm a private investigator," the man gushed. "My client is a woman. She emails me and transfers the expenses into my account after I invoice her. I'm paid to follow him and take photos!" He jerked his head towards Rohan but spoke to Emma. "Please let go of my nads now? If I can't get my missus pregnant, she'll dump me!"

Emma winced at the greasy strands of hair and the acne pocked middle-aged face. She pitied the poor woman prepared to breed from such low-grade stock. "No!" She pouted and took a step closer, gripping harder and ignoring Rohan's amused expression. "Why are you following him?"

"I told you!" His voice rose an octave under the pressure. "I follow him and give her a list of where he goes and what he does. She pays the bills."

"Where does he go?" Curiosity overrode Emma's sense of propriety and she gave the man's balls another tweak.

"Falkirk!" he gushed. "A meeting at a hotel in Falkirk on Friday and then Leeds on Saturday. He went to a wedding. He drove to Lincoln on Sunday and arrived home on Monday. I have to tell her who he meets as well." The man let out a wail of pain as Emma gave an upwards yank.

"How do you know it's a woman?" she demanded. Bored, Farrell licked sweat from between the man's fingers and he screeched. "Shut up!" Emma hissed, "or I'll make sure you never have children."

"The phone! The phone! She rang me the first time and I heard a woman's voice."

"Is the woman local?" Rohan interjected, stepping back and cocking his head to one side. "Does she have an accent?"

"I don't know!" The man's head sunk lower as Emma maintained her death grip on his private parts. His thin hair stuck to his head in waves and his complexion assumed a sickly grey hue. "I don't know. She spoke too fast. It's been email since then."

"If you ever follow this man again," Emma pointed with her free hand towards Rohan, "I'll tear these off! Do you understand?" She gave another satisfying squelch and he yelped.

"Okay!" he agreed. "I've seen where you live and those people you associate with. I know you mean it."

With a final yank of devilment, Emma let go and the man clasped both hands over his crotch and rubbed. Emma wiped her hand on her jeans. "Sod off and leave us alone," she threatened. He nodded.

"Fine. It was becoming too long distance, although the expenses were good. It must have cost her a fortune in petrol." He stood up straight and brushed himself down, out of date jeans with a slight flare to their bottoms. Shaking fingers drew his mac tighter around his waist.

"Email address." Rohan's voice held a note of danger. He flapped his fingers in a summoning gesture. "I want it. Your disguise is as subtle as a fart in an astronaut's suit. Don't make me find you."

The man groaned and pulled his mobile phone from an inside pocket. He scrolled through his contacts and turned the screen to face Rohan. "You want to write it down?" he asked, an edge of sarcasm creeping into his tone.

Rohan's eyes flashed. He glanced once at the screen and took a long step forward until his chest bounced against the other man's chin. "I have a photographic memory," he snarled. "It's what I'm paid for." Anger made his words clipped and his Russian accent returned. "I will track woman. You go home and never bother us again." He turned, banging the man's chin with his shoulder. His face remained impassive as he retrieved Farrell's leash from the floor.

The private investigator took a few steps across the car park, putting enough distance between himself and Emma's spiteful fingers. His left hand subconsciously strayed to his crotch. "You might have got rid of me, but you won't ditch the other one so fast. He's been tailin' you since before I started and you haven't even noticed!" He took off at a run and blended into a crowd of elderly shoppers heading south on the Northampton Road.

"What did he mean?" Emma whispered, staring at Rohan and alarmed by his lack of interest.

Rohan clicked to Farrell and shrugged. "He's just blowing smoke up my ass," he said. He ran a large hand over the dog's head and Farrell wagged his tail. "We've achieved our objective, Emma." His voice rumbled deep in his chest. "Now, we buy clothes."

Emma stripped her gloves from her cold fingers. She shook her head. "No. I need a dustbin for these and then I want somewhere to wash my hands."

# Chapter 12

They found a public house with tables outside and Emma went in first to wash her hands. She returned to sit with the dog while Rohan ordered food and drinks. "So, is it always this exciting in the Andreyev household, Faz?" Emma asked the black dog as he laid his chin on her knee. She fondled his soft ears and he closed his eyes, only raising his head when Rohan appeared.

"What you did to that guy was appalling," Rohan said after he'd settled himself opposite her. Emma frowned as a flush of irritation bridled in her heart.

"You always do that, don't you?" she snapped. "You always played the role of adult in our little trio, even as children." Her fingers balled into fists beneath the table. Farrell sighed and rested his chin on her right boot.

"Da." Rohan nodded. "It reminded me of that fight you got into at school one time. I stopped you ripping a boy's head off his shoulders."

"Yeah, well you shouldn't have bothered! The kid was a jerk. Probably still is." Emma threw herself back in her seat and folded her arms. She fixed a sulk onto her face and hated that desperation had forced her to ally with Rohan Andreyev again. She'd broken her promise to Anton and the fact cleft a burning trail of misery through her gut. Stiff, wooden legs shoved her upright. "I can't do this," she hissed. "I shouldn't have come."

Farrell bounced to his feet and wagged his tail. Emma tried to step over the length of leash tied to the table and stumbled. The table legs ground against the pavement as it jerked to the side. Rohan's hands fixed over her forearms and he pressed her back into her seat, waiting until she looked as though she might stay. "Stop," he commanded, his voice impassive. "We won't speak of old times if it upsets you."

They sat in silence until the coffee arrived. Emma studied her surroundings with interest. Rohan took two phone calls, one in Russian and the other English. She heard him ask someone to run a check on the email address he'd extracted from the investigator. Then he laid his phone on the table, folded his arms and stared at her.

Emma forced herself to ignore him. An old game between them, she found it interested her less than it used to. She jumped as the waitress delivered the coffee, scowling as the girl checked out Rohan and offered him a smile of invitation. Emma hated the unexpected flash of jealousy but hated it more than he'd noticed. Rohan's eyes danced with humour and Emma fought the urge to slap his handsome face.

A young man followed with a bowl of fries and Emma thanked him. Still ignoring Rohan, she took a chip and dabbed it in the ketchup. "Speak your mind, Emma," Rohan ordered. His voice sounded jarring in the hustle and bustle of the street.

She gave herself a mental shake and pushed away everything but their recent brush with the law. "Do you always pull knives on strangers?" she asked, her tone light.

"That depends." Rohan sipped his coffee but ignored the fries.

"What does that even mean?" Emma demands. "It depends on what?"

He shrugged and glanced around him as though bored. "It depends if the situation warrants it."

"And did it?" Her tone sounded accusing.

"It did and then it didn't." His lips curved into a tight smile. "Don't you trust me, Emma?"

She released a sigh of exasperation and refused to answer. Snagging another chip, she spoke with her mouth full, knowing he'd hate such behaviour and not sure why she wanted to aggravate him. "Why would someone follow you, Ro?"

"No idea." He watched her, his expression impassive.

"Whatever!" Emma scoffed. From behind her long black lashes, she saw Rohan's lips twitch. The action sent a spike of recognition at the familiar tell. He wanted to kiss her.

Rohan momentarily lost his certainty and shifted in his seat. Farrell sighed in disgust and moved away. Emma threw the dog a chip, smiling at the sound of his jaws snapping as he caught it in mid-air. "It's a crappy PI's finger," she told Farrell. He yawned and whined at the same time. "Want another one?"

"No." Rohan frowned and nudged the bowl with his finger. "Is bad for him."

Emma wrinkled her nose and conceded. She patted the top of Farrell's head and saw his eagerness fade. "Okay, change of question. Why do you carry a knife, Rohan? And what kind of work warrants that level of caution?" When Rohan ignored her, she kicked him under the table and he slopped coffee down his jacket.

"Em!" he exclaimed. "I was listening."

"Not to me!" she snapped.

He cocked his head and then she noticed the flash of light plastic snuggled in his right ear. "To something else also," he said. "I apologise." He released a sigh and tapped a button on his phone. Then he sat up and gave Emma a beatific smile. Despite her conscious need to resist him, she blossomed under the glare of his unconditional attention. "Tell me where you learned the testicle twist," he asked with humour in his bright blue eyes. "Perhaps it's more useful than the knife."

"Whatever! Keep your secrets." Emma smirked.

Rohan's face softened. "You're worried about me, _vozlyublennaya_?"

"Not really." Her smile faded. "But I have a child to take care of and if you're attracting criminals, I need to think about going home."

Rohan sat up straighter. "Attracting criminals? I saw where you lived, remember."

"I still live there," Emma said. She became tight lipped, the action tinged with warning.

Rohan shifted in his seat, unease shrouding him like an aura. "Look, I'm sorry." He bit his lip as though fear of her leaving created more panic than the weird little investigator. "My work attracts a few anomalies. That strange man is just one of them. But no one has ever come near my home." His blond brows furrowed. "My identity is a well-kept secret."

Emma blinked and a wave of jealousy churned the chips in her stomach. "Yeah? Well, he said his client is a woman." Her lips tightened. "How many women would pay someone to follow you, Rohan? What did you do?"

Rohan shrugged. "I know no women who would engage an investigator from the Yellow Pages directory." His eyes narrowed and his expression became shuttered.

The colour drained from Emma's face and she spun in the metal chair. Her eyes raked the busy street in terror. "Oh no!" In her panic, Emma stood. The chair legs scraped against the pavement. Farrell shot to his feet, his gaze fixed on her and his fluffy ears pricked. Her coffee spewed onto the table and she clutched the oversize coat in white knuckled fingers.

"Emma?" Rohan cocked his head and rose, his warm fingers drawing her writhing hands into his. "What is it?"

"It's her," she breathed. "I shouldn't have come here."

"Who?" Rohan drew her closer, a protective arm enfolding her shoulders until she bumped against his chest.

"Your mother!" Her words cracked from her chest as though forced free. "I'd hoped she was dead, but she's here, isn't she?"

Rohan jerked as though shot. An expression of anger passed across his face before the impassive mask crashed down over it. "That is unkind, Emma." He cocked his head and stared into her face. He snatched at her coat as she turned away and the sound of the buttons popping seemed to deafen them both. "Hey, hey!" Rohan gripped her thin shoulders and gave her a gentle shake as though trying to sift sense into her. The dog growled and Rohan looked down at him in surprise. "Enough!" he hissed. His tone held indignation and betrayal, but Farrell continued to glare at him. "Em, you can't just run. Show me where you see her? She is not here."

Emma screwed up her face in irritation and snatched at the front of Rohan's warm jacket. Her cold fingers scrabbled at the fabric. "No, not here! She paid the investigator! She must know I'm with you! She'll come after me!" Emma's words beat the air with staccato bursts. Shoppers paused with interest, though no one intervened. The couple became a curio, a moment's entertainment in an otherwise monotonous morning.

"Emma!" Rohan pulled her closer and pressed her face against his chest. He spoke to her in calm, level tones. "People are staring, _vozlyublennaya_. It's a small town. Mama doesn't know you're here. Continue the show and someone will tell her they saw me with a distraught female. She's desperate for me to marry and give her vnuchata. Her excitement will be great."

"No, no, no," Emma moaned. Fear shook her muscles as a familiar ball of ice settled in her stomach. It had been absent for long enough that its reappearance sickened her. Anton had set her free. She needed to honour her promise.

Emma left her cheek against Rohan's chest, letting her heart find its rhythm. Her head pounded as though oxygen deprived and she took fortifying breaths filled with Rohan's aftershave. Her arms reached around his waist and she pressed her fingers against his warmth, allowing herself a moment of contact and promising herself it would be the last. The tension in the street dissipated as interest waned. Her terror eased, but her brain continued to whirr with ways to extract Nicky with the least fuss possible.

"You okay now, _vozlyublennaya_?" Rohan whispered. Emma nodded, her dark curls bouncing against her shoulders. Ice particles dotted the strands like confetti. He kissed her forehead and released her.

But Emma couldn't sit. Questions surged through her mind and her body remained rigid. Farrell sat on her feet and pushed so hard against her shins, he almost overbalanced her. "Can we go? Please?" Her speech sounded stilted, her confidence robbed in a moment of perceived threat.

"Okay. Let me just pay the bill." Rohan left the dog leash in Emma's stiff fingers and disappeared inside for a moment. She concentrated on stroking Farrell's soft head and resisting the urge to start running. Her nose throbbed against the cold and unhappiness leaked from every pore of her body.

Rohan slipped an arm around Emma's shoulders when he returned, securing her against his body and taking the leash. "It's gonna be okay," he promised. "My mother doesn't know you are here. You will not meet her." His Slav accent added an air of formality to the promise and Emma heard an echo of others he'd made in the past. "It's gonna be okay," he repeated. Her cheeks heated at a flashback of tangled legs and rucked sheets. The memory lifted the catch on a locked box in her heart and she held her breath as devastation edged its face from beneath the lid. Rohan had made the promise hours before his deployment to Afghanistan. Nothing had been okay; not then and not since then.

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep," she whispered. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes as the cold breeze snatched away her words. Emma didn't repeat them. Her heart became a leaden ball in her chest and she rebuked herself for allowing it to soften. She shouldn't be there. She shouldn't have brought her son into her latest moment of stupidity.

Rohan kept hold of Emma, refusing to let her flee. He walked her onto the high street despite her protests and insisted she buy warmer clothes. The kindness in his eyes caused her conflict and she felt herself falling under a familiar spell. Rohan's sense of command oozed from him in waves, overpowering Emma's reason with ease. She daren't make another scene and conceded enough to visit the second-hand shops and replenish her meagre wardrobe. Rohan stood outside each shop with Farrell, supplying enough cash for her to buy much more than she did. She shopped without trying the items in a smash-and-grab style, desperate to get back to the safety of Rohan's house.

"I'm finished," she said. "I need to fetch Nicky from school."

Rohan frowned as she piled notes and changed into his palm. "You spent less than twenty pounds?" His keen eyes grazed the money in his hand and calculated the difference with ease. "How could you get what you need for so little?"

Emma's jaw tightened. "Practice," she bit. Her voice sounded toneless. "I'll pay you back before I leave."

"Leave?" Rohan swallowed and a line appeared in his forehead. "Not yet?"

Emma licked her lips and regretted the action as cold air chilled her tongue. "Soon," she replied, though the logistics gave her a pain in her head. She had no money for transport and no job when she got there.

Rohan carried her bags and she flexed her fingers over the dog leash. Farrell slipped along next to her, sticking to her left leg as though glued there. "Why does he do this?" she asked, changing the leash into her other hand and trying to persuade him to switch.

"No, don't do that." Rohan grabbed her fingers and pushed the leash, so the bewildered dog could return to his preferred side. "Stick with how I trained him, or you'll confuse him. I need to show you all his commands so you can take care of him while I'm gone."

"Okay." Emma reached down and stroked the glossy head and swallowed her misgivings. She'd forgotten her agreement to look after Farrell while Rohan went away on his business trip. It bought her time to make other arrangements and gave them a roof over their heads for a few days at least. She relaxed, the imminence of their departure less urgent. She swallowed and shot Rohan a sideways glance. "I need to know where your mother is and whether I might run across her." She glared at him. "That can't happen, Rohan," she stated, her tone laden with threat. "I mean it."

He shook his head. "She's in this town but won't visit the house without notice. I will keep her away from you." His smile appeared less reassuring than his words; a man unable to reconcile two pieces of his world. "Hey, you'll be fine." He frowned and looked across the park, shielding his eyes with his hand against the low, weak sun glittering on the frozen grass.

"I always am," Emma said. "Somehow."

Rohan tutted and slipped his arm around her shoulders. His lips felt warm against her temple. Their arrival at the strange gate in the wall reminded her of Felicity and she put distance between their bodies. The action seemed to cause a tearing sensation in her heart, like two pieces of corrugated cardboard pulled apart with difficulty. They joined the throng of other parents and caregivers filling the walled playground, but when Rohan reached for her again, Emma pushed his hand away. "You have a girlfriend!" she snapped.

Rohan shoved his hand into his pocket and frowned. He said nothing.

# Chapter 13

"Please, can we do that fing wiv the slingshot tonight?" Nicky bounced along next to Rohan, his small hand nestled in the big Russian's fingers.

"See what Mummy says." Rohan smiled at him. "She's the boss lady."

Emma held onto Farrell's leash and shook her head at Rohan's feigned deference. She enjoyed the sense of family and tried not to wish it could be permanent.

"Excuse me!" The voice called from behind and Emma halted. A dark-skinned woman hurried through the park behind them, dragging the newest version of little Mohammed behind her. A neat weave kept her Afro hair in tight order and frown lines marred a high forehead.

Emma fixed a wooden smile on her face and steeled herself. A skip in her chest warned her not to make friends; her and Nicky weren't staying. "Hi," she said, forcing joviality into her tone.

"I'm glad I caught you," the woman said, catching up with them. Rohan clutched Nicky's hand, his stiffened stance ready for anticipated trouble. He mirrored Emma's unease and she forced herself to relax. The other mother stopped in front of her and her son gave a covert wave and a smile to Nicky. "I wondered if your son would like to play one evening. Mo hasn't made many friends since we moved here and he seems to like your son." She looked around her and lowered her voice. "It's quite a _white_ area, isn't it?"

Emma looked around her and blinked. People navigated them as they clogged up the centre of the walkway. Pale faces peered from beneath woolly hats and hoods. "I suppose you're right," she said with a frown. "I guess we didn't think about it like that."

The woman gave a sigh and stuck her hand out. "I'm Mel. Nice to meet you."

"Emma." Their hands clasped and Emma sensed shared pain and hardship in the bony fingers. Neither wore gloves and she regretted throwing hers in the dustbin after the ball crushing incident. She could have washed them, but her antagonism for Rohan made her rash. She glanced at the imposing Russian and her lips parted to introduce him. Mel smiled and pushed her frozen hand in his direction.

"You're obviously Nicky's dad. He's a gorgeous little boy." Dark eyelashes dotted with frost droplets blinked at the boys. A line appeared in Rohan's forehead as he accepted her handshake. Nicky seemed to miss the parental error and focussed on Mel's compliment. His ego fluffed and he dropped Rohan's hand to slip his arm around Mohammed. "This is our dog. He's called Farrell."

Mohammed stroked the waving silky tail and Farrell tolerated the imposition with good grace. Rohan's jaw worked in his cheek as emotion warred in his blue eyes. Emma swallowed as she saw doubt overshadow everything else and his irises take on an odd sparkle. His gaze bored into her soul and she held her breath as hope resurfaced. He glanced at Nicky and then back at her.

"We can't 'ave a dog at the shelter for battered women," Mohammed said. Sadness overlaid his words.

"Battered?" Nicky patted his friend's shoulder and his blond brows drew together. He looked to Rohan for explanation and the big Russian winced. Feigning selective hearing, Rohan cleared his throat and dug his hands in his pockets. The soles of his expensive shoes scraped against the pavement as he shifted his feet. Nicky drew his own conclusions and Emma sighed, wishing she'd stepped in sooner. "What, like battered fish? Sometimes if Mummy had pennies left over after the rent and the electric and paying Fat Brian to protect our 'ouse, she'd get me battered fish as a special treat. A man cooked it in the back of 'is van. Mummy 'ad to go off the estate to buy it for me. The van wasn't allowed on the estate because the fish and chip man wouldn't pay Fat Brian's fee. I like battered fish." Nicky licked his lips and rubbed his stomach in a circular motion. Emma frowned at the blue tinge of his fingernails and wondered where he'd left his gloves this time.

"We 'ad a Fat Brian on our estate in Manchester," Mo said. Childish enthusiasm laced his speech. "But 'ee was a Fat Abdul and 'ee was my dad."

Emma pursed her lips and glanced at Mel. The other woman stared at her oversized man's coat with the popped buttons. A threadbare sweatshirt peeked from beneath it. Emma's white sock poked through a hole between her boot and its worn sole. Mel's gaze strayed to the logos on the bags hanging over Rohan's wrist and she released a sigh. "You raided the charity shops!" she gushed. "Thank goodness! I started to feel like I 'ad two heads down 'ere."

The boys ran around the park, chasing Farrell when Rohan let the dog off the leash. Emma groaned as Nicky splashed through a muddy puddle. Rohan stood at the edge of the grass, legs splayed and his hands wedged deep into his pockets. The bags from the thrift stores looked incongruous, swaying over his wrists against his expensive jacket. Emma's gaze strayed to the neat backside enclosed in the tight material of his pants and saw Rohan glance back at her with a smirk. She closed her eyes, knowing he revelled in the tension between them. Her thoughts turned to Felicity and she ground her teeth, feeling like an extra piece in someone else's jigsaw puzzle.

"He's gorgeous," Mel whispered.

Emma shook her head. "And he knows it. Don't fluff his ego for him. He's hard enough to live with already."

"Well, you're very lucky." Mel sighed. "You've landed on your feet." She patted Emma's hand with frozen fingers.

"Oh, we're not...he's not..." Emma exhaled. "It's complicated." Everything seemed futile. She held the tide of her life back with her bare hands and comprehension flooded her chilled bones. Everyone would assume she'd attached herself to Rohan as a life raft. It sickened her and offended her sense of independence. Mel halted and turned to face Emma. She reached out and gripped her fingers beneath hers. The icy air leeched any warmth from both their fingers as the sky darkened to grey overhead.

"It's your business," Mel whispered. "I'm the last person you need to explain yourself to." She blinked and Emma read the pain in her eyes. "We just keep moving forward from day to day and work at keeping our kids safe."

Emma nodded, Mel's words putting her own circumstances into perspective. She'd been exiled but not battered. The threat to Nicky's life was an altogether different one. She gripped Mel's fingers and acknowledged the wince of pain. She couldn't fix Mel's circumstances, but she could at least make a small difference.

Rohan glanced sideways at Emma as she clutched at the plastic bags on his wrist. He made no comment as she slid them free, instead utilising his fingers to emit a powerful whistle across the park to the dog. Farrell changed direction and wove his way back to Rohan, trailed by two filthy, giggling children.

"Here." Emma dug around in the bag until her hand closed over what she wanted. She pulled out a pair of woollen gloves she'd bought at the charity shop earlier. "They need a wash, but they'll keep you warm." She held them out to Mel.

"I don't need charity." Mel frowned and took a step backwards, though her gaze never left the plum coloured gloves.

Emma flapped the gloves between them. "I know you don't. And nor do I." The gloves hung between them, the woolly wrists secured by a safety pin and a handwritten price tag. Twenty pence. Nothing to some and everything to others. A fifth of a pound coin; the difference between comfort and misery. Mel swallowed and reached for them, the action slow and her fingers touching the woollen surface as though she stroked delicate china.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Emma shrugged. "It's not charity if we're trading."

Mel's eyes sparkled as she recognised a familiar currency. Life on the council estates thrived on trading; a favour for a favour which didn't always involve coin. "Done!" she said with enthusiasm. "One day I'll give you something you didn't even know you needed."

Emma nodded. "Done," she agreed.

The group crossed the busy Northampton Road as a winter dusk settled. Traffic increased, car headlights sparkling off the wet roads and the windows of houses lining the street. Nicky wrinkled his nose as a car stopped to let them cross northbound carriageway. "We missed the lollipop lady," he grumbled. "I wanted to see her again with her stick. She stops the traffic and everything."

Mo nodded and swung his skinny arms. "We 'ad a lollipop man once," he remarked. "But he disappeared when the gangs stopped protecting 'im and nobody else wanted to do it."

Nicky rolled his eyes. "We never even 'ad one," he complained. He glanced back at Emma and lowered his voice. "But sometimes Harley Man stopped his motorbike so I could cross the little roads. If I saw him driving around, I used to cross even if I didn't want to."

Mo puffed out his cheeks and giggled. The boys put their heads together, a stark contrast between their white and brown hair. Emma shook her head and rolled her eyes at Mel. "I can see how this is gonna go," she said, her eyes bright.

Mel nodded and between them, they persuaded the boys to part company. Mel and Mo walked back to the women's shelter which was discreetly hidden in an unimposing Victorian house in the middle of a row. Emma watched her walk away and wondered about her story. The women on the estate didn't usually get sent so far from home when they suffered domestic abuse. They went to a local shelter and the children continued at the same school. She frowned, suspecting Mel's situation had added complications for her and Mo.

Rohan slipped his arm around Emma's wooden shoulders and squeezed. "You're freezing," he whispered. "Let's go home." He held his other hand out and Nicky took it. Farrell trotted between them and they walked as a line on the wide footpath. At the alleyway through to Newcombe Street, Nicky took the leash and jogged ahead with the dog, but Rohan kept his arm fixed around Emma's shoulders until they reached the front door.

"You!" The voice sounded vitriolic and still thick with a Slavic accent. It forced Emma's insides to recoil, infusing her stomach with an awful sensation of nausea. She dropped her drinking glass, feeling the sharp shards pierce the skin of her instep as it shattered on the tiles and cut through her sock. The tiny cuts stung, penetrating the numbness taking over Emma's body.

Rohan's mother stood in the hall, her immaculate figure framed in the kitchen doorway and a front door key gripped in her raised hand. Her voice sounded like fingernails dragged across a blackboard. "Vot are you doing here?" she demanded, thinning her lips in a habitual pout. "Vy are you at my son's house? Ver is he?"

Alanya had remained beautiful, her straight blonde hair subdued into a tight bun and her ballerina's poise still slight and graceful. Age had attacked the top half of her body since they last met, bending her forward like a weathered tree, but her face hadn't changed. Her lips formed an unsmiling pencil line and her blue eyes bored into Emma's innermost places of fear.

Emma stared at the mess on the floor and then at the terrifying woman in the doorway. Alanya's presence reduced her to a sixteen-year-old again, a girl with tousled, curly dark hair and a skip in her step. She'd cowered before the vicious matriarch who had seized possession of her father's home. Emma resisted the overwhelming desire to cringe. Six years of hardship had honed the gentle curve of her spine into a backbone of steel. With poise and dignity, she scrunched across the glass, feeling the jagged edges press into the soles of her feet. "Rohan's out," she said, keeping her tone formal. Edging past her former stepmother, she walked up the stairs and maintained her composure until the second turn of the dogleg. She felt the burn of Alanya's eyes boring into the side of her face through the wooden spindles of the staircase.

Behind the safety of her bedroom door, she propped a chair beneath the handle and hurled herself face down on the bed. "Shit, shit, shit!" she hissed, the need to run building like a head of steam in her brain. The pain from the glass cuts in her feet forced her to deal with the reality of the moment. Blood stained her socks as she sat up and stripped them off her feet. She dabbed at her bleeding flesh with a tissue from the bedside table and forced her addled mind to make contingency plans. Rohan's promise formed the backdrop. He'd said Alanya couldn't find out. He lied.

Emma crawled around the carpet, throwing clean clothes into her battered suitcase. The tissues slipped from her feet, forcing her to face her difficulties. She paused to dampen more and stuck them over the cuts. Everything seemed futile. To run, she needed to at least be able to walk.

No sound came from downstairs and Alanya didn't follow her. Emma's heart pounded as she repeated the same action as seven years earlier. A different house. The same threat. She swallowed back tears at the memory of Anton helping her pack, his slender fingers stuffing her clothes into a duffle bag and throwing it over his shoulder. She heard his words as though he stood in the room with her. "Never come back, Emma. Do you promise?"

Emma dabbed at the cuts with more tissue, making a white mountain next to her on the light carpet. Time joined the battle against her and the alarm clock's hands ticked on without sympathy. The half an hour needed to pack up Nicky's belongings and drag everything to the school created an impossible task.

Alanya's raised voice drifted upstairs and Emma's fingers stilled. Infused with urgency, she stuffed tissues in clean socks and hauled them over her cut feet. "I will not be a victim," she chanted, using the familiar mantra to energise herself. But sadness and regret tainted her words. "I'm sorry, Anton," she breathed. "I'm sorry I let you down and ruined everything."

Alanya shouted something in her jerky Russian and Emma caught the echo of a male voice rise in reply. She crawled to the bedroom door and lifted the chair aside. Opening the door a crack, she peeked into the hallway. Empty. The sound came from downstairs and towards the back of the house. Rohan's deep bass rumbled from the kitchen, giving Emma the opportunity to escape through the front door.

Her feet smarted as she stood and she searched around for her threadbare jacket. Limping to the wardrobe, she lifted it from the handle and slipped it over her shoulders. The suitcase zipper made a sad sound as she pulled it closed.

"Em!" The knock on her bedroom door made her jump and squeak in fright. "Are you okay?" He pushed the door open and took a step inside the room.

"My _syn!_ " Alanya's voice wailed from the bottom of the stairs. "Throw ze bitch out. She is trouble. _Mycop_ , garbage!"

"Stop!" Rohan spun around and disappeared from the doorway. His heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs and Emma listened to his mother's protests as the front door opened. "Mama. This is not your business. _Ukhodi!_ "

"Don't tell me to go away!" Alanya's voice rose in the street. Pain and fury laced her speech. Rohan's voice lowered and Emma used the reprieve to pick up her empty wallet and stuff it into her jacket pocket. A glance at her watch gave her five minutes to pack Nicky's things and get everything downstairs.

The front door slammed and Emma heard Rohan exhale. Her mind automatically translated his next sentence. "Bugger off, woman." He crested the stairs with his odd gait and knocked on the door before entering. "She's gone now, Em. What are you doing?" Shock replaced irritation and he pushed the door wide. Emma paused while hoisting her suitcase upright. A broken wheel caused it to list to one side.

"Leaving." She hid her trembling hands behind her back.

"No!" Rohan's brow furrowed into deep lines. His blond fringe covered one eye as he stared at the blood-stained tissues on the carpet. "What happened, Em? Did she do this?" His jaw tightened and an angry flush began on his neck.

Emma shook her head. Much as she wanted to sully Alanya's reputation, she resisted sinking to the depths of untruth. "No. She let herself in with a key and frightened me. I dropped a glass and stupidly walked through it." Her jaw tightened. "You promised I wouldn't see her."

Rohan frowned and shook his head. "She never comes here. I didn't anticipate her walking across town and didn't know she owned a key." He ran a shaking hand through his hair. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I took the key from her."

Emma shrugged and her fingers clenched around the handle of her suitcase. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Nicky and I are leaving."

"To go where?" Rohan fixed his hand on the door frame. His body created a barrier and Emma paused. Devilment tempted her to step under the triangle formed by his outstretched arm and the line of his body. She took a step forward. "Please?" Rohan's request sounded civil, but desperation leaked from his soul. "Don't go."

"I can't stay." Emma's jaw ground against her cheek. She narrowed her eyes and glared at Rohan. "You told her about Nicky."

"I told her nothing!" he protested. "I don't know why she came here, Em. Please, believe me?"

Emma glanced at her watch. "I need to fetch Nicky and break the news. Get out of my way."

"No." His blue irises cooled to the colour of a frozen lake. "You can't leave."

"She'll come back." Emma gave an involuntary shiver. She closed her eyes against the memories. "I broke my promise to Anton. He knew this would happen."

Rohan released a snort of irritation. "Anton?" He inhaled and his nostrils flared. "I don't want to speak about Anton!" His eyes narrowed in betrayal and his lips fixed into thin lines. "I will fetch plasters for your cuts and then we will fetch Anton's _syn_. You delude yourself if you believe my mama cares anything for a child of his. She made no secret of her disappointment in his choices." He watched Emma's reaction as he tested her with his words. She kept her expression impassive and he frowned before leaving the room. She heard him navigating the stairs to the lower level and the sound of drawers opening and closing. Her legs wobbled beneath her and she sank to the carpet. Blood seeped through her socks and the wads of tissue. She removed them, wincing at the tiny cuts which continued to ooze.

Rohan clumped back up the stairs with a first aid kit, sighing as he selected sticking plasters with care. His blue-eyed gaze fixed on Emma's face as though searching her soul for clues. He made the moment much more serious than it deserved and childish giggles born of nervousness bubbled in her chest. "Stop staring at me!" she spluttered, fumbling a wiggling plaster. It stuck to the carpet and she snorted as she lifted it and inspected the fluff attached to the glue.

"Bloody hell, Em!" Rohan snatched the packet from her hand and frowned in concentration. She squealed as he shredded the cardboard in his capable fingers, showering her with plasters of all shapes and sizes.

"How did that help?" she asked, a giggle sneaking through her voice. Shaking her head, she saw two round pimple plasters cascade from her hair. A laugh burst from her lips.

Rohan slid to the floor next to her, bending one of his legs and keeping the other out straight. "Keep still!" he commanded, gripping her left ankle in his fingers and hauling her leg across his. One handed, he peeled the backing off a long plaster with his teeth and spat the white paper onto the carpet. He aimed it over the worst of Emma's cuts and she squealed, yanking her foot away. Rohan jerked and stuck the plaster to her jeans.

"I don't want it on my foot when you've had it in your mouth!" Emma punctuated her protest with a snort of laughter.

"I'm gonna kill you in a minute!" Rohan growled, but an uncharacteristic smirk lifted one side of his mouth.

Emma grinned. " _Durak_ ," she whispered.

Rohan looked up in surprise at her use of the Russian word for fool. He made no comment, tearing the protective backing from another plaster in absolute silence.

Sensing she'd gone too far, Emma's mirth lessened. The need to push him to get a reaction wore her out, depleting her energy like it always had. He'd maintained the blank expression and bottled emotions for a lifetime, inoculating himself against the world. And her. She sighed, a deep, lonely sound. Her heart craved the Rohan of their private times together; loving, generous and open. Her Rohan, not the stiff captain the army had sent home once it had ruined his body. He'd locked out everyone, even her. Especially her.

Rohan held up the biggest plaster in his fingers and without warning, lurched for her mouth. He'd sealed it over her lips before she could react. "Better," he said, a smile breaking out across his face. Emma gasped as the sun seemed to shine from behind his stormy blue irises. It was there and then gone, but she'd seen it.

Squeaking, she tipped backwards onto the carpet to get away from him as he narrowed his eyes and lifted the next plaster. She emitted a series of grunts and squeaks which might have been swearwords. Rohan overbalanced as she shifted sideways and seemed unable to save himself, sticking plasters dangling from both hands. Emma grunted in protest as his torso pressed her into the carpet. She pressed her hands against his immovable chest. Rohan smirked and smiled down at her, his weight on one elbow. Tension crashed down onto them like a lead block, heavier than his ribs crushing hers.

Emma's eyes widened and she made incoherent sounds from behind the plaster. Rohan's lips turned down and he whispered something in Russian which she didn't catch. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek and the long fingers of his right hand moved to her waist. The air hung between them. Emma watched his full lips move, her mind playing cruel tricks as it reminded her of the heat of his tongue. Rohan's pupils widened and he lifted his hand and moved it towards her face. His body conducted an involuntary tremor of anticipation through them both.

At the last second, his fingers swerved across her eyeline and the plaster landed on the end of her nose. Emma lifted her left hand and her fingernails scrabbled to remove both plasters. She flicked them onto the carpet and opened her mouth to complain, words of rage ready to escape. Rohan's lips quirked upwards as he leaned close enough for his warm breath to coast across her chin. Emma's lungs stilled and she swallowed, his familiar scent surrounding her like a haze. The colour of Rohan's irises changed to the hue of a stormy sea and he sighed. His fingers brushed her cheekbone at its highest point and his lips parted to speak. Emma held her breath.

"You should fetch your son," he said, his voice low and gruff.

"We're still leaving, Ro," Emma whispered. "This isn't working."

Rohan frowned, his eyebrows drawing close together to mask the pain in his eyes. His jaw flexed as his teeth ground. He exhaled through his nostrils and the blank mask crashed down over his feelings. "I'll drive you to the school. Fix the plasters to your feet and I'll bring the car around to the street."

Rohan pushed himself upright and used the bedspread to drag himself up backwards. Emma sat up and collected the ruined plasters. She folded them into her palm with exaggerated care. "Nicky will want to play with Mo in the park," she said. "I need to tell him we're leaving." She gnawed her lower lip and closed her eyes, imagining the scene.

"I'll fetch the car. Be ready in five minutes." Rohan stood and paused at the door. His hand closed over the handle and he gave his head a slight shake. Then his shoulders straightened and he hauled the door open, stepping out into the hallway and closing it behind him.

"Ro!" Emma's voice held panic as she called him back. The door opened and his face held expectation.

"What's wrong?" He stepped inside the room.

"Promise your mother knows nothing about Nicky?"

To her dismay, Rohan shrugged. "I can't, Em. I don't know how she found out you were here, or where she got the door key. She didn't mention Nicky, but that doesn't mean she doesn't know he exists." Rohan sighed. "Anton's revelation of homosexuality severed their relationship many years ago. I promise you, she won't care about his _syn_."

His words sounded formal and wooden. Emma nodded, acknowledging another thing she owed thanks to Anton for sacrificing. "Okay," she said. "Fair enough."

"Get ready." Rohan barked the order as though commanding his troops and Emma let reality wash over her. She nodded and Rohan left again, exiting the room with a heavy sigh.

Emma used more toilet roll to dab her cuts dry. Then she used the scattered plasters to patch up her feet enough to stand. She donned two pairs of less holey socks and limped into the hallway, closing Nicky's bedroom door on impulse. If she didn't look at his few belongings, she didn't need to think about packing them up and wheeling his battered suitcase down the stairs with hers.

She'd been running since the day Anton discovered the child growing in her womb, forced onward by circumstances outside her control. Emma's hand gripped the door handle, the smooth metal hard beneath her fingers. "I'm tired," she whispered, leaning her forehead against the knotted wood. "I can't keep doing this."

But Anton's baritone spoke from her thoughts, reminding her of the promise she'd made and warning her of the consequences if she didn't keep it.

# Chapter 14

Rohan drove to school via the main roads. Farrell tucked himself into the footwell at Emma's feet and laid his head on her knee. Rohan parked the car on the street and held her door open for her. He offered her a hand as she hobbled free and stepped onto the curb. Despite the desire to shy away from his touch, she accepted his help.

"I'll ask Mama not to come to the house without a prior agreement," Rohan said, his voice toneless. Emma watched his expression but saw no hint of emotion as he spoke about making a formal arrangement with his mother.

She eyed him sideways. "I don't trust her, Ro. You didn't see that evil side of her. I know you don't believe she's capable of hurting anyone, but I don't want her near me or Nicky." She punctuated her sentence with a determined glare and Rohan frowned. He appeared conflicted, his hands digging into his pockets and a sad slump bowing his shoulders.

"I'm not sure what you think she's done, Em, but she's unwell. She struggles with her arthritis and it makes her miserable."

Emma stopped dead on the pavement. Other parents navigated her like logs in a divided river flow. "Don't defend her, Ro! You don't know what she did."

"What?" Rohan's eyes widened. "Tell me? What did she do?" He shook his head in confusion and spread his arms out wide. Then a portcullis crashed down over his rare openness and he took a step back from her. "Actually, don't bother. You sound like my crazy brother."

Emma watched with an open mouth as Rohan stepped up and walked through the narrow blue gate into the playground. Her fists balled against her thighs as disappointment filled her chest until it left no room for oxygen. Her legs moved like wooden planks as she forced them to follow him.

Emma faced the doors where Nicky would appear, her spine ramrod straight and her heart bulging with pain behind her chest wall. She couldn't bring herself to stand next to Rohan, leaving at least five metres between them. A group of chatting mothers filled the gap, forcing the separation to open further. Emma practiced the sentences in her head which would devastate her son's world, selecting and disregarding each one after holding it up to inspection. He wouldn't make a fuss, but the guilt of his stoic silence would act as its own punishment.

When a hand squeezed her shoulder, Emma jumped and whirled around with a gasp. Rohan frowned at her, contrition in his blinking blue eyes. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm out of the habit of justifying myself to others. Let's not speak of my mother, da?" He wound an arm around Emma and kissed her temple. His touch infused her with warmth. "She will stay away because I will tell her to. You don't need to leave."

Emma's shoulders slumped. "I wish I believed you, Ro. But I don't." She pushed at Rohan's chest as her heart constricted with the truth of Anton's constant complaint. Rohan wouldn't, or couldn't see what was right in front of his nose. He was Alanya's favourite son. His mother had achieved what she'd always wanted; Rohan all to herself.

"Is that you, Rohan?" Felicity clicked down the ramp into the playground, her high heels drawing the attention of the waiting parents as her ankles twisted at an unnatural angle. She shielded her eyes against the weak winter sun. Her voice grated, a shrill quality to it. The banshee call cut through the frigid air like a hatchet. "Roro! Oh, sweetie, you came to meet me from work." Her eyes narrowed and Emma saw a flash of naked hatred behind the designer glasses. She acknowledged Emma with a grimace. "And you brought your little sister. How nice." She dragged out the last word to emphasise the opposite meaning. Emma tried to shuck Rohan's arm from around her shoulders, but he increased the pressure and the awkwardness. Felicity took a step forward until the toes of her stilettos pointed between Rohan's brogues. A manicured fingernail flicked at the zipper on his jacket and she leaned forward, pursing her lips for a kiss. He stared at her for long enough for the moment to become uncomfortable. Felicity ended the deadlock by bouncing up on her toes and spreading pink lipstick over Rohan's lower lip.

Emma wriggled free of his arm, colour blossoming on her cheeks. Having achieved her goal, Felicity slipped her hand through the crook of Rohan's elbow and turned her body to cut Emma from the intimate circle. In an accidental gesture of loyalty, Farrell plonked himself down on Felicity's pointed stiletto and she grunted in pain.

Emma focussed her attention on the double doors, her mind sending futile telepathic signals to Nicky to make him hurry. Felicity burned holes in the side of her face with the venom darts from her eyes. She leaned across and tapped Emma's arm. "Remind me how long you're staying?" Her voice projected a sickly sweet quality. Emma shot a glance at Rohan and saw him frown in profile.

"I'm not sure," she replied, keeping her gaze focussed on the door. "Not long."

"It doesn't seem worth the effort of enrolling your son in our school," Felicity sniped. "He won't be here long enough to settle."

"He's fine." Emma stared at the doors as a group of tiny children emerged. The first two held the teacher's hand and skipped alongside her.

Felicity turned her full attention to Rohan, undeterred by his indifference. "Let's get some Chinese food tonight and stay in," she crooned. "I've downloaded a great movie for us to watch."

Emma acknowledged the knot of jealousy brewing in her gut. Felicity's combative attitude had raised it from the dead by laying down the unnecessary challenge. Emma closed her eyes, wanting the foolish woman to stop baiting her. She balled her fists and fixed her gaze on the bouncing children as they spotted their carers and ran across the playground with rucksacks bobbing on their slender backs.

Felicity gave a propitious giggle, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. She tugged Rohan's arm and giggled again, though he hadn't given her any encouragement. Emma resented Felicity's desperate game playing. It caused her to question her own motives in moving in with Rohan, instead of enjoying the freedom of his patronage before cruel reality broke through her fragile safety. Her shoulders drooped. Reality had already visited in the shape of Alanya Andreyev Halliday.

"Silly me, I almost forgot." Felicity's shriek jarred Emma from her thoughts. A manicured hand landed on Emma's sleeve. "I needed to ask you something." Felicity shed Emma away from the herd of parents and blocked her view of the door. Rohan looked over his shoulder, a frown on his face. He stood with his spine ramrod straight and his legs splayed as though on parade. His fingers twitched, revealing his confusion. Faced with the effervescent Felicity, the army captain didn't know how to react.

"I need to stay here." Emma tilted her head sideways so she could still see the door. "I'm watching for my son."

"Well, the headmaster wants to see you," Felicity replied. Her eyes glittered and her lips drew into a straight line. She hadn't wanted to deliver the message.

"Why?" Emma's eyes widened. "What's the problem?"

"I don't know." Felicity leaned closer, shrouding Emma in her floral perfume. "What's going on between you and Rohan? Is there something I don't know?"

"No." Emma regretted the doubt in her voice and tried to force it away. Her forced smile wilted and her gaze flicked towards the door. Other children emerged, skipping across the playground to parents. A small boy fell over his lunch box.

Felicity moved to stand in front of Emma. She tapped the toe of her red stiletto on the concrete playground. A chalk circle with a yellow smile got pounded in the face by her sole. "I don't have any choice but to believe you." Felicity shot a look back at Rohan and lowered her voice. "I hope you won't get in my way."

Emma followed her gaze and pitied the handsome Russian. He watched for Nicky like an addict seeking a hit. She shook her head and her reply sounding biting. "You're getting into a battle you don't understand," she growled.

Felicity's eyes widened. "What do you mean? I knew there was something odd about you turning up. I demand to know what's going on!"

"Nothing's going on!" Emma took a step forward. The more Felicity challenged her, the more she wanted to abandon her own plans and do the opposite to spite her. She prodded a fore finger into Felicity's fluffy coat. "We won't get in your way if you don't get in ours!"

Felicity blinked at Emma's sudden show of fire. She heaved out a sigh of exasperation. "Fine then! But something is distracting him and if it isn't your appearance, then what is it?

"I don't know!" Emma spat the words, aware of the growing attention of those around her. "Don't hold me responsible for your shortcomings as a girlfriend." She reared back and took a step away from Felicity. Danger flared in the darkness of her irises and Felicity took the warning. She looked momentarily unsure and her teeth chewed off the gloss from her lower lip while she regrouped.

"Fine. But the headmaster wants to see you in his office," Felicity bit. She clip-clopped away, expecting Emma to follow. "Hurry. He has another meeting!"

Emma pursed her lips into a tight line. She floundered, conflicted between dread, curiosity, and the impending arrival of her son. "I need to wait for Nicky," she called after her.

A bell sounded, pealing into the brick courtyard like a claxon. The last of the tiny infants filtered through the blue door before older children appeared. Clad in woolly scarves, hats and warm clothes. they poured from the building. Their eyes searched for parents before charging forward with pictures, library bags and rucksacks. Teachers kept head counts and nodded to parents as they released their charges.

Emma held her breath as Nicky appeared in the doorway. Felicity paused at the far corner of the courtyard and looked back, a frown creasing her forehead. Nicky cast around for Emma through huge blue eyes which glittered in the fading winter sun. Concern set off a series of nervous blinks. His gaze settled on Emma and relief turned up the corners of his lips in an effortless smile. He patted his teacher's thigh and spoke to her. She smiled and nodded at Emma. Nicky's faded puffer jacket gaped open and his white polo shirt hung from trousers which belonged on a bigger boy. His library bag bashed his kneecaps as he skipped down the ramp into the playground, tripping a little on his spindly legs. Emma opened her arms to greet him, but he turned aside at the last moment and placed his affection elsewhere.

Rohan scooped him up with a grin and swung him in an arc. Nicky's squeals of delight drew the attention of other parents and children. Farrell wagged his tail hard enough to raise his backside off the floor and loose gravel swam around his tail like the after effects of a snow angel.

Emma's brow knitted and her brown eyes grew as dark as coals. She hadn't realised how much she feared Rohan's influence over her son until she watched him replace her in Nicky's affections.

"Are you coming or not?" Felicity snapped. She retraced her steps, curiosity pursing her soft lips and glittering from behind her cold blue eyes. The wind ruffled her blonde hair and she postured, fixing her manicured fingers over her slender hips. "I already told you Mr Dalton has another meeting."

"Go. We're fine." Rohan's nod at Emma told her he'd heard her conversation with Felicity. Emma glanced at her son and then at the tall Russian. Her nod appeared wooden and forced.

Emma pulled herself away from the sight of Rohan and Nicky with their heads bowed like conspirators. The green, snakelike fingers of jealousy settled in her soul. Her prevalent sense of optimism seemed to have temporarily abandoned her. She felt lonely without it, left with nothing but bitterness to fill the gap.

"Ah, Mrs Harrington." The headmaster spoke with a deep baritone. His cauliflower ears and twisted nose bore testament to an earlier rugby career. The diarrhoea brown suit looked too big for him, but he exuded enough confidence for outward appearances not to matter. Enthusiasm emanated from him like a cannabis haze. He was an enigma, a teacher herding children for the love of the task.

The urge to correct him on her marital status came and went as Emma remembered the lecherous headmaster from her last school. Felicity studied her with a pout and Emma hid her smirk. She'd taken great care not to tick the title box and the nosy secretary had missed it in her eagerness to determine Nicky's parentage. Emma turned sideways to obscure Felicity's view and then added the final blow. Calling over her shoulder as though considering an afterthought, she dismissed her. "Thanks Felicity," she said. Her wooden smile offered no opportunity for Felicity to stay in the room. "I appreciate your help."

Oblivious, the headmaster beamed at Emma as though she was the Christmas gift he'd always wanted. A missing side tooth made the experience a little freaky. "Yes, thank you, Felicity," he said. With a grunt of disdain, Felicity backed through the door and closed it behind her with exaggerated roughness. The headmaster paused until her stiletto heels had clicked into the distance. Then his round face broken into a grin. "Walk with me!" he said, clapping his hands together. Excitement sparkled in his blue eyes. "I've something to show you."

The journey down the corridor was fraught with delay, not just because experience had made Emma wary of older men keen to show her things. She dragged her feet at first until realising she didn't need to fear Mr Dalton. He didn't have a threatening bone in his body.

The school population of four hundred various sized children should have got halfway home by the time the headmaster appeared in the corridor. But the word had gone out that their halo wearing leader was enjoying a walkabout. All hell broke loose as children materialised on every side of him in the narrow corridor, streaming back in from the playground as a mob. Mr Dalton walked at a snail's pace; his feet pointed towards a staircase leading to a mezzanine floor. He could have benefited from a security detail to take care of crowd control.

"Mr D, I done this picture for you!" A child bounced next to him, waving a sheet of damp paper. Two blonde ponytails swung from above her ears. Her eyes lit from within as Mr Dalton took the paper with a smile and admired the stick images.

"Ah, is this me and the England rugby squad?" he asked. The child pursed her lips and nodded. It could have been anything, but she appeared delighted with his deduction. "And there's the ball." His knotty finger jabbed at a splodge of paint in the sky. "Perfect."

"Mr D, is your wife all better now after her hystericalectomy? Mum got sweets for her, but the dog ate them."

"That's very kind of your mum." Mr Dalton bestowed a smile worthy of a king. "Please thank her on behalf of Mrs D and the dog."

"Mr D, look at my new shoes." A foot appeared from the crowd and dangled in the air before the owner fell over backwards with a grunt.

"Wonderful!" Mr Dalton intoned. "Very smart indeed, Toby."

"What ya doin' Mr D?"

"Where ya goin' Mr D?"

Everyone smaller than four feet tall wanted a piece of him. Emma surged along in the bodies which thronged around her like floodwaters. The miniature fans stuck with them until the bottom of the stairs where Mr Dalton stopped and turned, holding out his arms like a televangelist demanding cash. "Well, children," he said in a sing-song storyteller's voice. "See you all tomorrow. Mrs Harrington and I have important work to do for our school celebration."

There was a hum of disappointment and the bodies dribbled away like flotsam. Emma heard the word _celebration_ and realised she'd left it too late to bolt. Discomfort spread through her body like a virus. She'd bet he wanted her archiving skills.

Mr Dalton beamed at Emma. "I love this job." He slapped his thighs with enthusiasm and skipped up the stairs ahead of her. Emma paused, but the sound of Felicity's high heels clopping along the wooden floorboards drove her after him as an embrace of the lesser of two evils. Mr Dalton skipped up the fifteen steps like a mountain goat and entered a door at the top. Then he turned with a grin and held his arms out. "Welcome to our computer suite," he said with a flourish. "We're very proud of it."

"Lovely." Emma made appreciative sounds and looked around at the neat workstations lined side by side. The paint smelled fresh and no old photographs decorated the pristine space. Apart from a lonely shoe and a discarded cardigan, it looked unused. Her heart sank as Mr Dalton bounced over to a half-height door and yanked it open. "Your son says you're an amazing archivist," he declared. His voice echoed in the cavernous space beyond the door. "So, I've got the perfect job for you."

The scent of must and damp hit Emma like a wall. She closed her eyes and breathed through pursed lips. Mr Dalton bent himself double and disappeared into the cavity of the attic space. His voice acquired an echo as though he'd shoved his head into a balaclava. "Your son was quite chatty!" he boomed. "I'm impressed he can spell 'archivist'."

Emma heard boxes shifting around on a gritty surface and her heart clenched. "Not again," she whispered. "Just shoot me now."

"Pardon?" The headmaster emerged from the half-height doorway in a rush, bringing with him a cloud of dust, a collapsing cardboard box and a smell which filled every archivist with dread. _Mildew._ Undeterred, Mr Dalton went back inside for more. "We have a very small budget." His voice reverberated off beams and slate tiles which Emma couldn't see.

"I bet you do," she whispered. "Same old story." She didn't follow him. Nobody cared about their dusty, neglected archives until they needed them. By then it was usually too late and most were past displaying.

"Let's start at fifteen hours a week and see how we go. Our board chairman has estimated that a couple of weeks should do it." He emerged with a nasty looking cobweb hanging over his left ear. Emma took a cautious step backwards in case its owner had come along for the ride.

Mr Dalton rose and uttered the magic words which had put the neglected boxes in the spotlight. "It's our one hundred and fiftieth celebration this year."

"When this year?" Emma's voice sounded flat alongside Mr Dalton's enthusiasm.

"December," he replied. "So that gives you time to get everything ready. If you could just prepare the resources for display, we'll do the rest." He clapped his hands together and released a cloud of dust. "Eleven months is more than enough time to create something wonderful for our children."

Emma eyed the box of tarnished trophies, mouldy photographs and cracked picture frames. Her gaze flicked back to the trusting little man. She bit her lip and prepared to let him down as gently as she could manage. "Nicky and I are just staying with a friend," she began. The rest of her sentence died on her lips as a spider abseiled down the side of Mr Dalton's face.

"Fantastic!" He reached forward with filthy hands and clasped hers in a firm grip. "Welcome to the team! I'll get our caretaker to bring out the rest."

"The rest? How much is there?" Emma heard the wobble in her voice.

"Oh, heaps!" Mr Dalton waggled his eyebrows. "Take a look!" He opened his arms like a circus master and directed Emma to poke her head beneath the dusty lintel. A dim light bulb lit a makeshift floor covered in brown cardboard boxes in various states of decay. Emma's heart sank to her toes. The life and history of school lay in a field of neglect. She withdrew her head and took a gulp of clean air.

"Two weeks won't do it, Mr Dalton," she said. She shook her head. "Sorry."

The headmaster wrinkled his nose and saw his solution slipping away from him. He waved a hand in the air and dismissed Emma's concerns with a weak promise. "I'll speak to the board. Maybe they can come up with a little more." The spider landed on his white collar and blended into the brown of his suit. "You just get started and see how it goes."

Emma emerged from the blue door feeling like she'd just lost a fight with a smiling assassin. The empty playground spread out before her and she cast around for a sight of Nicky as her heart rate ticked up a notch. Felicity's shrill voice drew a groan from her lips. "You can stop now, Nicky. Uncle Rohan wants to sit with me."

Farrell barked as Emma appeared. He ran towards her with his leash trailing behind him and his plumed tail wagging like a sail. Rohan caught a tennis ball as it bounced up near his face and kept it clasped in his strong fingers.

"Hi, Mum!" Nicky waved and held his hands out for the ball, giggling as Rohan bounced it back to him.

"Let's go." Emma watched the cut of the handsome Russian's jaw as he jerked his chin upwards at Nicky as though to punctuate the silent command. She expected a fight or at least a protest, but Nicky fell into line as though under a spell.

"Thank goodness!" Felicity rose from a wooden bench, her body encased in the fluff of a dead teddy bear. She took spikier steps than usual in her heels, her body language oozing irritation. As the women converged on Rohan, Felicity slipped her hand through his arm to assert her rights. Emma shrugged and persuaded herself she didn't care.

"Hey Nick." She kissed the top of her son's blond head and ruffled his hair. "Where's your hat?"

"In my bag." He ran to the bench and retrieved it, yanking the woollen hat from a hole in the side instead of opening the zipper. Emma ignored the blatant rip and pursed her lips.

"What did he want you for?" Felicity demanded.

"A job," Emma replied. A mix of emotions performed laps in her mind. "Just for a few weeks."

"Oh, are you staying?" Felicity's voice held a complete lack of enthusiasm, her screeching timbre like the drip of a tap.

Emma shrugged as a familiar wire cage descended around her heart. Trapped again. "It's not for long. Then we'll head back to Lincoln."

"We're stayin' down here?" Nicky asked, jumping up and down next to her. His eyes widened like espresso saucers.

"Don't get too excited." Emma squatted down next to him and lowered her voice. "It's just for a few weeks. Fifteen hours is part time money, babe. We can't live on it."

Nicky's face dropped into a sad pout. "But I wanna stay with Ro and Farrell."

Emma sighed and white condensation drifted from between her lips in the frigid air. "Not forever, sweetheart. You knew that before we came. We'll look after Faz while Rohan's away on business and then go home." She couldn't look up at Rohan's blue eyes, feeling his stare drilling into the side of her face. She flushed with embarrassment. "Come on, let's go back to Rohan's house. I'm cold." She avoided calling it home.

The little party stepped from the playground as the elderly caretaker closed the side gate. Rohan walked ahead with the dog on the leash, Felicity clamped to his arm. She dragged her heels in a sexy-don't-care way which made Emma want to buy a train ticket back to Lincoln. She told herself she would if she had the money.

Nicky held her hand and sulked. At the main road, she dropped back to talk to her son without an audience, noticing how the dog kept stopping to wait for her. Darkness crept around them, extending its long fingers out to touch them as the streetlamps flicked on overhead. "What's up, baby?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "Don't you like school?"

"It's not that." But he didn't sound sure.

Emma sighed. "Maybe have a little think about what the problem might be and then we'll talk about it." She squeezed his hand, not pushing him to rationalise or explain until he felt ready. It usually worked. Rohan and Felicity crossed the busy Northampton Road ahead of them and the traffic forced Nicky and Emma to wait on the pedestrian island in the centre. Nicky tugged on Emma's hand and hauled her down, so he could whisper in her ear.

"Mummy, I don't like that lady," he hissed. "I don't like it when she cuddles Uncle Ro. He belongs to us, not her."

Emma exhaled and picked her words with care, buying herself time until they'd dodged the traffic to make it to the other side. "She's his girlfriend, babe. That's what they do. When you get a girlfriend, she'll keep wanting to kiss your face."

"Yuk!" Nicky screwed his delicate nose into a splodge. The same light freckles which once dotted Anton's nose reappeared as he relaxed his features, their presence a trace of shared genetics. "I won't let girls kiss my face," he scoffed. They can climb trees wiv me and play soccer. I ain't doin' none of that sloppy crap!"

"Language, Nicky!" Emma shot a frightened glance at the back of Felicity's head.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. It just popped out." Nicky's blue eyes grew round. "I wanted to say, shit, but I chose that word instead. I didn't wanna say shit out loud."

"You just said it twice!" Emma clamped a hand over his mouth. "We're not on the estate now, Nicky."

"Yeah but you said we're going back there. I need to stay in practice, don't I?"

They spent the rest of the walk home along the narrow winter streets discussing the merits and drawbacks of the English dictionary according to Fat Brian. They got all the way home before Rohan remembered he'd left his Mercedes outside the school.

# Chapter 15

Felicity hung around the house, dogging Rohan's steps from room to room. He seemed indifferent to her presence which forced her to work even harder to get his attention. Emma whipped up a quick dinner of tinned vegetable soup and sat with Nicky to eat at the breakfast bar. They fell into a familiar routine as she helped him with his homework.

"Ro doesn't like that woman," Nicky grumbled. He pushed a pea around his bowl. Emma inhaled through her nose and forced disinterest into her tone.

"It's not our business."

"You should tell her to leave." Nicky scraped his spoon along the bottom of his bowl. Emma gritted her teeth at the sound.

"It's nothing to do with us." She reinforced her statement with a glare. "Stay out of it. If we cause a ruckus then Rohan might ask us to leave. Is that what you want?"

"No!" Nicky squirmed on his seat. "But I wanna play games with Rohan and she's in his face, so he can't."

Emma sighed. "He's a big boy, Nicky. Rohan is capable of managing his own life."

Nicky wrinkled his nose. "Well, he's making a shit job of it at the moment."

Emma groaned and pushed her half-eaten food aside. Nicky fingered the edge of her bowl and pulled it towards himself. "Can I have this?" he asked.

Emma tutted and climbed off the stool. Nicky's dislike of Felicity caused guilt to bud in her chest. She needed to try harder and make the woman feel less threatened by her presence. In a gesture akin to a white flag, she heated another tin of soup, filled two bowls and carried them into the dining room. Rohan tapped on a laptop at the table and glanced up as she entered. Felicity sat on the window seat looking out at the street. She cut a sad figure with her chin resting against her hand and her elbow on the windowsill. "I brought you some dinner." Emma fixed a smile on her face and put the bowls on the table. She turned back towards the kitchen for cutlery and a loaf of bread.

Rohan frowned. "You aren't eating with us?" he asked.

"No." Emma offered Felicity what she hoped was a genuine smile but received nothing in return. "You enjoy your time together."

Back in the kitchen, she found Nicky playing with the remnants of her soup. "Leave it if you don't want it, sweetheart. You don't need to eat everything in sight. There's more where that came from, thanks to Rohan."

"But I want it," Nicky replied. His spoon tortured a piece of carrot and his eyes glazed in thought. "That woman makes my hunger go away."

"Felicity? Why?"

"No reason." Nicky pursed his lips and pushed his spoon under a potato before laying the handle against the side of the bowl with a sigh. "Is it time for you to tell me about my dad yet?" He blinked, his blue eyes wide and filled with accusation.

Emma's chest clenched as the muscles tightened in fear. She kept her nerve and managed a weak smile. "Not yet, baby. When you're older."

Nicky pouted. "I'm older now."

"Not old enough." Emma's fingers writhed behind her back. "I promised you an honest conversation when you're able to listen to me." Her chin wobbled, but agitation consumed her son and he didn't notice.

"This sucks!" he spat. "People keep asking me about him at this new school. What do I say?" He spread his hands wide either side of him and pouted. "Just promise he's not someone like Fat Brian." His eyes widened to show the clear white rims. "Or Fat Abdul. Please, not Fat Abdul."

"I've never met Fat Abdul!" Indignation filled Emma's reply and she settled her hands over her hips. "Who's asking you about your father?"

"Just people." Nicky shrugged and looked away. "My new Mo might have to leave soon. His mum is running from her Fat Abdul. He's tired of running away." His eyes narrowed as he levelled his accusation at Emma. "I'm sick of running too."

"We don't run!" Emma ground her teeth in her jaw and blinked back tears. "We couldn't stay in Wales without a house. I took the job at the school in good faith. It's not my fault I lost it."

Nicky clambered down off his stool. His big toe peeked from a hole in his sock. "Feels like running to me," he commented under his breath. "I wanna stay here. But it's hard when people ask about my dad. It makes me wanna tell stories."

"Stories?" Emma's voice emerged as a whisper. "What stories?"

Nicky shrugged. "That he's a cowboy or an astronaut. It's better than saying he's in prison."

"He's not in prison." Emma licked her lips and leaned back against the counter to stop her knees knocking. "I've told you the truth, Nicky. It's complicated. I want you old enough to understand. You've accepted that until now. What's changed? Aren't I enough for you anymore?" She clamped her teeth over her lower lip to stem the flow of emotional blackmail which threatened to pour forth. Her son had rights and she knew it. Quashing them didn't make her feel like a great mother. It was ugly and she rebuked herself. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's fine." Nicky dug his hands in his pockets. "I'll just make up stories. That'll shut them up."

"Shut who up?" She narrowed her eyes at Nicky's veiled reply.

"Just people." He pursed his lips and glanced towards the door.

"Hop in the shower, baby." Emma said. She gripped the counter and watched her son slouch towards the kitchen door. "I'll come upstairs and read your library book with you."

"Okay." His sweet face brightened and he padded off upstairs. Emma heard him trip over his own feet halfway up and waited. He picked himself up and continued his journey. She leaned her forehead on her arms on the counter and took steady breaths while waiting for her heart rate to settle. Nausea roiled the food in her stomach.

"What's wrong?" Rohan's voice cut through her pain and Emma pushed herself upright.

"Nothing," she lied. "Just a headache."

"I have pain killers in that cupboard." Rohan pointed towards the pantry. "Want some?"

"No thanks." Her denial revealed the untruth like a beacon shining on her misery.

"How are those cuts on your feet?" Rohan kept his distance and subdued emotion yawned between them like a void.

"Fine." Emma seized the dirty bowls from the counter and moved towards the sink. Rohan blocked her route, silent and unmoving. He reached out to take them from her and a spoon slipped sideways and hit the tiles before skittering across the floor. Rohan's eyes narrowed.

"You're not the help, Emma." His voice sounded low and melodic.

"I'm just doing you a favour," she said, her tone brittle. "We'll move out when you get back."

Rohan's Adam's apple bobbed beneath the soft skin of his throat. A series of faint lines scarred his jaw and Emma stared at them. They drove a wedge further between their shared histories, evidence of a life lived without her. Rohan lifted the bowls from her hands and set them back on the counter. He ignored the fallen spoon and seized her shoulders as she moved to retrieve it.

"I don't want you to leave," Rohan whispered. "Don't make me beg." His long fingers pushed her curls aside from her neck and Emma shivered at his touch. They both jumped as Felicity's chair scraped against the floorboards in the dining room.

Emma jerked away from Rohan, her cheeks flushing pink. "Stop it!" she hissed. "Your girlfriend is already suspicious about our relationship. I don't want any drama, Ro. I shouldn't have come. This was a big mistake."

"We need to talk." Rohan reached for Emma's waist as she navigated around him to grab the bowls. He released her when she bent to load the dishwasher. Her reflexes and his terrible timing meant she jabbed him in the groin with her elbow as she stood. She made it look like an accident, but his proximity made her panic and she just wanted him to leave her alone.

Rohan grimaced and grabbed his crotch through his pants. "Thanks!"

Emma blinked and tried not to laugh. "Sorry. Wrong place at the wrong time, Ro. Isn't that the story of our lives?"

Rohan's brow furrowed. "I don't think that's the case at all, Emma. You just have a knack for sabotaging the right place and the right time."

Emma's temper flared. She didn't want to delve any deeper into their shared history and his blame drove the knife deeper into her sense of guilt. She drew back and stared at him with fury in her eyes. Her index finger rose and jabbed at Rohan's muscular chest. "Stop asking Nicky about his father!" she demanded. "He doesn't know anything and you're unsettling him. It's unfair!"

She took a step back, her hands shaking with the urge to slap his face. Rohan's irises flashed an azure blue and he caught her wrist as it rose through the air. "I wouldn't do that!" he snarled. "What do you take me for?" His sexy Russian accent loaded his speech as anger peeled away the facade of the clean-cut English businessman. The tiles felt cold against Emma's feet and the myriad cuts to her tender flesh set up a collective protest in her socks.

"Leave me alone!" she hissed, wrenching her wrists from his grasp. She stepped until her spine touched the counter and then edged along it towards the door. Felicity's heels clicked across the wide lobby, the sound echoing off the stairs. "I mean it, Rohan," she whispered.

The handle depressed and Felicity's blonde head poked inside the gap as the door slid open. "Are you ready to watch the movie yet?" she said. Her gaze cut to Emma and her expression made it clear the house guest wasn't invited. "It might be cosier in the bedroom."

Emma couldn't look at Rohan; the tension in the room heavy enough to suffocate them both.

"Not tonight." Rohan lifted his hands and linked them behind the back of his head. His elbows jutted out either side of him and his shirt rose to reveal the soft skin of his waist. A flash of raised, red skin caught Emma's eye and she frowned.

Felicity kept her gaze on her perceived opponent, her irritation with Emma's presence distracting her. "Okay. I'll turn on the television in the lounge then," she said, missing Rohan's inference. Her head withdrew and the heels clacked across the lobby into the room next door. An advert blared out into the silence as she turned on the television.

Her anger overridden by curiosity, Emma crossed the room in three strides and she lifted Rohan's shirt with a tentative finger. He grunted and his arms crashed down as he tried to pull her hand away. "You're bleeding!" she hissed. "Rohan! When did this happen?"

His fingers closed over hers, his grip rough. He pulled her arm wide so she couldn't touch him and his blue irises glittered the colour of ice. "Leave it!" he snarled.

"But it's bleeding!" Emma reached with her other hand and Rohan snagged that one too, sealing her into his circle of intimacy.

"Please, Emma," he hissed. His tone lost its hardness and a sense of helplessness replaced it. "It's not bleeding. It just looks that way." He swallowed and pain backlit his eyes. "Leave it." He stared at her for a moment and energy surged between them. For a millisecond it felt like old times, desire dousing their argument like kisses beneath warm summer rain. Rohan swore in Russian and moved with a speed she couldn't counter. Emma gasped as he folded her into his arms and his lips crashed over hers.

"The movie is starting." Felicity's voice infused the moment with a cold reality. Emma tensed as Rohan's tongue slid beneath her lips. His hands cupped her face and she felt her body align with his in a familiar siren's call. Then Felicity's heels crossed the space between the lounge rug and the door.

Emma turned her face aside and Rohan's lips slid along the softness of her jaw, raising a host of forbidden sensations. It crossed her mind that perhaps he wanted to get caught. The thought sent anger to dispel the lust and she pushed herself backwards and out of his arms. He let her go, his expression becoming blank and a dark hopelessness settling over him like an aura. By the time Felicity pushed her way through the door, she met Emma already on her way out.

"Night," Emma gushed. "See you tomorrow."

Felicity's lips pared back into a snarl. "Oh. Do you start work tomorrow?"

Emma paused in the hallway and shook her head. "No. I meant in the morning." She glanced at Rohan's blank face and then back at Felicity. The thought of them together sent a stab of pain into her chest. Awkwardness shrouded her and she flapped a hand between them. "I'll need to wait for Mr Dalton to organise a contract before I can start."

Felicity nodded. "Yeah. He'll have to take up references."

Emma turned away, her heart sinking along with her hope. References. Of course. He'd ring her previous headmaster and then withdraw the job offer. Her shoulders slumped and she jogged up the stairs without looking behind her. She paused and blew out a breath on the first landing.

"She makes you wanna puke, doesn't she?" Nicky stood outside his bedroom door stark naked. Unabashed, he settled his hands over his hips.

"A bit," Emma admitted. Pushing thoughts of Rohan and Felicity from her mind, she changed the subject. "Did you shower already?"

Nicky nodded. "Yeah. I can't find my pyjamas."

Emma groaned. "Sorry, baby. I washed them. I bought you a new set from the charity shop, but I washed those as well." Emma gnawed on the inside of her cheek. "I'll find something temporary."

"I'll go commando." Nicky shrugged. "I bet Harley Man sleeps commando."

Emma closed her eyes against the reference of Nicky's imaginary friend. She'd figured the change in location might banish the motorbike riding hero from their lives. She glossed over it, focussing on the problem at hand. "Farrell doesn't like commando," she lied. "It scares him." Walking to her bedroom at the front of the house, she rifled around in her suitcase and found an old tee shirt. "Wear this for tonight. I'll dry your new pyjamas for tomorrow. Maybe I can use the tumble dryer."

Nicky slipped the tee shirt over his slender body and grinned as his head popped through the neck hole. "You're doin' a good job ya know?"

His words pricked at Emma's sense of failure and she shook her head. "I don't feel like I am," she whispered.

Nicky wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed his cheek against her stomach. "Sdelat' luchsheye," he whispered. "Granny Lucya used to say it all the time to me, remember?" He tilted his head back and Emma stared into his guileless eyes. "Do one's best." He pressed a kiss above the waistband of her jeans. "You always do your best, Mummy. You can't do more than that."

Emma kissed the top of his head, letting the words of her six-year-old soothe her ragged nerves. She only needed his approval, no one else's. "Right then, mister. Story time!" She pushed a heavy intonation of fake enthusiasm into her voice to cover her confusion before following her son to his bedroom.

Emma woke much later to feel her jeans cutting into her waistband. Her feet smarted from beneath the plasters and she winced and rolled onto her back. Nicky snored next to her, the school library book forming a hard pillow beneath his head. Emma remembered nothing from after the third reading.

She sat up without disturbing him and slipped off her bra without removing her tee shirt. She stepped from the bed to extract herself from her jeans and discarded them on the floor. The central heating clicked as water trickled through the radiator, though a winter chill nipped at her ankles. She flicked off the bedside lamp and walked to the window to pull the curtains. Moonlight bathed the garden in a blue glow, shimmering on the roof of the glasshouse and casting eerie shadows. Emma reached up to grasp the fabric, shivering against the draught sneaking through the joints in the wooden window frames. She tugged and the curtain rings slid across the pole to cover half the window.

As she reached for the other curtain, a movement caught her eye and she leaned nearer the glass. Her breath created a fog and she moved sideways to avoid touching the cold pane. The dark shape of a man stepped onto the lawn and stretched. Emma jerked behind the curtain as the white outline of his face tipped in her direction.

"Rohan?" she breathed. "What are you doing?" She pressed a hand against her chest and shook her head. The fright reaction made her pull back but curiosity drove her to look again. The glowing hands of her watch showed one in the morning. The eerie silence of night shrouded the house, the only sound generated by the radiator's gurgle and the settling of the floorboards. Emma peered from behind the curtain and searched for Farrell's lithe shape, reasoning Rohan must have let him into the garden.

The man turned sideways and his movements looked wrong. No limp hindered his walk as he turned to saunter down the centre of the lawn and across the orchard. He avoided the noisy gravel path, skirting the greenhouse and disappearing into the shadows. Farrell gave a muted woof from the kitchen and Emma frowned.

Her lips parted to shout an alarm, but she clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent its escape. The man left no evidence he'd been there. With no proof, she'd leave herself open to Felicity's ridicule. Emma listened for sounds from Rohan's bedroom next door, recoiling at the thought of hearing Felicity. She gave herself a mental shake and waited for her quickened pulse rate to slow.

Considering her own cold bed, she turned back to the window and yanked the other curtain across the window. Then she climbed back into Nicky's warm sheets and settled, falling asleep with his downy blond hair in her face.

# Chapter 16

Rohan dressed in a crisp white shirt and suit pants the next morning, donning a smart matching jacket to complete the professional image. He treated Emma with forced politeness as he leaned against her bedroom door. "I'm catching the early train to London," he said. "There's a spare key on the counter in the kitchen, so lock up if I'm not home before you go to bed."

Emma nodded and sat on the bed to examine her feet. Her tee shirt rode up over her bare thighs. "I thought you were going away for a few days. You wanted us to take care of Farrell, remember?"

Rohan ran a hand over his eyes. "Yeah. I have a job to complete first at my London office. I'm waiting for more information before I head north on this other contract."

"North?" Emma pursed her lips to hide her smile. "How far north?"

"Mind your own business." Rohan smirked. He jerked his head towards Emma's feet. "Take the plasters off. Let the cuts dry."

Nicky bounded up behind Rohan and pushed his head beneath his arm. "What cuts?" he demanded. "Where?"

"Nowhere." Emma heaved in a breath and shook her head. She wondered when lying to her son became a daily occurrence.

"Do svidaniya." Rohan turned his attention to Nicky, ruffling the boy's hair beneath gentle fingers. "Be good." He dropped his hand and turned to leave.

"Do svidaniya, vozlyublennaya." Nicky's reflexive reply made Rohan start. His hand remained frozen in mid-air. He stared at Nicky and his brow furrowed.

Emma kept still. Rohan's gaze burned a hole in the side of her face. She busied herself with her sock, ignoring his advice as she pressed it over a fresh batch of plasters. "Put an apple in your lunchbox, Nick," she ordered. "Let's not upset the healthy snack brigade on your second day."

"Okay." Nicky dodged around Rohan, stopping to grab his fingers and press a kiss to his knuckles. "Bye Ro. See ya later." He skipped along the landing and slithered down the wooden stairs in his socks.

"How does he know the Russian word for beloved?" Rohan stepped over the threshold and eased himself onto the bed next to Emma. He tutted as she fitted her second sock over her foot. It sagged at the ankle, the elastic long gone. He stretched a hand over hers to still the movement. "Do you ever take advice?" he whispered.

Emma shook her head and her damp hair bounced against his sleeve. "Not often."

Rohan sighed and his arm slipped around her shoulders. His other hand cupped her cheek. "Always fighting," he breathed. "Even when there is no enemy."

Emma's body refused to resist his embrace. She closed her eyes against the safety his presence induced. Rohan's arms offered comfort but created a hazardous snare she'd already once escaped.

Rohan tilted her head back with the pressure of his fingers against her chin. His lips brushed hers in a soft caress that revealed more of himself than he intended. "Izvinite," he whispered, but his apology sounded hollow. His fingers closed around her jaw. "How does your son know the Russian word for beloved?" His breath coasted across his ear as he repeated the question.

"Anton," Emma lied, daring to voice his brother's name in conjunction with her son. "Nicky picked up odd words." She pushed Rohan aside and he released her as though she'd burned him.

His eyes narrowed to slits. "Anton didn't speak Russian."

"Didn't he?" Emma turned aside to finish dressing. She hauled jeans over her underwear and fastened them, using the distraction to school her face into a blank mask. Rohan inhaled behind her and released the breath, impatience in the action.

"Whatever," he said with a sigh. He cleared his throat and stood. "I'll walk to the station and leave you the car. The keys are hanging in the hall cupboard. Try not to ding it! Oh, and if you need the computer, the password is neudachnik."

A snort issued from the doorway. Nicky banged his library bag against his shins. "Loser! That's funny." He made an 'L' shape with his index finger and thumb and giggled. "Mummy, Uncle Ro's password is loser!" He skipped to the top of the stairs, still giggling to himself.

Rohan rested his palm against Emma's cheek. His fingers caressed the back of her neck. She closed her eyes against familiar, enticing sensations. He pressed his forehead against hers. "We'll talk about this later."

"About what?" Emma swallowed, his words like a dousing of freezing water.

"About what you're hiding from me." Rohan's right hand snaked around her waist and his lips brushed against her neck. Her hands pressed against his firm chest and she closed her eyes. The secrets bubbled into her throat, ripe for spilling under the gentle kisses he placed along her jawline. Anton's voice cried a warning in her head and she swallowed and forced her confession back into its box.

Emma shook off Rohan's embrace and he released her. He turned without speaking and his footsteps moved along the hallway and down the stairs. Emma's legs shook as she collapsed back onto the bed and closed her eyes. "What am I doing?" she hissed against the backdrop of Rohan leaving.

"Come on, Mum!" Nicky complained, clinking the dog's lead at the bottom of the stairs. Farrell barked, his urgency matching the boy's.

Emma stuffed her feet into her holey boots in the wide hallway, wincing at her painful soles. She half listened to Nicky's bright chatter as he clasped the dog's lead through the park, her mind elsewhere. Memories surged to the fore with every day she remained as Rohan's houseguest. Images of her childhood, of Alanya and her damaged boys ran amok in her inner vision. Fear and a promise had led her to freedom. Desperation had brought her right back where she started.

# Chapter 17

Emma feigned sleep when Rohan knocked on her bedroom door after midnight. She heaved a sigh of relief when he walked into his own room without forcing a response from her. He moved around with exaggerated quietness and she lay on her back and listened to his footsteps. Conflict budded in her chest. Proximity to Rohan forced her to admit she'd missed him in the intervening years, regretting how their fledgling marriage had ended. She rolled onto her stomach with a groan. The law still considered them married, despite their six-year estrangement.

Emma slipped from the bed, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard near the door. Light footsteps carried her to the window and she drew back the curtain to allow the haze of the street lamp to flood the room. She lifted the lid of her battered suitcase, pushing her fingers beneath the jumble of clothing and reaching inside a slit in the lining. Paper crinkled under her fingers and she stroked it, knowing each fold and wrinkle in its surface. She didn't remove it, smoothing the lining back over its hiding place and letting the clothing cover it.

Emma sat on the side of the bed and let her face drop into her hands. She'd considered ridding herself of the marriage certificate many times, unable to follow through at the optimum moment. It had remained hidden in the suitcase since her panicked flight from Alanya's rage all those years ago.

Rohan had expressed his wish to talk to her and Emma winced against the interrogation hanging over her. "We shouldn't have come here," she whispered into the darkness. "It's unleashed the very thing Anton dreaded."

Emma slipped beneath the sheets and turned on her side. A ray of light from the street lamp created a diagonal yellow streak across her pillow and she dipped her fingers into the pool of colour. Sleep crept up on her with easy stealth and she woke an hour later with a tortured gasp. The yellow light flickered across her wrist as though to reassure her nothing had changed. Emma blew out a breath and rolled onto her back, running a shaking hand over her eyes. She'd dreamed of Alanya, a vivid, terrifying dream dredged up from the early days of living in Wales with Lucya. Emma drew her knees up to her chest and curled in on herself. She squeezed her eyes closed to dispel the image of Alanya holding out the mug of steaming green liquid for Nicky to drink. Emma's fingers balled into fists as sweat dripped from her temple and dampened the pillow beneath her face. "We shouldn't have come," she whispered again.

A clap of thunder overhead shocked her. She jumped and counted the seconds between the growl from the sky and the first flash of lightning which lit up the bedroom. It gave context to her weird dreams and she relaxed enough to watch the natural fireworks unfold across the sky.

The storm sounded terrible, edging nearer with each flash until the thunder roared overhead. It rocked the house and lightning shone like a strobe every few seconds. Emma heard a muted woof from Farrell downstairs in the kitchen and then the pyrotechnics drowned out all other sights and sounds. Fear drove Emma to Nicky's room for comfort. She convinced herself he might need her, but found him fast asleep sprawled across the double bed. The swollen black clouds disgorged a fearsome growl and the following bolt of lightning lit up her son's bedroom and reflected off his sleeping face.

Emma sighed and pulled her threadbare cardigan tighter around her shoulders. She walked to the window and peered into the gloom as lightning floodlit the garden. Nicky grunted and turned away from the light, his tousled hair swishing across his pillow. Emma froze.

Her breath caught in her chest as her heart lurched into an unhealthy hammering. Adrenaline coursed through her blood until she could hear nothing but the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears. A man stood in the garden looking up at the window. Tall and muscular, he'd worn black to blend in with the night. Another flash of lightning back lit his silhouette and Emma gave a noisy swallow. The dog barked again, not at the storm but at the intruder.

Emma stepped back from the window and glanced at her son. This time, she knew what she'd seen. Nicky slept on, the innocence in his delicate features infusing Emma with fierce maternalism. She held her breath and watched the man turn. He left as the lightning show robbed him of the cover of darkness, pausing for a moment at the archway through to the tiny orchard. The rain began, hissing against the concrete flagstones and spattering the window. The man's shoulders hunched and he raised a hood to cover his head. At the end of the garden he stopped, looked back up at the window. And straight at her.

Emma jumped. The hood put his face into shadow but she felt his gaze boring into her soul like a match held too close to the skin. Emma blinked and when she focussed again, she saw him striding away as though out for a stroll. Emma lost sight of him as he blended into the darkness near the greenhouse. She jumped as a thunderous groan tore the atmosphere apart. Farrell barked again as another flash of lightning lit up Rohan's shiny Mercedes beneath the car port beyond the orchard.

Emma wavered, caught between wanting to raise the alarm and reasoning that the man had gone. Closing the curtains to keep Nicky undisturbed, she padded from the bedroom and knocked on Rohan's door. It was his home. She should let him decide what to do about her two chance sightings of the intruder. Her mind flicked to the back handed warning issued by the strange private detective they'd encountered. He'd warned of another man also on Rohan's trail, one skilful enough to have avoided notice.

Emma heard an odd sound from Rohan's room. Recognising the choking whimper she ventured inside, forgetting until too late the risk of encountering Felicity. The polished floorboards made no sound beneath her bare feet. Open curtains displayed the impressive lightning flashes and Emma approached the lumpy shape beneath the sheets. A stunning bolt of white light leaped from the blackness and licked the earth, seeking to neutralise itself. A mighty growl followed it. Emma froze in wonder, her fingers hovering in mid-air above the jutting outline of a shoulder. The house shook again with the birth pains of the sky.

A squeak escaped her as a vice closed around her throat. Emma's fingers clawed at it as her lungs screamed for air. Her body arced backwards, unable to cry out as strong fingers crushed her windpipe. From within the fog of her panic, she recognised the husky Russian swearwords. She stopped clawing at the hand around her throat and lashed out at the shape above her as a flash of lightning betrayed the outline of a head. Bone clattered beneath her knuckles and the impact ricocheted up her arm. The choke hold finished with an abruptness which left her sliding down the side of the bed and onto the floor.

"Shit!" Rohan's voice contained a mixture of irritation and horror. The bedside light snapped on as Emma took rasping breaths and clutched her throat. In the intrusive yellow light, she saw Rohan's face staring down at her, a line of blood dribbling from his left nostril. "Em! What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. He wiped his nose with his wrist and left a streak along his skin.

Emma coughed, unable to answer. "Em?" Rohan leaned further over the side of the bed and Emma flapped a hand to ward off his assistance. She expected him to leap from the bed gushing apologies, but he pushed himself against the pillows and observed her through eyes which watered over his bloody nose.

"Don't get up," she rasped, her tone filled with sarcasm. She pressed her palm against the rug to push herself upright and her fingers contacted a metal rod which rolled sideways and clanked against the leg of the bed. She quested for it, sensing the smooth surface and losing herself in temper. Her fingers closed around it and her vision blurred.

"Don't you dare!" Rohan spoke through gritted teeth. He sat up in the bed, the sheets pooling around his flat stomach. He raised his arm in self defence and the sight shocked Emma. She released the weapon and let it clang to the floorboards.

"You tried to throttle me!" Her voice sounded hoarse.

"Never creep up on a soldier!" Rohan bit. He leaned over the side of the mattress and hauled her up with strong hands under her armpits. His biceps flexed, fed by raised veins carrying blood and oxygen. Another lightning flash split the sky.

"Get off me!" Emma snapped. The backs of her thighs touched the mattress and she turned to slap Rohan. She missed and the blow landed empty against his defined pectorals. Her lack of coordination enraged her and she resorted to verbal abuse. "Svin'ya!" she taunted him. Pig!

Rohan snorted like one and his arms wrapped around her. Despite Emma's tired protest, he pulled her across his chest. "Enough," he whispered. "I'm sorry for frightening you." He held her tight and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Emma relaxed against his warm chest and closed her eyes. Fear had sapped her remaining energy. A musky scent of orange and spice surrounded them and she allowed herself to bathe in its familiarity. Rohan sighed, his heartbeat thunderous against Emma's ear. "What was so important?" he asked. His lips pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Emma sat up and edged away, the reason for her errand paling in significance against her terror of a moment ago. "I saw someone in the garden," she said. Her fingers moved to her throat and she rubbed the sorest spot over her windpipe. "A man."

"How?" Rohan leaned sideways and flicked on the bedside lamp. Emma blinked against the sudden glow. She turned aside to avoid staring at his muscular but naked torso, the red scar livid in the soft light. Rohan ran a hand through his blond hair. "The gates are locked. No one can get into the garden."

Emma's sense of injustice flared. "Are you calling me a liar?" A sneer laced her voice and her eyes widened. "You think I needed to play the role of a pathetic woman to get into your bedroom?" She rose, a mocking smile twisting her lips. "Have it your way, Rohan. I don't know why I imagined you'd believe me this time. You never have."

"Emma, don't bring up the past." Rohan's head dipped back on his shoulders and he released a tired sigh. "We've lived a lifetime since then."

"Whatever!" Emma snarled. "He looked right at me. The lightning lit him up and it's not the first time I've seen him there." A rumble of thunder moved overhead, competing with the end of Emma's sentence. Sheets of rain pounded the window behind Rohan's head.

Rohan rubbed his eyes. "Well, he'll get wet, whoever he is and I'm not going out there now. But I promise to check as soon as it's light." He exhaled and reached for Emma's waist. She experienced a rush of desire at the way his fingers stroked the gap between her pyjama top and flimsy mismatched bottoms. The retreating adrenaline left an unclaimed void which filled with confusing emotions. Rohan wiped the blood from his nose on his bicep, a regal dip of his head which smudged it across his cheek.

"Ro!" Emma whispered. Strain sounded in her voice, the insult of his disbelief diminished. She stepped close enough to cup his face in her hands. She ran her thumbs over his lips, feeling stubble beneath her soft pads. Images ran in her mind of his beard scratching against the tender skin of her neck. His warm body communicated its invitation, blurring the lines which separated them. Her brain reminded her of the marriage certificate hidden in the lining of her suitcase. It created an illusion that satiating their mutual need would hurt no one.

With a sigh, Emma dipped forward to kiss him. The bulb from the bedside lamp lit Rohan's blue eyes, turning them into glittering diamonds. His pupils dilated and Emma drank in his scent. An electrical arc surrounded them in a shared desire.

Then something changed. Rohan's face clouded and Emma tasted his fear. "No, Em." He put his hand out and rested it against her shoulder. It felt as though she'd run into a brick wall. Rohan's face closed, a shutter crashing down over his emotions and replacing it with an agonising numbness. Emma bit her lip, embarrassment flushing her cheeks.

"What did I do?" she whispered.

"Just go back to bed," Rohan said, his tone cold. "Get some sleep. I'll check the garden in the morning."

Emma fled from him, closing the door against her humiliation. A muted flash lit up her room as the storm moved east. It highlighted her unmade bed, the sheets pulled back and the mattress cold and empty. She turned her back on it, refusing to accept her fate. Padding along the hallway to Nicky's room, Emma snuggled in her son's bed. The sleepy sigh escaping his rosebud lips comforted her. "You and me against the world," she whispered, stroking his blond hair away from his forehead.

She turned on her side and muffled her tears against the pillow. Her momentary lapse in Rohan's arms had unnerved her. It would have ended in guilt and recriminations and the spectre of Felicity rose like a sylph in the darkness. Emma closed her eyes and sought sleep, sensing it wouldn't come. She listened to the waning storm as it drifted towards the coast and wished she could take Nicky and follow it. The bitter knot in her chest kept up its insistent ache and she fortified herself against it. She'd made a fool of herself and she wouldn't let it happen again.

# Chapter 18

Mrs Clarke's raised eyebrow increased Emma's embarrassment. Her chest felt tight and she hauled on the collar of her jacket.

"So, no one else can collect your son from school?" she repeated, scribbling a note in the margin of the register, next to Nicky's name.

"No, nobody." Emma stood like a wooden board, holding her body rigid and praying the dog wouldn't lose his head in the classroom filled with exciting scents. Farrell sat by her foot, but his body bent sideways as he sniffed a stain on the carpet. "Just me. I don't want anyone else taking him home." She sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling. _Not even Rohan_.

"That's fine, Miss Harrington. We have lots of mothers in the same position. Please don't feel awkward about it. We need to protect our children, don't we?"

Emma nodded as the teacher's kindness made her eyes fill with tears. "Yes," she whispered. She cleared her throat. "Will the school secretary see that note?"

Mrs Clarke knitted her brows and took a step towards the doorway "Well, yes. But there are another four children in this class with the same note beside their names. It's unlikely she'd notice. And besides, her employment contract prevents her discussing it with anyone outside the school."

Emma gave a slow nod and studied Mrs Clarke's face. What she saw in the teacher's professional expression terrified her. She didn't trust Felicity either. In the absence of their teacher, the children had brought themselves to class. They poured through the doorway in a gaggle of noise and enthusiasm. Emma took a step towards the teacher and leaned closer, wanting to make her point without an audience. "No one is allowed to talk to the children at playtimes, are they?" she whispered.

Mrs Clarke shook her head with a definite, confident movement. "From outside the school? Absolutely not. The smaller children stay in the courtyard. Only the juniors go into the ball courts and a teacher supervises them at all times." Her eyes widened. "Is there someone we need to be particularly aware of?"

Emma gulped. Her accusation would seem slanderous if she said it out loud. Only Anton ever believed her theory about her father's mysterious death. Only Anton knew what Alanya had tried to do to her. Emma took a step back at the realisation that Nicky had edged close enough to listen. "I just don't want strangers having access to my son," she said, her voice sounding stern. "Sorry," she added.

"It's fine." Mrs Clarke clapped her hands to call her class to order. She gave Emma a smile as an obedient hush fell over the children.

"Thank you," Emma said. She planted a kiss on the top of Nicky's head and left, her heart hammering an unhealthy beat in her chest.

She spent the day scouring the local town for jobs advertised in the shop windows. It seemed inevitable that her previous employer would give her a terrible reference and scupper the role at Nicky's school. A charity shop manager sounded interested in a cashier, but on a voluntary basis. Emma apologised for the hundredth time for her poverty and the need for paid work. A dress shop turned her down flat as she had no retail experience and a cafe said they'd get back to her.

Emma pasted a smile on her face in time to greet her son as he bounced through the blue door at home time. "Where's Farrell?" he demanded.

"At home." Emma dodged sideways as Nicky tried to dump his library bag in her hand. "Carry your own stuff, Nick. I'm not your maid."

He laughed and ran ahead to talk to Mo. At the end of the park he tripped over the bag strap and slid along the pavement on his chin. Emma dusted him down and wished she'd just carried the bag in the first place. Their journey home consisted of tears and commiserations. Emma's sense of desperation increased to hover over her head like a black haze.

"Uncle Ro is home." Nicky wiped his nose on his sleeve and kicked off his shoes in the foyer. He burst into the lighted dining room to show Rohan his grazed chin. Emma removed her boots and examined the growing hole between the sole and the seam of the upper. She shook her head and wondered if she'd ever get control over her life.

"We're planning the slingshot!" Nicky informed her. His blue eyes sparkled and his inherited blond hair glowed white beneath the pendant light.

"Fantastic," Emma replied. Tiredness dogged her bones and failure nipped at the edges of her ability to function. "Get out of your school clothes and I'll sponge the knees of your trousers for tomorrow." As Nicky thundered upstairs, she sagged onto the sofa in the kitchen and smiled at the dog who came to sit at her feet. "Any suggestions for dinner, Farrell?" she whispered, fondling his soft ear in her fingers. He blinked in reply and Emma sighed. "Soup in a cup then."

She boiled the kettle and poured granules from the last crumpled wrapper into a mug. Nicky's footsteps pounded back down the stairs and pattered into the dining room. A teaspoon stirred the bits of tomato and vegetables into a soup like texture and Emma took it to her son.

"Yummy. My favourite." Nicky gave her a beatific smile and Emma's heart clenched in her chest.

Rohan waited for the screen to darken on his laptop before closing the lid. He stared at the soup with his blond eyebrows knitted into a line. "Why are you eating old food from the back of the cupboard?" He directed his question to Emma.

She inhaled and forced her shoulders away from her ears. "It was the first thing I came up with," she lied. "I'll sort something out tomorrow." She plastered a fake smile on her face and tried not to think too far ahead of herself.

Rohan's eyes narrowed and he leaned over Nicky's head as the boy dipped to sniff his soup. "I'll give you money for food," he said, his voice so low it forced Emma to read his lips.

She squirmed beneath his scrutiny. "No need." She gave a haughty toss of her head.

Nicky took a sip from the teaspoon and jerked at the heat. "Ouch," he hissed. "I'll do my plan first." He snuggled closer to Rohan on the dining chair. His left buttock hung over the seat as he snatched up a waiting pencil. "What do I do first?" he demanded. The pencil banged against his cheek as he lifted it into the air. "I know. Name and date. Like at school."

"Good idea." Rohan smirked and watched as Nicky pulled a sheet of clean paper towards him. The boy held the pencil tight in his left hand. He paused for a moment before writing a capital letter and then switching hands. Emma held her breath as Rohan's eyebrow rose in interest.

"How was work?" Emma couldn't bear the tension and sought to break it with an inane discussion. She didn't understand Rohan's job and as he turned his attention towards her, realised she didn't really care. Last night's awkwardness hung over her like a curtain of barbed wire.

"Good. Thank you." He pointed an index finger at the laptop. "I stayed here and worked online."

Emma nodded and left the room, desperate to escape his scrutiny. She sat in the kitchen and stroked the dog as the clock hands moved around its oval face. Darkness spread across the room, casting long shadows and drawing her thoughts back to the man in the garden. "Who is he?" Emma whispered to the dog. "And why don't you bark at him?"

"Mummy, why are there other letters in my name?" Nicky appeared in the doorway, a pencil in his hand.

"I thought you were planning a slingshot." Emma frowned. "You need to learn your spellings before bedtime."

"Yeah, but I wanna know about my name." Nicky pouted, balancing on one leg and clinging to the door frame.

A wave of horror shot from Emma's brain and reached her feet at dizzying speed. She rose in a jerky movement.

Nicky scampered back to the dining room and launched himself back into his chair. Emma followed, holding her breath and wondering how to head the precocious child off in a different direction. She sensed Rohan's interest piquing. "Don't mess around, Nicky. Rohan might like to help you with your spellings."

"Yes, but you call me Nicky, which is my short name. It has a curly _ker_ in it and a _yer_ , but they aren't in my proper name. So how did they get in there?" He studied Emma with a seriousness beyond his years.

Emma fought to remain standing. She didn't want to do this now and definitely not in front of Rohan. It dawned on her that her son had never seen his full name. She'd never used it, wanting only to forget the misery of his origins and start again. But Lucya had insisted. Her brain grappled for reasons and excuses and more reasons, turning over stones and coming up empty. "It's your calling name. A nickname, I guess."

She swallowed and her eyes pleaded with her son as he observed her. He tapped the end of the pencil against his lower lip. Emma's blood felt as though it froze in her veins as he lowered the pencil to point at the name he'd written on the paper. Large, uneven letters showed he'd written _Nicky_. Emma tried to inhale and it hurt as she restarted her breathing. Relief gave her an adrenaline rush.

"But the letters aren't the same," Nicky persisted. "Not like in Mrs Clarke's register. My new friend is called Mohammed and his short name is M-o, so he can fit his names together. One inside the other." His brow wrinkled in concentration. "Mine don't fit."

"You don't have time for this now, Nicky," Emma tried to support herself on trembling knees which threatened to drop her on the floorboards. "Get rid of the extra letters if you don't want them there. I don't care."

Her son placed a skinny finger over the offending two letters of his name and pulled a face. "No! It looks funny. I want it to fit inside the other name."

"It's not important right at this minute." Emma heard the strain in her voice and saw Nicky frown.

He pushed his paper towards her, defiance sparkling in his blue irises. "Write my other name then. Do it here." He dropped the pencil on top of the paper and it rolled without Emma reaching for it.

"Not now." Emma turned her wooden body back towards the door.

"Please, do it, Mum! I saw it on the register. Mrs Clarke read it out by mistake and all the other children laughed. I've got four names and they only have three. And why is my last name different on the register too? What if the school burns down and the firemen don't know to shout for Nicky Harrington and shout for..."

"Nicky!" Emma's voice cut across his. "Stop prevaricating. It's nearly bedtime. Hurry up with the plan and start learning your spellings, please."

Nicky postured. "But I want you to write it."

"Not on your plan." Emma's voice sounded brittle.

"Fine! I'll get some other paper then." A whine entered his voice. He slipped off the chair and pattered into the hallway. Emma heard the Velcro on his library bag make its distinctive ripping noise as Nicky pulled it open. She remained fixed in place, Rohan's eyes narrowed and boring holes into her cheek.

"Here you go." The paper fluttered from Nicky's hand onto the table in front of Emma and he leaned across her to retrieve the pencil.

"Nicky! I said later. I need to sort some other things out now."

The child pouted. "Sorry Mummy. You're a fast writer. Do it now."

Emma steeled herself, turning her body to block Rohan's view of the paper. She scribbled Nicky's full name onto the rumpled sheet and pushed it against the boy's chest. "Here. Now get ready for bed."

Nicky peered at the paper and formed the letters silently with his rosebud lips. Emma glanced at Rohan and saw him remove his reading glasses and lay them on the table. He rubbed his eyes and fixed his gaze on the child. He looked intrigued and Emma controlled her breathing, knowing she was the problem. Nicky's antics were vaguely entertaining, but Emma's reaction caused Rohan's antenna for trouble to perk up with curiosity.

"Bed, Nicky!" she hissed.

"Okay. But can I do my spellings upstairs? My teacher said she'll sell us down the market if we don't learn them." Nicky rolled his blue eyes and postured, drawing a sigh from Emma.

"Fine. Hurry up."

The boy gathered his pencil crayons and books together, hefting them under his arm with a grunt. "Oh, I got that book you like out of the library, Mummy. I know you love reading it."

"Cool, thanks. What's one more time on top of four hundred and fifty?" Emma turned to follow him, feeling her legs wobble beneath her. With the crisis averted, adrenaline withdrew from her blood and took her energy with it. "Hop upstairs and I'll come now."

She walked towards the door without looking back at Rohan. As Nicky skipped from the room, the paper slithered from his arms and he stopped so quickly, Emma nearly ran up the back of him.

"Oops!"

"Leave it, Nicky. I'll get it. Please stop fluffing around and delaying. You'll run out of time for a story."

"Fine!" He humphed, comical with his his arms full of books and paper. "It doesn't matter. You can put it in the rubbish. I like Nicky best anyway. Mo says it's a cool name."

"Okay. Now go!" Emma sighed as Nicky cascaded colouring pencils from his arms, oblivious as he skipped into the hallway and up the stairs. She bent, retrieving a blue crayon and a green one before lurching for an orange one near the skirting board.

Emma heard the scrape of Rohan's chair legs on the floor and dropped all three crayons in her attempt to snatch up the fallen paper before he reached it. In the fracas, she banged the dining room door shut with her bottom. "Leave it!" she snapped.

Rohan grabbed the paper and lifted it above his head, his tall body and long arms easily defeating Emma. She jumped up and down on the spot with her hand outstretched, banging chin against his chest. As Rohan brought the paper lower to read Emma's writing, she fought with dirty tactics and covered his eyes with her hands. "Stop being an idiot!" she complained. "Just give it here. I need to get upstairs before Nicky floods the bathroom."

Rohan laughed and jabbed Emma in the ribs on the ticklish spot he knew so well. She squeaked and covered her mouth with her hand. "What's the big deal?" he chuckled, sensing the anxiety coming off her in waves. Emma realised her mistake and tried to cover his eyes again.

"Please Ro, just give it to me," she begged, her voice growing hoarse.

"Okay." He lowered the paper and gave it to Emma. She withdrew her hand from his eyes.

"Thanks." She snatched it and balled it into her fist. Her neck sported a livid red flush born of nervousness. "I'll put Nicky to bed. She bent to retrieve the pencils and scurried into the hallway. At the dog-leg on the stairs, Emma looked down and saw Rohan standing where she left him.

He'd bowed his head, his blond fringe hanging over his eyes. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets and he looked lost. Emma felt a wave of sadness at her own cruelty. He deserved better.

She moved along the hallway and intercepted her naked son at his bedroom door. "How come you're not dressed yet?" she demanded.

He gave her a coy grin. "Just doin' a surprise." He beamed.

"Yeah? That's nice. Now get that bare bum in the bathroom or I might just surprise it with a slap," Emma joked, using fake joviality to ground herself.

While Nicky splashed around in the shower in a pretence at washing for bed, Emma tore the offending paper into small pieces and flushed it down the toilet. "Coming here was a big mistake," she whispered to herself as the torn pieces swirled away. "Thank goodness our time's nearly up." She bit her lip and knew she didn't mean it.

Nicky looked cute in the huge bed as Emma pulled the sheets over his shoulders. "Why did you soak your hair?" she asked him, tucking the buoyant curls behind his ear and smoothing them back from his damp forehead. "You managed to shower last night without getting it wet at all."

"It's annoying me now. I don't want curls. I want Uncle Ro to take me to the barber shop and get it snipped."

"I'll cut it," Emma volunteered but the child shook his head.

"No. I want boy-time with Uncle Ro."

Emma snorted. "Boy-time? Have you been reading women's magazines?"

"No!" Nicky pouted. "Sid at school has boy-time wiv his dad every Friday and the girls do nails and stuff. Can you ask him for me, please?"

"Look Nicky," Emma rested her cheek on the pillow next to his. "We're just staying here for a little while to help Uncle Ro out with Farrell. We won't be here long enough to establish boy-times."

"But I luff 'im." The small boy's vibrant blue eyes lost their mischief and filled with the sheen of tears.

"That's awesome, mate. But we have our own life and he has his. We can't push into his too much or he'll get fed up of us."

"Okay, Mummy. Please will you help me wiv my spellings and then read the story?" Nicky capitulated but he didn't lose the look of determination in his eyes. Emma recognised the temporary truce and accepted it.

Emma smiled and kissed her son, settling down into the bed with him. They made songs out of the spellings so Nicky could remember them for his test the next day. They sniggered at the ridiculousness of the sentences they made up to include the random root words. Then Emma read the story picture book, performing all the voices for the familiar characters, including a Scottish pirate and a Russian teddy bear. When she finished the story, Nicky's eyelids drooped and his lips gripped his tiny thumb between them. In his other hand he clutched a threadbare blue teddy. Emma hunted for his favourite Action Man before she turned off the light. Unable to find it, she hoped he didn't wake the house searching for it in the night.

Stepping into the hallway, she almost fell over Rohan's legs. "Bloody hell!" she hissed, saving herself at the last moment. "What are you doing?"

"Just listening to you being a great mother," he said, keeping his voice low. He held his hands out, asking without words for her to pull him up. Emma bridled but did it anyway, almost overbalancing as she supported his weight. Rohan used the action to pull her close, his hands in the small of her back. His gaze held hers, his face serious. "I need to talk to you," he whispered.

Emma shoved at his firm chest until he released her. The subterfuge from earlier rose up to bite her. "Can we do this tomorrow?" she demanded. "I'm tired and I still need to sew name tags into Nicky's school clothes."

"Get them. I'll help you," Rohan offered.

Emma snorted. "Rohan Andreyev will deign to sew name tags into my son's sports kit?"

Rohan cocked an eyebrow at her. "You think the army didn't teach me to sew my own equipment?"

Emma shrugged. She wanted to refuse, but it would make her excuse appear weaker. She gritted her teeth. "You can help with the sewing. But I don't want to talk about serious stuff, so please don't start."

She stalked to her bedroom to fetch the Nicky's clothes and the packet of labels. The plastic bag looked tattered, the labels inside joined like spaghetti. She pulled one out and fingered it, grateful they'd been in her suitcase when she packed to come south.

Rohan met her in the hallway, jerking his head towards his bedroom. He stepped through the doorway and she followed with hesitant footsteps.

A blank canvas of grey, white and black decorated the room. Emma swallowed at the stark masculinity. The stylish, heavy furniture gave the illusion of opulence contained.

"We can sit together and share the cotton and the labels," Rohan said. The mattress dipped beneath him and he leaned back against a pillow. He bent his knee but kept one leg on the floor. He held his hand out and Emma stared at it in confusion. "Cotton and a needle." His eyes creased with amusement.

Emma settled next to him and pushed her spine against the pillows. Her body refused to relax. She pushed her tiny sewing kit towards Rohan and watched him thread the needle, fascinated with the concentration on his chiselled face. He seized a pair of sports shorts and a label, marrying the two on the elasticated waistband.

"No, not there," Emma said, placing a restraining hand over Rohan's. She felt him shiver at her touch. "It's too stretchy on the waistband. The first time he puts them on, all the stitching will pop. Put it on the seam or the bottom of the leg. He'll know where to look for it."

Rohan turned the shorts inside out and started stitching. Emma raised an eyebrow in surprise at the neat stitches. Then she picked up a sock and threaded her own needle.

"Do you do this every time he moves schools?" Rohan asked, jerking his head towards her fast moving fingers.

"We only moved once." Emma gave a tight little movement of her lips, sensing an accusation in his question. "From Aberystwyth to Lincolnshire." At the thought of returning to the dilapidated council house at the mercy of Fat Brian and Co, she bit her lip.

She tried to change the subject. "Did you achieve what you wanted with your work today?"

"No." Rohan sighed. "I need to talk to you about this." Rohan stopped sewing and reached sideways, producing a scrappy piece of paper from his bedside cupboard. He handed it to Emma and waited for her to digest its contents.

The the sock dropped from her fingers, her sewing forgotten. She fixed her hand over her mouth as a wave of sickness pushed into her throat and stole her breath. The bed shuddered as she swung her legs over the side and thudded her feet to the floor.

"Stop!" Rohan retrieved the fleeing needle, stabbing it into the uppermost sock. He still managed to grab Emma one handed around the waist before she gathered herself enough to run.

"Let go of me!" she hissed, desperation leaking from her voice.

"No!" Rohan dragged her backwards onto the bed, hauling her until she lay with her head against his shoulder. "Stop running from me, Em. Do you hate me that much? What did you think I'd do?"

Emma felt like a fool as tears spilled over her lower lids. Rohan's flushed cheeks made his blue eyes glitter. His biceps bulged as they strained against his work shirt and he folded her into his chest.

"Why do you always have to run?" Rohan's voice sounded soft, soothing and full of sadness. Emma couldn't bring herself to answer. "Don't feel angry with your syn, Emma. He means nothing by it," he said. "The letter is just his way of connecting with me."

Emma groaned heavily from behind her hands. "But don't you understand what it means? He's saying I'm not enough for him."

Rohan released his arm from around her and Emma shivered at the chill rushing to fill the space. She blinked as he lifted her chin with his forefinger. "You can't think like that, vozlyublennaya. You're an amazing mother; I've seen you with him. I listened to you reading the story tonight. It humbled me."

"If I'm so amazing, why is he writing things like that to you?" She sniffed, fighting back tears of disappointment and guilt. "Until recently, you were a stranger to him. Is he doing this without my knowledge to every guy he meets? That's dangerous!" Emma pushed herself upright, kneeling on the bed with her legs touching Rohan's thigh. "It's also really sad." She reached for the letter, casting an agonised gaze over it again. ' _Wil you b my daddy?_ ' She flapped the paper, channelling a heady mix of emotions through her dark eyes.

Rohan wrenched the paper from her hand, leaving Emma holding a tiny corner of it. "He'll hear you!" he chastised her. He looked at the childish scrawl again and bit his lip. He gave a shrug of defiance. "What's so bad about this?"

"Where do I start?" Emma rolled her eyes, the teenage girl not so far below the surface after all. "He doesn't know you well enough to ask something like that. It makes him vulnerable. I don't want him getting attached to you because it will make it harder for us to leave. And..." Emma rubbed her eyes feeling exhausted.

"And what else?" Rohan reached out and pulled her hand away from her face. He kept hold of her wrist. "What is your final reason?"

Emma shrugged. "He spelled things wrong. Look, he's only put one ' _L'_ in will." She lurched for the paper but Rohan kept it away from her, holding it over the side of his bed.

"That's not your real objection." He shook his head. "Emma, he's my son. I feel it in my chest every time I look at him and I sense he does too. It hurts..." Rohan raised his eyes to the ceiling and then closed them. "I dread to think what it does to his little heart."

He opened sparkling blue eyes and fixed them on Emma's flaming cheeks. He squinted as he read the letter in a gentle tone. ' _Deer Ro. Pleez wil you b my daddy??? Can we do fings togevver? Can you tak me for hare snips like yors??? Love Nikolai xxx'_

Emma refused to look at Rohan as he repeated Nicky's words. She kept her eyes closed and her jaw clenched to keep her silence. Her whole body stiffened and the expression on Rohan's face condemned her. "We should leave," she said, her voice wooden. Rohan's grip on her wrist tightened.

"Nikolai? That explains your ridiculous drama downstairs. But you should know Em, I worked it out the second I saw you together at Fred's wedding. It's more than biology, Em. His spirit called to me and I just _knew_. Nikolai. Anton's son would carry his middle name, Stepanovich. He would never use mine. Please can we drop this pretence and work it out for our syn?"

Emma gulped. "No, I can't do this."

Rohan flexed his fingers on her wrist and the motion shook her arm. "Don't make me threaten you with lawyers. You might not love me anymore, but I want a relationship with my syn. I've missed so much already, Em. I want to make it up to him."

Emma shook her head again. "I'm going home. Please leave us alone?" Her eyes begged as she turned them on him, the fear so prevalent it stole Rohan's breath.

"Em, what the hell's wrong? What did I do?"

"You know! You always knew!" Emma exploded. She tried to jerk away but Rohan clasped her round the waist again. "Please, Ro, just let us go."

"Not until you tell me what I did wrong." Bemusement and frustration creased Rohan's face as he grappled with Emma. She ended up beneath him. Her foot contacted Rohan's right shin and her toes bent back against the uncompromising hardness of the bone. Pain made her vicious and Rohan roared as she brought up her knee to connect with his groin. Curling into a ball, he released her. He groaned and drew his knees up to his chest.

Emma felt a stab of guilt as she backed away, hearing him hiss curse words in a bilingual mix of English and Russian. He wiped at his watering eyes and sat up. His plea reached Emma as she grasped the door handle. "Please, Emma. Tell me why?"

Emma turned the handle and pulled the door. It opened with a low creak. A glance at Rohan found him sitting with his legs over the side of the bed. He looked shaken and defeated. Emma paused, sensing he wouldn't come after her. She licked her lips and took a steadying breath. "Your mother murdered my father."

Rohan released a sigh and his head shook from side to side. "You say that with no evidence, Emma. You're as bad as Anton."

She rested her forehead against the door frame. Her shoulders slumped. "I know she killed him, Rohan. I've always known and yes, Anton believed me. Alanya discovered my pregnancy in the fifth month. She found a doctor willing to give me an illegal abortion without asking questions."

Rohan's jaw dropped and his eyes widened in horror. Emma bit her lip and readied herself for his dismissal. It didn't come. "She locked me in my room and went to the bank for cash to pay him. Anton arrived home unexpectedly. He'd developed Glandular Fever and returned from university. He let me out of the room and helped me to pack a bag. Then he drove for five hours, so unwell he could hardly stay awake at the wheel." The sob caught in Emma's throat and she stepped into the hallway. A cool draught nipped at her ankles. The finger she pointed at Rohan shook. "Your mother tried to kill my baby. Anton knew what she was, but you always refused to see. You won't be able to stop yourself telling her and she'll come for Nicky. She can't help herself. First thing tomorrow, we're leaving and you're not stopping us."

Emma slipped into Nicky's bedroom and closed the door behind her. She dragged his suitcase across and pushed it against the handle.

"Mummy, what was that noise?" Nicky sat up in bed, his eyes glinting in the faint light showing through his open curtains.

"You had a bad dream," Emma lied. "Lay down and I'll cuddle you." She pulled the curtains closed, stripped to her tee shirt and underwear, and climbed into bed with him. His soft warm body snuggled against her. Emma released a ragged breath and sniffed her child's downy hair, letting his familiar scent ground her. They couldn't stay here, not now.

Emma cried without sound as her tears soaked the pillow beneath her head. Growing too hot, Nicky turned away and slept as Emma battled her memories.

Anton had almost killed them, dozing at the wheel in his fever. Emma remembered his reddened eyes and shivering body. He'd slumped in the driver's seat as he navigated the narrow, breakneck Welsh mountain roads, sicker than she'd ever seen him. _'She'll kill me,'_ he'd repeated. _'Don't tell her I helped you.'_

Emma had screamed as he veered across the road.

' _Does she know it's Rohan's baby?'_

' _No! No, she doesn't!'_

' _Then Rohan can't know either, Emma. You can't tell him. He doesn't know what I know. She poisoned my father, Em. We know she killed yours. Stay away from her, promise me? Do you promise, Em?_ '

Emma had nodded, overwhelmed by fear and sadness. Anton had turned in his seat, his eyes wild and staring. _'That means you have to stay away from him. Do you understand? You can never see Rohan again. Never.''_

# Chapter 19

Emma woke before Nicky. Darkness still shrouded the house. She crept from her son's bed, cursing the creaking floorboards as she hauled the suitcase from in front of the door. Cool air kissed her bare legs in the hallway and she released a gasp of fear as her outstretched hands contacted something solid.

"Sorry, sorry." Rohan caught her as she stepped away from him. His palms warmed her shoulders.

"Leave me alone!" she hissed. She stalked to her bedroom and shoved the door closed behind her. The sound of his footsteps tracking downstairs made it safe to use the bathroom. But when she returned, she found Rohan sitting on her bed in his pyjama bottoms and socks. His head hung so his chin touched his chest. Inky shadows marred the skin beneath his eyes.

"Oh, sod off, Rohan!" Emma bit, tiredness making her spiteful. A sleeping bag lay on the hall floor, a khaki swathe of squashy material. She stepped over it and her brows knitted into a frown. "Did you sleep on the floor outside Nicky's bedroom?" Her tone held surprise.

Rohan shrugged. "I finished the name tags."

"And you laid there all night to tell me that?"

Rohan narrowed his eyes and released a sigh. He squeezed the bridge of his nose and ignored her question. Emma tried to dismiss how adorable he looked, his chest bare and his blond hair tousled. "I'm glad you didn't leave in the night."

Her eyes flashed as he ignited her anger. She rounded on him, straining to keep her voice below a shout. "That's all you got from our conversation last night? I swear you didn't listen to a word I said. Your mother is dangerous. She found a creep to give me an illegal abortion. I've spent six years keeping my son away from her!"

"Please don't leave." Rohan stood and Emma noticed his difficulty with the action. When he took a step forward, he winced. Emma saw the hall light reflected in his eyes. It back lit an agony of wordless pleading. She swallowed and her gaze flicked to his chest, his emotional pain too raw for her to process. Myriad scars covered his tanned torso, war wounds of varying length and ugliness. Emma blinked and forced herself to study a black icon inked across his shoulder. She recognised the unusual depiction of three cross beams. It called to her, reminding her of its smoothness beneath the soft pad of her index finger.

Her hand lifted and she pointed at the tattoo. "I remember you getting that," she whispered. "A Russian Orthodox cross."

Rohan clasped her fingers in his. "Please don't take Nicky away from me, Em. I don't want to lose either of you. Not again."

Emma exhaled in frustration. Her body trembled against the icy breath of the winter morning. The central heating kicked in, pumping hot water through radiators which responded with echoing clanks and gurgles. "What time is it?" she demanded. Her brain began planning the steps required to travel back to Lincoln. After making appropriate excuses to her distraught son.

"Five," Rohan answered. The mechanical timetable of the house negated his need to check the sports watch on his wrist. He reached out and touched her shoulder. "Get into bed for a minute. You're freezing."

Emma looked behind him at the soft pillows and duvet. Her body betrayed her by replying with a shudder. She climbed beneath the covers, realising her mistake when Rohan slid in next to her. But he didn't touch her. Her heart ached with an internal agony she no longer understood.

"Talk to me?" Rohan turned on his side to face her. He leaned up on his elbow, the yellow street lamps speckling his blonde hair with an ethereal haze. "I'll promise to say nothing. Just listen."

Emma released a sarcastic scoff and her features assumed a mask of bitterness. "Really, Ro? You've never listened to anyone in your life. That was the problem between us. It's the reason my life is a complete mess. Because you wouldn't listen." She lay still in the darkness, her muscles trembling from a mixture of the chill in the air and the internal rage radiating from her chest.

Rohan ran his hands through his hair in a stress tell which brought back painful memories from their past. And bitter sweet ones from Emma's present as she recognised one of her son's endearing traits. The inner pain squeezed its fingers around her heart and she fought the urge to gasp out loud.

"Please?" Rohan pleaded. "I will listen."

Emma waited a few minutes, using the silence to order her thoughts. Memories surfaced but time had lessened their sting. The realisation surprised her and she pursed her lips. The mattress shifted as Rohan tensed at her first strained whispers. "I described the man your mother arranged for me to see. Anton knew him. He called him a 'Ukrainian butcher' who performed back street surgeries to order. Anton drove me to Aberystwyth, to the home of Lucya." Emma paused, waiting for some sign of recognition but Rohan remained silent. She exhaled. "Lucya Andreyev was your grandmother." Still nothing. "I lived with Lucya and gave birth to Nicky during my first term in sixth form. She helped me to raise him despite having very little to share with us. Anton visited often. He smuggled what I needed from Alanya's house and enabled me to start again. My birth certificate let me register at the local high school and my father and mother's death certificates created independence from parental interference. Lucya attended my parents' evenings and university graduation. She adored Nicky and taught him Russian. We had everything we needed for a while."

Rohan's cough sounded loud in the darkness. Emma paused. "Are you okay?"

Rohan cleared his throat and his voice sounded scratchy. "Did Anton attend your graduation?"

Emma took a slow inhale and released the air. Her lungs ached with a curious tightness. She'd promised full disclosure. "Yes. He did."

Rohan made no sound, but his hair swished against the soft fabric of the pillow as he moved. The strains of silent distress filled the air with its heaviness. Emma waited. When Rohan made no comment, she continued, emboldened by his commitment to his promise. "I could see how much Anton's visits cost him. I suspect he hated lying to you, though he refused to give me news of where you were or what you were doing. He promised he'd tell me everything once we had justice. He drove me to the local police station on his last visit to Aberystwyth. I couldn't believe it when he asked them to investigate Alanya. A detective treated us with kindness and took our statements. But we had no evidence. We each had a dead father and a million stories from living under her care. They said it wasn't enough to investigate."

Rohan released a long breath. With a great effort, he managed to stop it sounding like a sigh. Emma tensed, the momentary truce between them waning. She ground her teeth together and her words emerged as though wrenched from her tongue. "There was something else. Anton sent me from the room while he spoke to the detective. I waited in the reception and watched when they emerged. The policeman squeezed Anton's shoulder and I heard him say, "I'm sorry for your loss." Anton refused to repeat what he'd told the man, but I've often wondered. He made me promise again to stay away from you and from Alanya. I'd lived in Wales for six years and never once tried to return. I grew irritated and we argued." Emma closed her eyes against the lightening of the dawn above the silhouette of the street. "There was another death, Rohan. I think she killed a child."

Emma raised herself up on one elbow, matching Rohan's stance. She tried to read his expression through the gloom and failed. Falling back against the pillow, she released a sigh. "What else do you want to know?"

Rohan swallowed. "Tell me about Lucya. How did she die?" His tone sounded formal, but Emma heard the sadness beneath the clipped words. She relented.

"I received a call at work from Nicky's playschool to let me know that Lucya hadn't arrived to collect him." Emma stopped and gulped. "After working at a local cafe for a few months after graduation, I'd just got this awesome job at the National Library of Wales. In their archives department. I loved it." She sniffed and tamped down the overwhelming sense of injustice. Her tone grew harder and more controlled. "I collected Nicky and left him in the car. Lucya lay in the hallway in her shoes and coat with her handbag still over her arm." Emma bit on her lip and fitted the key back into the secret compartment of her mind where she kept her worst memories. "She looked so peaceful. I found Nicky's favourite cookies on a plate in the kitchen where she'd got them ready for him." Emma's teeth clenched. "She died alone. She didn't deserve that, not after everything she did for me."

Emma's hands shook and she bit her lip hard enough to taste blood. The fingers of her right hand jerked as Rohan's warm hand covered them. "It's not your fault," he whispered. His accent sounded stronger as his words sprinkled comfort over her grief. "You can't hold yourself responsible, net dorogoy."

"I should have been there for her. Anton left after the visit to the police station and the next day an eviction notice arrived in the post from the council. Lucya's death ended her lease at the house. They gave us a month to leave and already had another family waiting to move in on our heels. I panicked. There were so many options available to me and I just couldn't see them. I phoned Anton and he drove back and collected us. He rented a cottage outside Lincoln for a few weeks to give me time to grieve. He had all these big plans for us to live as a family, but I felt he'd done enough to help already. I answered an advert for an archivist's job at the school on the estate and secured my own council house." Emma bit her lip. "Anton went crazy when he saw the house and the estate. He hated Fat Brian on sight." She snuffed out a sad breath. "I suspect he paid people on the estate to make sure Nicky and I got no trouble. We did okay and he visited every couple of months. I couldn't accept his money, Rohan. It didn't seem fair. I created this whole big mess all by myself. I should fix it."

The sheets rustled next to her as Rohan digested his thoughts. He sighed. "Is that what you think, Emma? You think you made Nicky alone and must suffer the consequences by yourself?" Emma held her breath but Rohan continued, his tone sad. "I wrote you so many letters from Afghanistan. All my hopes and dreams were written down on paper, the married quarter I organised for us and the plans I had. I thought you shared them, but you never replied. Then I was blown to pieces and still nothing. The army said they couldn't find you. But my mama came instead. She said you'd run away with some durak from school." He exhaled. "Worrying about it hindered my recovery. I needed to rehabilitate and forge a life for myself from the rubble." His voice sounded laden with misery. "That is what I've done."

Emma chewed on her lower lip. "Anton brought no letters on his visits. Do you think your mother intercepted them?" She released a gasp of terror. "If she knows we got married, she'll guess that Nicky's your ..." The words caught in her throat. She squeezed her eyes closed and hoped Rohan hadn't noticed her blunder.

His snort ruined the illusion. "Finally," he said with a sigh. "You admit it."

Emma tutted. "Rohan, please. We still need to leave. Don't make this any harder."

Rohan's arm fixed across Emma's stomach, the sinews tensing against her soft skin. "I will make it harder, Emma. I've listened to you and now you'll listen to me. The last thing Anton told me to do was to find you. Respect his wishes and stay."

Emma wrenched herself free and sat up against the headboard. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets. "You don't get to give me orders, Rohan. If Anton told you to find me, then he also told you where I lived. How many months did it take you, Ro? How many?"

Rohan swallowed and his grip tightened around Emma's stomach. "Too many." His words sounded brittle and Emma registered their truth.

"Because you didn't want us. You've got Leicestershire Barbie at your beck and call and we're just an inconvenience." She slapped at his arm, gasping as he tightened his grip and hauled her against him. His chest felt hard against her breasts and he wrapped his other arm around her back.

"You will stay," he ordered. "I will deal with any other obstacles."

"Your girlfriend and your mother are obstacles to you?" Emma grunted as she shoved at his chest. "Nice. It must feel great to belong in your property portfolio."

"Emma, stop." Rohan released her. "Please, stay. Look after Anton's dog and give me a chance to make things right."

Emma hissed out a breath of exasperation. "Does that mean you won't lend me the bus fare back to Lincoln?"

Rohan tutted. "No, Em. I can give you money. Go where you like. I'm asking you to wait."

Impulse and logic vied in Emma's mind, leaving her without options. Nicky loved Harborough. And Rohan. The thought of dragging him away to the freezing council house in the north seemed beyond reasonable. "Fine!" she grumbled. "But this isn't a viable long term solution!"

"Blagodaryu vas." Rohan's thanks sounded sincere. "I will use the opportunity to get to know Rohan Nikolai Davidovich Andreyev."

Emma gasped. "You knew!" Her feet hit the rug with a thud. "You looked at his birth certificate. You went into my stuff!"

Rohan released a mirthless laugh. "You have much to learn, Emma Andreyev. It's my job to know the things that can hurt me the most. They are the antecedents of risk."

Emma humphed. Rohan's reply gave her no actual answer to her question. It robbed her of control and the faint tremor of misgiving flickered to life. "Please, don't tell Nicky?" she whispered. "I'm not ready."

"Okay." Rohan's easy reply made her nervous.

Emma's brows knitted as she picked apart the one word answer to look for sincerity. She sat on the edge of the mattress, her teeth chattering against the cold. She sensed she needed to change the subject. "Did you know Anton was gay?" she asked.

Rohan nodded and the action vibrated the bed. "Yeah. I found that more believable than the theory of Mama being a serial killer." He snuffed, but not in humour. "I don't know what to think about that, Emma. She never hurt me, yet you both suffered."

Emma groaned. "You were her favourite." She frowned, the idea without foundation. "No, that's not true. Perhaps another reason kept her from feeding you her potions." She gasped. "You don't think she killed Anton, do you?"

"No, Em! Not unless she worked out a way to give someone bowel cancer without them realising."

"Oh. Fair enough." Emma lifted her feet and pushed them back beneath the covers. The radiator cranked out heat in a steady bloom to take the sharp edge off the chill. "But you must understand why Nicky isn't safe around your mother." She shifted down in the bed, an involuntary shiver rocking her body.

Rohan said nothing and time stretched out the silence. When he spoke, his voice sounded tentative and unsure. "I've missed you," he whispered.

Emma shifted on her side and saw the grey gloom of morning cast shadows across his face. She pursed her lips and gave a tentative nod. "I've missed you too," she replied. "At first, it felt like losing a body part. I promised myself that staying away from you would keep Nicky safe from Alanya. He must be my priority."

Rohan opened his arms and Emma swallowed. The words of denial wouldn't leave the safety of her brain. She wanted what he offered, security, comfort and a broad chest to rest her cheek against in the cool of the morning. She floundered and Rohan spoke. "Can I hold you? Please?" His voice sounded so certain, so convincing.

Emma inched across the mattress, her icy fingers contacting Rohan's firm stomach as she edged towards him. He rolled onto his back and Emma rested her head in the familiar space on his shoulder, overwhelmed by the comforting familiarity of her husband. A sense of home filled her senses and the unsatiated craving she'd battled seemed to still for a moment. The old army sleeping bag had left a faint institutional scent on Rohan's skin. When she closed her eyes, Emma could imagine that she was still sixteen and he'd come home on leave. She rested her fingers against Rohan's chest and felt the ridges of scar tissue beneath her pads. "Rohan?" she whispered, her tone confidential. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you when you got hurt. Nobody told me."

"It's fine," he replied, but a harshness crept into his voice.

Emma swallowed, the need for confession burning in her chest. "Rohan?" she said again. When he didn't reply, she continued her hushed confidence. "Anton registered Nicky's birth. There were complications and I almost died. I didn't realise what he'd done until much later. He signed himself as Nicky's father but gave him your names. He thought he was helping."

Rohan's chest seemed to deflate beneath her touch. She regretted never knowing when to leave things alone. She let her fingers wander over his stomach and cross the line of hair which disappeared into his pants. Her hand rested over his waistband. "Ro?" she whispered and leaned up on one elbow.

Rohan turned towards her and released a ragged breath. "Emma, shut up!" he hissed. His arms wound around her and he tugged her forward, crushing his lips against hers. She arched into him, her breath a series of tiny gasps. His long fingers found the elastic of her underwear and tugged her knickers over her arching buttocks. The bed springs groaned and Emma slid on top of Rohan. A primal hunger ached in her stomach as though a fire revived there. Gone were the two fumbling teenagers in a secret marriage bed.

Emma ran her hands through Rohan's hair, her breasts pressed hard against his chest. He took quick breaths through his nose as her tongue danced with his. The cotton fabric of his pyjama pants brushed against Emma's thighs, the sensation tantalising. Rohan's hand snaked behind Emma's head as though he feared she might try to escape. His hardness pressed against her hip, filled with promise and urgency.

"Mummy!" Nicky's voice cut through the darkness from the hallway. "Mummy! Where are you?"

Emma froze in horror, her spirit plummeting from its soaring high. She pushed at Rohan's chest with trembling hands, rolling sideways until her feet padded against the rug. "I'm coming now," she called. Her voice sounded over-light, quick breaths peppering her words. "What's the matter?" She hauled her tee shirt over her things after righting her underwear.

Nicky met her in the hallway, his hair rumpled and one pyjama leg rolled above his knee. Emma pulled her bedroom door closed and slipped her arm around his shoulders. "It's almost time to get up now," she said, her tone soothing. Her legs shook beneath her and her feet seemed to stab at the floorboards as she guided her son back to his room.

"I waked up and you was gone. I couldn't remember the way to the toilet."

"It's down the first lot of stairs, Nick. Come on, we'll go together." Emma glanced over her shoulder as she led her son away from her bedroom. Conflict budded in her chest as she both wished and dreaded to find Rohan still in her bed on her return.

"Wait for me?" Nicky pleaded. He pointed to the step on the split level landing and Emma gave a nod of agreement. She sank onto the cold wooden stairs, running a shaking hand across her face. Heat blossomed in her cheeks and negated the cool draught blowing from downstairs.

"Flush!" she reminded Nicky at the sound of the tap running and the soap falling into the basin. The belated deluge of water justified her prompting.

"Can I get a shower!" Nicky called. "I'm all waked up now."

"Well, I'm not sitting here all morning!" Emma growled. "I'll turn the hall light on, but I'm sure you'll manage now you're properly awake."

"Fanks Mum!" came the reply as the shower spurted to life.

Emma laid her head back against the wall and groaned. She jumped as Rohan's hand appeared in her peripheral vision. He waggled his fingers and she accepted his help to get to her feet. He pulled her against his chest and wound his fingers through her tangled curls. "Please stay, Em?" he whispered. "This changes everything and I'll do whatever it takes. Mama won't come near you or my son again. I'll make sure of it."

Emma watched the coloured prisms from the stained glass window dapple Rohan's cheek with pretty shades of dawn light. Her life hung in the balance and the scales could tip either way. She wasn't the only victim of her decisions anymore. Nicky had lost out too. Sighing, she rested her cheek against his chest. "How can you ban your own mother from your house and your life? It won't work, Rohan."

Gripping Emma's forearms, he stared into her soul with fearful intensity. "Just watch me!" he hissed. His kiss burned her lips and left them feeling swollen. Then turning, he marched down the stairs in his socks and whistled to the dog.

Farrell barked in the kitchen, his excitement palpable as Emma heard the door open and then close. She shook her head. Bitter experience had taught her that just because she wanted something to work out, didn't mean that it would. Emma blew out a breath laced with frustration and turned her ire on her son. "Hurry up, Nicky!" Her voice betrayed her emotional turmoil. "Don't use all the hot water."

# Chapter 20

"Where's my fiancé?" Felicity postured in the entrance to Nicky's classroom, hands on her hips as the children divided like a river around her.

"Work," Emma replied. Her cheeks blushed at the memory of their early morning romp. She cleared her throat and pressed a kiss to the top of Nicky's head. "Bye darling."

Felicity read the emotion in her eyes and Emma sensed the moment she homed in on it. "What's happened?" Felicity hissed. "He phoned me early this morning and I haven't tracked him down yet." She narrowed her eyes into slits. "Why did he ring me? If you've done anything to turn him against me, I'll make you sorry!"

Emma opened her mouth to retort, halted by a tug on the bottom of Rohan's borrowed jacket. She looked down, appalled to see her son's white face staring up at her. Nicky blinked. "Mummy, I don't want to go to school today. I'm not well." He flicked his eyes towards Felicity, his dislike apparent in his upturned lip.

"Come on, Nick," Mo urged, yanking on his friend's arm. "Sam brought his footy ball for playtime. It's gonna be radical!"

Nicky looked conflicted. He swallowed, looked up at Emma and then shifted his gaze onto Felicity. Emma shook her head and barged past the other woman. "Come on baby," she said to her son. "Let's hang up your jacket. I'll stay with you in class for a minute."

Nicky frowned, but he walked into the classroom clinging onto Emma's hand. It took a while for him to settle and Mrs Clarke touched Emma's heart with her kindness. The teacher ignored Farrell's presence, choosing not to notice when the black dog took himself into the reading corner for a snooze.

Emma emerged from the classroom after an hour. Nicky's behaviour perplexed her. He'd never displayed such anxiety before. She blamed herself. Sam had told a story about his soccer ball for show and tell. His uncle had played in goal for Chelsea and autographed it for him. Emma had struggled to keep Farrell away from the tantalising plaything and made her escape as Nicky and Mo crowded around the ball.

She made it as far as the front gate before a shrill voice hailed her. "Miss Harrington!" Felicity yelled. "Wait!"

Emma whirled round on the spot and tangled her legs in the surprised dog's leash. A glance at the Year 3 classroom windows told her the class had a ring-side seat. "Leave me alone!" she hissed as Felicity's heels clicked against the pavement. "You're crazy."

"And I see your game!" Felicity bit back, her eyes blazing. "I don't care where you came from, but you need to go back there. I met with Rohan's mother yesterday. She knows what you are, nothing but a filthy hooker. You got knocked up by some spotty teenager and then ran off with him." Felicity jabbed a finger at Emma's chest and Farrell released a low, warning growl. She took a step back to put a little distance between him and the toes of her pointy shoes. "She couldn't believe you'd listed Rohan's brother as the boy's father. You destroyed her family after she'd given you a home and raised you as her own. You make me sick. Stay away from Rohan!"

Emma's breath seemed to lodge in her chest, failing to release oxygen to her brain. She swayed on her feet. "You told Alanya about Nicky?" Her voice held an edge of hysteria. Farrell growled low in his chest and took a step towards Felicity. "You can't do that! It's confidential. You must have signed a contract promising not to tell other people the information you learned in the school." Her vision swam with terror. "Why would you do that?"

Felicity pursed her lips and pouted. She'd overplayed her hand and let Emma see the deck of cards. "Prove it," she hissed. "It's my word against yours. Alanya and I meet for coffee once a week. She likes me. She said you were a troublemaker and she supports my relationship with Rohan. You need to get out of this town or you'll be sorry!" Felicity stepped back, her chest heaving with the exhilaration of delivering Alanya's threat.

Shellshock consumed Emma. Her hand trembled as she lay a restraining palm on Farrell's head. Children appeared at the window to look out at the floor show, forcing her to cram her dignity back into her chest. It took a mammoth effort for her to restrain herself from delivering a slap to Felicity's flawless cheek. "You set Alanya on Nicky?" she whispered, defeat in her voice. "I can't believe you would do that to a child."

"You're pathetic." Felicity drew a fake smile onto her lips to fool the audience, but bile lurked beneath her tone. "I intend to have Rohan to myself. I'm not losing this one, so leave or fight. It's your choice." Felicity's eyes flashed with something akin to insanity. A fathomless darkness created pits behind her irises.

A knocking on the classroom window took Emma's attention and she forced a smile onto her lips for the child who waved to her.

"Leave me alone," she said, her voice strong but cold. "Never speak to me again." She turned back just to make her message clear. "And if you ever speak to my son again, I'll kill you."

Felicity blanched and then released a high-pitched laugh. Emma hunched her shoulders in Rohan's jacket and strode away, pained at having confirmed Alanya's lies about her. Farrell trotted by her side, his body brushing against her jeans to leave fine black hairs. Emma didn't notice. She berated herself in a painful, internal monologue, imagining Anton's disgust at her latest decisions. "Stay away from Rohan and stay away from Alanya," she whispered. "That's all I needed to do." Farrell glanced up at her and his tongue lolled sideways in his mouth. Emma gave him a rueful smile. "I'm leaving as soon as Rohan returns from this job," she announced, promising herself that she and her son would head north again. "I have a council house to reclaim from some smack heads."

"Smack heads? Sounds like fun." Emma blinked at the handsome stranger resting his backside against the picket fence outside Rohan's house. He gazed at her with a lazy smile, his black hair cropped close to his head. The brownest eyes she had ever seen crinkled at the corners in a smile.

"Just talking to myself," she admitted. Emma stared beyond him to the front door. "Can I help you?"

"I'm not sure. Can ye?" He grinned. His eyes flashed like glowering coals and he oozed confidence. "I wanted yer man, Rohan. But I guess you'll do instead." A strong Irish brogue dragged out the vowels. Belfast, Emma guessed.

"He's at his office today. But I can take a message." Emma frowned as Farrell strained against his leash. Her feet moved forward with the force of his tugging. His tail wagged and he released whimpers of excitement.

"Hey there, Farrell," the man crooned. "How're you doin'?" He squatted down to greet the dog and gave Emma a lazy grin from beneath sweeping black eyelashes. When he rose, Farrell jumped to press his nose against the man's wrist. He administered a lick before dropping his feet back to the pavement.

"He knows you?" Emma heard the confusion in her voice.

"Sorry, I'm Christopher." The man held out his hand and waited for her to decide whether to accept his handshake.

She reached out and touched his skin with her cold palm, a sense of déjà vu prickling the back of her neck. "Emma," she replied. Her brain issued warnings, which her curiosity swept aside with ease. "It's freezing out here. Would you like a hot drink?"

Christopher's smile appeared genuine. He waited as Emma unlocked the front door. Farrell's claws clicked across the parquet floor towards the kitchen, his lack of concern emboldening Emma. His leash trailed behind him.

Emma stripped off Rohan's borrowed jacket and left it on the arm of the sofa in the hallway. Christopher removed his shoes as she kicked off her boots. "Tea or coffee?" she offered.

"Coffee please. Milk, no sugar." Christopher followed her into the kitchen. He laughed at Farrell who pushed his face into his bowl and slurped up the water. The dog's tail wagged like a black sail and he clambered into his squashy bed and hurled himself down with a contented sigh. "I think you wore out the dog, so you did." Farrell's brown eyes smiled his pleasure with Christopher's presence.

"He likes you," Emma commented, busying herself with the kettle and mugs. She swallowed at the memory of Farrell's growls at Felicity. Closing her eyes, she tried to banish the woman's image and her dangerous threats against Nicky.

"Sure yeah." Christopher bobbed down next to Farrell's bed and the dog moaned and rolled over on his back with his legs in the air. Christopher rubbed the hairy stomach, laughing at Farrell's disgust when he stopped. "Na, that's your lot," he said, his almond shaped eyes curving upwards in a smile as he rose. He turned to Emma and she experienced a rush of warmth at the way his irises glinted with interest. "So," he said, folding his arms and leaning back against the counter. "What's the deal with you and Rohan?" He crossed one leg over the other, his stance casual but his enquiry serious.

Emma kept her back turned as she sifted through a series of answers. Her shoulders slumped when she settled on the truth. "My father married his mother when we were children." A blush coloured her neck and pinked her cheeks. "We've no shared blood. He's my step-brother." The word caused myriad cuts to reopen in her soul. It had stood between them since the moment she hung on his first full sentence. He had spoken little, but not to her. Not in the beginning.

"So, ye might like a wee dram in the town with a visiting Irishman?" Christopher's gaze burned the back of her neck. Emma twirled a teaspoon in the coffee, dispersing the milk and allowing herself time to process his request. Devilment tempted her. As much as she craved a reunion with Rohan, Felicity's threats made the scenario impossible.

Emma turned and held out the coffee. Christopher's fingertips brushed hers as he wrapped his hand around the mug. He raised an eyebrow in question and Emma gave a shrug of indifference. "I'm not staying," she replied. The hot coffee burned her lips as she took an ill-advised sip. "I'm leaving in a few days." Leaving Rohan to Alanya. And to Felicity's possessive kisses.

"Then a goodbye drink with me shouldn't be a problem." His eyes narrowed and he blinked, the action both foxy and endearing.

"We just met. Why are you interested?" she demanded, setting a defiant tilt into her chin. "I come with more complications than you can imagine." Her hand shook and coffee slopped over the edge of her mug, leaving drips on the floor tiles. They turned the quarried red a darker colour as Emma stared at the spots.

"Maybe I like complicated," Christopher replied. His voice sounded soft and alluring. Emma pursed her lips and ignored his brazen pressure. Temptation flared in her chest and she tamped it down again. A voice in her head denied the harm of a drink with a handsome stranger. One drink after six years of celibacy and no social life.

Christopher blinked, long black lashes grazing his cheeks. He seemed to sense her weakening. "You're exquisite, Emma Andreyev. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Emma let out a snort of spontaneous laughter. "You're dreadful. Has anyone ever told you that?" The irony cut through the illusion. He'd used her married name as a pickup line.

"Hell yeah! Me mammy says it often to me." Christopher raised his voice in an impression of a high-pitched female. "Chris! You're a feckin' eejit!" The corners of his eyes crinkled in laugh lines. "That's just a sample. I can't do her proper voice. It's deep, like a man who's smoked fifty a day since his third birthday."

Emma laughed. Her spirit lightened. "I bet it's not," she retorted. "I can't imagine you with a mother like that."

"Come out with me and I'll show you a photo." Irises like dark chocolate glinted with wickedness. Christopher's lips quirked into a pout of pure self-confidence as he turned up the heat. "You know you want to really."

Emma dropped her gaze and sipped her drink. The moment became awkward. Christopher observed her from beneath his eyelashes, a frightening astuteness behind his gaze. Emma's heart sank as she wondered if he knew more than she supposed. She needed him to leave, but, his company intrigued her.

Christopher broke the silence. "So, can guests sit down in this house, or do I need to stand on ceremony until I finish my drink?" He raised an eyebrow and Emma relaxed. She pointed to the two-seater sofa at the end of the kitchen.

"No, sorry. Sit. It's not my house. I don't get many guests at home." She pursed her lips and regretted mentioning her circumstances. Christopher's head cocked with interest.

"Where's home?" he asked.

Emma regretted inviting him to stay for two reasons. She'd given him time to ask questions she didn't want to answer. She'd also invited him to sit on the smallest sofa in the house. Her coffee mug trembled in her fingers as she planned a way through the awkwardness. She waved her other hand and declined the seat next to him. "I'm fine," she replied to his frown. "I'll stand. Too much to do." She gave a feckless flap of her hand towards the sink, wishing she'd left a ready excuse. The empty counter and gurgling dishwasher made a liar of her.

Christopher cocked his head and closed one eye. It created the effect of humour. "I don't want to talk to the back of yer head," he said, his irises glinting. "So, tell me about yer, Emma. Where do ye live when you're not visiting your brother?"

"Lincoln." Emma swallowed and tried not to wince at the label he'd automatically given Rohan. She focussed on thoughts of home instead. Even naming the town filled her with dread. "I'm looking after Rohan's dog while he goes away for work."

"Aye, work?" Christopher nodded and sipped his coffee. "He's a busy boy, see."

Emma nodded. She wished she hadn't let him maneuver her into a more prolonged visit. Blinking, she realised he'd governed her actions since the first seconds of their meeting. Emma exhaled. Rohan might not want him in the house. The threat of his disappointment sent her striding towards the sofa. Christopher jerked in surprise as she sat next to him.

"How do you know Rohan?" she demanded. She turned sideways on the seat, careful to avoid touching Christopher's thigh with her knee. He flexed his slender fingers around his mug and released a sigh.

"That's a long story. I don't want to bore you on our first meeting." He looked up at the ceiling and his black fringe bounced against his eyelashes. Emma studied the profile of his chiseled jaw and the stubble pressing through his cheek. His looks were the antithesis of Rohan's. The voice in Emma's head told her Christopher might be fun. With Felicity hanging around, she could use the handsome Irishman as a diversion. Her shoulders hunched. It might call off Alanya's spite until she and Nicky could go home.

Emma's fingers strayed to the back of the sofa. Rohan's discarded sweater hung over the cushion and she stroked the soft wool. Guilt budded in her chest as the scent of his aftershave disturbed beneath her touch. It condemned her twisted thoughts and Emma frowned. She looked up to find Christopher watching her. "Sorry?" she asked, her tone soft. "Did you say something?"

Christopher's gaze flicked to the sweater and then to her face. He smiled and for a second Emma felt sympathy between them. "I asked what time Rohan might get home." His Irish accent softened the question into the gentle cadence of song lyrics.

"Not sure," Emma replied. She knew nothing about anything. The realisation struck her. Rohan had offered no information about where his work would take him or how long it might keep him there. "Was he expecting you?" Emma pursed her lips and winced. "I could take a message."

Christopher shook his head. He wrinkled his nose. "It's okay. I thought he'd be here."

"Oh. Did he expect you to visit?"

"Not here, no."

Emma touched her lips with her fingers. "Oh, sorry."

"I don't suppose ya can give me his phone number?" Christopher edged his body sideways and his knee touched Emma's. The subsequent jolt from their contact filled her with confusion. His sweet male scent seemed to overwrite Rohan's faded memory and she licked her lips. The flare of attraction took her by surprise.

"I don't think he wrote it down for me." Emma floundered. Rohan just turned up when he felt like it. She realised with a sinking sensation that he'd never given her a reason to need his phone number. Her hand shook as she reached into her jeans pocket for her phone. "Perhaps he put it here," she suggested. "Her fingers coasted across the battered keys.

Christopher smiled and stretched like a cat. He sat his mug on the floor and reached for Emma's phone. "I should just give you my number," he said. He pressed keys and entered his name into her contacts. His nose wrinkled as he turned the device over in his hand. Emma thought for a second that she read disappointment in his brown eyes. "Why do you have such an old phone?" he demanded with a twist of his lips. "I'm surprised at Rohan."

"It's none of his business." Emma snatched her phone from his outstretched hand. "It's mine."

Christopher crossed his long legs at the ankles and retrieved his coffee. Emma observed him from beneath her lashes, studying his smooth skin which revealed a tiny nick beneath his jaw from a razor. His hair looked recently cut, short and neat. He wore average clothes with a confidence which told her he valued his own opinion above others. Emma started as he turned and caught her staring.

"So, tell me about yerself, Emma," he said, his voice soothing as he tried again. He took another sip of his drink.

Emma tensed. Her circumstances weren't for the ears of strangers. "There's not much to tell." She shuttered her expression like a portcullis, needing to keep the Irishman out of her head. She sensed he could charm his way into a woman's affections with minor effort. "My life is pretty boring. Tell me about you. How did you meet Rohan?"

Christopher shifted in the seat so he half-faced her. He smiled with veiled approval at her fencing tactic. "I've known Andreyev for three years. We're both free-lance and sometimes work on the same projects. He's as sharp as a knife and knows how to use one. We've a healthy respect for one another." He reached out a tentative hand and plucked a black dog hair from Emma's jeans. His fingers lingered and his warmth pressed through the fabric. "Will ya come for a drink wit' me whilst I'm in town?"

"What?" Emma's face registered her shock at the smooth insertion of his repeated invitation. She swallowed. "No! It's ridiculous." Confusion and fear dilated Emma's pupils. Her heartbeat picked up its pace as Christopher bent his knee and occupied the greater share of the seat. "I don't know you from a bar of soap!"

He threw his head back and laughed. "Me mammy says that." He shrugged. "I'm not in town for long. The evenings get kinda lonely. I'm only suggesting a drink. No matter." Christopher fixed a smile on his face, but it appeared forced. His hangdog expression fostered an endearing quality which tested Emma's resolve.

She should have asked him to leave, but she didn't. Christopher continued to sip his coffee and Emma let him. The conversation steered towards safer ground. His keen observation skills netted a victory when he spotted a pair of Nicky's socks drying on the clothes airer. Emma nodded in response to the harmless question. "My son," she acknowledged. "He's six."

Christopher nodded. "Is he a handful?"

"No." Emma relaxed against the sofa cushions. She exhaled. "He should be, but he isn't. Nicky's a delightful boy." She frowned. "You asked me out without knowing if I had a husband. What if he's a weightlifter who wants to fight you?" Her lips quirked upwards at the memory of the fights she'd witnessed between Fat Brian and his gang members. It looked more like a game of Twister with baseball bats.

Christopher raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a husband, Emma?" His pointed glance at her ring finger negated the need for an answer. She pursed her lips in defeat but tried a valiant recovery.

"I might have a boyfriend."

"Do you?" Christopher's steady gaze inferred he'd guess if she lied. Emma released a sigh laden with sadness that something about her obviously betrayed her emotional neglect. Her mind strayed unbidden to her moment of passion with Rohan. Emotional neglect but palpable sexual tension.

Emma cleared her throat and edged away from him. "No. I don't." She tightened her jaw. "And I don't need one, thanks."

Christopher laughed again, an easy, genuine sound. Straight white teeth added to the effect of perfection. "I'm sure you don't." He cocked his head and studied her. His accent added a compelling tone to his words. "But I only offered you a drink in a public place. Not a lifetime commitment."

Emma swallowed and stared at the tiles. Embarrassment sent a flush to colour her cheeks. He'd offered friendship and she'd accused him of lechery. She'd allowed herself to get out of practice in the dating game. The rules for playing had changed. "Sorry." She dipped her body to stare at her feet and avoid Christopher's perceptive gaze. She lined up her toes and winced at a hole in her sock.

"I accept yer apology." Christopher's tone offered kindness and understanding. "In return I'll show my good faith by buying you the drink I offered and the dinner I didn't."

Emma snuffed out a reluctant laugh. "You're very persuasive."

"Ah, that's the Irish genes." Christopher grinned. "We run at life because we understand there's only so much time. Better to break your neck than get nowhere."

Emma nodded. "Does your mother say that too?" she asked.

"No." Christopher tapped his temple with a long index finger. "That's all me."

Emma blinked. Despite herself, she liked him. Temptation tested her. One drink. Felicity said she and Alanya would drive her out of Rohan's life. Emma sighed. She needed to kill the bud of attraction growing inside her for her former husband. Kill it stone dead before it left her derelict again.

Christopher sat forward and seemed to rethink his game plan. Then he rose. "Thank you for the coffee." He sat his mug on the counter next to Emma. "I've imposed on ya enough. You're gorgeous and it made me forget my head for a moment." He took a step towards the kitchen door and stopped to chuck Farrell under the chin.

"I can make you another coffee." Emma spoke as fear and loneliness crowded in on her. The day stretched out before her, empty and filled with her own fruitless recriminations. It seemed pointless searching for a job in a town when she couldn't stay. Her old boss would have scuppered her job at the school by now, anyway. She could go for a drink with this man and might even even enjoy herself. Then she would leave as planned.

Christopher turned to face her. A corner of his lip lifted as Farrell's tail wagged against the floor tiles. Emma stood and nerves battered her self-confidence. Her mind turned somersaults as it tried to get her back to the place in the conversation where he'd asked her to go out with him. Before she'd ruined it. Seconds ticked by and neither of them spoke.

"Tomorrow night. Seven o'clock at the motel on the corner of Welland Park Road," Christopher said. His voice sounded soft, enticing. "If yer show up, we'll go for dinner. If you don't, I'll deal with the heartbreak of a missed opportunity." He winked at her. "But I'll live, Rohan's sister. I always do."

Emma said nothing as Christopher opened the kitchen door, walked through and closed it behind him. She listened to him lacing up his shoes in the hallway. At the click of the front door closing, she blew a breath through pursed lips. "What the hell just happened?" she demanded. Farrell sat up and glanced at his leash with his fluffy ears pricked. Emma slapped her hands against her thighs. "And why were you such a rubbish guard dog?"

Farrell released a wet sneeze from his wide nostrils and buried his nose in his paws. "Useless!" Emma grunted. She marched into the hallway and deadlocked the front door as though it might keep out the deluge of confused emotions threatening to overwhelm her. She leaned against it and closed her eyes. "So far today, I've been seduced, threatened and propositioned," she mused. "Rohan's got himself a crazy girlfriend and I've just come home to her twin brother."

# Chapter 21

Emma called to the dog before kicking another rotting conker for him to chase. The low sun twinkled through the trees and dappled the pavement. She squinted at the bell tower of the school, seeing it as a black silhouette against the orange winter sun. The walk around the park with Farrell had helped to consume an otherwise boring afternoon.

"So, you return with a bastard? How typical of you." The old woman stepped in front of Emma on the path. The sun back lit her to accentuate the horror her outline induced. Emma reacted by putting her hands out in front of her.

"Get away from me!" she spat. The deserted park rejected her frantic glance around for help. Picking up the tension in her stance, the dog bounded back towards Emma, dropping the conker in the grass.

Alanya moved to prevent Emma skirting around her, spreading her arms as though in greeting. It ensured Emma would need to step into the murky puddles on either side of the path to escape. The simple action reeked of cruelty and domination, familiar guests at Alanya Harrington's dinner table. Farrell arrived in a hail of dirty water, splashing through the mess to reach Emma's side and showering both women.

Emma faltered before her step mother. Terror vied with duty. She wanted to get away from Alanya. But she needed to fetch Nicky from school. Comfortable in her superiority, Alanya rested her weight on one hip. She pointed the toes of her left foot in the ballerina's stance she'd once held. Gifted. Beautiful. Affluent.

"My son has...how you say? Banned me from house. Because of you. Always when there is trouble, here is the vicar's nemnogo orphan!"

"You made me a little orphan!" Emma retorted. The word sent darts of pain through her head. "You're a murderer." Emma gathered the dog leash into her left hand and hooked her fingers through Farrell's collar. The action betrayed the tremor consuming her from head to toe. "You killed my father and then tried to force me to abort my unborn child. Is it just me you hate, or anyone connected with me?"

Alanya's jaw dropped open and her pursed lips parted in a mask of horror. "Do not say dat!" she snapped. "I loved your father. He vas sick. I try to heal him."

"He was fine until he met you!" Emma's voice rose. "We were doing okay! He'd still be alive now if you hadn't walked into his church. You make me sick!" Tears sprang into Emma's eyes. Thoughts of her father always released the pressure valve on her self-control. The Reverend Harrington had adored his Russian ballerina.

"I vatch you, Emma. Vy do you have Anton's syn?"

"Mind your own business! My boy will never know you. Stay away from us."

"But Emma. I think I help you. Let me see child?"

"No!" Emma's temper reached explosion point, filling her head with molten blood and glazing her vision in a red mist. She summoned up all the latent hatred she'd spent the last seven years burying. "You ruined my life!" Emma gasped at the sentence, realising how sad it sounded in the open air. It stank of self-pity. At its core was her son, the best thing to have come out of it all. She took a step back and the dog moved with her as though synced with her in a dance.

Emma forced herself to breathe. She conjured up Nicky's sweet face with his father's unruly blond locks and stunning blue eyes. She thought of all the times her son told her he loved her and the little ways he demonstrated it. Alanya had tried to ruin it, but she hadn't succeeded. She hadn't. Emma finally saw that truth for the first time.

She fixed her gaze on Alanya's hooked nose and fading blonde hair. The law of genetics meant she saw the matriarch in her own son every day, but where Rohan's mother had passed on her beauty, she'd spared him her vile nature.

"You will never meet my son." Courage flowered in Emma's chest and the tremor lessened. "You've missed out, Alanya, because he's beautiful." A manic grin spread across Emma's features. "You'll never know what you've missed." She swallowed and stepped into the puddle at the side of the path. "Never speak to me again!"

The water sloshed over the tops of her ankle boots and squeezed through the gap between the lining and the sole. Emma put her head down and ignored the discomfort. The healing cuts on her feet protested.

But as victory loomed, the monster of her childhood lashed out and caught her square in the heart. "You vill not have Rohan!" Alanya snarled. She pointed an index finger twisted by arthritis. "I vill not let you taint him like you did Anton. I lost him because of you and I do not forgive!"

Emma paused and turned to face Alanya. It was a mistake which proved her undoing. In her mind's eye, the old woman morphed back into the terror of her childhood. Hateful and uncompromising. Emma forgot the ready sentence on her lips.

"Leave Rohan Andreyev alone!" Alanya ordered her. "Or I vill make you vish you had!" She took a menacing step towards the edge of the path. "You are a whore. You pedaled your flesh to both my sons and you will live to regret it. I vill see Anton's syn, whether you like it or not! My nevestka, Felicity, vill see to it."

Emma turned and splashed towards the school. She elected not to run, salvaging the last of her dignity by strolling as though Alanya hadn't just stabbed her through the chest. The trembling of her fingers rattled the links of the dog leash. Farrell stuck close to her leg, looking up at her with wide, brown eyes filled with concern. Emma kept walking until she saw Alanya shuffle away in her peripheral vision.

The old woman took careful steps along the pathway towards the main road. Then Emma rested her forehead against her icy fingers and let the panic subside. Alanya had inflicted many intentional cuts, not least her use of the Russian word for daughter-in-law. She'd pulled Felicity into her circle of confidence and slammed the door on Emma. Not that Emma had ever craved Alanya's love, but it cemented the barrier between her and Rohan. And Nicky.

She shook her head and acid rose into her chest with the withdrawal of adrenaline. Farrell dropped a stick at her feet as she ran a shaking hand over her lips. "I need to get away from here," she whispered to the dog. Her mind ran riot with the memories of stomach cramps induced by whatever adulteration Alanya had added to her food. It often followed a warning about her behaviour with the boys. Emma shuddered at the thought of the Russian woman plying Nicky with poisoned sweets or drinks. She'd indicated that Felicity would help get her access to him.

Emma glanced around her, relieved to find the park still empty. Her own words returned to taunt her. 'You ruined my life.' She wished she hadn't said it. Nicky was the bright spot in her miserable life.

The trembling of her legs drove her to sit down on a swing. The gentle swaying motion increased her sickness. Emma looked at the apex of the school building rising above the red brick wall. It formed an unshakable landmark in the gathering gloom. Her son sat at a desk inside, learning or chewing his pencil and struggling to keep his bottom on the seat of his tiny plastic chair. "Oh, Nicky, I don't deserve you," Emma whispered to the surrounding trees.

"Talking to yourself?" Mel laughed as she appeared behind Emma. She frowned when she noticed Emma's start of fear. Farrell dashed up at that moment, a bent stick dangling from his mouth. Emma covered her alarm by taking it and sending it hurtling through the air. The dog turned tail and followed.

"I'm just slaying demons." Emma grunted as she bent to pick up another blunted piece of wood cast down by the gargantuan oak trees. She kept her feet on the floor, but the swing moved.

"Can you slay my ex at the same time?" Mel snorted. "Then maybe me an' Mo could go back to Manchester."

"You don't need my help. I'm a failure." Emma's voice sounded flat.

"Hey, ladies." A blonde woman wandered up to Mel. She watched Farrell's antics with the stick. He spun in a circle as though trying to make himself dizzy.

"Hey, Allaine." Mel nodded at her. She glanced at Emma again, concern sparkling in her chocolate irises. "This is Emma. She's Nicky's mum."

"Hi, Emma." Allaine presented a glove shrouded in a mitten. Her eyes smiled with an inner confidence which lit her face with ethereal beauty. Emma grasped the offered hand and gave it a polite shake. The women seemed to bring with them a circle of protection for her to hide behind and recover. Allaine turned to follow Farrell's trajectory as he streaked across the park and through the deepest puddles. "I live along the street from you," she said. "I've seen you walking with your husband and meant to say hello."

Emma cringed. "He's not my husband. Well, he is, but kinda not. It's complicated." Emma waved her hand in defeat. "It's a story for another day." Emma pulled out her phone to check the time. When she rose, the abandoned swing moved in a graceful arc. "Faz, come here," she called. The dog stopped his stick twirling and padded over, a dazed look in his eyes. Emma clipped the leash onto his collar and he morphed into the perfect dog again.

"He's a good dog," Allaine confirmed with a sigh. Her fingers twitched as though stroking an imaginary companion. "I've seen him out walking with your ... husband-not-husband."

"Rohan," Emma said, caressing his name on her tongue. A world of possibility opened in front of her and then slammed shut on her fingers. The thought of Felicity and Alanya conspiring against her brought more nausea. The two hags plotting her downfall rendered her hopeless. She couldn't win against them. Her borrowed house in Lincoln called, if she could find the money for train fare.

"Rohan? I just call him 'The Demigod' usually," Mel cooed. "He's hot property, girl! If you're not interested, I might make a play for him. I could keep him busy for half an hour if you mind the kids. He's mighty fine."

"You might need longer than half an hour," Emma remarked. Her memories performed an inappropriate dance before her eyes. Then she remembered Felicity's accusation and the blackness descended over her head again. Rohan's promises fell like ash to the ground and the spectre of Alanya stole the last of Emma's new peace. "Anyway, he's engaged to someone else." And he lied to me.

Mel narrowed her eyes. "Oh yeah. That scary secretary from the school got her claws into him. That sucks!"

Emma gave a weak nod and followed Allaine through the blue gate and into the playground. Nicky acted his usual effervescent self, running through the park with an entourage of willing worshippers. The women walked behind the children, loaded down with book bags and wrappers from half eaten snacks. Emma's son exhibited all Anton's charisma, drawing others to him like a magnet. His laughing eyes and ready smile made her heart clench. She missed Anton. She had more questions for him in death than she'd ever contemplated while he lived.

Mel and Mohammed parted company on the other side of Northampton Road. Mel avoided the sweet shop on the corner with the same wariness as Emma. Neither of them had money to waste on sugar highs. Nicky pressed his face into Emma's stomach after waving to Mo, his words filling her heart with dismay. "I love it in Harborough, Mummy. Can we stay here forever? I love my new school and I love Mrs Clarke so much."

Emma patted the top of his head and tried not to show her misery. Allaine waited for her. If she noticed, she said nothing. They walked along Newcombe Street and stopped outside Allaine's house. Nicky and Allaine's daughter tracked a group of ants carrying a leaf along a wall.

"Nicky's tall for his age, isn't he?" Allaine commented, her short blonde hair poking out from beneath a woolly hat.

"His dad's tall," Emma replied. She realised her error and the shutters crashed down over her wistful expression. Allaine made a pretence of not noticing.

"Nicky's a beautiful person," Allaine said. "He's a credit to you. Kaylee told me he shared his lunch with Mohammed yesterday. Mo has whatever he's given by the Women's Refuge staff."

"Rohan paid for Nicky to have hot lunches." Emma stopped and shook her head. "Oh, that makes sense now. There were peas in his trouser pocket. Thank goodness they didn't serve gravy!"

Allaine snorted. She waved an outstretched arm at the three-storey house behind her. "Well, I'm here if you need me. Any time. Day or night."

"Thanks." Emma sensed the kinship of a budding connection. She turned to leave and then twisted back to face Allaine. The other woman fumbled with the latch on her front gate and Emma cleared her throat. "Hey, do you know where I might find somewhere to rent?" The idea had begun as a germ in her mind with Nicky's profession of love for the town. It vied with her desire to just run north and not look back. Maternal guilt drove it and fear came a momentary second place.

"Yeah sure. Why don't we meet up after we drop the children tomorrow? I'll walk into town with you and show you the sights."

Emma smiled with genuine gratitude. "Thank you! I'd appreciate that."

She followed Nicky up the street as he skipped ahead with the dog. She felt torn between her son's safety and his pleasure. The warning mantra still sounded in her head. Get out. Get out now.

Back at Rohan's house, she struggled with the door key and dog leash, the dog prancing up and down on her toes and the child pressed close against her bottom. The library bag fell to earth with a crash. "Can't you take something from me?" Emma snapped, falling forward with a yelp as the door gave way before her. She staggered, tripping over the doorstep and squeaking as she fell.

Strong arms caught her at the moment her knees should have contacted the parquet floor. Rohan lifted her upright but left a hand on either side of her waist until she seemed stable. A blush speckled Emma's neck and cheeks, embarrassment making her snippy. "I'm fine!" she snarled. She shoved Rohan's chest and untangled her feet. Wet footprints followed her progress across the floor from her soaked boots.

"Yeah, you looked fine," Rohan replied with a wooden smile. His blue eyes sparkled with a wariness that added to Emma's anxiety. "Why are you so late? I got worried."

"We were chatting to a lady along the street!" Emma's tone oozed aggression. "I didn't realise we were on a time limit."

Nicky rolled his eyes and smirked at Rohan, lighting the fuse on Emma's patience. "Thanks for catching me, Uncle Ro," he squeaked in a high voice to mimic her. "You stopped me splatting on the floor."

Emma shook her head. "Don't start that eye rolling thing between you! Go upstairs and get out of your school uniform." She jabbed a finger in Nicky's direction and he lurched up the wooden stairs to his bedroom. His footsteps thundered overhead.

"Does that include me? Should I go upstairs and get undressed?" Humour touched Rohan's full lips and Emma swallowed. Her lips burned with the memory of his kisses.

She dodged around him and hung the borrowed coat in the cupboard under the stairs. Her boots leaked dirty water as she sat them on a shelf next to Rohan's expensive brogues. Even their clothes rebelled against them, highlighting the obvious differences. "Your girlfriend came looking for you," she said, her tone biting. "Wanted to know why you called her."

"You know why I called her." Rohan's tone sounded soft. Emma fought the urge to throw herself into his arms and let him fix everything. He couldn't. Alanya wouldn't allow it.

She turned to face him and gritting her teeth set her jaw into a firm line. "You shouldn't," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I don't want you to break up with her. We're history. It should stay that way."

Rohan's lips parted and pain radiated from his blue eyes. Darkness shrouded them like cloud cover ruining a summer picnic. Emma distracted herself with thoughts of Christopher's offer and remembered the reason for his visit. "Ro," she began. "This guy came to see you."

A series of sharp raps on the front door stole the rest of Christopher's story. The glaze over Rohan's irises showed he hadn't taken it in, anyway. Hurt had made him deaf. He strode to the door and hauled it open, a familiar mask slipping over his face to hide his confusion. "What?" he snapped.

"Oh! That's not much of a welcome." Felicity bounded across the threshold, threw her arms around Rohan's neck and kissed him on the lips. Emma crushed her instinctive jealousy and scrabbled in the cupboard for newspaper to stuff into her soaked boots. Her hands shook as she demolished yesterday's paper and formed small enough pieces to jam them into the toes.

"Hi." Rohan's greeting sounded flat.

Oblivious, Felicity retrieved a plastic bag from the front door mat. "I got takeout." She dangled the bag higher so he could see the cartons stacked inside it. "I got your favourite."

"But Emma made dinner." Rohan sounded apologetic. "It's in the oven."

Emma watched Felicity as she breathed in the scent of Shepherd's pie. Her nose wrinkled in disgust. "I hate mince," she replied with a barbed tone. "And anyway, I only brought enough for two. We'll eat it in your bedroom." Without removing her stilettos, Felicity clattered upstairs with the grace of a cat walk model.

"Bloody hell!" Rohan spat as her backside moved out of sight. The unrepeatable Russian swearword made Emma wince.

"You should go," she said, forcing joviality into her voice. "I didn't realise Shepherd's pie wasn't your favourite anymore. I should have asked." Emma resented the martyr's tone. She corrected herself. "I didn't mean how that sounded."

Rohan waved his hand in dismissal. His blond brows furrowed into a line. "Emma, I need to talk to you." He moved closer, lowering his voice and darting a gaze towards the stairs. "It's important. I've lost my back up for this job and it's too late to back out now. I wouldn't usually worry, but with you and Nicky here, it's created a risk."

Emma frowned. "What? I don't understand. You're an accountant." She wracked her brain for the word he'd used. "An actuary. How risky can it get for a mathematician?"

"Rohan!" Felicity appeared at the top of the stairs. Irritation laced her use of his name. She sidled down the first few steps to peer through the bannister rails. "The food's going cold." Her eyes narrowed at the sight of Emma and Rohan, their hissed argument causing her radar to sound mental warnings. "What's going on?" she demanded.

"Nothing." Emma lowered her gaze to the floor. She noticed a darker patch where the parquet didn't match.

Felicity took an indignant inhale through her nose. "Hurry up, Rohan. I've found this fantastic little getaway online. We could plan a sexy weekend while we eat the takeout."

Emma looked up in time to see a vein tick in Rohan's neck. His eyes appeared blank and she released a sigh. It was the classic tell which revealed him shutting down and dropping the portcullis. It told her that he recognised the manipulation but didn't want to face dealing with it. Typical Rohan.

Emma covered her sense of dismay with a cough. She fixed a wooden smile on her face and flapped her hand towards the kitchen door. "I'll leave you to your dinner," she said, her voice croaky with sadness. "I'll sort out Nicky."

Wobbly steps took her to the kitchen and she closed the door and leaned against it. Farrell paced around in front of the oven, his nose in the air. Emma released a sigh. "Smells good, doesn't it?" She pushed away from the door and jumped as it opened behind her. Nicky slithered through the gap and wrapped his arms around her waist. He buried his nose into the small of her back.

"It's okay, Mummy. I still love you."

"I love you too." Emma's voice sounded flat and without emotion.

Nicky sighed against her shirt. "I don't like her. She keeps talking to me in the corridor. Mrs Clarke got cross with her today because she made me late to assembly."

"Why does she talk to you?" Emma used gloves to remove the casserole dish from the oven. She busied herself, setting it on a wooden board and using activity to buy her time. Asking her son the wrong question would lead down pointless rabbit holes. As his eyes glazed over, she sensed she'd failed at the first hurdle.

"I don't know," he replied. His lips parted into a grin at the sight of the pie. "I love it here. We have great dinners."

Emma took a plate from the overhead rack and spooned mince and potatoes onto it. She sat it on the counter in front of Nicky's stool.

"Yummy!" He scrambled up and seized hold of his fork.

"Okay, so what does she ask you?" Emma tried again. She gave herself a small portion of mince. Footsteps on the floorboards overhead cauterised her appetite.

Nicky shovelled mince into his mouth and closed his eyes to chew. "She asks me about you. Today she asked why we were here. She thinks she's getting married to Uncle Ro." His soft brows knitted into a line.

Emma dropped the serving spoon into the dish, burning herself as she tried to retrieve the handle. "She told me that. But she shouldn't talk to you in school about private things." Tears pricked the back of her eyelids and she sucked her finger. The spoon disappeared beneath the folds of meat and potato. "I'll talk to Mrs Clarke tomorrow."

"No, please Mummy, don't talk to my teacher. I don't want you to do that." Nicky dropped his fork and panic flickered in his eyes. The metal handle clattered against his plate. He turned to face her and his eyes widened. "Don't cry Mummy! It's okay. It's all gonna be okay." He slithered from his stool and wrapped his arms around her waist. His cheekbone dug into her hip.

"I'm fine. Just burned myself," she lied. She blinked away the tears and then sighing, she looked down and gave a gasp of horror. "Ye gods! Nicky!"

"What?" Her naked son giggled. "It took you ages to notice. You told me to go upstairs and get undressed. So, I did. You din't say to get dressed again." He pushed his face against Emma's stomach. His spindly arms around her waist offered a surprising degree of security. He lowered his voice. "I thought my willy might scare that woman away. I think it worked."

Emma snorted through her tears. She winced. "It's called flashing, Nick. It's actually not cool. You can go to prison for doing that when you're older."

"But I'm not older," he answered, his tone confident. "I won't do it then."

The kitchen door opened and Emma held her breath.

"Hey." Rohan's hand warmed her shoulder as he leaned over and dangled pyjamas in front of Nicky's face. "You left these." He dropped them over Nicky's head and graced Emma with an open smile. It faded as he noticed the tears glistening against her irises. His lips parted with a question but Nicky burst from the clothing with an imitation roar.

"Scared ya," Nicky sang.

"Get your pyjamas on quick," Rohan told him. "We don't want the women falling for you instead of me." He made the jibe and then thought better of it. Emma saw him shake his head at his own mistake.

"Was Felicity scared?" Nicky demanded from inside his pyjama shirt.

"Impressed," Rohan answered. His gaze coasted over Emma's face. She sensed the heat of his stare but chose not to meet it.

"Oh shit!" Nicky stamped his foot in disappointment. "That didn't work then."

Emma clapped her hand over his mouth in horror and turned to deal with her child's expletive. When she looked up, Rohan had gone.

# Chapter 22

"Hurry up, Nicky!" Emma called up the stairs. She held a boot in her hand and hauled out the newspaper. Her fingers pressed against the innersole, testing for dampness. "Not too bad," she murmured.

Rohan walked down the stairs wearing a business suit. His smart shoes clicked against the wooden rungs. He paused at the bottom step and wrinkled his nose. "Sorry about last night." He frowned, trying to read Emma's response.

"What about it?" Her voice sounded cold, her words endings clipped.

"Felicity. She acted loud on purpose."

"Too much information, thanks." Emma's face creased into a mask of distaste. "Your sex life is nothing to do with me."

"Emma!"

"Nicky! Last call for Nicky!" Emma yelled over him like an airport call system. Animosity poured from her in waves.

"Whatever!" Rohan sighed and opened the front door. A wintry blast rushed in as he forced his way out and slammed the door behind him.

"We takin' Faz?" Nicky clattered down the stairs and lurched for the leash hanging from the back of the cupboard door. Emma stilled his hand.

"No, I've got stuff to do in town."

"But he looks sad," Nicky complained. "Will I give him my crisps to cheer him up?"

"No! You'll make him fat and he'll get health problems. It's cruelty dressed as kindness to overfeed dogs."

"Like Uncle Anton?"

"What?" Emma's head whipped round so fast, her neck clicked. "What about him?"

"About him bein' sick."

"What do you know about it?" Emma gulped, wondering how he'd noticed something she'd so blatantly missed.

"You could just tell when he visited. He didn't wanna play wiv me. When's he comin' again? Does he know we're not in Lincoln?" Nicky's blue irises sparkled with worry. "I wanna see 'im. Will Ro let him visit us here if he's all mended now?"

Emma swallowed. She contemplated the devastating bombshell and pushed it aside until a better time. A voice in her head warned her she'd done that once too often. "I'm sure Uncle Anton knows exactly where we are," she soothed. "Don't worry about that at the moment."

"How does he know? Does he know everything? Is he like God?"

"Nicky, shoes!"

"God knows everything. Kaylee says he does, so he must do."

"I hope he doesn't!"

"Why Mummy? Why do you hope that?"

Emma sighed. "Because if he did, he wouldn't like me very much."

"Yeah, he would." Nicky sounded confident. "I like ya, so he would. Else I'd bash 'im."

"I don't think that would be advisable. Let's go."

Allaine and Kaylee emerged from their gate as Emma and Nicky approached. Kaylee bounced into the street with a grin. "Let's skip," she suggested to Nicky.

He frowned and bit his lip. "I'm not sure," he replied. "I think Mum needs me today."

Emma pursed her lips and masked her horror by rubbing her nose with her gloved hand. "I'm fine, Nicky," she said. "Skip with your friend, but stop at the end of the street."

Nicky jogged alongside Kaylee's haphazard bouncing, looking back towards Emma every few steps. With his brows furrowed, he looked just like Rohan. Emma pushed the unwelcome reminder aside with a long exhale.

"How are you today?" Allaine asked, her voice soft. They trailed the children along the street towards Nithsdale Avenue. Emma shoved her hands further into the pockets of Rohan's jacket. Her fingers clenched.

"Miserable," she replied, her own honesty taking her by surprise.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Allaine's elbow bumped Emma's as they strolled together.

"You already are." Emma looked up at her with a smile. "You're helping me find somewhere to live."

"Someone told me you'd got a job at the school. It starts soon, doesn't it?" Allaine squinted and held her breath as the children skipped to the edge of the curb. She released it as they stopped and turned around to wait. Their lips moved as they chatted in the distance. Kaylee waved her arms and Nicky laughed.

"I don't think that will happen." Emma pursed her lips. "I need to find something else for now. It's a chicken and egg situation. I need a permanent address to find a job and a job to secure a permanent address." She sighed and twisted her lips. "Perhaps the people at the benefits office will help me at the start."

Allaine frowned. "Are you sure the school job won't work out?" She shook her head at Emma's definitive nod. But she didn't challenge it. Emma experienced a wave of gratitude that she didn't ask probing questions either. Allaine just continued walking next to her, her expression soft and her movements graceful.

They walked to the end of Nithsdale Avenue and turned right, heading for the lollipop lady and her provision of safe passage across the treacherous Northampton Road. The children bounced along the pavement on the other side. Emma cleared her throat. "There is something you could help me with." She licked her lips as awkwardness descended. Other children joined Kaylee and Nicky, bouncing along like a mob of kangaroos. Allaine offered a smile of encouragement, forcing Emma to follow through with her request. It helped, casting the last of her doubts into the mud at the side of the path. "I've a date tonight and nothing to wear." Emma bit her lip. "I'm not sure I should even go, but I can't afford to buy anything new. Would you have something I could borrow?" Felicity's squeals of glee in the darkness had strengthened her resolve to cut Rohan out of her life. The semiserious date with Christopher marked a first step in the right direction.

Allaine walked in silence while she sifted through a wardrobe in her mind. Then she nodded. "I have lots of dresses. You're welcome to look." She frowned. "Why don't you think you should go?"

"I just met him yesterday. He's handsome and he knows it, which is the opposite of Rohan." Emma paused. "He also knows Rohan. That could be a bad move."

"What does Rohan say?"

Emma tutted. "I didn't manage to tell him last night." She pursed her lips. "Or this morning." She sighed. "This is stupid. I shouldn't go."

Allaine smiled. "But I sense you want to, anyway. If you're unattached and he's attractive, where's the harm?"

Emma shrugged. "There isn't any. Rohan has Felicity." She resisted the urge to say the other woman's name in a high-pitched squeak. "I felt flattered when Christopher asked me to meet him. But I haven't dated since before Nicky was born."

Allaine nodded and watched the children step through the blue gate into the playground. "Then go," she advised. "Can you tell Rohan tonight?"

"We're not communicating." Emma bit her lip in a flash of guilt. "It's my fault. We've disrupted his life and he's been great about us living at the house. I picked a fight with him over nothing."

"Do you need a babysitter?" Allaine asked. "Nicky could stay at our place overnight."

"Thank you." Emma blinked at her kindness. "Rohan caught the train to London. I'll ask him if he gets home in time."

"How about I give you my mobile number and then at least you can call for help if you need it?" Allaine pulled her phone from her jacket pocket.

"Thanks, that's great." Emma went through the pretence of exchanging phone numbers, knowing she had no credit to call or text anyone.

"I've got a job interview!" Mel's voice rang out in the frigid air. She appeared behind them and wrapped an arm around each of Emma and Allaine. "Thanks for lending me the suit, Allaine. What do you think?" She released them to perform a twirl.

"Oosh girl! You look like a banker. What job is it?" Emma sent enthusiasm into her strained smile.

"It's in the cafe booth inside the market. I'm going for the barista role." Mel smiled, flashing perfect white teeth. "Oh, I hope I get the job." She screwed her face up and hugged her body. "I need a break. Well, one that doesn't fracture bones, anyway."

"Good luck!" Emma hugged her and wished her well with all her heart. She watched Mel dash away in stilettos that looked a little big for her. Then she smiled at Allaine. "Are you running a clothes shop, lady?"

"Yeah, I must be." Allaine laughed, bending to kiss Kaylee as her daughter reappeared for a goodbye kiss.

"Do svidaniya, Mama," Nicky chimed, planting a wet kiss on Emma's lips.

"Bye darling. Remember how much I love you, won't you?" she whispered in his ear. "And don't talk to strangers, Nicky. Or Felicity. I mean it!"

Nicky pursed his lips and shaped a heart with both hands. Emma laughed and counted her blessings.

The walk to town took less than ten minutes. The rental agencies hadn't opened yet, so Allaine showed Emma the town's historical sites. A schoolhouse on wooden stilts dominated the heart of Market Harborough. Emma stroked one of the enormous beams holding it up and sighed, her spirit connecting with the sense of permanence radiating through her fingers. "From the bible?" she mused, pointing to a verse engraved into the wooden beams.

Allaine nodded and read them out loud. "'He the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart —1 Samuel 16:7b' I love that verse," she admitted.

"I don't. It's scary," Emma whispered. Nicky's comment about God returned to her, filling her with fear. "My heart is definitely dirtier than my feet. I hope God can't see inside it." She swallowed and fixed a blank look over her features, determined not to succumb to the threatening self-pity.

Allaine shook her head. "I'm sure God's seen it all before," she said, her tone soft. She inhaled and smiled, her gaze switching to the church next to the schoolhouse. "I love this town's architecture. It just oozes history and meaning."

Emma nodded. "Yeah. I love history. I enjoyed my archiving papers more than the librarianship ones at university. That was my last job." Her eyes flashed and she brought her confession to an abrupt end. Allaine didn't need to know everything in the first sitting. She glanced across at the other woman but found her staring at St Dionysius Church spire. Allaine raised her index finger and pointed.

"They found a set of old books in a priest hole up there last year." Her eyebrow rose in wonder. "The council organised copies and put them on display in the museum. They make sad reading." Her nose wrinkled on one side. "People can be unbelievably cruel to one another sometimes."

Emma thought of Mel and nodded. She turned her feet away from the schoolhouse. "What time does the rental agency open?"

"About now." Allaine checked her watch. She pointed over Emma's head. "The benefits office is in the Symington Building over there in case you want to visit them."

Emma cringed. "I hate asking for help from the state." Her shoulders slumped. She saw a mental image of her house in Lincoln. She'd got a derelict house and a cheque for twenty pounds last time she asked.

Allaine gathered Emma's arm beneath her elbow and gave it a conciliatory squeeze. "Hey, sometimes we all need a bit of help. It's not a crime." She pointed back towards the red brick building. "Do you find it ironic that they dish out benefits from an old corset factory?"

Emma snorted. "That's funny."

The rental agent drove the women to view three available houses. Dressed in a business suit and high heels, she chattered non-stop from the moment they climbed into the vehicle. One house was too far out of town for someone without a car and the other two were outside Emma's financial reach.

"We'll think about it," Allaine told the agent with a smile. If she registered the dismay on Emma's face, she didn't comment. "Thanks for driving us to the houses. We appreciate it." She led Emma from the shop and down the road to a cafe. "Come on, let's get coffee." At the look of horror on Emma's face, she tugged at her arm. "I'm paying!"

As they sipped hot drinks, Emma picked over her options. "I don't know what I was thinking. I can't afford to rent a house and staying here isn't a viable plan, anyway."

"Oh, Emma," Allaine said, her tone soft. She reached across and touched her hand. Emma's eyes narrowed. She looked for pity in Allaine's expression but found only compassion. "What about Nicky's father? Can't he help?"

"No." Emma withdrew her hand in a pretence of reaching for her drink. "He doesn't owe us anything."

Allaine released a sigh and dipped her teaspoon into her coffee. She used it to scoop the frothy milk to the side. "You said your arrangement with Rohan was complicated. I don't need details, Emma, but I'm here if you need a friend. Nicky is welcome at our place before and after school if you need to get full time work."

"I couldn't afford to pay you." Emma squeezed the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. She sighed. "I should go back to Lincoln. This wasn't a permanent arrangement."

"I don't need payment." Allaine smiled. "But I sense you could use a friend."

Emma faced the window and closed her eyes. Allaine's kindness melted away her defences and tears bubbled in the well deep in her chest. She blinked away the rawness and turned, giving Allaine a watery smile. "Yesterday I was determined to leave, but then Nicky told me how much he loved it here. We moved from Aberystwyth right before he started school. He took ages to settle. Today I'm looking for work, houses and other things I won't find."

"And friends." Allaine winked at her and Emma smiled. "You can have friends."

"Yeah, and friends." Emma raised her coffee mug. "Here's to friends."

They walked back to Allaine's house and she turned out the wardrobe on the third floor for Emma. While Emma tried on every dress, Allaine disappeared downstairs to make chicken sandwiches for lunch. "It's no good!" Emma complained when she returned with a tray. "These are all too beautiful for me. What did you do before you had children? Were you a supermodel?"

"No. I worked as a laboratory technician in Leicester."

"What does a laboratory technician do?" Emma twirled in front of the mirror. The sheer material shivered against her legs, its sheen the colour of blood.

"We performed forensic tests for law enforcement agencies." Allaine sat on the mattress and quirked an eyebrow at Emma. "You should borrow that one. The red suits your dark hair."

"I'm not sure." Emma hoisted the bodice higher, conscious of the delicate mounds of breast peeking over the top. She turned in a circle and then faced herself. "What did you test?"

Allaine released a sigh and reached for a sandwich. She inspected it before taking a bite and chewing. "All sorts." She held a hand over her mouth. "Blood, urine, semen, hair. You name it, we tested it. Not that we ever got any recognition. The cops and the lawyers took all that. We might get a dirty thank you if we were lucky."

"A lot like motherhood then?" Emma grinned. She swirled the red fabric around her knees. "This is the only one that fits. The others are too long or too tight."

"Borrow that one. It looks beautiful." Allaine watched Emma as she performed another turn in front of the mirror.

"Do you think so?" Emma shoved her breasts into the bodice and jiggled. "These buttons at the front worry me. If one pops, I might kill someone."

Allaine giggled. "You have a gorgeous figure. At least your breasts point in the right direction and you still have a waist." Allaine prodded her flat stomach and Emma scoffed.

"Whatever! I've only had one child and earned stretch marks for England. You've had five and still own dresses like this."

Allaine wrinkled her nose. "They're all from police balls or cocktail parties over the years. That's why they're all different sizes. That's a twenty-year collection. I must have changed shape at least that many times."

"Did you meet your husband through work?" Emma sat on the mattress next to her. She bit her lip and smiled. "It's one way of getting noticed for your forensic testing; marry a cop."

Allaine blinked and stared down at the sandwich in her fingers. She changed the subject with practiced speed. "Keep the red one. Your date will love it."

Emma frowned but didn't probe. She writhed her fingers in her lap. "I'm not sure I should do this. How do you date when you have stretch marks? I fell in love with Nicky's dad at eight years old. We grew up together and he knew everything about me. It's not just starting again for me. It's starting from the beginning."

"Did you get married?" Allaine asked. She took a bite of her sandwich and stared at Emma's reflection in the mirror.

Emma nodded. "Sixteen and one month old." She swallowed and her expression grew sad. "He was nineteen and in the army. I loved him so much. We married at Gretna Green just inside the Scottish border." Emma's lips parted and she stopped herself. Her irises darkened and her expression shuttered, hiding the pain behind it.

Allaine tapped the plate of sandwiches on the tray. "Eat. You don't have to tell me anything if you aren't ready. I don't care why you came to Harborough or how you got here. I'm just glad you did."

"Thanks." Emma reached for a sandwich. "I'll tell you one day, but we'll need alcohol not coffee." She frowned, wondering if Allaine would believe her story.

"Deal." Allaine leaned forward and scooped Emma's long curls off her neck. "Wear your hair up. Do you have clips?"

Emma shook her head. "It won't matter."

"No, it looks better with your hair up against the low neckline. I've got just the thing to match. Do you have shoes?"

# Chapter 23

Emma laid the dress on her bed and dealt with Nicky's after school demands. Relief gripped her when Rohan didn't arrive home. It presented her with the perfect excuse for avoiding the date with Christopher. She shoved Allaine's babysitting offer aside, acknowledging it as too difficult to take Nicky up the street in his pyjamas and dump him on strangers.

Rohan clattered through the front door at six o'clock, his face lined with tiredness. Nicky barreled into his legs and wrapped his arms around Rohan's waist. "Yey. I'm glad you're home," he sighed. "Mum's got a new dress."

"Ah, nice." Rohan set his laptop case by the sofa and slipped off his jacket. "What colour?"

"Red." Nicky bounced next to him. "Like blood."

"I made dinner." Emma scurried to the kitchen and dished up a plate of macaroni cheese. She laid it on the counter before plunging her hands into the dishwater while Rohan emptied his trouser pockets of keys and a train ticket.

"Thanks for this." He gave her a tired smile and ran his hands through his hair.

"Did you go to London again?" Emma splashed in the water, keeping her back turned as she washed up a saucepan. She reasoned he looked too tired to abandon him with Nicky while she met another man. Her brain waged a war of two arguments, beating her with images of Felicity to strengthen her excuse to wear the red dress.

Rohan nodded and dragged a fork from the cutlery drawer. "I went to Kensington. It seems warmer in the city than here. There's a big freeze coming." He pushed a forkful of the yellow pasta into his mouth and closed his eyes while he chewed. He sank onto a bar stool with a sigh. "I love coming home to you and Nicky." Crow's feet appeared in the corners of his eyes as he smiled. "I should employ you as my housekeeper, so you make dinner every night."

Emma acknowledged the tiny bud of hope in her heart as it died. She ground her teeth and silently berated herself. Housekeeper. The word wounded her like a knife through her heart. She forced a wooden smile on her lips to hide the pain. Her reflection in the kitchen window grimaced back at her. She mouthed the word, "Wife," and stuck her tongue out at herself.

Nicky drew a stool across the tiles and lined it up with Rohan's. Its scraping across the floor ground on Emma's nerves. She dropped the saucepan on the draining board and whirled around, sprinkling water in a wide arc. "Will you stay in tonight or do you have plans?" She couldn't say Felicity's name.

Rohan knitted his blond brows and stared at her. "Why?"

"Yeah, why Mummy?" Nicky frowned and pursed his lips. His eyes grew round. "Is it so you can wear the dress?"

Emma shifted beneath their combined gaze and focussed on the grains of life in the wooden counter. "I've been invited out tonight. Please can you babysit?"

Nicky's jaw dropped open. "You want to go out? Wivout me?" Indignation ran riot across his delicate features. "In a dress!"

Emma swallowed and flapped her hands. "It's fine. I don't need to go. Ignore me. I'll just finish up here." Losing her fragile nerve, Emma busied herself loading the dishwasher in a fit of activity. Housekeeper. The word condemned her. Disappointment surprised her by nipping at her ankles. The dress seemed to glow from the room above her head.

"I'll mind Nicky." Tiredness infected Rohan's speech and his mother tongue accented his words. He rose from the stool and Emma sensed his eyes boring into the back of her head. "You go out with your friends."

Nicky gave a grunt of irritation. "Why can't I go too?" he demanded. "I don't need a babysitter. I'm not a baby."

"We can make the slingshot." Rohan's offer wiped the child's memory. Disgust turned to exhilaration. He ran upstairs to fetch the scrappy plan they'd made, Emma's infraction already forgotten.

"Emma." Rohan's voice sent shivers running along her spine. She set a mug in the top rack of the dishwasher and closed the door. Turning, she forced herself to look up into Rohan's face. He stood close, his blue irises like pools of calm water. "Are these new friends good people?"

Emma thought of Fat Brian and Big Jason and weighed her answer. What constituted a good person? Good people came in all shapes and sizes. The Irishman seemed more dangerous than good, but she sensed Rohan wouldn't like that answer. She shrugged. "I don't know." The honesty in her reply sounded stark and naïve.

Rohan lifted an index finger and brushed a curl from her face. His touch sent Emma's heart into free fall. The familiar flame in her stomach roared. "What will I do with you, Emma Andreyev?" he whispered.

Emma swallowed. Tension kept them trapped on a knife edge and she held her breath. His arms snaked around her waist and his thumbs fitted into the small of her back as though they'd never left. His heartbeat thudded through her thin blouse. "Emma, vozlyublennaya." Sweetheart.

"Yes," she whispered.

Rohan sighed and his exhale moved the fine flyaway hair on either side of her face. Time stopped. Rohan's lips parted. "Emma, I need to sort out my affairs. I have documents prepared for you to view."

"Oh." Emma jerked back, horror widening her eyes. Divorce papers. Just in time for Felicity's planned sexy weekend. Her heart chilled and she shoved Rohan's chest until he released her. If she'd had a knife in her hand, she would have stabbed it right through him. He took a heavy step backward, confusion burning in his eyes. "I need to get ready," Emma bit. Pain shot through her heels as she stamped from the kitchen, the remnants of the glass cuts reminding her of her status. Housekeeper. Divorcee. Unwanted houseguest.

Emma showered and scrunched her hair into a mass of damp curls. Allaine's clip mounted it on the top of her head in a cascading waterfall of chocolate brown ringlets. Emma used the very last dregs of her compact powder, drew thick black lines above her upper eyelids and scraped mascara from the ailing tube. In the absence of lipstick, she used an old chap stick to gloss her full lips. "Here goes nothing," she hissed, wiggling into the red dress. She hauled it over her breasts and fastened the buttons. The integral underwire negated the need for a bra.

A throat cleared from the doorway and Emma jumped. She fumbled with the buttons and her breasts threatened to spill free. "Go away!" she snapped. "I'm not decent."

"I know." Rohan sounded wistful. He leaned against the door frame and folded his arms. He didn't leave.

Emma turned her back on him. She poked her breasts into the bodice and buttoned the last of the tiny pearl seeds. Rising on her tiptoes, she looked at herself in the mirror. The dress hugged her waist and fell away to pool around her thighs. It sat better without her old bra wrinkled underneath the sheer fabric. Emma brushed a hand over the crest of her buttocks and frowned. The lines and ridges of her knickers ruined the illusion of elegance. With a snort of exasperation, Emma reached beneath the dress and yanked them down, stepping out of them. Rohan inhaled and held on to the breath. A flicker of enjoyment budded alongside Emma's sense of righteous vengeance.

"You can leave the room any time you like," she snapped. She turned to face him. He appeared spellbound, like a child discovering a discarded toy contained magic. Ignoring him, Emma yanked her suitcase from beneath the bed. She dug through the clothing by feel, snatching at and then disregarding items. Her fingers closed around a thong her neighbour had given her for Christmas as a joke. Fat Brian's mistress had bought all the women something skimpy from the Pound Shop. Emma examined the flimsy dental floss holding the garment together and let it trickle through her fingers. Then she balled it into her palm and closed her hand.

"Just get out, please. Ro." Exhaustion filtered through her tone. "Please? I'll sign your bloody divorce papers tomorrow. Let me have tonight."

Emma rose to find Rohan pointing at her waist. "You're not going out like that!" He spat the words with the tone of an angry father. It connected with the sleeping defiance in Emma's nature, waking it like a bear from hibernation.

"This is none of your business!" she snapped.

"But you're wearing no underwear!" His blue eyes sparkled in the lamplight, his expression scandalised.

"I remember you finding it horny once upon a time." Emma's eyes danced with mischief and she watched Rohan struggle. His irises darkened to an arctic blue and she recognised the signs of a man losing control. She watched with interest and saw unsatisfied desire morph into rage.

"You are not going out like that!"

"You're not my father!" she shouted. "He's dead, remember?" Her knuckles whitened around the thong.

Nicky's footsteps pattered from the lounge downstairs and make their way towards the stairs. "Mummy?" he called, alarm lacing his voice.

"I'm your husband!" Rohan hissed as the child breached the stairs behind him.

"Yeah, well not for much longer!" Emma bit.

Nicky pushed around Rohan's rigid body to get to Emma, his blinking eyes filled with concern. "Why you shoutin'?" he demanded. Then his face broke into a wide smile. "Mummy, you's so bootiful. I didn't know you looked like that!" Childish delight filled his face and guilt ate at Emma's heart. The warning voice in her head begged her not to leave the house and involve herself with the mysterious Irishman. She had too much to lose.

The shouting forgotten against the sight of his mother in a cocktail dress, Nicky's brain switched to autopilot. He trotted out a series of interesting lessons drilled into him by his teacher at the Lincoln school.

"Always tell a woman she looks beautiful. Never ask her age. Never, never ask if she's expecting a baby. She might just be fat." Nicky patted Emma's flat stomach. "I don't need that one. You don't look fat, Mum."

"Thanks." Emma glared at Rohan and twisted her lips into a sardonic smile. At least one of the males knew how to compliment instead of criticise.

Nicky smoothed his fingers along the soft material from her hip to her thigh. He sniggered. "You're rudey dudey under there!" He blinked, his expression earnest. "Like Shaz on the estate. She din't wear knickers, remember? The wind blew and she showed her..."

Emma fixed her free hand over her son's mouth and gave him a warning glare. He slobbered on her hand and she pulled her fingers away with a wince of distaste. "That's disgusting! Isn't it bedtime?"

"No, me and Uncle Ro is gonna make the slingshot in the tool shed in a minute," Nicky whined. His butterfly mind fluttered down its alternate trail. "He promised!" His eyes flicked towards Rohan with hopeful expectation laced with a helping of implied guilt.

"Well, give me a kiss and then get on with it. I need to leave now." Emma ignored Rohan as she planted a gentle kiss over her son's lips. Nicky wrinkled his nose.

"Strawberry chap stick. Yuk!"

"Go!" Emma pointed to the door and both males left, one more reluctant than the other. Rohan narrowed his eyes and glared at her over his shoulder. Emma breathed a sigh of relief as he kept his comments to himself.

In the bathroom, she wriggled her bum into the thong. "Oh, what?" she hissed as the narrow thread disappeared between her cheeks. "This will not work." She smiled at herself in the mirror and practiced not looking like she wanted to yank thing out from between her nether regions. She kept the genteel smile fixed on her lips and carried the borrowed stilettos down the stairs.

Emma pulled open the front door and released a squeak of alarm. Felicity stood in front of her with her hand raised and her mouth open. "Oh." Felicity frowned. "Nice dress," she conceded, with obvious reluctance. "Where are you going?" She glanced behind Emma with narrowed eyes, perhaps expecting Rohan to be behind her.

"Out," Emma replied, without explanation. "Ro's in the shed with Nicky. They're making something together."

"Oh, damn." Felicity waved a bottle of red wine in Emma's face. "I wanted time alone with him. When are you leaving permanently?"

Emma shrugged and pushed past her. The cold concrete bit into her bare feet. "When I feel like it," she snapped. She clamped her teeth over her tongue to stop their chattering at the icy shiver building in her bones. "See ya!" she intoned with a smirk. Avoiding the splinters on the front gate, she slipped into the street.

Felicity watched her leave with a frown. "It's zero degrees out there!" she called after her. "You'll freeze!"

Emma ground her jaw into a line and held her head high to avoid answering. The memory of Rohan's expression warmed her from the inside and she replayed his voyeurism as she got ready. She knew every twitch and expression of that man's body language and his discomfort filled her with heat. "Divorce my ass," she muttered. "Because you're not having it."

Halfway down Newcombe Street, Emma stopped to slip the shoes onto her feet. The ground made her toes numb enough to fool her into thinking they wouldn't hurt. "You look like a hooker!" she chastised herself, her shoulders bare to the wintry night. "Oh, hello." She flapped her hand at a couple walking their dog. They frowned at her flimsy dress from beneath woolly hats and heavy winter coats.

Against her better judgement, Emma used the darkened alley to reach Northampton Road quicker. Night shrouded her and her heels clattered against the pavement and echoed against the houses either side of her like gun shots. A single streetlamp lit one end and she picked up speed. At the entrance to the motel, she paused, primped her hair and caught her breath.

"Hey." Christopher leaned against the door frame with an air of casualness that brought instant calm.

"Hi." Emma's heartbeat fought to return to normal. It added a catch to her breath as she froze at the bottom of the steps.

"You look amazin'." His lyrical Irish accent sounded suggestive even though he'd paid her a compliment.

"That's good then." Emma allowed herself a smile. "You're the second person to say that tonight."

"Rohan?" Christopher said her husband's name with interest and Emma shook her head.

"No. My son. Rohan said something very different."

Christopher took a last drag of the thin cigarette in his fingers and stubbed it out on the brickwork. He flicked the stub it into the hedge aligning the steps. His confidence shrouded Emma in a sense of protection and her shoulders edged away from her ears as she relaxed. She admired the close cut of his suit as it clung to his slender figure. Christopher strode down the stairs and took her by surprise. She expected his kiss to graze her cheek, but he placed his warm lips over hers. He tasted of nicotine and gin. "I didn't know if you'd come," he whispered.

"Nor did I," Emma replied. She covered her nerves with a giggle at her daring and courage. The dental floss underwear exacted its revenge and she winced. Christopher's brow knitted and Emma placed her index finger over his lips. "Don't ask." She smiled as he slipped an arm around her shoulders and guided her onto the street.

# Chapter 24

They walked into town at a slow pace, Emma clinging to Christopher's arm as her ankles wobbled on the stilettos. "Want me to give you a piggyback?" he asked in his slow drawl.

Emma released an unladylike snort. "I don't think you want to go there. Some parts of me might not survive."

"Sounds interestin'." He eyed her sideways, his chocolate irises growing smoking with a lustful hunger. Emma blossomed beneath the shroud of danger which whirled around their heads. She'd been a nervous risk taker, but Christopher infected her with his fearlessness and lent her temporary confidence.

The local bar buzzed with noise and activity. Emma's heart swelled with naïve excitement. Young motherhood, responsibility and poverty had robbed her of that time in her adolescence where she could have socialised and explored her boundaries. She shared a candlelit booth with Christopher and enjoyed talking about nothing of any importance. His dark eyed gaze seemed to strip back all her pretence as he watched her from across the table. Emma let go of her inhibitions as the alcohol flowed, allowing herself to forget she had a child at home and an unsalvageable marriage to deal with in the morning.

"D'ya dance?" Christopher leaned back against the cushioned bench and raised an eyebrow.

Emma let her mind wander back to the awkward smooch with Rohan at Susan's wedding. She shrugged, not knowing the answer to his question. "I've never tried," she admitted.

"What?" Christopher sounded scandalised. His lips turned upwards in one corner. "Well, fancy kickin' up yer heels wit me?" he demanded.

Emma moved on the seat and felt the thong dig into her backside. A wince darkened her expression. "I do," she admitted. "But I need to take care of something first."

While Christopher paid the bill, Emma excused herself to use the bathroom. She left the cubicle with the thong in her hand, discarding it in the dustbin with a shrug. Christopher waited in the narrow corridor outside the bathrooms and rested an arm across her shoulder. He pushed a credit card into his top pocket. Emma tugged on his wrist. "Maybe I can pay next time?" she whispered. He stopped and turned his body to block her exit. His hands settled over her bare arms, his thumbs caressing the soft skin.

"Does that mean you'll come out wit me for a second time?" His gentle tone lulled her into a carefree state, fooling her into believing her destiny was her own to command.

"Perhaps." Her eyelashes dusted her cheeks as she hung her head and avoided his gaze. "Depends how good your dancing is."

Christopher inhaled and Emma chanced a quick look up at his chiseled features. His lips brushed hers in a chaste kiss which stoked the fire in her belly. "Good," he whispered. He brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek and his gaze seemed to study the finer details of her face as though committing it to memory. Then his hand closed around hers.

Outside on the pavement, a bitter wind bit at Emma's flimsy dress. She shivered as the winter air exploited her foolishness. Christopher shucked his jacket and laid it across her shoulders with exaggerated care. He stood in front of her and fastened the middle button. "A straight jacket," he mused. Emma's head bounced on her neck, a victim of the plummeting temperatures. "Come here." His tender tone wrapped her in warmth and she didn't refuse the arms which accompanied it. Christopher's lips increased the heat, nibbling at Emma's until her stomach dropped as though she'd fallen from an impressive height. Excitement bubbled inside her, beating back seven years of numbness and confusion. She tipped her head back and met Christopher's kiss with bravery, aware of her inexperience. His fingers coasted along the small of her back and met the silky fabric at the hem of the jacket.

Christopher gasped and his head jerked back. His face crinkled with mirth. "Geez woman! Have you no shame?" His palm stroked the gentle curve of her buttock and a dimple appeared in his left cheek as he contemplated her lack of underwear. "Bloody hell! I've never met a woman like you, so I haven't."

"Let's just say, I'd had enough of Shazza's little Christmas gift!" Emma bit her lower lip and brazened out her decision to abandon the thong.

"I haven't a clue what you're talkin' about." Christopher snorted. "But it sounds good to me!"

The nightclub at the bottom of town thronged with perspiring bodies and deafening music. Christopher kept Emma close as they climbed the stairs to an upstairs level. He pushed her ahead of him but kept hold of her left hand. When she looked back at him, he gave her a smile filled with promise. The red wine he bought her dulled her senses and edged her towards recklessness. They danced with enthusiasm and Emma grew unsteady on her feet. Christopher proved entertaining, sending away other potential suitors and plying her with more alcohol from the limitless credit card. Emma danced, twirling and laughing, enjoying his addictive kisses on her lips, cheeks and neck. He'd trained a torch on her emptiness and filled it with light. She wanted more, like a moth seeking a naked flame.

"Come back with me!" Christopher shouted over the music as they gyrated on the dance floor. Emma's curls had snaked free of Allaine's clip and bounced around her face.

"To Belfast?" She giggled, the sound diminished beneath the heavy beat.

"Aye." Christopher raised an eyebrow and caught her wrists, pulling her against his chest. "Me hometown."

"It sounds good," Emma sighed. "But first I need to find a contract killer to take out a problem."

"What?" Christopher's brow creased and he cocked his head. Emma waved a hand in dismissal and disengaged herself from his grasp. She'd said too much and foolishness licked at the edges of her oblivion. A roiling nausea in her stomach begged her not to push her limits any further and soberness tugged at the anchor of her carefree balloon to haul her nearer the earth.

"I just need the bathroom." Her words sounded forced and Emma abandoned him in the centre of the dancing bodies and tracked towards the toilets.

Freezing water from the cold tap destroyed the rest of the illusion, bringing her down with a bump and the beginnings of a headache. It gushed over her fingers like an icy kiss. Emma braced her hands against the sink and stared at herself in the mirror. The music pounded through the walls, rising to a crescendo and then fading every time the door opened and closed. She watched the thin thread of debauchery without consequence snake out of reach in her eyes. She needed to go home. The momentary taste of freedom left her feeling jaded and empty.

At the top of the stairs leading to the bar, Emma paused in the doorway and looked for Christopher. A sullen mood shrouded her like a child facing the anticlimax of the homeward journey after a treat. She no longer fitted with the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, her moment of carefree enjoyment dead. The hot, sticky bodies frustrated her as she peered through the flashing lights for a sight of Christopher.

Deciding to skirt the dance floor, Emma edged around the crowd. Christopher stood taller than most of the other revelers and she pushed her way through the drinkers to get to him. He stood near the stairs, his white shirt glowing lilac against the ultra violet lighting. But something in the rigidity of his stance served as a warning as Emma drew nearer to him.

Two men faced him, their round heads planted on thick necks. They appeared like bodyguards, menace rolling off them in waves. Emma's feet stopped moving and she ground to a halt. She cocked her head, wondering what he'd done to fall foul of the nightclub bouncers. Her alcohol addled brain scrambled for solutions and she imagined herself going to his rescue. A misunderstanding, surely.

Christopher shrugged and kept his hands in his pockets. He dipped his dark head towards one man and Emma watched the shouted conversation. Christopher nodded. The eye contact he shared between the men seemed to settle something. Then he lifted an index finger and raised it. Emma read his lips. "One hour."

The heavier set man leaned his head towards his twin and they discussed something, opening their mouths wide to shout. Christopher watched their discussion, his expression blank. As Emma's senses returned, she recognised the uniform of heavy duty muscle. Tight tee shirts stressed the implied threat and both men stood with their legs splayed in challenge. These weren't nightclub bouncers. They reminded her of the men who came after Fat Brian for his gambling debts one fateful Christmas. Trouble oozed from every pore of their skin, unnerving the other partiers into creating an empty circle around them.

The men turned as one to face Christopher. Holding his index finger up, the heavier man leaned in and shouted into Christopher's face. His words melted against the pulsing music, but the meaning hit its mark. "One hour!" he mouthed. His finger jabbed towards the bathroom door on the far side of the dance floor and then at the stairs. "Bring her!" He enunciated the words to leave no mistake.

Christopher winced as spittle from the man's lips struck his cheek. The men disappeared towards the bar and the crowd oozed aside like reluctant jelly. Christopher ran his hands through his hair and across his mouth before sitting at a nearby table with a slump of resignation in his shoulders.

Reason and sense banished the alcoholic haze. Emma stared down at her red dress, her body vulnerable and naked beneath its folds. "You're such an idiot!" she hissed. Her empty hands bore testament to her stupidity. She'd left the house with nothing to assist her in an emergency. The anger against Rohan which she'd indulged with delight had abandoned her to fate without a backward glance.

The vibration of dancers pounding the wooden floorboards no longer entranced her. It created a cage of noise and stopped her focusing. A glance towards the bar showed the two men buying drinks to wait out their promised hour. Christopher had pulled her into an elaborate deceit and she'd thrown herself into it with blind enthusiasm.

Emma spun on her heel and joined a group of people heading for the stairs. Smaller than most of them, she blended into their midst with ease and passed through the front doors onto the deserted street. Her neck ached from continually looking behind her and she stuck to the group until they turned off the main street. They talked and laughed, their voices echoing off the buildings surrounding them. None of them noticed her standing alone as they headed towards the school house, alcohol rolling off them like a haze. Darkness wrapped around Emma's shoulders, leaving its icy kisses on her pale skin. One hour. Christopher had given her sixty more minutes to drink and dance. One more hour of freedom before he closed the net and handed her over to the two men without a care.

Emma didn't allow herself the luxury of questioning his reasons. She slipped off the high heels and held them in one hand, hoisting up the long skirt of her dress with the other. Then she ran. Her heart pounded a frightened beat in her ears and the frozen pavement stung her bare feet until she could no longer feel them. Tiny stones and gravel dug into her numb soles and opened up the tender glass cuts.

Emma took stupid risks, using the dark alleys to shorten her journey. Her throat hitched and she sobbed as she ran, a painful, wracking sound that bounced off the brick houses and returned to her as muffled echoes. She berated herself for her stupidity over and over, danger laid out before her like a muddy cloth. The risk no longer seemed worth it, the night of freedom only a smoke screen.

At Rohan's house, Emma sank onto the prickly doormat. The gate closed behind her with a sedate click. Her chest heaved and she leaned back against the wooden front door and tried to catch her breath. Farrell barked from inside and his nose snuffled against the threshold. His acknowledgement of her existence held out a lifeline. But it also brought risk. Felicity would see her stripped of her false bravado and revel in her humiliation.

"Sit! Stay!" Rohan sounded irritated as he commanded the dog to move away from the door. The stained glass panel lit up with colour as he whipped the curtain back and peered into the street. Then the door shuddered open and warmth from inside wrapped around Emma's frozen body like a blanket.

Emma squeezed her eyes closed. The alcohol had dissipated through her bloodstream and left a void in her brain. Her stomach flipped and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

"Oh, Em!" Rohan's body dipped and he scooped her up from the doormat. He limped as he stepped over the threshold and used his elbow to shut the door. "Farrell, get down!" he grumbled as the dog rose on his back legs to inspect Emma. Rohan carried her into the lighted kitchen and laid her on the sofa. Farrell put his front paws on the cushion and tried to sniff her face. Rohan stepped back, his hands on his hips and his face exuding pure fury. His irises flashed like cobalt and a nerve in his forehead twitched in rhythm with his heartbeat. "Tell me what happened?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

Emma's eyelashes fluttered against the maniacal frenzy building in Rohan's eyes. "Nothing." She still managed to sound sullen despite the way her lungs hitched. "Go back to Felicity. I'm fine."

Rohan snorted, the sound bullish and filled with ire. "Don't lie to me!" he bit. "Tell me what happened!"

"Nothing!" Emma pushed her legs off the sofa. Allaine's stilettos fell to the floor with a clunk. "I just want Nicky." Her chest hitched and the room swam in front of her. Emma used the arm of the sofa to stand upright, the dog tangling with her legs as he performed concerned circles around her feet.

The cold floor tiles bit into her soles as Emma hobbled across the room. Rohan's eyes burned holes in the back of her head and he observed her haphazard progress with folded arms and a gritted jaw. Tears pricked her eyes as she contemplated his disgust at her drunkenness. She inhaled and vowed never to let him know the full extent of her stupidity. Farrell accompanied her to the bottom of the stairs, his worried brown eyes watching her slow headway. Emma stroked his head and appreciated the comforting lick he gave her hand. She made it as far as the split level landing before hoisting the dress and dropping to a crawl. Shock and not alcohol governed her movements and heightened her devastation. Foolishness and gullibility were her room mates.

In her bedroom, she sank onto the soft mattress, an ache in her soul that no amount of sobriety would conquer. It burned and stung, bone deep, soul deep, ripping her open along painful, half-healed scars. She'd messed up again, but this time, she only had herself to blame.

Emma pressed her face into her pillow and sobbed.

# Chapter 25

"You bloody did what?" Rohan's face looked angrier than Emma had ever seen it, his eyes blazing a peculiar storm water blue and his features sharpening. He'd entered her bedroom even though she'd told him to leave her alone. He placed the glass of water on the bedside table with force and liquid slopped over the side. "Drink this and you'll get less of a headache."

"I know, I know. You don't have to mother me. I already know I made a mistake." Emma pushed herself to a sitting position and wiped her nose across the back of her wrist. "He seemed so nice."

"Nice?" Rohan shook his head and repeated the word as though trying to understand its relevance. "You went on a date with a complete stranger because you thought he was nice? You told me you were going with a group."

Emma stared at the red fabric as it pooled across her thighs. "I didn't actually say that. You just assumed. Look, he made me feel good about myself. I thought just one night out wouldn't hurt."

"One night out wouldn't hurt?" Rohan paced her bedroom, his gait stiff and his head shaking from side to side. "It wouldn't normally, Em! Most people don't end up running through the town in a flimsy dress with no shoes on their feet. What about your son? Don't you care about him?" His voice rose an octave and Emma's sense of humiliation overrode her need to sit and listen to his accusations.

"Don't you dare shout at me! Nicky's been my priority since I gave birth to him so don't you try to make me feel like a failure!" Emma stood, the silky fabric cascading down around her calves. "You wake Nicky and we'll leave right now!" She wiped her blotchy face on the sleeve of a discarded cardigan, wincing at its scratchy surface.

"You keep threatening to leave, but I don't want you to go, Em. What don't you understand?"

"Oh, go to hell, Rohan. I'm done with your games. What do you want from me? One minute you're kissing me and the next, you're marrying Felicity and she's threatening me." Emma's voice cracked as she struggled with the swathe of overwhelming emotions. They mingled with the receding effects of the alcohol to induce a gut-wrenching nausea. She clutched at her chest and agitated fingers grappled with the buttons at her cleavage.

"What? She's threatening you? Please, just talk to me." Rohan reached for her.

Emma shook her head and turned away from his questing fingers. "No. Ro, please leave me alone. It was stupid to think we could ever live like brother and sister. There's too much between us. I let my desperation get the better of me. I should have known." With a mammoth sigh, Emma turned and walked across to the window. She contemplated the deserted street which had seemed to hold such demons a short time ago. She doubted herself, her fingers fretting against the windowsill as she tried to convince herself she'd imagined the trade.

Rohan cleared his throat. "You're right. There is too much between us." He pursed his lips and hung his head. His shirt hung open at the waist and the lamplight dappled his skin. The dog tags from his army days still hung from the chain around his neck. They acted as a barrier between them, both then and now.

The floorboards squeaked as Emma's sore feet passed over the beech wood joins. "Please, go!" She shoved him from the room with as much force as she could muster. He could have resisted, but he let her push him over the threshold and close the door with her bottom. The click of the handle sounded loud in the silence of the house. Emma yearned to check on her son but couldn't trust herself to walk past Rohan.

She stood for a while with her hands over her eyes, waiting for her heart to stop pounding in her ears. Doors slammed in her mindscape and options disappeared one at a time. Numbness shrouded her and she recognised her earlier tears were for herself. Driven by shame and disappointment, they left a sting in her soul. "I thought he liked me," she whispered to herself. "What an idiot."

Emma flung herself onto the mattress. The springs groaned beneath her as though adding to Rohan's rebuke. "I'm doomed," she whispered into the darkness, punctuated only by streetlamps. "I don't deserve happiness."

A tightness gripped her chest and she sat up, fighting the urge to snatch Nicky and run. Emma shook her head and tutted. She wouldn't do that to him in the middle of the night.

Christopher's face drifted past her inner vision, the perfect conman. He'd attracted her like a moth to a flame, scorching her wings and leaving her flightless. She'd invited the distraction, hoping his attention might sear her feelings for Rohan. She turned her hands over and stared at her empty palms. "Nothing," she whispered to herself. "Why do you always get nothing?"

Reasoning she'd make no sensible decisions with disappointment still raw in her mind, Emma wound her hair into a loose plait. She plucked at the upper buttons of her dress, popping them one by one until her breasts relaxed. The tight material had left welts in her skin that she hadn't noticed in the evening's excitement. A deep sadness snuck in through the cracks in her armour and Emma pushed the threatening tears away with pure bloody mindedness. Her fingers strayed to her slim waist and the abdomen that once held the secret of her son. "Damn you, Alanya. And double damn you, Rohan," she whispered. The dress fluttered down and puddled around her ankles.

Her first warning of the opening door was the click of the handle and the gentle light which glowed through the gap. The doorway framed Rohan's silhouette. Emma looked away, her mind empty of accusations or clever words to banish him. He sniffed and paused a moment before moving into the room and closing the door behind him.

"What do you want?" Emma covered her breasts with her arms and looked around for her pyjamas.

"Em, please can we talk?" Rohan's voice held a begging edge and Emma let a heavy sigh escape her lungs.

"No."

Rohan made the distance from the doorway to the bed in three strides. He stood next to Emma without touching her, but his fingers trembled as he lifted a hand to brush his fringe from his eyes. "I need you to listen to me." A familiar electricity arced between them at his proximity, burning them both in its clashing electrons. Emma closed her eyes as exhaustion claimed the last of her energy. She tipped her head back on her neck and let her shoulders slump. Rohan swallowed. "Em. I still love you. I never stopped."

His pause gave her enough room to silence him. "Shut up!" Her shout cut through the silent house, louder and more agonised than she intended. She held her breath, waiting for Nicky's fearful footsteps. Her fingers clamped over her ears and she exhaled in a rush when he didn't come. Anger reclaimed the space vacated by fear.

Rohan's gentle touch on Emma's bare shoulder acted as a catalyst. She detonated, funnelling seven years of abandonment and disappointment. "I hate you!" Turning, she pounded her balled fists against Rohan's chest. He lifted his hands to snatch at her wrists and she evaded them, aiming a slap to his cheek but missing as he dodged sideways. "You destroyed me!" Her own words shocked her as though spoken from a hidden vault in her soul. "You left me!"

Emma made contact with a second swipe, the impact stinging her palm. Rohan hissed and enclosed her in a bear hug, wrestling her wrists behind her back and pinning them there. He crossed his legs against the knee she raised at his groin, deflecting the blow with ease. But the sudden movement overbalanced them both and they tumbled backwards onto the bed. Rohan's hip bumped Emma's as the mattress embraced them and he shifted his weight to keep her trapped beneath him. He spoke to her, soothing words which didn't penetrate the white noise occupying her furious brain.

Emma squirmed against the knuckles of their linked fingers digging into the base of her spine. She arched her back and Rohan's belt buckle grazed her stomach. Awareness flooded her senses, the coarse fabric of his trousers trailing a line of scratchy sensations along her bare thighs. Shock hollowed out her insides as she remembered she was naked. A pink flush bloomed on her chest and snaked up her neck. She used anger to cover her embarrassment. "Let go or you're dead!" she snarled.

"I just won't let go then." Rohan's warm breath set fire to Emma's neck. She gritted her teeth and tried to lever him sideways. He released her fingers and slid his hands free, anchoring her beneath his weight before she could drag her fists to her sides. "Why do you fight me?" he whispered.

Emma slid her arms from behind her back, but her fingers refused to do what she told them. Her knuckles tensed but they wouldn't drag her nails down Rohan's cheek like she wanted. "I learned to fight." Her voice sounded over loud in the silence of the bedroom. "It's all I had."

"I'm so sorry." Rohan rested his weight on his left elbow. Emma felt the pressure release in her lungs. She took a deep breath and held it, not knowing what to do next. Rohan lifted the fingers of his right hand and stroked her hair back from her cheek. He bent his right leg bent at the knee across her thighs, making him vulnerable to a well-timed kick. Emma swallowed, sensing he did it on purpose. The old balance seemed to restore itself between them. She no longer wanted to hurt him, the rage of a minute before dissipated and weak.

Rohan smoothed his thumb beneath her eye, his touch furtive but filled with care. His irises morphed from azure to grey as his pupils darkened. "I need you to stop fighting me. Let me put things right." His index finger traced a line over her lips and across her chin, drawing forgotten sensations from a deep well in her soul. It followed the gentle arc of her neck and crested her shoulder, trailing along her arm before diving into nothing until his fingers curved around her waist. His touch left a fiery, invisible stripe of fire and possession on her skin, awaking a yearning deep in her gut.

"Rohan, don't." Emma's voice sounded nasal, forgotten tears filling her sinuses in lieu of the order to fall.

"Why not?" His whisper held tenderness. He dipped towards her as though testing the boundary and when she did nothing to stop him, he ventured further until his lips touched hers. Emma gulped as her resolve crumbled like tumbling battlements. Christopher's betrayal paled against the backdrop of Rohan's ardent kisses, gone without a trace. By the time Rohan nibbled sensuously on her lower lip, Emma had already admitted defeat. Familiarity revived the sense of hope in her chest and she parted her lips to allow him to claim his next kiss. Rohan's fingers trembled against her hip, his body asking permission with every nerve and sinew.

Emma's arms wound around his neck, her fingers sliding through his hair and revelling in its familiar softness. She groaned as Rohan pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "I'll let you go," he whispered. "If that's what you want."

Emma started and her eyes widened. The words she wanted refused the call of her tongue. She swallowed, the sound loud against the thud of her heartbeat in her ears. She didn't know what she wanted. Alcohol, desperation and lust had hijacked her reason and she gaped at him in confusion.

The faint scent of mint danced across her cheek in Rohan's breath as he waited for her to do something. She just didn't know what. So, she did what she knew. She fought.

Emma drew her left fist back and then released it like a slingshot. Her fingers tightened as her hand moved through the air. Rohan jerked backwards, exposing Emma's breasts to the chill air. He blocked the hit with ease, using his forearm to deflect its trajectory. A smile spread across his lips, a familiar dimple gracing his right cheek. Light from the street dappled against the trees in the front garden, casting patterns across Emma's skin. "Don't inhale before you hit." Rohan's whisper held a hypnotic lilt. "You give yourself away." He clasped her wrist before she could redouble her effort and pushed her arm above her head.

"I don't understand you." Emma's chest hitched with the force of the admission.

Rohan nodded, the action slow and considered. "That's fair," he replied. "I don't understand myself." He released her wrist and dropped his hand to cradle her head. "I love you, Emma," he breathed. His kiss robbed her of a reply and she closed her eyes. Her body betrayed her with every fibre. Rohan let his fingers explore her soft skin, revisiting the dip above her hip and producing ticklish sensations filled with promise. He slid the back of his hand along her thigh, setting off firecrackers in her brain.

"Tell me you don't love me." His whispered demand filtered through Emma's addled brain. She needed him to stop talking, to stop forcing her to confront her inner pain. His belt buckle dug into her stomach, but his lips and his fingers paused as his question tilted Emma's world on its axis. Fear and anticipation mingled in his blue irises.

"We shouldn't do this," she hissed. The moment hung between them like it had once before when they were kids. She'd stepped over the threshold then and a voice in her head told her she would do it again in a heartbeat.

"Tell me you don't love me and I'll let you go." Danger flashed behind Rohan's eyes in the guise of glittering diamonds.

The cool night air kissed Emma's exposed breasts and seemed to threaten her with the chill of a life without Rohan in it. A sob caught in her throat. "I can't," she gulped. "I can't tell you that." Her chest shuddered with the effort and her revelation returned to her like an echo. A weight lifted from her head, taking the black cloud of misery with it. "Just hold me, Ro. Please, hold me," she begged. Then she clung to him, allowing herself to remember his scent and the sensation of her palms against his chest. It flooded back, the laughter, the happiness and the wonder of being Rohan Andreyev's wife.

Disaster smiled its ghastly grimace as they danced with it again, their passion driven by a soul-mate connection which refused to be ignored.

Rohan wrapped his arms around Emma as though determined not to lose her again. He whispered endearments in his lyrical Slavic tongue as she slid his shirt over his biceps and dropped it onto the floor.

# Chapter 26

"Promise you'll stay?" Rohan's voice sounded hushed in the darkness. Emma held her breath, not yet ready to face reality. Rohan's arm tightened around her shoulders. The dusting of hair across his pectorals tickled her nose. She kept her eyes closed, but fear snaked back into her brain to flood it with confusion and misery.

"I don't want to talk about it." Emma rolled away from Rohan's warmth, regretting the frigid air which rushed in to occupy the space between them. She turned onto her side and faced the window. The streetlamps swayed in the wind, casting their glow back and forth across her view. Rohan moved behind her, his thighs fitting perfectly against hers. He placed gentle kisses against her neck and shoulders. His arms snaked around Emma's stomach as though to ward off the cloak of resistance settling over her.

"I want to know you'll stay, at least until I get back from this job." Rohan sighed into her hair.

"Then get rid of Felicity." Her words sounded harsh against the backdrop of their earlier passion. Even saying the woman's name stripped the glow from their union.

"Ah." Rohan shifted behind her and something cold touched her ankle. Emma jerked away before pushing her hand beneath the covers. He batted her hand away. "Leave."

"What is it?" Emma reached out her fingers again and Rohan seized them, drawing them forward and clasping them against her sternum. He nuzzled his nose against the back of her hair and she shivered.

"It's the brace for my knee." His voice sounded muffled. He tilted his head and ran his stubbled chin along the curve of her neck.

"Did it happen in Afghanistan?" Emma's voice sounded small in the darkness.

"Yes." The single word reply held condemnation for her absence in the aftermath.

"When?"

Rohan exhaled and his fingers settled over her waist. "Can we not talk about it?"

Emma turned to face him, eager to distract herself from the problems which daylight would usher in to ruin her peace. Rohan caught her questing fingers in his palms and enclosed them. "Just tell me when," she insisted.

"Nicky's birthday." His teeth gritted against the words and he hauled the covers higher, his fingers brushing Emma's shoulder. "He told me the date earlier when we made the slingshot. It seems strangely ironic."

"Oh, Rohan." Emma sighed out his name as sadness engulfed her. As she'd struggled to bring Nicky into the world, Rohan had endured his own agony continents away. "We were as useless as each other, weren't we?"

"Da." Rohan kissed her forehead and pulled her against his chest. Emma's shoulders relaxed and she lost some of her hard edges.

"I like it here," she admitted. "So does Nicky."

"I love coming home to you." Rohan paused as the heating turned on and the radiator clicked against the expansion of the hot water pumping through it. "I bought this house for you. Anton said you'd like it."

Emma bit her lip. So many things had stood in their way, not least their own egos. She exhaled and gathered up her remaining threads of resolve. "You understand why we can't stay here forever, don't you?" She led with reason, infusing seriousness into her tone. "I made Anton a promise. Alanya can't be trusted to have access to Nicky." Emma paused, closing her eyes against inevitability. "Then there's the issue of Felicity. She thinks you're going on a dirty weekend and coming back engaged. It's a big complicated mess. I can't see a way past it." Emma swallowed and her nose crinkled as though she'd pressed her tongue against a lemon. Acid stung her tongue. Christopher had proven more dangerous than she imagined. And he knew where to find her.

"I'll fix it." Rohan's lips silenced Emma's. He shifted his weight to trap her beneath him, their balance altering as he avoided touching her legs with his knee brace. A draught snaked around Emma's thighs as his foot lifted the covers and took their fragile heat with it. "I'll fix everything," he promised. "Then will you stay?"

Emma's lips parted to give her answer, but an eerie vibration stole the moment. Rohan groaned. "Sorry, vozlyublennaya. I need to take this." He moved backwards, the sheets snagging against his legs and leaving Emma naked. She squeaked and covered herself with her arms, flipping onto her side and curling into a ball. "Sorry." Rohan apologised again. He exited the bed backwards and flipped the sheets over Emma's head.

Keys jangled against a belt buckle and the vibration halted. "Andreyev." Rohan's answer sounded abrupt. Emma held her breath at his next sentence. "Oh, hi Felicity." He paused. "Why are you ringing at this time of night?"

Emma groaned and buried her face in the covers. Rohan's footsteps disappeared into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind him. "This will never work," she grumbled to herself. "It was broken beyond repair back then. It's too late."

She rolled onto her side and faced the door. Light from the hall lamp shone underneath in a glowing line. The low rumble of Rohan's voice filtered through the wall. The glass of water sat on the bedside table where he put it and Emma lacked the energy to retrieve it. A headache from her binge drinking had already seized the back of her head in a vice and began spreading up the left-hand side of her brain. Emma closed her eyes and waited for Rohan to return.

A sound woke her a while later. The sky had lightened outside, the greyness of dawn infiltrating the darkness to give it a navy hue. Emma smelled the freshness of shower gel and cracked her eyes open. Rohan leaned down to retrieve his discarded clothes, an expression of concentration shaped by his angular features. His hair stuck up in a series of antennae, the lamp from the hallway adding highlights to its dampness. A towel covered him, hanging low over his hips and revealing the tiny scars dotting his skin. Emma watched him as he gathered up his trousers and grabbed his shirt by one sleeve. She leaned up on one elbow, wanting to call to him she was awake.

He turned towards the door and her jaw hung slack. Rohan's right leg was missing from the knee down, replaced with a skin coloured cuff and a metal prosthetic leg. Scar tissue covered the muscular thigh in degrees of ridged skin and ugly red wheals. The lamp light cast shadows which danced on the reflective joints of a metal knee. Emma held her breath until the door clicked shut behind him.

Deception and guilt mixed into a foul tasting concoction that threatened to exit without warning. Emma sat up and hugged her knees. Their whispered resolution had made liars of them both. He hadn't told her the truth about his injuries. And he'd underlined the lie by leaving her to take a call from Felicity.

She didn't know him at all. The heaviness between her legs reminded her of her lack of self-control. Her stomach churned.

Emma found her pyjamas on the floor near the window. She hauled them over her chilled body and listened at the bedroom door. Silence blanketed the house and she eased it open with caution. The cold floorboards bit into her bare feet as she padded across the hallway and slipped into Nicky's bedroom. She closed the door against it and leaned against the cool wood. Her foot caught against Nicky's suitcase and she bit back the ready swearword. On an impulse, she lifted it and jammed it against the door handle.

"It's just me, baby," she whispered. She lifted the sheets and slid into the cold space in the double bed. Nicky grunted and turned his back on her. Emma breathed in his little boy scent of shampoo and washing powder. His gentle snores resumed as he sank back into his dreams of soccer and friendships. Emma's chin trembled as she held onto the tears threatening to disturb his peace. She pressed her face into the pillow. "I've screwed up everything, Nicky, but I'll try my best not to screw up being your mum."

Nicky stirred and turned over, his breath smelling of toothpaste and hot chocolate. "Mummy." His voice sounded loud in the silence. "Mummy, cuddle me." He shifted until his cheek rested against Emma's chest. His slender arms wrapped around her neck in a throttle hold. "I love you, Mummy." A yawn punctuated his words. Emma kissed his warm forehead and rested her cheek on the top of his fluffy head. She closed her eyes as peace descended over her soul. Her son was all that mattered; nothing else.

Emma clung to Nicky, waking at every little noise. The memory of Rohan's touch on her body and the sounds of their shared ecstasy haunted her. She ran her fingers over her stomach and tamped down her growing anxiety.

The insipid daylight broke through the curtains without bringing Emma any comfort. She'd added more mistakes to her repertoire, but she'd also made a decision in the darkness. As soon as Rohan returned from his job, she'd leave Market Harborough. But not to return to Lincoln. She'd make a new life somewhere no one could find her.

# Chapter 27

"Talk to me," Rohan pleaded as Emma rolled up her clothing and stuffed it into the old suitcase. "What did I do wrong now?" He followed her across the room, his strong chest a metre from the back of her head.

"Where do I start?" Emma flung her only pullover into the battered inner, frustrated as it unrolled itself in protest. She thumped a pair of jeans on top, resisting the urge to start again.

"Vozlyublennaya, please." Rohan's grip on her wrists halted her progress.

"Don't call me that!" she snapped. "Never call me that again! I'm not your beloved. Felicity is." She blew out an agonised breath and her eyes flashed at the memory of their earlier altercation. "She called me a whore in front of the whole school." A vein pulsed in Emma's neck and she spoke through gritted teeth. "Nicky heard her."

Keeping a firm hold on Emma's slender wrists, Rohan sank onto the bed and pulled her down next to him. "I'm sorry, Em! She didn't take our conversation well. I should have warned you."

Emma looked down at his strong fingers, the knuckles white as they encircled her wrists. Rohan wore a white tee shirt which accentuated his tanned biceps peeking from beneath the sleeves. Emma dipped her head forward, unable to meet his perceptive blue eyes and Rohan rested his forehead against hers. Emma's words hit the mark like gun fire. "I can't believe you dumped her over the phone! What did you think she'd do?"

Rohan sighed. "It was more complicated than you can imagine. I kept her around because I needed to find out what she knew."

"About what? Snitching confidential information to potential murderers? Humiliating me in front of everyone?" Emma's voice rose.

Rohan blinked and his jaw showed as a thin line through his cheek. "No. Not that. Something else, but it's not relevant right now. You're my wife and I love you. I lost you once. You're not leaving again."

"I can't do this, I'm sorry." Tears bounced off Emma's eyelashes and glistened on her cheeks like glitter. "I let a desperate need to change my circumstances cloud my judgement. We're leaving Rohan. Today, before I wreck all of our lives."

"I won't let you go." Rohan's voice wobbled and his grip strengthened on her wrists until the skin beneath whitened. His cerulean irises glittered.

"See." She shook her head and hopelessness settled in her belly. "Now you're upset. We'll end up destroying each other. Just like before."

"We were kids before!" Rohan's exclamation contained the hint of a sneer. "We were two kids in love with no support. I made Felicity no promises, Em! It was always about the risk she posed."

"Risk." Emma repeated the word and an exhausted sigh slipped from her lips. "It's always about the risk, isn't it?" She shook her head and her gaze strayed to the expensive fabric covering his knees. The shape looked so different as the prosthesis pushed at the material. Emma marvelled at how she never noticed it. She closed her eyes and pain pricked behind her eyelids. When she looked up at Rohan, a tear leaked from the corner of her eye and bounced off the back of his hand. "The truth is a risk, Ro. The biggest risk of all. But you're not willing to take it, are you?"

"I don't know what you mean." He released a groan and stared at the ceiling. "You promised you'd stay. What do you want from me?"

"Nothing!" Emma wrenched her hands free. "I want nothing from you, Ro. Nothing." She glared at him, her eyes flashing with hurt and disappointment.

Rohan swallowed. "Where will you go? You can't possibly go back to that shit-hole!"

"Thanks for that kind assessment of my home!" Emma rose, her legs shaking beneath her. She took a deep breath and tossed her head in defiance, steeling herself against the mess she made every time she opened her mouth.

"Where will you go?" Rohan repeated. He braced his right arm against the headboard to stand. Emma felt the condemnation of his mistrust like a knife wound.

"I don't know." She shrugged and turned. Her body tensed as Rohan wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed her shoulders back against his chest. He pushed his face into her neck, breathing in the perfumed scent of her curls. Emma sighed. "I'll borrow the train fare from Allaine and start again." Something stopped her shoving him away, her heart in agony with the sense of finality.

Rohan turned her with gentleness, resting his palms on her shoulders and trying to read her expression. His irises glittered with an unnatural sheen. "Tell me what to do," he whispered. "What do you want, Em? Name it and I'll do it. I'll do whatever you want."

Emma glanced around the bedroom, seeing the plush carpet and expensive furniture. She'd dreamed of such finery only to discover it meant nothing. She looked into Rohan's eyes, her gaze unblinking. "I want the truth."

Rohan's momentary hesitation said more than words. When he spoke, his revelation clanged in the silence like crashing cymbals. "I wouldn't know where to start." He dropped his hands and took a step backwards, the movement stiff and formal. "You stay here and I'll find somewhere else to go." He tried to hide the tremor in his fingers by gripping the door handle.

"But you owe me nothing!" Emma exclaimed. "Just give me the divorce papers you mentioned before and I'll sign them."

"Divorce papers?" Rohan blinked and his head shook from side to side. A sad smile settled over his lips. "If I wanted to divorce you, I would have done it already." His jaw tightened and he hauled the door open with a creak. He spoke without looking at her again. "I'm leaving in a couple of hours. I'll sort everything out when I get back from this job. Take the house. I bought it for you, anyway."

The door closed behind him and the click of his heels on the floorboards sent stabs of pain into Emma's heart.

# Chapter 28

Rohan put his phone on the counter as Emma walked into the kitchen. She clicked her tongue to Farrell. "School time," she called and the dog rushed towards her, his tail wagging like a sail. Rohan bit his lip and stared into the distance, his eyes glazed and unseeing.

"Are you leaving today?" Emma stroked Farrell's downy head and avoided looking at Rohan. She hadn't understood his gift of the house, not that she'd taken it seriously. The air crackled between them, filled with tension and uncertainty. Farrell sat at her feet, his tongue lolling and his gaze flicking to Rohan and back to her as though telepathy had given him a window into their souls.

"Da." Rohan furrowed his brow and slipped into his Slav dialect without realising. "I don't know how long this job might take. Emma, I need you to listen to me." He turned towards her and the sharp angles of his drawn features caused a chill to halt the motion of her fingers on the dog's fur. Seriousness shrouded him like a cloak, foreboding engulfing Emma in its hawk like grip. Rohan swallowed as though he found speaking an effort. "This might not go well for me but it's too late to back out now. Hack is missing. I haven't the information I need to stay safe. My will is with a solicitor in town and his name is on my laptop under a file called ' _Emma_.' You remember the password for the computer, don't you?"

Emma gulped and gave a weak nod. She hoped Nicky remembered because she didn't. The charged atmosphere prevented her admitting it.

Rohan inhaled and the muscles across his chest stretched his shirt taut. His eyes glittered as though shot with diamonds. "Look, I wanted you to sign some documents the other night, but it's too late now."

Emma cast her gaze downwards, seeing the dog edge closer to her knees. "Divorce papers."

Rohan gave a growl low in his throat. "No! I told you. No divorce, Em!"

Nicky clattered overhead, a giant in knee-high socks. Emma raised a hand in protest. "Rohan, I don't understand any of this. You're a number cruncher. How dangerous can it get? And who or what the hell is Hack?"

Rohan gripped her shoulders in his powerful hands. His weight bore down until Emma struggled to stand beneath the force of it. She tried to shake him off, his pine, cedar and juniper scent infusing her with rawness at the memory of the previous night's passion.

"I need you to be vigilant, Em! It's important. Don't talk to anyone you don't know, okay? This address is secret, but if they want to they can find it. If I don't return, call the lawyer. Be careful, vozlyublennaya."

"Don't talk to anyone." Emma repeated the words as a pervasive sickness infected her stomach and spread out to weaken her legs. "Oh, no." An image of Christopher's handsome face halted Emma's ready denials. The guilty flush spread outward from her chest and caused her to tug her shirt away from her throat.

Rohan read her stress tell with painful accuracy. His fingers dug into her shoulders. "Tell me?"

Emma gulped and the words stuck in her throat. "A man came looking for you a few days ago. I found him waiting outside the front gate. He spoke like you were friends." Emma closed her eyes to avoid the dismay stampeding across Rohan's face. "He came in for a cup of coffee."

"Shit!" Rohan's fingers released her and he turned away, his hands balling into fists. When he spun around to face her, indigo storm clouds moved across his irises. "What did he say? What did he look like? Describe him."

"Tall and dark with brown eyes." Emma whispered the words, too afraid to admit she'd compounded the situation by going on a date with him. The scene in the nightclub morphed into terrifying clarity. He'd meant her harm because of Rohan.

"What else?" Rohan flapped his hand, his posture stiff and unyielding. Emma sensed naked violence rolling off him in waves and took a few steps back towards the door. Nicky still thundered overhead, yelling about a missing library book.

Emma glanced at the ceiling, wondering if she could drop the rest of her bombshell and escape. She'd never witnessed Rohan's anger, understanding the slow burn of his fury but never seeing it ignited. It both terrified and enthralled her.

"What else?" Rohan gritted his teeth and ground out the words. "Did he have an accent or a way of saying certain words?"

"Irish," Emma whispered. Lyrical, humorous, sexy. Words she couldn't say out loud. "Belfast, I think." She remembered him asking her to run away with him, his smile so sincere she'd believed him. Emma gave a reluctant nod. "Yes. Belfast."

Rohan's lips parted and he suffered a momentary stall. His mind worked at a million miles per hour, assessing, calculating and determining risk factors beyond Emma's comprehension. His expression became blank and his fingers twitched on an unseen keyboard. Then he blinked and his eyes channelled more anger than fear. "Irish?" Rohan spat the word like a curse. "From Belfast? Not Ballysillan?"

"No." Emma cast her thoughts back to their intimate coffee on the small sofa behind Rohan, her mind darting across the flirting and the sense of desirability Christopher had induced in her. Until he'd betrayed her. Shame deepened the hue until it consumed her cheeks and ears. She took a step towards Rohan, confession on her lips.

His phone rang and he snatched it from the counter. "Andreyev," he snapped. He turned his back on her and listened to the person on the other end of the call. "Leaving now," he said, lowering his voice.

Emma glanced at the door and considered sneaking away from the tension. Rohan didn't say much, but his manner indicated affection for the person who'd called him. Emma's shoulders slumped and she imagined Felicity pouring her honeyed tones into Rohan's ear. Then he turned back to face her, his body less wooden and the storm abated in his eyes. No tremble afflicted the fingers holding the phone. "Thanks, Maureen. I'll keep you updated." Rohan killed the call and stuffed the device into his trouser pocket.

Emma blinked. Maureen. Strange how he'd never mentioned her.

Rohan lifted his jacket from the arm of the sofa. He spun it behind him and pushed his arms into its folds. He jerked his head at her, the role of the parent resumed. It diminished Emma's autonomy, reducing her to a child again. "Keep your phone charged and with you at all times. Sleep in Nicky's room at the back of the house and keep the dog with you if you feel afraid. If you're in any doubt about your safety, call the police. Tell them you're a woman alone and they'll come."

Emma pressed her fingers over her eyes. She gave a shake of her head, her ponytail brushing her shoulders in an arc. "So, did I not really meet Christopher from Belfast? I'm confused." Emma dragged a hand over her face and blinked to clear the fog.

Rohan shrugged. His fingers patted his jacket over his hips. "I don't know. It sounds like you met Hack. He was my tech and went missing a week ago." His jaw hardened. "He screwed me over on our last job and I shouldn't have trusted him a second time. I know better than to give second chances."

"Hack?" Emma's voice emerged as a pathetic squeak. Her confession died on her lips at Rohan's statement. No second chances. A flicker of shame bit into the edges of her conscience. She would have given Christopher whatever he wanted for a single night of freedom, yet he'd based it all on a lie.

"Come here." Rohan's arms opened and a reflex sent Emma spinning against his chest. The years disappeared and they were kids again, sampling secret trysts and stolen kisses.

"I'm so sorry," Emma whispered. "Please, don't go. Stay here and we'll sort this out properly."

Rohan kissed the top of her head, his lips warm and sincerity in his voice. "I have to go, Em. They paid half up front. There are ramifications with backing out of a deal like this."

"Why go if it's dangerous?" She gripped the front of his shirt, her nails digging through the fabric and into his skin. "Stay here!"

"It's more dangerous not to go." He wrapped his fingers around her wrists and tugged until she released his shirt. The fabric slithered free like a portend of their fated relationship. He dropped her wrists and reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. "I love you, Emma. Nothing will change that." His kiss burned her lips.

Emma swallowed and the action caused her voice to rasp. "Felicity thinks you're getting married."

Rohan closed his eyes and inhaled. "Not true. I knew someone had double crossed me and she appeared around the same time as things started to go wrong. I've fed her wrong information, but it's made no difference. She's perhaps exactly what she appears to be, a crazy woman who just wants to tick off items on her list."

Emma opened her mouth to speak, but Rohan placed a finger over her lips. "I must go. The taxi is on its way. I've left you the Mercedes. Park on the street under the lights and don't walk to school anymore. Use the car."

Rohan's lips pressed over Emma's with naked hunger. His eyelashes fluttered and his irises held a familiar pain and loss in their aquamarine depths. Time transported them backwards to another place and time and Rohan's smart suit became an army uniform. He'd left to fight a war that interested neither of them and Emma's shoulders ached beneath the weight of history repeating itself. Rohan broke the kiss and his fingers stroked her hair back from her face. "If I come back this time, be here?"

Guilt and fear cut into Emma's present and she inhaled a sob. "I'm so sorry, Ro. There's so much I need to tell you. Just stay a little longer."

Rohan frowned. A vein ticked in his throat, an emotional tell he'd never mastered. "We both owe each other explanations, vozlyublennaya. But not today." He pressed his lips to her forehead. "Ya lyublyu tebya. I love you, Em, I love you."

Panic seized Emma's tongue and her words wouldn't form into a coherent sentence. She'd thrown away their relationship for a second time and the irony cut deep. Rohan smoothed his fingers across Emma's cheek and she saw wetness there as his hands fell to his sides. Another creature inhabited her body, one without words or the ability to tell Rohan what it meant to be his wife. She experienced the rush of excitement which had fluttered in her breast after their secret wedding in Scotland. Like a distant echo it returned and then faded. Words failed her.

Rohan's heels dragged against the tiles as he lifted a heavy bag from the floor. "If I come home, we'll start again. We'll tell Nicky I'm his father and we'll do better this time." He smiled at her and hefted the bag. It clattered against his shin and he wavered, a mask of pain crashing down over his expression.

And the bubble around Emma burst and showered her with the foul-smelling mist of lies and misdirection. How could they begin again when he couldn't tell her the truth about his injuries? The growing lump in Emma's chest went into free fall, taking her heart with it into the depths of misery. Reality burned a path to her feet. They hadn't trusted each other back then when Rohan had disappeared for months after enlisting in the army. She'd left it too late to tell him about Alanya. He'd lost his leg but continued to live the charade of wholeness. And she couldn't tell him about her disastrous date with Christopher. Emma swallowed, knowing they had no future together.

A loud hammering echoed through the lobby and Farrell barked. "My taxi," Rohan said. He left the kitchen and paused in the hallway. "There's a thousand pounds in cash in a safe under the stairs." His lips tightened into a thin line. The heavy bag unbalanced him like a wrecking ball misjudging its swing. He switched it into the other hand and the crisis ended. "Nicky knows how to get to it. Take care, Emma."

Rohan pulled the front door open and a cold draught rushed past him as though it had waited on the threshold for entry. The taxi driver nodded to him and held his hand out for the bag. Rohan rested his hand on the door handle and turned to face Emma. Hope glistened in his eyes. "Do you think you'll be here when I get back?"

"Yes," she replied. The door closed behind Rohan with a dull click and Emma collapsed onto the hall sofa as her knees gave way. Farrell pushed his nose into her hands and blinked up at her, his brown eyes guileless and sincere.

Emma hadn't lied. She would still be here. For the dog.

But not for the man who still hadn't told her the truth or waited for her to unburden hers.

# Chapter 29

"How was the date?" Allaine whispered as Emma stood next to her in the playground. Frigid air moved around their legs like a raging river as an Arctic wind stole any hint of warmth from the air. Farrell stayed glued to Emma's left leg as though plugged into her sadness. She'd wasted the day moving around like an automaton with dread in her heart. Any sound from the street reminded her of Christopher, and she half expected him to knock on the door.

"Let's just say I know how to pick a jerk." Emma hung her head, misery oozing from her like a tangible cloud.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Allaine sympathised, resting her arm across Emma's shoulders. Farrell gave a low growl and she stepped back in surprise. "Oh. What's wrong with him?"

"Sorry." Emma pulled on the leash and tucked Farrell against her leg. The softness of his fur brushing her fingers grounded her. "He's a little overprotective today. Perhaps he's picking up on my reticence after last night."

"Hey girls, I got the job!" Mel threw her arms around both women. "I can't believe it. The owner wants me to start on Monday and I'm so excited!" Farrell released an impressive snarl, his body stiffening and his nose trembling as he bared his top teeth.

"Oh." Mel jumped back as though shot. Her eyes widened, her chocolate irises flickering with fear.

"I'm really sorry." Emma gulped. "I'll take him home." She turned to leave and Mel called her name. Emma turned to see the other woman reaching to touch her shoulder, but after a glance at the dog, she retracted her hand.

Mel blinked. "I worked a couple of hours practice last night. A girl at the hostel looked after Mo. Anyway, my new boss paid me. So, I got you these." She extended her other hand and held up a paper bag. After a moment's hesitation, Emma opened her palm. The dog leash dangled from her wrist as she took the package.

Mel shrugged. "They're just from the all-night garage at the top of town, but you made me feel like I could start again." Mel's lips spread into a smile to display straight teeth and a hidden beauty. She resembled a bud experiencing its first rays of sunshine. Emma pulled the contents from the crinkling paper to find a pair of machine-knitted dark gloves. They tumbled into her palm, tiny pink flowers highlighted against the onyx cuffs. Emma's eyes glittered with tears as the past twenty-four hours' sadness spilled over her eyelashes, taking her resolve with them.

Nicky's brows furrowed when he emerged from the blue door and recognised his mother's distress. He hung around her feet, ignoring his friends' urging to play. He gripped the fabric of Emma's jacket in fingers which trembled.

Mel left the playground with Mohammed, her heart light and her pocket jingling with coins. Emma sensed her hurried excuses hadn't fooled Allaine. A tangible devastation hung around her shoulders. The older woman led Emma to the park where they sat together on a bench beneath rustling oak trees. The bare branches creaked and groaned above them, dead leaves fluttering to earth as they relinquished their fragile hold.

Nicky planted himself on Emma's knee, his slender fingers fiddling with the buttons of her borrowed jacket. Allaine pointed to Kaylee whose skinny legs struggled to give her lift on the swing. "Please can you give her a push, Nicky? I'd be grateful enough to buy some penny sweets at the corner shop on the way back to Newcombe Street."

Conflict budded in Nicky's blue eyes. He sat up to peer into Emma's face. She forced a fake smile onto her lips, which she knew he saw straight through as his doubt increased. "You can go, baby. I'm fine here with Allaine."

Nicky's gaze flicked to Kaylee's feeble efforts and then back to Emma. She lifted the dog leash over her wrist and pushed it into his hand. "You can take Farrell," she told him. "Keep him on the leash but give him a little run around on the grass. I'm okay, I promise."

The lure of the dog was enough to sway his sense of loyalty. With great reluctance, Nicky clambered from her knee like an octogenarian exiting a wheelchair. He took Farrell onto the wide swathe of damp grass but remained within earshot.

Allaine moved close enough for her thigh to bump Emma's. "Right," she whispered. "Let's have it."

Emma swallowed and her eyelashes fluttered against her cheek. "I made a terrible mistake last night. The guy didn't like me at all. He took me to a nightclub and then set me up for an abduction." Her fingers trembled as she rubbed them across her eyes. "I discovered this morning that he knew Rohan and had double crossed him in a deal." Emma dipped forward to hide the flush of shame on her cheeks. She rested her forearms across her thighs and stared at the soil beneath her boots. "I'm such an idiot!"

Allaine exhaled. "I'm still stuck at the part where you said he'd set you up for an abduction. Tell me what happened."

Emma's cheeks burned as she recounted her terrible evening and how fun and flirtation had degenerated into fear and danger. She squeezed the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. When she looked up, she saw Nicky watching her from nearby. Kaylee stroked the dog and chatted, but he stared at Emma with the face of a much older child.

"My husband will know what to do. Will's a policeman. Come back to my place and I'll call him."

"No!" Emma sat up straight. "If Rohan wanted the police involved, he would have called them. He told me not to talk to anyone." She groaned. "I haven't even managed that! I've lasted a total of seven hours before blurting it all to you." She rose with a sigh. "I need to get home. Please forget everything I just told you."

"It's a bit hard to forget," Allaine breathed. "What will you do?"

Emma turned towards her with a nonchalant shrug. "I've sat up all night before when we weren't safe. It's no big deal. But Allaine, if for some reason I don't turn up at school to get Nicky one day, please will you take him for me? Just until Rohan gets home." She shoved away Rohan's prediction that he might not get home at all.

Allaine's blue eyes glittered with specks of indigo. Her lips parted in a futile plea. "Emma this is serious! You can't ask me to do this without talking to my husband. He's a cop. He can help you."

"Please?" Emma's voice rose at the end of the word. "Please Allaine? Rohan is Nicky's father. If he comes home first and I'm not here, please let him take Nicky. I have nobody else to ask." The barrenness of her confession rocked her resolve. Despite her tumultuous past, she'd never felt more alone. There had always been someone to help paddle her rickety canoe. Lucya. Anton.

At the thought of those she'd lost, her mind flicked to the reason she couldn't stay long term in the town. Alanya. Her tone became urgent and Allaine stood, shoving her hands into her coat pocket. Her head shook from side to side as Emma issued a very specific instruction. "Rohan's mother lives somewhere in this town. If the worst happens and Nicky is the only one left, you must promise me not to give her access to him." Emma rose, her body dipping forward with the agony of her burden. Her hands wrung in front of her, the new gloves twisting in her fingers. "Please?"

Allaine groaned and threw her head back on her shoulders. "I don't like this at all, Emma. Just let me speak to Will."

"No." Emma began backing away, her head shaking. Every muscle in her body trembled. She'd messed everything up in her usual inimitable style. She tried to blink away her misery, wishing it was that easy. "I'm sorry. I've no right to ask such a massive thing from you. Forget it. We'll be fine."

Allaine's chin wobbled as she watched Emma back away from her. She reached out with shaking fingers and seized the lapel of Emma's coat. "I'll take Nicky," she whispered. "I'll keep him for you. But I'm praying it doesn't happen."

Relief locked Emma's throat and rendered her speechless. Her chest heaved in a series of aborted breaths. Allaine wrapped her arms around Emma's shoulders, her puffer jacket choking the air from her lungs. "Thank you," Emma managed between wracked breaths. She disconnected from Allaine's tight embrace. "I won't forget this."

The women walked back to where Emma had abandoned Rohan's expensive car on the road outside the school. She'd struggled with the enormous vehicle and hadn't lined it up parallel with the kerb. Nicky stared at the jaunty angle with a grin. "I don't think you're very good at driving, are you Mummy?"

Emma grimaced and ignored his observation. Allaine strapped Kaylee and Nicky into the back seats and stuffed Farrell into the foot well. His fluffy ears swung like earrings as he contemplated his reduced status. Emma struggled with the gears, wincing at the strange tone of the engine as she kangarooed the car along Scotland Road.

Allaine leaned sideways and inspected the gear lever. "You need to put it into Drive," she said, her tone helpful. "I think you've accidentally knocked it into Sport mode."

"Told ya." Nicky waggled his eyebrows at Emma and she frowned at him in the rear-view mirror.

Emma fought the steering wheel and slid the car into a space outside Rohan's house. Allaine got out and waved her arms to help her move back and forwards until she was close enough to the kerb. The children bounced free with the dog and took it in turns to swing on the front gate. Nicky dropped Farrell's leash and the dog padded back to Emma. He gazed up at her through wide brown doggy eyes.

"You could spend a few nights at our house," Allaine whispered. "Nobody uses the top floor anymore."

Emma bent and stroked Farrell's head. "Thank you, but no. I promised I'd take care of Faz." She turned towards the gate and held Nicky's library bag out for him to pluck from her fingers. He clambered down from the bottom rung and gave Kaylee a cute wave.

"Take care," Allaine urged as she took her daughter's hand. "We'll hold you in our prayers."

"Thanks." Emma watched her son bound up the step to the front door. Farrell followed him, his tail swishing like a windscreen wiper. Emma released his leash and he went ahead without her. "Allaine?" Her brow furrowed as Allaine stopped and turned to face her. She retraced three of her steps before halting. Emma's cheeks flushed as she comtemplated the state of Allaine's beautiful red dress. Her mind drifted to the warm sensation of Rohan's hands on her soft skin, and she forced her thoughts back to the present. She swallowed. "I need to wash your dress before I give it back to you. And there's a little rip I should mend. I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter." Allaine frowned and tipped her head sideways. "It's the least of your problems, sweetheart." She gave Emma a smile of consolation and turned to continue her walk home. Oblivious, Kaylee skipped alongside her, a royal blue library bag bumping against her calves.

Emma locked up the house early, securing the bolt at the bottom of the front door and pulling the curtain to cover the window. She put her phone on its charger on the kitchen counter and started dinner. Nicky fiddled with the buttons as she wrestled spaghetti into a saucepan. She glanced back and rebuked him, her tone sharp. "Leave it!" she snapped.

Nicky shrugged and spun the phone in a circle with his finger. He caught it as it skittered across the counter and plunged off the edge. "There's no credit on it, anyway, Mummy. You can't phone anybody, can you?" He caught it and sat it back on the shiny surface.

"No," she admitted. Fear mingled with disappointment as she stirred a lumpy cheese sauce into the spaghetti. "Damn. We don't have bacon." She stopped with the wooden spoon lifted. A blob of sauce plopped into the mixture.

"It doesn't matter." Nicky dragged a stool across the kitchen floor and clambered onto it. He peered into the saucepan and wrinkled his nose. "We need Uncle Ro, don't we?" he whispered. "He makes everything better."

"I don't know, baby," Emma answered honestly. "I do okay, don't I?" She wrapped her arms around his slight frame and kissed the top of his head.

"You do fine." Nicky inhaled. "But I miss him. I'm gonna pray to my friend God. Then he'll come back tomorrow."

Emma gulped and clamped her teeth over her tongue. A glib, throwaway answer would help no one. They ate their dinner and Nicky played in the bath for an hour. He pretended to swim until water slopped onto the tiles and Emma extracted him. They settled into Rohan's wide bed at the back of the house, and Emma stationed Farrell by the door. They watched the small television on Rohan's dressing table for a while after Nicky completed his homework. He snuggled down to sleep, his fingers stroking the fabric of Rohan's pillow and causing Emma's nostrils to fill with the reminder of her husband's masculine scent.

The shrill ringing of the doorbell disturbed them. Farrell got to his feet and barked. Nicky turned over and Emma stroked her fingers across his brow. "Go back to sleep, baby," she soothed. "It's just a dream." Nicky pushed his thumb into his mouth and his body stilled.

Emma summoned all her courage and padded to the front of the house. She remained on the first floor and the dog ran with her, getting underfoot and almost tripping her. She left the light off in her bedroom and dropped to her knees, crawling towards the window until she could see the street. Yellow light bounced off the stationary cars lined up along the kerb. The red light from an alarm blinked on Rohan's dashboard. The visitor stood beneath the arched porch, remaining hidden from view. Farrell's nose butted Emma's hip and she rested a reassuring hand on the top of his head. The hard angles of his skull pressed against her hand and he released a low whine. Emma held her breath and blood pounded through her temples to obscure all other sounds. She exhaled through her lips, controlling the resulting whoosh and transferring her hand from Farrell's head to his collar. His hackles rose beneath her fingers, rising and spiking like a cockerel's crest. The dog's anxiety flooded her with an increase in adrenaline. She realised too late that they fuelled each other in a rising cycle of fear.

"Please don't let it be the Irishman," Emma breathed. She denied herself from saying his first name and reduced him to an impersonal representation of his nationality. He deserved nothing more.

The window fogged with the warmth of her breath and she leaned back to give it a chance to clear. With no lights on at the front of the house, Emma hoped the visitor would get the message and leave. She sat back until her bottom touched her heels and practiced deep breathing, feeling Farrell's hair smooth down along the line of his sleek body. After another extended press on the doorbell and a flurry of knocking, the visitor moved from beneath the cover of the porch and onto the path. Emma heard the clatter of footsteps and peeked through the corner of the bay window.

A blonde head bobbed back and forth as Felicity peered through the dining-room window. The streetlights glinted off the top of her hair and turned her highlights to shades of ochre and yellow. Emma watched as she checked the dining-room window and then clattered across the path and a flower bed to press her nose against the glass facing into the front hallway. Emma pursed her lips, grateful she'd closed all the downstairs curtains. Felicity slammed her open palm against the pane and Emma tensed as it rattled in the frame. "I know you're in there!" Felicity yelled. Farrell growled and Emma dragged at his collar to stave off the ready bark.

A dog along the street yapped and another joined it. Noise grew as one set off the next in the perpendicular streets. The back-to-back gardens fuelled the sense of alarm from one dog's territory to another as the distress calls echoed for miles.

A couple taking an evening walk paused on the footpath and stared at Felicity. She backed towards the gate and tilted her head to scrutinise the upstairs windows. "Alanya was right about you!" she shouted. Her voice ricocheted off the brick walls and reverberated off the houses opposite Rohan's. "This is not over, Emma! You and that kid of yours will be sorry!"

Felicity's gaze raked the windows. Emma shot backwards and overbalanced onto the dog. She hoped the dull thud didn't carry as far as the front garden and Felicity's eager ears. Her heart sank as Felicity's shouts increased in volume. "I know you're up there, bitch!" Her voice rose, infused with rage and chilling thoughts of revenge.

"Hey, I'm calling the police!" The couple on the street crossed to the other side and Emma pressed her face to the window in time to see the blue glow of a phone screen light up in the man's hand.

"Don't bother!" Felicity slammed the gate with enough force to leave it trembling as she clip clopped along the street towards Nithsdale Avenue. A white haze surrounded her head as her breath hit the fetid air as curses.

Emma slumped to the floor and heaved a sigh of relief. She crawled back to bed on her hands and knees, the dog following so close that his breath warmed her heels.

# Chapter 30

Emma woke with a start, as though she'd just closed her eyes. She groaned as Nicky bounced from the bed with enthusiasm. "I like Uncle Ro's bed, Mummy. It's squishy." He skipped across the floor and dropped to his knees to pet Farrell.

"Mmnn." Emma pressed her face against Rohan's pillow and pleaded with a God who didn't seem to like her much. Nicky's shrill voice sounded overloud in the darkness. She rolled onto her back and contemplated telling him the truth about Rohan. But the words stuck in her throat, making a liar of her. She'd do it when Rohan got home, spreading the responsibility as though it would guarantee his tenuous return.

For the next three weeks, Emma drove her son to school in the Mercedes, wrestling the expensive vehicle around the narrow Market Harborough streets. Rohan's house seemed strange without his gentle presence, and she avoided going back to it. She wondered about the archiving job but venturing into the school office to enquire meant speaking to Felicity. So, she relied on the cash Rohan had left to sustain her and Nicky and allowed fate to cast her into a fragile limbo.

Avoiding the silence of Rohan's house or the risk of running into Alanya, Emma explored further afield, trespassing over the invisible border into Northamptonshire. Farrell rode on the passenger seat, creating a line of nose moisture on the window. The car cruised through rolling green countryside with ease, and she grew braver behind the wheel each day. At the end of the first week, she chanced upon a layby on a quiet country road. Driving sleet forced her to pull over and park for a while until the angry clouds moved south to douse a rural population. Emma leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, tuning out the whisper of snow coating the car. "Just come home, Rohan," she pleaded. "This is ridiculous." His lack of contact ate into her, punishing her for straying with the Irishman. Or heralding the disaster Rohan had warned.

A red brick manor house with sandstone detail stood on a hill above the road. Neglect stained its gothic facade, and empty black windows stared unseeing through the blizzard.

Emma imagined herself as the lady of such a manor, holding court in her morning room and drinking tea from a delicate china cup. The thought amused her, but the archivist in her cried out to the history of the house. She visited again the next day and then the next, parking in the layby and studying the proportions and architecture. The ornate gates deterred unwanted visitors, denying her closer scrutiny of the building.

Emma found a pair of binoculars in Rohan's bureau and stuffed a wad of printer paper into an old leather file. She returned to the layby the next day to study the house in more detail. The proportions of the main house appeared to predate the Norman Conquest and piqued her curiosity. Her deft fingers sketched its outline on the paper, hoping to enlist Nicky in an internet search on Rohan's computer. The satellite navigation on the Mercedes gave her a rough address, although it protested she'd driven into the middle of nowhere. A dull metal sign on the locked gate offered the name of the house, but Verdigris staining made it unreadable. Emma attempted a pencil rubbing between snow showers but achieved only sodden wet paper for her efforts. Farrell stood on the verge and watched her through his knowing brown eyes. He liked to sit in front of the gates as though expecting admittance. His optimism made Emma smile. But even Allaine knew nothing about the area, and Nicky's searches revealed an ancient battle site but no house.

By the middle of the third week after Rohan left, Emma had learned the route from the school to the house by heart. The landmarks and road signage offered familiarity and constancy in her fragile world. She'd discovered three alternate routes which added variety and a sense of acclimatisation.

Emma found an old camera abandoned on a dusty shelf in the hall cupboard that evening. Its case contained an unused roll of film still in the plastic wrap. Nicky pulled a face when she asked for help to install it. "I don't even know what that is," he replied with scorn. He turned the ancient camera over in his hands. Dating from the late nineteen sixties, its heaviness bent his hands back on his wrists. "Other people just take photos on their phones."

Emma sighed. "My phone doesn't have a camera."

"What do you need to take photos of, anyway?" He posed and stuck out his tongue, his pyjama bottoms sagging over his hips. "Take one of me. Let me see it."

Nicky lost interest when Emma explained it needed to go to a shop for processing. Her mission seemed pointless against the realisation she might no longer find a shop capable of developing the film. But she wrestled the canister into the camera's film compartment and allowed herself a skip of excitement at the prospect of visiting the manor. Decent photographs would help in her search to find its history. The project filled her days and helped pass the time until Rohan's return. Reality would rush in fast enough then.

Emma crossed the Leicestershire border into Northamptonshire after leaving Nicky at school the next day, the Mercedes humming along the country road. She drove towards her usual parking spot in the layby. Farrell hadn't liked her leaving him at home and the old camera bounced on the passenger seat next to her, streaks of dust still dotted around its case where she'd wiped it. Emma halted the car in the middle of the narrow road, dismayed at the unexpected volume of traffic. No space remained in the layby and cars lined the grass verge on either side of the road. "What's happened?" she mused. Disappointment tightened her chest. She couldn't hang around taking covert photographs with an audience.

Emma cruised along the road until she reached the front of the line of parked cars. The verge squelched beneath the heavy tyres and the Mercedes listed sideways as though threatening to sink into the ditch next to the road. By the time Emma had engaged the hand brake and parked the gear lever, four more cars had pulled up in front of her.

"I'm here now. I might as well see if I can take a few pictures," she promised herself. She snatched up the camera and the folder with clean sheets of paper. She'd snagged one of Nicky's better pencils and intended to make a decent rubbing of the name plate. The town's small library might know something about the manor's story. They'd asked for the name on her first visit and she'd promised herself she'd find it.

She emerged from her vehicle filled with renewed determination. Her actions were curious but not illegal. The wind had different plans. It flipped open the flap of the folder and whipped the first few pages free, hurling them along the road. They danced over a wire fence and continued their haphazard journey into a nearby field. Emma's boots sank into the wet mud and her sock grew damp from the hole she'd ignored in the sole.

"Oh dear!" A woman dressed in a smart suit cried out as she lurched for the next escaping sheet of paper. Emma slammed the flap closed and tucked the folder under her arm. "Bad luck," the woman called. "Was it something important?"

"No." Emma shook her head and gave a shrug of disappointment. As the wind tore at the folder, she wrestled it back into the car and dumped it on the driver's seat.

"It's so windy up here, isn't it?" The woman drew level with her and Emma forced a smile onto her face. She stuffed the pencil into her pocket, her mission reduced to something foolish and irrelevant.

"Jade Blackstock." The woman stuck a manicured hand out and Emma stared at it in confusion. "Harper and Cunard."

"Right." Emma galvanised herself enough to shake the proffered hand. Warm fingers clasped hers.

"Come on then, you'd better get in. It looks like they're lining everyone up outside the front." Jade turned away. Her boot heels made sucking noises as they sunk into the grass verge.

"Of the house?" Emma's hand fluttered in front of her face. "Are people going inside the house?"

"Well, yes. How else do you think they'll do it?"

Emma understood the question even less than the statement which preceded it. She slammed the car door and activated the central locking. The key slid into her jeans pocket and she scurried after the woman, drawing the zip of Rohan's jacket up to her chin. "What's happening?" she demanded, puffing to catch up to Jade.

"Aren't you here for the auction?" Jade stopped dead and Emma pitched sideways to avoid running into her.

"What auction?"

"Right." A vertical line split Jade's brow and she stared at Emma's borrowed jacket and the frayed hem of her jeans. She took a step backwards to put distance between them. "My mistake. Sightseers aren't allowed in, so I shouldn't bother. They've got security."

"Is someone selling the house?" Emma struggled to finish the question as the wind stole her words. A flicker of heat began in her chest at Jade's veiled judgement based on her appearance.

The woman shook her head. "Just some of the contents. Must dash!" She clopped towards the gates, clumps of mud falling from her heels and making a trail behind her.

Emma dug her hands into her pockets and shivered on the verge. A draught near her big toe informed her the hole in her boot had widened. Another smart crowd of buyers streamed through the open gates, jostling Emma aside as they walked and chatted as though she didn't exist. She balled her fists in her pockets and hated feeling invisible.

"Are you going in or what?" A security guard appeared behind her, waving his arm toward the gate. "You can't stand here. People can't get past you."

"Am I allowed?" Hope leaked through Emma's voice. She regretted leaving the camera on the seat. They wouldn't let her inside the house, but she might look around outside and find some historical snippet to continue her search for information.

"In or out? But don't stand there." The security guard turned away, heaving his fleshy arms into a bright yellow jacket. "Ten more minutes," he shouted to a group of stragglers. "Get your passes ready for my colleagues on the door. If you're not in when it starts, tough luck."

"Charming!" an older woman bit. She clutched a wide-brimmed hat in her left hand and battled the breeze trying to snatch it from her head.

Emma slid in behind her, using her as a windbreak and taking her first footsteps along the sweeping driveway. Oak trees looked down on her, their branches bare and weathered. Fresh growth rustled like whispers over her head, telling secrets and inviting confidences. The train of people struggled up a natural incline towards the imposing house, halting at a road cone flanked by another security guard.

Panic made its way into Emma's senses, raising her heart rate and highlighting her error. Her foolishness returned to bite her. They wouldn't let a stranger wander the extensive private grounds alone. She turned back, met by the following tide of people. Protests ensued and her halt caused chaos. Reassessing her options, Emma decided to walk as far as the next security guard and then wait until she could turn around and go back to the gate. She planned sentences in her head, readying herself for embarrassment and ridicule.

A giggle to the left drew her from her mental wrangling. "Ooh, this is such fun, isn't it?" An elderly lady wearing a beret sloped along next to Emma. A wide grin split her lips, which she'd slathered in pink lipstick. "How did you hear about it?" she demanded.

"About what?" Emma leaned closer to hear the frail voice against the wind ripping round their heads.

"The auction, dear. Did you see it in the papers?"

"Oh, somebody told me," Emma replied, sticking to the truth as she noticed Jade ahead in the slowing queue. The woman's voice carried despite the wind, and she'd aligned herself with a man in a business suit and tie. The flimsy fabric of the paisley tie flapped over his shoulder like a tongue until the next heady gust flung it into the side of his face. Jade's expensive mac whirled around her legs as though trying to trip her. Emma tamped down the uncharitable hope that it succeeded.

"I'm not dressed for this." Emma glanced behind her. The queue had grown as the security guard slowed down the process. "I wonder if he'll let me just turn around and go back to my car."

"Don't be silly." The elderly lady clutched Emma's arm, fitting her gnarled fingers through the crook of her elbow. "Why would you want to leave?"

"I don't belong here," Emma admitted. She leaned sideways and lowered her voice. "I'd hoped to take photos of the building. I'm interested in the house's history."

"Wonderful." The woman blinked. A false eyelash stuck to her eyelid and hung there. "I'm glad someone is."

Emma frowned. "What do you mean." She revised her question and cocked her head. "I can't find any information about it. Parts of it appear Norman, but I'm not so sure now." She lifted her gaze to the long sash windows. The house looked even more imposing at close quarters as it towered over her.

The woman grinned, her smile beatific despite the lipstick which had spread over the edges of her thin lips. "I'm not here to buy anything. My mother was a lady's maid between the wars. This is a stroll down Memory Lane for me. Mother continued doing the washing and ironing for the lady of the house after she married. We called here once a week on the horse and trap." She dug her fingers into Emma's forearm as her rubber-soled shoes tripped over one another. When she continued to grin, Emma realised she'd given a little skip. "I'm so excited to be here."

Emma's brown eyes lit with enjoyment as the old lady's enthusiasm revived her. The long queue snaked past the security guard and towards the front steps.

"I'm Freda." The old lady patted Emma's elbow. Watery blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Emma returned the greeting, but her pulse raced as they grew nearer the security guard. Freda gripped her arm with surprising strength and Emma delayed telling her she'd need to leave her soon.

"The old kitchen's long gone now." Freda's voice rose to a shout as she fiddled behind her left ear. The wire of a hearing aid moved beneath her hair. "It was at the north end of the house under the existing kitchen. Mother and I used the back stairs to the first-floor laundry. She packed everything up into baskets to carry it back to the cart." An alarming cackle competed with the howl of the wind. "The master had his underwear made in London because he was so fat." Freda gave a high-pitched giggle which drew the collective attention of those around them. Emma noticed Jade glance back at her before giving a sneer of distaste.

Emma leaned down to whisper in Freda's ear. "I wish I could walk around with you, but I think they're about to throw me out. I don't have a pass." Emma jerked her head to where the queue snaked through the wide front doors. "That guard is checking names. Mine isn't on there."

Freda bounced on the spot and gave Emma a cute smile. Her top set of false teeth crashed down onto her bottoms. Emma gulped. Freda used her fingers to shove everything back into place. "You're with me," she stated, as though it made a difference.

A couple in jeans and heavy jackets split off from the queue and started back along the driveway. The security guard gave a nonchalant shrug.

"What's happening?" A man behind Emma sounded nervous.

Jade turned, ready with an answer. Her self-important tone left Emma grinding her teeth. "It's by invitation only. My husband registered me as a buyer. We're antique dealers." Her reply increased the level of unrest behind her.

"Do you have an invitation?" Emma leaned down to ask Freda the question. The old lady shook her head and clutched at the fabric of her hat as the wind threatened to lift it. "Then maybe we should just leave," Emma whispered. "I can help you back to your car."

"I caught the bus and walked from the main road." Determination crept into Freda's voice. "I'm going inside this house. They will not stop me."

Emma closed her eyes and bit back the curse. She hadn't planned on getting herself arrested. Freda turned wide, tearful eyes to face her and she gulped, wondering at what point Freda would accept defeat. She clutched the frail arm against her ribs as the carefree sense of fun dissipated like steam.

The security guard asked questions, splitting the crowd into those who could enter and those who needed to walk past the gathered queue and make their way back to the road. Emma distracted herself by noting particular architectural features. White shutters flaked their paint to the bare wood, having failed to protect the original sash windows. The disquiet grew as more people turned away, forced to backtrack along the driveway.

Emma tensed, a tremor beginning at her soaked toes. She couldn't decide if fear of the inevitable or the icy wind generated it.

"Thank you!" Jade trilled her glee and clopped past the first security guard. Her heels kicked up gravel in a fine spray behind her triumphant walk. The couple in front of Emma turned back towards the gate.

Emma held her breath as they drew level with the cone. Freda leaned across her and dug a gnarled index finger into the padded coat stretched across the guard's coat. "Young man," she said, her tone commanding. "I'm a hundred tomorrow. What do you think to that?"

The guard gave a disinterested jerk of his chin and waved towards his colleague at the front doors. "Congratulations." He sounded like he didn't believe her. Freda released another heady cackle and shoved Emma past the cone.

The crowd around the front doors had dwindled. Emma glanced behind her to see a group turned back down the driveway. They grumbled in loud tones, which the guard ignored. "What the hell?" Emma demanded as Freda barrelled towards the doors and the next hurdle. "Are you a hundred tomorrow?"

Freda halted and peered up at her from beneath the beret. The wind gave a valiant tug and the mop of blonde hair moved with it. Freda clamped a hand over hat and wig. "No!" She sounded insulted. Her sensible shoes scuffed the gravel. "Do I look it?"

Emma shook her head and tried to appear convincing. The entertaining interlude had a limit of thirty seconds; the time it would take them to reach the second guard. Freda shuffled close to Jade's heels, but the woman appeared to be in difficulty.

"My husband registered!" Her protests echoed inside the vast lobby beyond the front doors. "We're interested in the Edwardian stuff." She tossed her head and delivered her caveat. "As long as it's not fake."

A man with a black mackintosh over his pinstriped suit stood next to the security guard. He shivered in the icy wind and a clipboard bounced in his fingers. "I'm sorry, madam. You're not on the list."

"This is a sham!" Jade argued, her voice shrill with indignation. "My husband declared our interest online last week. I want that Queen Anne chair!"

"My apologies, madam. Please make your way back down the driveway to the gate."

Emma gulped. She looked down at Rohan's jacket and her ripped jeans. Water seeped from the sole of her boot to darken the gravel beneath her foot. She gripped Freda's arm and closed her eyes, bracing herself for the inevitable disappointment when forced to follow Jade.

"Out of the way please, madam." The security guard sounded respectful as he moved Jade away from the man in the mac. She continued her loud phone call and alternately berated the guard. The two conversations melded into one hysterical rant. "But you promised you'd talk to them, Peter!" she screeched down the handset. The guard nudged her elbow, and Emma and her new friend faced the man at the door.

"Name please, madam," he said, directing his question at Emma.

Freda cocked her head and fiddled with her hearing aid. "Pardon?" The device behind her left ear made a piercing squeal.

Emma stuck her finger in her left ear and dug into her mind for one of the apologetic sentences she'd practiced. "Emma Andreyev." She choked on the name she'd never used as her tongue fed it through her lips and into the air. She jerked in surprise. It wasn't what she'd planned to say.

The man nodded and ran his fingernail down the list. When he looked up, he stared at Freda. "And your name, please, madam? Are you with Mrs Andreyev?"

"Yes." Emma spat the reply, laying familial claim to the entertaining pensioner.

"I used to come here when I was a little girl, young man," Freda stated, her hearing aid competing with the incoming Arctic breeze. "My mother was a lady's maid for the eldest Ayers girl. Mother had me at sixteen." She leaned closer to the man's chest and whispered to the shiny buttons of his mackintosh. "My father was the wayward son of this house. Lady Ayers always took a _very_ special interest in me." She tapped the side of her nose. "They kept everything quiet in those days, but my mother had an annual allowance until the day she died." She gave a squeak of pleasure and her bowed spine straightened. Her chin tilted upwards so she could eyeball the man with her rheumy eyes. "I'm the bastard daughter of this house."

Emma gasped and held her breath. The man gave a blink and she sensed a sliver of hope. "She's a hundred tomorrow," she gushed, her words emerging with emphasis. "It seems a shame to disappoint her." She fixed her arm around Freda's slender shoulders and squeezed.

The man pulled two glossy brochures from a stand next to him. "Go on through ladies. The auction begins at ten o'clock sharp. Please help your grandmother on all the stairs, Mrs Andreyev." He raised an eyebrow at Emma. "She's your responsibility." He flashed his white teeth between his chattering lips. Emma frowned at his assumption of her married status. She could have been Miss Andreyev.

"Come on, dear." Freda tugged at Emma's arm and looked at her with expectation. "I want to show you where I was conceived."

Emma glanced over her shoulder to find Jade glaring at her. She helped Freda up the steps and over the raised threshold before twinkling her fingers at the other woman. Jade gave a low snarl and turned her back on them. Emma stepped into the wide lobby and paused as the house enfolded her in its silent embrace.

# Chapter 31

Emma's breath caught in her chest as she passed through the second set of outer doors into an enormous reception hall. "Wow!" she exclaimed, her mind immediately consumed by images of ladies in ball gowns, disrobing from expensive stoles as their skirts swished across the oak floorboards. She glanced down at the brochure in her hand, flicking through the pages to find the floorplan. "This hall is over twelve metres long!" she hissed to Freda. "And it's six metres wide. But this is only the entrance!"

"Yes, dear." Freda's head bobbed up and down and the fluffy woollen pom-pom on her hat wibbled and wobbled with the motion. She stared around happily, her blue eyes bright with happiness. "Oh look, there it is!" She glided across to the far wall and peered at a line of exquisite oak panelling. Emma followed her and focussed on an ugly chip in the wood near the bottom.

"What is it?" she asked, following the line of Freda's outstretched finger.

Freda stood up and hugged herself, her eyes sparkling with memories. "I came with Mother to get the laundry and wandered off, pretending to follow my spinning top." She squeezed her eyes tight shut. "I was a very wilful child and didn't like that Mother was expecting yet another red haired baby to my stepfather. I knew the Lord's family were all in London and I wanted to find my father's room. I'd heard the whispering and rumours. But more than that; I thought if I could stand in his room amongst his things, I might just know. You understand? It's terrible for a child not to know who their father is."

Emma gulped and bit her lip. Oblivious, Freda continued. "It was just before my eighth birthday and I was already working, helping Mother with laundry. I ran off on the pretence of chasing my spinning top and found myself here. Just for a moment, I picked up my skirts and danced, pretending I was a fine lady invited to the house for dinner." Freda seized her corduroy skirt and lifted it high, revealing a pair of wrinkled pop socks and very bare, white knees. She twirled unsteadily on her feet and the little knot of bargain hunters stopped to watch her from a gallery overhead. "I whirled and waltzed...and then I bumped right into my father."

Emma gasped and stared at the little old lady, desperate to hear more of her story. Freda kept her eyes firmly closed as she processed her memory. "Of course I knew who he was. It's so curious how blood calls to blood." She giggled and placed arthritic fingers over her pink lips. "Oh, he was so handsome; dressed in his fine shirt and an expensive suit. He hadn't gone to London at all. He picked me up and swung me around like the most dashing of princes. I laughed and giggled and my spinning top went shooting off towards the wall and took out that chip of oak. I thought he might tell me off, but he didn't. He set me down on the ground and kissed the top of my head. Father never married and I believe he truly loved my mother. I saw him a few more times through the years but then he went off to war and never came back. Like so many others..."

Freda sighed and Emma bit back the choking feeling in her throat at the thought of Rohan, who so very nearly didn't come home either. Tears of sadness welled up in her eyes at the unfairness of life and the premature death of her own dad; two women deprived of fathers through no fault of their own.

Nicky's beaming face chastised Emma with her secrecy. He never asked about his father, yet his attachment to Rohan demonstrated how badly he needed one. She gulped and gave a little hiccough and Freda opened her eyes and reached out to touch Emma's elbow. "Oh, don't be sad for me, dear. I'm ninety and I've had a good life. I'm satisfied with my lot." She smiled at Emma with a wealth of supernatural perception. "Some wrongs can't be righted."

Emma stood transfixed with the words resounding in her brain. She looked stunned and Freda's brow knitted in concern. The elderly woman's light touch on her arm forced Emma to collect herself and they proceeded to the end of the reception hall and into another enormous room to the right. The brochure announced it as the ballroom and Freda wandered around, examining the threadbare curtains which hung from ceiling to floor and shaking her head sadly. "It used to be so beautiful," she sighed. Resting a gnarled hand on the back of an old chaise lounge which had once been chintz but now resembled something faded and past its day, she stroked the fragile fabric and screwed up her face. "I can see why they're getting rid of it all. It's ruined."

"I'm sure the right buyer can take it all and restore it back to beauty," Emma said, offering hollow reassurance. The furniture would need more than a face lift from an expert. She read the auctioneer's brochure, ticking off the items in the room and shaking her head at the exorbitant cost of it all. Just the Queen Anne chair in the corner of the room would feed Emma and Nicky for a month or two. Emma heaved out a breath and followed Freda to the end of the room and into the one behind, listed as the morning room. The grey light filtered in on dusty furniture which looked scratched and dented. The once polished surfaces would have been slick with wax and the loving touch of a butler's gloved hand as he refreshed the filthy drinks cabinet. It was heart breaking and the atmosphere was oppressive and dark.

Two men whispered in the corner of the room, eyeing a sideboard with covetous eyes. "I can French polish this out," one of them said under his breath. "See how high the bidding starts and then try and get it."

"There's not much here, dear," Freda remarked as they wandered into the drawing room, which matched the size of the reception hall on the other side of it. "I wonder where the rest is."

"The rest?" Emma glanced down at the brochure again. "Yes, I suppose it does look quite empty. Maybe someone else stripped it first."

"Well," Freda began confidentially, "I know when the last Ayers was declared bankrupt four years ago, furnishings were all included. My dear friend wrote to tell me. What a shame. All the best pieces are missing."

Emma walked along, clutching Freda's arm and no longer interested. The woman's words felt like an omen, hanging over her like a cleaver. _Some wrongs just can't be righted_. Emma felt destined never to be happy. They progressed through an unfurnished dining room, a library in which none of the books were for sale and stood in the industrial kitchen while Freda poked around in the old wooden cupboards. "The cook when Mother worked here was Mrs Daventry. She was a slave driver. I had my bottom slapped once by her for stealing cherry tomatoes from the top of a pie." Freda snorted and clapped her hand over her mouth, letting out a squeak of mirth. "Gosh I was a naughty girl!"

The rooms were beautiful but Emma's heart felt too laden to enjoy them. Freda needed help up the back stairs to the rooms on the first floor, taking each step carefully on fragile bones and gnarled, arthritic feet. "I used to run up these!" she exclaimed once, puffing on the middle step and causing a bottle neck behind. "Damn these old bones!"

"Hey!" Emma snapped at a man in a suit who attempted to push past the old lady. "Have some bloody respect!" Her eyes flashed like black coals and he took a step backwards, standing on the toes of the woman who followed in his rude wake. "Serves you right!" Emma told her and the face of disgust was quickly made blank and expressionless. Emma felt like a harpy, taking her anger and disappointment out on everyone around her. _Some wrongs just can't be righted_. Freda's words tortured her, causing a diaphanous void in her gut.

Most of the crowd behind disappeared, using one of the other two staircases up to the first and second floors above. Freda made it to the landing of the first floor, cheering and waving her tiny fists as though she scaled Everest in a tweed jacket and corduroy skirt, one pop sock wrapped round her ankle like a skin coloured, gossamer scarf. Emma hauled it up for her, restoring her dignity just as one of the suited men from the auction company jogged up the steps behind them. "Er, madam," he said to Emma. "The auctioneer would like to see you, please."

Emma looked at him in horror and Freda giggled inappropriately. "Me?" Emma panicked, her eyes wide with fear as she pointed at her own chest like a schoolgirl. The man nodded and indicated the stairs behind him.

"Yes, madam. Now."

Emma's knees began to shake. She shouldn't be here and now she was about to be unceremoniously expelled. She shot a look of desperation at Freda, who came admirably to meet the challenge. The elderly lady drew herself up to her full shrunken height and fixed an authoritative blue eye on the young man below on the stairs. "My dear," she began. "I'm the bastard daughter of Geoffrey Ayers and I intend to look around his home before it gets chopped up for apartments. My friend and I have just hauled my sorry ass up these stairs at great cost to our sanity. I shall not be going down again in a hurry!" With that, she scuttled off left towards the laundry, giving a squeal of delight from inside. "Oooh! It's still the same! I do believe I was conceived on this very floor. Mother did ramble so as she got older..." Her voice tailed off as she went further into the cavernous room.

The young man gulped, his red curls moving on his head with the motion. He fiddled with the black buttons on an immaculate waistcoat and agonised internally. Then he nodded. "Okay, madam. I'll tell the auctioneer you'll be down in a minute." Reluctantly he left, treading quickly down the stairs but glancing up at Emma twice more. As soon as his feet hit the oak boards of the reception hall, Emma took off after Freda, clattering into the laundry to find the old woman peering into the glass door of a modern washing machine.

"We need to get out of here!" Emma panicked. "We aren't meant to be here and I think we're about to be thrown out."

"I want to see my father's room." Freda's wizened face crumpled like a naughty child. "I want to see Geoffrey's room."

Emma ran her hand through her hair in fear, snagging her index finger on an unruly curl. "Fine!" she said decisively. "But do you know a back way out of this place when we're done?"

Freda's face curved into a beautiful smile and Emma glimpsed the wayward child who spun her top just to dance in the reception hall. She tapped her nose with a crabbed finger and grinned. Freda held Emma's hand and scurried to a room at the south end of the building, next to the huge master suite, dressing room and ensuite, which she would have loved to see. The dilapidated state continued with peeling flock wallpaper hanging in swathes above their heads and a dusting of plaster in patches along the way. "In here, dear. Father slept in here." Freda's steps were urgent rapping against the oak floors like a much younger woman.

The room opened up before them, renovated to perfection. A beautiful four poster bed graced the centre of the room and the walls were decorated in a subtle powder blue. The furniture was all of a French style, chic and white with distressed edges and a golden sheen to the corners. The ensuite was fitted with a modern shower and fitments, a white claw footed bath sat diagonally across one corner. Freda disliked it but confusion showed on Emma's face as she stroked the top of a tallboy leaned against one wall. Something about the decor resonated with her and she shook her head to clear the image. "This isn't right! Father wouldn't like this," Freda commented in disappointment, wrinkling her nose. She sounded upset. "Where's Father's things?"

Emma gulped and took the old lady's arm. Something about the style of the decor pulled at her memory, familiar and unnerving. It irked and jarred in its simplistic beauty and Emma's brow knitted in confusion. Freda began to pull drawers open and then Emma noticed the sign on the bedroom door which the old lady had flung open. _No entry_.

"Where's his things?" Freda asked again, as a pair of boxer shorts tumbled from a bedside drawer, pulling Emma back to reality. Nearly seventy years had passed since the end of the Second World War and Geoffrey Ayer's personal effects would be long gone. She didn't have the heart to crush Freda's dreams further and cuddled her close. "I'm sure they're somewhere here," she soothed. "But I need you to get us out of here now, like you promised." Emma kept the urgency out of her voice and Freda swiped at her eye with an inaccurate hand and reluctantly nodded.

Down the back stairs they went, at a faster pace than the upward journey. They trotted through the kitchen and storerooms beyond, turning left and skirting underneath a rope barrier which declared the area out of bounds. Freda picked up speed, admirable for a lady in her nineties, forcing Emma to jog to keep up. "This is the old coach house, dear," she called over her shoulder. "We'll go out this way, then they won't see us from the main house."

Fortunately the Yale lock on the front door allowed them to click it locked behind them and the two unlikely companions hot footed it down the long driveway. Freda was puffing by the time they reached the ornate gates. Emma began to giggle, suppressing the urge to laugh until she cried. Something about the house and the blue room made her sad.

Passing the open gates, Emma stopped and looked at the ruined sign. "What does it say?" she asked Freda. "What's the name of the house?"

"It's Wingate Hall, dear," Freda said proudly. "Owned by the Ayers family for generations, since before the Norman invasion. They were King's men during the civil war and it's rumoured Henry VIII stayed at the house once on a visit from London to the parishes, during the Reformation." She tapped her nose again and peered up and down the long country road.

"How did you get here?" Emma asked, looking at the smattering of vehicles remaining. Most of them looked like transit vans belonging to bespoke furniture companies and antique dealers. It seemed everyone else had been turned away from their rubbernecking adventure. Emma thought of Jade's posh indignation and smirked.

"I came on the bus," Freda announced, looking back up the driveway. "I say, is that young man waving at you?"

Emma glanced back towards the house, seeing the red haired young man running down the driveway with his arm raised above his head. "Oh no! He probably wants to cite us for trespassing!" Emma panicked. "Quick!" she squeaked, running towards Rohan's smart car, parked haphazardly on the grass verge. "Get in!"

Freda shuffled towards the car and struggled with the heavy passenger door. As she lurched into the seat and slapped her handbag onto her knee, Emma put her foot down and screeched off the verge, taking a large slice of juicy turf with her. The auctioneer's assistant reached the end of the driveway and lowered his hand in disappointment as the car sped off towards Northampton and Emma heaved a sigh of relief. "So long, sucker!" Freda called behind her and Emma gaped in horror.

Emma drove towards Northampton and then doubled back to avoid driving past the manor house, in case the young man waited on the road. Freda managed to click her seat belt eventually and halted the dull bell which tolled on the dashboard in warning. Then she sighed and grinned. "That was very enjoyable. I haven't been back to the house since 1946."

Emma gaped. "I though you hadn't been back since you were a girl, that would be what? 1930s?"

Freda wiggled her shoulders and eyed Emma sideways. "Oh, I never actually said that, dear. I came back here in 1946 on the day I eloped with my sweetheart."

Emma swerved as she looked too long at the smug old lady in the passenger seat. "You what?"

Freda huddled herself more snugly into the seat and beamed out the front windscreen. "I eloped with my sweetheart when I was twenty one years old."

Emma felt a shiver down her spine at the sudden similarity with her own life story. "I eloped," she whispered to the gentle woman next to her. "But I was only just sixteen."

"It's exciting, isn't it?" Freda giggled. She turned her beautiful blue eyes on Emma. "Why did you elope, dear? Didn't your parents approve either?"

"He was my stepbrother." Emma's cheeks flushed with an old embarrassment. "We aren't blood, but Rohan's mother called me _disgusting_. She warned me off when I was fourteen and someone told her they saw me holding her son's hand. She said I'd go to hell." Emma shuddered and concentrated on the country lane zooming past underneath them.

"Ooh, let's go for morning tea!" Freda clapped her hands together in her mittens and Emma laughed.

"Okay, then. There's some cash in the ashtray. But tell me your story. Why didn't your parents approve?" Emma pressed the indicator and turned onto a signposted road which claimed it would take them back towards Market Harborough.

Freda flashed a beatific smile filled with mischief. "My poor mother was horrified and my stepfather went purple with anger, which was an interesting contrast with his red hair." She chuckled to herself and immersed them both in the world of her memories. "I worked down at the market after the war but it was a sorry place then, run mainly by the women of the town. Our men trickled home, injured, broken; not the strong chaps we remembered. My stepfather had a dreadful limp from a lump of shrapnel and he drank for the rest of his days. The sunny red haired man was left in a prisoner of war camp in a foreign land and a tortured monster returned. There were no more babies for my mother, but she wasn't sorry." Freda sighed. "I was working on the vegetable stall in the summer of 1946 and he walked right up to me. I've never forgotten the look on his face when he saw me. ' _My goodness,_ ' he said. ' _If it's not little Freda Porter, all grown up and pretty as a daisy_.' The other girls stared at me, talking so easily to a gentleman but you see, the world was changing."

Emma nodded in sad agreement. Her degree study took her through the post-war miseries of many European countries, a world with very few young men left in it. She understood.

"His eyes were blue, like mine and we played together as children. He cut a handsome figure at the debutante balls of his youth but as we grew, it was forbidden for us to speak. I knew his scent from the shirts I handled as Mother washed them and it felt as though I had loved him forever. There he was, standing in front of me fresh from the war, one of the few young men to return to our town in those early months after the ceasefire." Freda sighed again and as Emma glanced at her, she saw a flush creep up the old lady's neck and into her cheeks like a caress. "I felt dumbstruck. I was just shy of my twenty first birthday, a year younger than him and we hadn't spoken for more than ten years. I gaped like a fish and felt a complete fool." Her fingers fluttered to her mouth and Emma felt alarmed to see a tear drip down onto Freda's skirt.

Emma reached out and gripped the gnarled fingers in hers, squeezing them in an attempt to infuse love. Freda sandwiched Emma's cold hand between hers and lifted it to her lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Bless you, dear," she whispered.

Freda was quiet for the remainder of the journey. Emma found the Common's car park in the west of the town and parked the Mercedes, abandoning it with a shrug of embarrassment at the wonky parking. "I'm so rubbish at driving this car," she muttered as she helped Freda out of the passenger side, frustrated at her complete absence of skill and squeezing between a trolley bay and the side of the car.

They got seated in the busy Baptist Church coffee shop which heaved with mothers and small toddlers. Freda dabbed at her eyes with a spotted handkerchief and watched a little redheaded girl around three years old. Emma smiled at the concentration on the child's face as she poured tea into a china mug from a metal tea pot, pretending to be a big girl in the special moment with her mother. Freda hiccoughed. "She reminds me of one of my sisters. Little Sophia." She smoothed the white tablecloth with a shaking hand and then tapped it smartly. "Memories, memories." With a huge effort, she turned to Emma with a smile plastered on her pink lips.

"Hello, Freda!" A lady in her sixties approached the table, pulling a notepad and pencil from the front pocket of her frilly apron. "Nice to see you out and about." The waitress bent and kissed Freda's sallow cheek and then greeted Emma with a smile and a nod. "What can I get you both?"

Emma's face dropped, remembering her offer and rising from her seat. "I just need to nip back to the car..." she began, mentally adding up the value of Rohan's loose change in the ashtray.

"No, no, dear." Freda placed her fingers over Emma's. "My treat. You did the driving and after all," she wrinkled her nose, "we had immense fun up at the big house."

"Ooh, the big house!" The waitress became animated. "Did you go to the auction?"

"No, just for a nosey. We came away before the auction started. I didn't think I could bear seeing all the Ayers furniture being sold for next to nothing."

"No, you wouldn't, dear, would you?" the waitress sympathised. She took their order, scrawling slowly onto the pad in a neat script reminiscent of the 1950's school taught hand. Emma waited until she was out of earshot before leaning in towards Freda.

"Thank you so much for morning tea," she said, putting her hand over Freda's. "But why is it so cheap? How can a pot of tea and scones for two come to under five pounds? Did she make a mistake?"

"No, dear. It's staffed by volunteers from the church. I did a couple of hours until recently. The doctor wouldn't renew my driving licence so I'm waiting for my mobility scooter to arrive. Then I might come back and do a few hours. It's a great privilege to work here and it makes a cup of tea accessible to some of the families of our town. My husband would have approved." Her eyes misted over again and Emma grew silent. Freda collected herself after a few moments and smiled beneficently at Emma. "I was telling you about him, wasn't I?"

Emma nodded and leaned forward, keen to hear Freda's fascinating story. "Yes, he approached you at the market."

Freda sighed. "Ah, but what I didn't tell you was my John lost an arm in the war and part of his face. Despite all that, he was the handsomest soul I ever met. He approached me, because he knew I wouldn't stare at him and I realised as I watched his beautiful lips move through words filled with bravado, it didn't matter a bit. I loved him then as much as I did when I was ten and he kissed me behind the wall of the coach house during a game of hide and seek."

The tea arrived with a plate of scones and Emma watched while Freda buttered her scone with shaking hands. "You pour please dear," the old lady ordered and Emma obliged, gushing tea into the cups while she waited, desperate for the rest of the tale. She accidentally put in too much sugar in her eagerness, but Freda waited until she'd sampled her scone before resuming.

"John asked my father if he could court me and the bitter old man refused. He threatened to throw me out of the house if we persisted. War is a great leveller of society, Emma and it changed everything. But John was my cousin on Geoffrey Ayers side, the youngest son of Edgar Ayers. Being first cousins and with John a son of the big house, it made our love impossible to sustain." Freda sighed and looked at Emma. "Tell me about your young man, dear."

"No!" Emma's face screwed up in horror. "Don't do that. Don't turn it back on me without telling me what happened!"

"I need you to talk for a while, so I can drink my tea," Freda smiled, with a twinkle in her eye. She raised an eyebrow at Emma and brooked no complaint.

"Fine!" Emma huffed and sipped her tea. "My father married a Russian woman with two sons when I was six. I felt this incredible link to the eldest son, although back then I was too young to know it was attraction; but it never went away. He was three years older than me and he kinda kept his distance until I was older. I became very attached to Anton, his younger brother and we were inseparable. There was a two year gap between us, but it felt like nothing." Emma smiled until she remembered Anton was gone, then her face clouded over with an all-encompassing darkness. Freda reached a hand across and gripped Emma's fingers but didn't interrupt. "When I was twelve, I got into a fight at school with a boy. He was bigger than me and I used dirty tactics to fend him off. A huge crowd gathered and I can't even remember what it was over, but suddenly Rohan waded in and ended it really quickly. He was always tall and strong for his age, blond and good looking. Something about his Russian accent sounded intimidating and other children didn't mess with him. But the boy cut my lip and ripped my blouse and I knew Ro's mother would go mad when she saw it. Ro said nothing all the way home and it was a pretty decent walk. He strode along next to me and I knew he was angry because he gives off this kind of...angry hum." Emma saw Freda's lips curl in a smile.

"We were almost home and I felt like a coiled spring. I knew I'd be punished for the rip and Ro was the last person I wanted disappointed in me and it all sort of bubbled over. I hurled my school bag on the pavement and threw an almighty tantrum." Emma laughed and covered her mouth. "Anton loved drama class and he would have been impressed. It felt fantastic, just letting off steam." Emma looked down at her uneaten scone. "Rohan just stood there and looked at me, throwing myself around like a maniac and then he laughed. He actually laughed at me. I felt stupid and this rage bubbled up inside. I tried to slap his face and he caught my wrist and...well, he kissed me."

Freda's eyes crinkled in pleasure and she patted Emma's writhing fingers. "And you married when you were sixteen?"

Emma nodded. "Yes. Ro was nineteen and already in the army. We ran away to Gretna Green and married at the blacksmith shop. Ro did all the paperwork and Anton helped with a cover. My stepmother didn't know Rohan was due home on leave. He was at Cottesmore and picked me up on the way through. Anton faked this whole big farce and conned his mother into thinking I went on a school trip. I don't think she ever found out." Emma smirked. "She has no idea we married, or still are."

"What went wrong?" Freda urged, sipping her tea one handed and centring Emma with the other, offering a gentle, intermittent stroke of her fingers.

Emma sighed. "We didn't sleep together until we were married and I fell pregnant straight away. I didn't have a mother to help me so I was naive. I threw up at school every morning for weeks on end and another girl told me what she thought it was. When my stomach started to swell, I knew. After we were married, Rohan was meant to apply for a married quarter on the army base to get me away from his mother, but in the interim, he was deployed to Afghanistan. The last time I saw him, I was meant to tell him about the baby, but all he could talk about was someone else's war. I thought he came to get me, but he didn't. He wanted me to wait for him and live with his mother. He told me to finish school. I was so angry, I walked out and when I cooled down enough to go home; he'd gone."

Emma gave a shuddering breath. "His brother helped me leave Lincoln and took me to a family member in Wales. I had my son and didn't see Rohan again until recently."

"That's so sad." Freda's brow knitted in concern. "Will you get back together?" she asked and Emma shrugged.

"I don't know, Freda. Too much has happened and he has this girlfriend hanging around, so probably not, no."

"We should see her off, for a start!" Freda waved the butter knife threateningly and Emma resisted the urge to laugh.

"Now you finish your story!" Emma insisted. "What happened with you and John?"

"We also ran away, dear, but not so far. We were both over the age of consent and whilst it would have been lovely to have our parents' blessing, we didn't actually need it. John made an honest woman of me and took me home to his parents. It's no surprise we were thrown out, quite dramatically. The words _incest_ and _disgusting_ were bandied about as they would have been with you, I suppose. Even now, those two words make me cringe. The gates of Wingate Hall closed behind us and John never returned to see his family. We were dead to them, although in my ninetieth year, it all seems so foolish and trivial now. The world has changed such a great deal and illegitimate children and cousins marrying are the very least of society's problems. My John was the love of my life until he died last year. Sixty eight years we were married and I wouldn't change one of them for a different life. God didn't bless us with children, but it was a small price to pay for marrying one's sweetheart, wouldn't you say?" She fixed perceptive eyes on Emma, who nodded in obedience.

"Did you stay in the town?" Emma asked and Freda shook her head.

"No, no, dear. We lived as missionaries in the Philippines and settled there when we retired. But I grew homesick after John's death and wanted to be here to die. I returned a year ago and took an apartment in the flats off the Northampton Road. It'll see me out." She smiled philosophically and started on the uneaten half of Emma's scone.

"What's wrong, dear?" she asked, responding to the paleness of Emma's face.

Emma leaned in close, so only she could hear. "Rohan's mother lives in those apartments. She moved in there a few years ago."

"Oh, I might know her," Freda smiled, pushing her teacup towards Emma so she would pour the last drops into her cup.

"Maybe." Emma became tight lipped and unresponsive, pouring the tea woodenly.

"What's her name?" Freda pushed. "I won't tell," she whispered.

"It's not that; she knows I'm here. We've already had an argument. Rohan banned her from coming round to the house, it's just..." Emma faltered. "I can't let her near my son. Through the kindness of my silly brother-in-law, she now thinks Nicky is his. She bailed me up in the park recently and demanded to see him. All these years, she thought I got knocked up by some spotty teenager in my class but obviously now, the issue of him being her grandson has made her more dogged. I can't let her anywhere near Nicky. She tried to kill him before he was born and I know for a fact she can't be trusted around children; well, around anyone really."

"Oh, that's so sad. We'll just keep our little friendship a secret then, won't we?" Freda beamed. "Who is this terrifying woman?"

"Alanya Harrington," Emma whispered and Freda's eyes bulged like blue marbles.

"The Black Widow!" she breathed. " _She's_ your mother-in-law?"

Emma's jaw dropped. "What did you call her?"

Freda grasped both Emma's hands and held them in a vice-like grip. "She befriends the elderly men, silly old fools! We think she kills them but we just haven't worked out how yet."

# Chapter 32

The next day, Nicky was difficult about getting into the car to go to school, kicking up a fuss on the pavement. "I wanna take Faz," he complained on this particular morning, stamping and posturing. "I wanna run in the park in the snow!"

"Get in the bloody car!" Emma snapped, casting her eyes frantically around the street as she cleared ice off the windscreen. Rohan warned her to be careful and Freda's news about Alanya instilled further fear into Emma's already overloaded brain. She had driven Freda home but refused to go into the flats, fearful of meeting Alanya. Freda wrote her phone number on a napkin and extorted a promise from Emma to have morning tea again sometime.

"Om er! Swearing!" Nicky squeaked, striking a hands-on-hips pose so much like Anton, it took Emma's breath away. "I'm sick of this! You never walk the dog anymore. It's cruel!" Nicky climbed into the car with genuine reluctance, mollified by his mother's stony glare and the determination in her eyes.

"I already said; I need you to do as you're told for a while," Emma bit, locking the doors and turning to face her son. He stared at her, wide-eyed and fearful at the sudden intensity on her face.

"Is the gang after us?" His mind regressed to the miserable council estate in Lincoln where they lived on their wits and drifted like flotsam with the prevailing tide of trouble.

"No, baby." Emma reached behind her and gripped Nicky's outstretched hand. "But Uncle Rohan asked us to be very careful and we live in his house so have to do what he says."

"Like monsters are chasing us?" Nicky said and Emma sighed.

"Kinda. We just need to do what Rohan said. But Nicky, don't tell anyone please? This isn't exciting or something to tell friends. Okay?" Emma stared at him until she got a crick in her neck, searching for surety he would be wiser than his years.

"Pinky promise, Mummy." The child stretched forward and clasped her baby finger with his, the deal struck easily with a trusting smile and a belief in the impossible. "Harley Man said not to worry. He'll take care of us anyway."

"I thought you grew out of him," Emma said, her voice laced with disappointment.

"No!" Nicky chortled. "How can you grow out of a person, Mummy? I seen him round all the time. He keeps us safe, like always."

"Oh, goody." Emma struggled with the huge vehicle, missing Rohan's capable driving skills with every groan of the engine or jerk of the car body. Nicky sniggered as she almost side swiped another car in the car park. "You don't like this car, do you, Mummy?"

"Not really, Nick. It's too big." Emma glanced in her rear view mirror. "Sorry for swearing at you before. I just feel stressed. Christmas isn't far away and..." Emma stopped and put the hand brake on. Nicky unclipped his seat belt and stood up, reaching forward to hug his mother around the seat. His arms felt tight around her neck.

"Uncle Ro showed me how to get to the money. You want me to show you tonight?"

"I don't know, babe. We're not really his responsibility, are we?"

"It's not charity. We're looking after his house and his dog and his...well, you're not really looking after his car, are you Mummy? Do you think he'll notice that little scratch on the..."

"Fine! Show me how to get into the safe this weekend, okay?"

"Okay. Oh Mum, I forgot to say, the Christmas nativity is next Friday in the afternoon. I'm gettin' tickets for you and Uncle Ro and Uncle Anton. Can you tell them for me?" He leaned forward and kissed her softly on the cheek and Emma struggled to keep her tears in. Unable to lie any more to her son, Emma kept silent. "I think they'll love how I'm a wise man. I have to wave my telescope and shout, 'This way!' to the other wise men. I'm gonna do it real funny to make Uncle Anton laugh. I love it when he laughs. Do you think he'll laugh at me, Mummy? Do you?"

"I don't know," Emma whispered, barely holding it together.

She returned home after dropping her son at school, avoiding small talk with the other mothers and knocking around the house aimlessly. She avoided the urge to drive to the Northamptonshire border, to the beautiful mansion, which by now would be stripped and empty. She went there so often it was bound to attract attention eventually, if Rohan's fears were real. Emma imagined what it would be like to drive up the long driveway, climbing the gradient through open fields and grazing sheep to a place which looked so much like her perfect home. It called her there like a beacon, promising peace and sanctuary and now she knew its history, Emma found it increasingly hard to stay away. But the petrol gauge on Rohan's car clicked onto a quarter full that morning and Emma dreaded the journey to a tightly structured garage forecourt to fill it up again. She would have to use Rohan's cash from the hiding place under the stairs somewhere and besides, Emma wasn't confident in small spaces with the enormous, imposing vehicle. It wouldn't end well.

When the hammering on the front door came, Emma jumped almost clean out of her skin. Peering through the stained glass at eye level, she saw Felicity.

"Where's Rohan?" The woman pushed past her and stopped in the hallway, casting around and looked at Emma in accusation.

"He's gone away. I'm sure he told you." Emma's impatience was obvious in her voice and she tapped her foot on the floor. Felicity glanced down at the tattered boots which Emma hadn't removed and sneered.

"He's my boyfriend. I don't know what your game is, but you need to back off! It all went wrong when you turned up."

"Why aren't you at work?"

"I'm sick."

"You don't look sick."

"Maybe I'm sick of you!"

Emma smirked at the lame attempt at a threat and opened the door wider. "Go home, Felicity. When Rohan comes back, talk to him. Until then, stay away from me and Nicky."

"I want to wait for my fiancé!" Felicity stood her ground and Emma snapped.

"Well, wait for him then! You're just not doing it here! Get out!"

Felicity moved over the threshold and hovered on the doormat. "I know you're in love with him. As soon as Rohan gets home, we're getting married and there's nothing you can do about it. I'll make sure you're out of this house the second I get that ring on my finger, you make no mistake about that! You're sick if you think he'd ever like you. Alanya says you're a whore and you are. It's incest. It's disgusting. You're disgusting!"

Emma slammed the door in her face and the glass rattled. "Did you see that? I am so tired of being called names! I didn't choose to fall in love with Rohan bloody Andreyev!" Emma clapped her hand over her mouth, too late to stop the declaration spinning out into the open. She'd said it. Farrell gave a woof of approval and wound around her legs like a giant, woolly black cat, getting underfoot. "She's insane!" Emma retorted to cover her embarrassment.

Emma cleaned the house until lunchtime, changing and washing bedding, tumble drying and putting it back on the beds. She killed time, constantly checking her phone for a message from Rohan until the obvious dawned on her and sent her spiralling into distress. "Ro doesn't have my number!" she wailed to the dog. "I never gave him it! He can't even let me know if he's okay!" Emma wrung her hands in desperation, having wasted three weeks in foolish checking and rechecking for an impossibility. He'd been gone such a long time, things must have gone wrong for him. Emma felt worry like a sickness in her heart and no amount of pushing it away seemed to work in the last few days. It felt like an omen.

Finally, rattled beyond belief, she made a foolish decision. "Come on, Faz. We'll go for a really short walk along the street, yeah? I'm sick of being cooped up indoors. I need to get out. _On foot!_ "

Even the dog looked doubtful and slouched down in the corner of the kitchen on the cold tiles.

"We won't go far. Just down to the side road half way along Newcombe Street and I'll throw the ball for you on the waste ground behind the house. What do you say?"

Farrell yawned and refused to be drawn, uncharacteristically ignoring Emma as she rattled his leash. "Fine!" she said finally, in irritation. "I'll walk down and see Allaine, without you!"

He stood up at that declaration, allowing Emma to fit the leash onto his collar. He slunk along next to her, stuck to her left leg, so close he almost pitched her over with his inflexibility. At Allaine's gate, Emma sent the dog through first and he sat on the front doormat, waiting for her to follow. Emma watched as his tail thumped a tiny beat, his huge eyes watching as she rang the doorbell.

"Drop the leash, Emma." Christopher's clear voice made her jump and she turned quickly, finding herself up against his chest. "Just do as I say, darlin'. Drop the leash and they'll leave the dog here."

Emma gulped and did as she was told. Christopher smiled at her, an expression which seemed genuine. "How could you? You're a double crossing git! And a pervert!" she hissed at him and his eyes grew wary.

"Just do what they say, Emma," he advised. "They're definitely goin' to kill me, but you might be okay, if you're a good girl for once. And I'm definitely not a pervert, thanks. "

Christopher took her arm after patting the useless dog on the forehead, leading her down the path to the street and clicking the gate shut behind him. "Will your friend take care of the dog?" he asked, sounding concerned.

Emma didn't answer, allowing herself to be pushed towards the road side. Within seconds the dark car with the tinted windows was in front of her, Christopher jabbing her in the back to make her get in. Emma lurched into the back door of the large vehicle, falling face first into the seat. Christopher got in behind her, pushing at her bottom until he was in and the door was closed. The vehicle moved forward even before he managed to secure the door and Emma saw Farrell standing up against the front fence of Allaine's garden, barking his furry head off in distress.

# Chapter 33

"Get off me, you...you..."

"Shut up, Emma." Christopher's calm, level voice acted as a warning, silencing her. He reached out to take her hand and she took a swipe at him with it. His dark brown eyes flared and a smirk spread across his handsome face. "Feisty! It would've been fun, darlin'." He reached again and successfully pinioned her wrist between vicelike fingers. He kept one eye on the two men in front and when Emma finally stopped wriggling, he looked down at her hand. Prising her fist open, he smoothed long fingers across her palm as though unfolding a piece of paper. The backs of his fingers were dusted with dark hairs as he used them to write something on the soft skin. It tickled and Emma jerked her hand away. Christopher shook his head a fraction and began again.

His long index finger caressed Emma's palm with long sensuous strokes and she grew still.

_Keep...quiet_...

Emma watched without turning her head. Christopher gave her a sideways glance, waiting for a response. She nodded once and he smoothed her palm again, removing the invisible sentence.

Do...as...I...say...

Emma exhaled in a snuff and rolled her eyes, fear beginning to take hold of her heart and squeeze it until she found it hard to fill her lungs.

You...okay...?

Emma shook her head and bit her lip, seeing Christopher's eyebrows knot together in concern. He stretched his fingers out across her palm and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb.

"What're you doing back there?"

Emma jumped, embarrassed to hear the whimper escape her lips. For the first time since entering the car, she took note of the driver and passenger. The men from the nightclub sat in front of her, the stockier one of the two looking straight at her, his head twisted round from the passenger seat. His blue eyes bulged and his unshaven face looked flaccid and beefy.

"The wee lass is scared," Christopher answered, sounding bored.

"Yeah, well keep her quiet!" the man spat. "We don't want no trouble."

"That's what I am doing ya wee shite!" Christopher bit back. "Now turn ya fat face round, yer makin' me sick!"

"Can you 'ear this?" The man jabbed his thumb backwards towards the back seat and the driver nodded.

"Yeah. Don't worry about it. Just watch out 'e dun't put 'is hand round yer throat from behind and snap yer neck!"

The passenger screwed his neck round again, turning his eyes on Christopher with suspicion in his face. Christopher rewarded him with a beatific smile in return and the man sat back round, keeping his head well away from the headrest, just in case.

Emma watched her companion smirk so broadly he bit down on his bottom lip to control it. A cute dimple appeared in his right cheek and he glanced at Emma with mischief in his brown eyes. Alarmed, Emma tugged at her hand to release it from his grasp. He tightened his grip and turned his beautiful face to her, his eyes dancing and sparkling in their deep sockets. Christopher raised an eyebrow and winked.

Emma's eyes widened. The man treated everything like a game. Unable to work out which side he was on, she panicked, yanking her hand hard and breaking free. The car moved at a steady pace through traffic on Northampton Road heading south and Emma grappled with the door handle.

The passenger reached around with grasping fingers and snatched hold of Emma's leg, pinching so hard she cried out in pain. "Sit still!" he yelled at her. Emma pulled at the door handle repeatedly, her breath hitching as it refused to open.

"Get hold of 'er!" the driver yelled at Christopher. He turned to his passenger. "I knew you should've sat in the back with 'er!"

"She wouldn't get in for me, would she?" he screeched back, digging his fingers so hard into Emma's thigh, her leg began to go numb.

Christopher sat in the back next to her, separated by the middle seat. His narrowed eyes observed Emma's hysterics with casual interest and she shot a frenzied, horrified look in his direction. Unable to get out of the door, she turned her wasted aggression on him instead. She leaned towards him, bending the passenger's fingers backwards in the movement so he roared in pain and withdrew his hand from her thigh. Then she aimed to thump Christopher hard in the face. His body arched back with amusement in his eyes, lighting the fuse in Emma's sanity and leaving her little choice.

"She bit me!" Christopher sounded so shocked, his voice rose a few octaves and the two men in front laughed, dispersing the tension. The traffic cleared as Emma made another lurch for his arm, sinking her teeth into the flesh underneath his jacket. "Stop, you little..." Christopher put his palm in front of her face, bending her head up and squashing her nose painfully against hard bone. Undeterred, Emma snapped at the fleshy palm against her lips, securing a thin piece of skin between her two front teeth. Christopher swore like a sailor and the men in the front of the vehicle laughed again, dulling his voice as he leaned down and whispered in Emma's ear. "If you want them to treat you bad, you're goin' the right way about it!"

Emma sat up with a huge inhalation, her anger dissipating with Christopher's warning. "I hate you!" she hissed, shifting her legs across the ridge between their foot wells. She administered a last painful kick at Christopher's calf and he leaned down and pinned her by the shin.

"Enough!" he shouted. Emma felt his breath on her face, stirring the hair which escaped down her cheeks in wispy tendrils. She sat up, her eyes filling with tears and her bottom lip protruding like a child's.

"Don't cry, don't cry," Christopher whispered. He looked genuinely pained as he brushed the hair out of her face with gentle fingers. Emma sniffed, the last of her resolve draining away and Christopher unclipped his seatbelt and shifted over towards her. "Come 'ere." He pulled her stiff body into his kissing the top of her head and wrapping his arms around her. An irritating noise sounded in the front of the car, a persistent bell clanging in warning.

"Put yer seatbelt back on!" the driver shouted, jerking his head backwards.

"Shut it!" Christopher snapped over the top of Emma's head. "She's upset."

"I don't care, get it back on!"

"Stop the car and I'll just shoot him in the legs!" the passenger said to the driver and Emma froze and let out a moan of dismay.

"No, no, I'll stop! I'll behave!" she pleaded, her brown eyes wide and terrified as she looked up at Christopher. His eyes flashed surprise and then pleasure as he scooted round and clipped the centre lap belt across his stomach. His long legs splayed either side of the ridge and he wound a strong, masculine right arm around Emma's shoulders. The alarm on the dashboard ceased. She buried her face in his shoulder and allowed frightened tears to dampen his jacket. Her hand rested gently on his thigh and one handed, Christopher turned it over and flattened her palm out.

Help...will...come...

Emma peered up with trusting brown eyes, praying he was right. She linked her fingers through his and tried to calm down, grounding herself in the safety Christopher gave her. He was a double crossing Irish git, but for now he seemed to be in as much strife as her

"What about Nicky?" she whispered and the passenger immediately turned round and faced her. Emma realised with a jolt, why Christopher kept signing on her hand.

"Who's Nicky?" he asked, bulging eyes red rimmed and unpleasant.

Emma's mouth opened but the look on his face stopped her before she risked her son's safety too.

"The dog," Christopher said. "It's fine. It ran down the road. It'll probably get run over."

"Yeah, well it better," the man growled. "Let's just hope it's not chipped."

The journey took six hours, during which Christopher held Emma's hand and observed the two men up front through cold, expressionless brown eyes. The day disappeared from under them, the last vestiges of daylight claimed by blackness and yellow street lamps. Emma was desperately uncomfortable after the third hour, fighting a need for the toilet which grew overwhelming. They drew up outside a huge house made of red brick, somewhere north of the sign for Falkirk. The sudden lack of engine noise sounded deafening and Emma's ears hummed without its constant buzz.

"I'm busting for the toilet," she complained and Christopher's hand tightened on her wrist.

"We all are!" the passenger snapped. "But we couldn't exactly stop, could we?"

Emma's door was opened and the man put his hand inside. "You get out nice and slow and no stupid moves. Otherwise we just shoot ya and be done with this shit!"

Emma leaned up against the side of the car, clenching her nether regions to prevent an accident. Christopher seemed impossibly long exiting and emerged rubbing his backside. "Geez, my ass has gone to sleep!" he exclaimed.

"Well, nobody told yer to sit in the middle, did they?" the driver remarked grumpily. His bald head glowed in the overhead light from the front door. The building was so huge, it extended either side of the lighted area and rose up before them, an imposing structure in daylight but overbearing at night. Their new prison was to be a Scottish stately home.

Both men pushed Christopher round to face the side of the car, using his temporary weakness to force his hands behind his back and slip handcuffs onto his wrists. He groaned as they tightened them with unnecessary cruelty.

Emma panicked, backing away and shaking her head. "No, no, no! Please don't put any on me. I'm gonna pee myself!" Hysteria laced her voice.

"They won't if yer just do as yer told," Christopher reassured her gently. His dark fringe hung over his eyes and he looked exhausted. Emma hobbled over to his side as the driver pulled him away from the car and pushed him towards the enormous front door.

# Chapter 34

"We'll be here until yer man gets back from his job," Christopher sighed, snuggling up to Emma's stiff back. He wound his arm over hers and underneath her stomach, pinning his cold hand and splaying his fingers.

"When will that be?" she whispered into the darkness.

"Can't be long if they've taken you now. They wanted to do it weeks ago, before he did the job but I convinced them not to."

"Why? Why would you care?" Emma asked, turning her head so she could sense Christopher's face in the darkness.

"Lotsa reasons." His accent sounded lyrical and comforting in its whispered tones. "I knew the Actuary wouldn't do a convincing enough job of retrieving the drive if he knew they had you. At least this way, he's gone in and out without drawin' attention to himself. To him, it's just a normal job and he won't mess up; apart from the fact I'm not there so it won't be as smooth. The other reasons were personal. I wanted time to tool up because I knew when they took you, it was game over for me as well. I did a little bit of double crossing a while ago, so it was only a matter of time. Their boss doesn't like to lose."

"But you only asked them for another hour, in the nightclub. You said, one hour."

"What yer sayin'?" Christopher sounded genuinely confused. "Nobody said anything about an hour."

"You did!" Emma hissed. She turned so she was on her back and Christopher stayed leaning half over her body. Emma felt the fabric of his trousers through her socks as she moved her foot sideways. "I read your lips. You said, 'One hour.'" She did a poor impression of his Irish accent and musical tenor voice and he laughed out loud.

"What kinda shite lip readin' school did you go to?" he chuckled. "The one for eejits who haven't a clue what's goin' on?"

"I don't have a clue what's going on!" Emma's voice wobbled and she gave a huge, undignified sniff. "I thought Rohan did maths all day but now I find he's...what is he doing?"

"He assesses risk and then eliminates it. He does the maths and works out projected outcomes with all the other number crunchers. They move on to spreading the cost but he calculates how to solve the problem. Nowadays the risk is stolen information; prototypes, databases or damaging emails, stored on a portable hard drive or some other device. It's Rohan's job to get it back before the thief does anything with it."

Emma stayed eerily silent and Christopher jabbed her lightly in the ribs. He leaned up on one elbow and brushed his other hand lightly across her face. "I told them, _not now;_ the guys in the bar. I don't know in what weird Emma world that came out as _one hour_. But I'm guessin' that's why you ran?"

"It's probably your accent," she reasoned with a sigh. "But yes, it's why I ran away from you. I imagined...well, it doesn't matter now." Emma sighed and laid her head back against the mattress.

"You thought I was a weirdo sex predator?" Christopher stroked the line of Emma's throat, running his finger from underneath her chin to the line of her sweatshirt. She shivered, wondering how terrible it would be to allow him to undress her and enjoy one final moment of pure lust and satiation before she died.

Christopher snuffed once and moved his elbow, laying down flat and pulling Emma into him. She settled with the back of her head on his chest, his arm laid across her stomach. The heat radiating from his body made Emma realise how cold she felt. Christopher sighed. "I had lots of chances to make a move on you, if I'd wanted to," he whispered. "I've been following you on and off for just over four years. I couldn't believe it when the Actuary happened across yer at that weddin'. But then I should've guessed, what with his connections."

"What?" Emma sat up sharply and stared at where she thought his face might be in the darkness. She could almost feel him smiling. "Explain _everything!_ " she told him, administering a light slap on his stomach which made him groan.

They snuggled down together on the bare mattress, using Christopher's woollen suit jacket to cover as much of them as possible. The temperature dropped around them as the house failed to protect them against the falling snow outside and the wind pounded the house with what sounded like flurries of ice. "I met Anton through a mutual friend when I came out of the Air Force." Christopher's whispers calmed Emma's fears and offered a soporific effect. "He was friends with someone I knew and gave us tickets to go and see him in this crazy performance he was in. Man, he was just so...so..."

"Full of life?" Emma offered and she heard Christopher's hair shuffle against the mattress as he nodded.

"Yeah. He was such fun to be with and we knocked around for a year or so before he told me about you. He had me tail you from time to time just so he knew you were okay."

"Was I okay?" Emma asked, hearing the absurdity of the question as it left her lips.

"Aye, mostly," Christopher answered, his smile leaking into his speech. "And sometimes not. Like when ya didn't have enough for the electric bill that time in the post office, or the time that letchy guy from your second year history paper wouldn't leave ya alone."

Emma sat up in astonishment. "Anton sent Lucya money just at the right time and that horrid guy fell down some stairs. He ignored me for the rest of my degree. He wouldn't even look at me!"

"Aye, well I told him not to," Christopher snuffed in the darkness. "Cocky wee shite. But mostly, yeah, I could report to Anton that you were okay."

"So how did you end up working with Rohan?"

"Working for him, Emma. It's not a partnership, not really. Well, Anton asked one time if I wanted to meet the Actuary."

"Why do you call him that?"

"That's how I know him. And he knows me as Hack. It's our business arrangement. It was best we knew as little as possible about each other. In case. It was how the Actuary wanted to play so I played along. Ironic really, seeing as I know everything about him, so I do." Christopher didn't offer explanations of what Rohan thought might happen if he revealed himself to this Irishman and Emma chose not to ask, shivering at the possibilities her tired brain conjured up for her. Rohan was right. Christopher _did_ know him and had subsequently put him in danger.

Christopher cuddled Emma in closer, over locking his arms behind her back and assuming it was the cold torturing her and not her thoughts. "Anyhoo, Anton said his brother needed some help. He knew I was into writing computer programmes and having great success in the gaming world. He also knew I was military police in the Air Force. It fitted the Actuary's needs and we met and that's how it began, about three years ago. It made Anton feel better about what his brother did for a living and I've worked for him on numerous jobs and made a heap of money at it. But then it started to go wrong." Christopher sighed and Emma waited patiently, allowing him to collect his thoughts.

"We did a job which went bad. The Actuary made the retrieval of a database a guy copied before leaving his job. It contained sensitive information relating to covert military operations by the American government and the guy fancied himself as a whistle blower. The Actuary paid him a visit in the usual style and offered him cash first and then violence second. The guy opted for the cash and handed the drive over but then after the Actuary left, the stupid wee shite tipped himself off a twenty third floor balcony onto a Dubai street."

"Ugh!" The thought made Emma feel sick.

"Oh yeah! Messy! So it opened up a whole big problem with the local cops. Luckily the Actuary always takes precautions and their security cameras and evidence search picked up nothing that could link back to us. But it's when we became aware there was someone goin' behind us; when the cash was never found. There was another job before that; a politician playing heavy on email. He tried to get a government minister to allow a Chinese Triad to immigrate to Britain despite a string of convictions. The minister caved and let him in but someone stole his laptop with the emails on. The ministry wiped the backups and got ready to deny everything but they needed the laptop so they could cover it all up properly. I found the culprit and Rohan paid him off. When we looked back at that, we thought the mark gave it up easily because of the types of others desperate for his information. A skinhead political opponent wanted that laptop very badly and they weren't nice people so we figured it was easier for him to sell to us. But then he went missing and wound up decapitated in the River Thames. We thought initially it was the skinheads but then we literally tripped over the Contessa and her nasty little band of highly paid thugs. They were tailing us and cleaning up afterwards; taking the cash and disposing of the owners. This time, they want the risk itself, as leverage. It's a real juicy one. You're the bait to make the Actuary play the game; kidnap his wee sister. Clever, hey?"

Emma stayed silent. They had scored better than just a stepsister and something told her Christopher was fully aware of Rohan's marital status. He seemed to know everything else; why not that?

Emma made sleepy snuffling noises and pushed her face into Christopher's shirt. Worry about Rohan and Nicky exhausted her emotionally and she no longer knew who to trust. But Christopher was here for the moment and rubbed her back gently, kissing her forehead. "Want me to stop talking?"

"No. It's making me feel safe."

"It's putting you to sleep!"

"Please keep going. I need to hear your voice. How old are you?"

"Ancient, lass. Okay, well, I got word that Anton was sick and went to see him. He asked me to take paid work watching out for you permanently and I didn't feel I could say no."

There came a long pause. Emma put her hands against Christopher's chest and pushed herself back. "It was you in the garden?"

"Aye."

"I only heard the dog bark a couple of times. How come?"

Christopher gave a low chuckle. "I've known that wee fella since he was a pup. We get on just fine, Farrell an' me."

"How often did you tail me?"

"All the time! I don't do a shoddy job, woman! I followed ya everywhere, even to that wedding up north. The car you booked was a heap of crap so I went in behind ya and paid for an upgrade. I couldn't risk you breakin' down on the motorway because I'd have to pull in behind yer." He planted soft lips against Emma's cold forehead. "I knew the minute you clapped eyes on me, you'd want me for yerself and that wasn't part of the deal." He laughed as Emma slapped his chest.

"Well now I _know_ you didn't do a proper job!" She heard the smirk in her own voice. "Fat Brian would never let you on the estate. He'd smell you a mile off and...well, you'd end up with broken legs or just plain broke, one of the two."

"Aye, well about that," Rohan chuckled. "I've been on and off that estate as long as you have, but I usually just intimidated him into letting me move around. After Anton died, I figured I better do a proper job and Fat Brian and his wee flunkeys came to an arrangement with me. Did yer notice how attentive yer man was to you in those last few weeks?"

"Yeah! But I made the mistake of thinking it was because I was kind to him. Okay, so did you hurt him or pay him?"

"I threatened one and did the other. Slimy git! But it meant I could come and go as I wanted. I wanted to help ya, but Anton said I wasn't to let ya see me. So I couldn't."

"Oh." Emma felt small at the thought he'd seen where she lived, her poverty still raw and painful. "You said you were at Susan's wedding? How? All the guests were invited."

"I walked in, bought myself a pint and sat down. A man in a suit with an air of confidence can go anywhere. Your wee boy was very chatty and grown up for his age. I saw you bump into the Actuary and knew the game was up. Anton said you'd run if you saw him so I went outside and waited. Sure enough you came flyin' out and ran for it. I saw his face as he watched you leave and knew he'd find you. He tried to reach out to me even before you were home and I deliberately ignored him, but it wouldn't have been hard to track you down. He has other contacts. A man like him never relies on one source, which has been just as well for him this last few weeks. I haven't been able to help him."

"So it was you the private investigator mentioned when we stopped him following us. He said someone had been following Rohan for a while and he hadn't noticed. But it was you, following me, wasn't it?"

Christopher snorted. "I'm surprised it took him so long to spot that daftie! Actually, I followed you both intermittently, you because Anton asked me to and the Actuary, because I needed to know what he was doing. Having you around put our Russian friend right off his game. He spent more time staring at you than taking notice of his surroundings. I mean, what self-respecting PI tails someone in a white van?"

"I thought it'd be logical. There're white vans everywhere."

"Not driven by pillocks, there aren't!"

"Well, that's actually debatable." Emma grew silent, lulled by the sound of Christopher's regular heartbeat pushing blood through his body. When she spoke, her voice cracked with exhaustion. "I thought his mother put the investigator on him. She said not."

"Na, it wasn't his mother. She's busy doin' other mischief."

"Like what?"

"D'ya know they call her the Black Widow at the residential home?"

"Yeah. I met someone who knows her." Emma pushed herself up on one elbow. "Anton and I were sure she killed his father and mine."

"Aye, I wouldn't be surprised! It'll be somethin' in that herb garden of hers. She plays with it most days like a fanatic. That's where I'd start."

"So who paid...the investigator?" Emma halted half way through her sentence as sleep claimed her and she struggled free.

"Tomorrow, sweetheart," Christopher whispered, stroking her back and resting his chin on the top of her head. "Sleep now. I'm not sure when they'll come. Let me watch over you; like I promised a good friend I would."

# Chapter 35

"Get up! Get up!"

Emma jumped awake at the crash of the heavy door opening and groaned. Trouble floated like air scum overhead, creating a milky pall in the light from the hallway. Rough hands grabbed at her shoulders and hauled her to a sitting position.

"Don't touch 'er!" Christopher threatened, already standing. He held his palms outwards in front of him but his eyes flashed dangerously in the semi-darkness. The man next to him jerked the handgun and Christopher shook his head. "No, I'm not turnin' round for yer, ya wee shite. Make me and tell yer buddy to get his hands off her!"

"Let her go!" the bald man told his mate, his cockney accent enhanced by the grogginess of exhaustion. They were tired too. The rough hands released Emma and she slumped face down into the mattress, trying to recapture some of the lingering warmth from it. Failure brought misery and hopelessness.

"Em," Christopher said softly. "Come here, sweetheart." He kept his hands outstretched against the threat of the gun but jerked with his head and encouraged with dark eyes. He smiled, his white teeth incongruous against the blackness of the room. "Come."

With a gargantuan sigh, Emma heaved herself upright and stumbled round the bed, skirting the man who watched her progress with gimlet eyes. She saw his bulging eyes flick towards her breasts and allowed the revulsion to twist her face. He looked away, embarrassed and she knew she read him right in the nightclub, a sex predator. "In your dreams, little man," she muttered as she passed and Christopher shook his head at her.

"Behave, Emma!" he warned and she pouted, falling into his side without coordination and jolting him sideways. Christopher grunted and jerked his head at the aggressor facing him. "The wee girl wants to use the bathroom," he said, his face expressionless.

"No time!" the man protested and Christopher gave him a dirty look.

"She wants the toilet!" Christopher took a step forward and the barrel of the gun touched his shirt.

"Oh let her go for a bloody piss!" the other man shouted.

"You're not coming in!" Emma protested and stood rigid.

"We can't separate them," the man with the gun argued with his friend. "And I'm not looking after him by myself." He waved the handgun towards Christopher and took a step back.

"Fine! Send them in together!" the other man snapped. "But be quick. He's on his way now. This isn't what we were told, it's turnin' into a nightmare."

Christopher smiled, evil undertones in his voice. "Oh yeah! It's gonna be your worst nightmare, for sure. You've made the Actuary angry, how dumb is that? I wouldn't wanna be youse guys in about an hour's time. Nice knowin' ya!"

"Shut up! Move!" Their captors moved the couple down the hallway and stopped outside a wide oak door.

"In!" the bald one ordered. "I'm warnin' ya, no messin' around or I'll just shoot the pair of ya!"

"Whatever!" Christopher pushed the door open and walked inside, pulling Emma behind him.

"Leave the door open!" the bald man shouted and stuck his foot in the gap.

"Pervert!" Emma whined, panicking she wouldn't get her jeans down in time at the inviting sight of the toilet. "Turn around!" she complained to Christopher.

He put his finger to his lips and then waved his hand in a circular motion telling her to keep it going. After a moment of confusion, Emma caught on and began talking in a moderately loud voice, whining and complaining. "I thought you were my friend," she droned on. "How could you do this to me?" She used the toilet while Christopher searched around the room for things he could use as weapons.

"Ach, you mean nothin' to me, ya silly wee girl," he intoned with a wink, flushing the toilet as Emma stood buttoning her jeans. He cast around the small room without success.

"Shut your face!" she yelled, covering the sound of Christopher opening a squeaky vanity cupboard and closing it again. He raised an eyebrow in victory and pushed the long screwdriver down the back of his pants, so the handle nestled against the small of his back.

"Get out here, now!" came a voice from outside. Emma moved towards the door, blocking the view of the bathroom while she sulked and Christopher worked behind her.

"I'm just havin' a piss!" Christopher bit back, urinating into the toilet bowl incredibly loudly.

"I'm sick of this!" Emma worked herself up into a full blown tantrum, the panic of the situation communicating itself through this play act. Her body occupied the space between the door and the frame, blinding the men to what Christopher was doing. "I want to go home!" she sobbed, finding the tears were real.

"Just shut up!" The bald man grabbed her arm, forcing her out between the gap as Emma felt Christopher's comforting presence behind her. He looked up at the tall Irishman. "You didn't flush, you dirty bugger!"

Christopher slipped next to Emma and took her arm. "Go do it yerself then, eejit!" he offered. The man pulled a face and shook his head.

"It's not like it matters!" the other man complained and they left the bathroom and headed downstairs. Emma glanced back and saw water pouring down the front of the high cistern and flooding the floor. She looked up at Christopher and he winked at her. His hands were wet up to the elbow. He had stood on the seat, hence the loudness of his toilet and broken the ball valve, making the cistern fill endlessly. He was slowly flooding the upstairs. Futility got hold of Emma in a vicelike grip. _Why would these men care about a flooded house? Would it be enough to cause them to divide even momentarily?_ Her eyes raked the face of the confident man next to her. Christopher's fingers felt freezing through her jacket sleeve and she laid her hand over his and tried to infuse warmth into him.

The two men forced them down the wide sweeping staircase, pushing until Emma almost fell. Christopher's temper seemed close to snapping and the darkness outside the building fastened around them, oppressive and terrifying. "Touch her again and I swear, I'll..." Christopher began and received a gun in the back for his pains. He gritted his teeth, his eyes flashing with barely controlled violence.

The air downstairs was stale and damp as the couple were pushed into a room near the front door. The bald man acted as the mouthpiece, telling them what to do and how. "Sit!" he told Emma, indicating a dining chair in the centre of the room. "Put your hands behind you and don't speak."

Emma shivered and shook as she stumbled over to the chair. The frigid air made her blood run cold and it was an effort to place her arms in the right position. She cried out as a pair of metal cuffs were fixed around her wrists and tightly closed.

"You don't need to do that!" Christopher shouted and both man attacked him simultaneously, tripping him and putting him face down on the wooden floor.

"Stop!" Emma begged, unable to leave the chair and help because of how she was restrained. "Leave him alone!" The chair tipped towards her as she tried to stand up, trapping its seat at the back of her legs.

Christopher's nose bled as he was hauled to his feet, his smart shirt stained from filth and his hands wrenched behind his back. The sound of a mobile phone chirped into the room and the men stopped abusing the bound man with their kicks and punches, while the bald man answered the call. He held his index finger up to silence his comrade. "What? He's coming himself? Well, yeah, everything's ready." He sounded pleased and puffed himself up before the assembled party. "Okay. See you soon." He rang off and stuffed the phone back into his inside pocket, punching the air with his fist.

"What?" the other guy asked, looking nervous.

"The Actuary's nearly here but the boss is right behind him!" the man whooped, seeming to forget his role as psychotic kidnapper and prospective killer. "He wants to thank us for bringing the leverage."

"Awesome!" the other man grinned, shoving dark, greasy hair out of his face. He dragged his fingers though his fringe, trying to shove it backwards and flatten it to his head as it was at the nightclub. "We still gonna get paid?"

"Yeah sure!" the bald man reassured him, forgetting his prisoners observing the congratulatory celebration.

Christopher's loud laugh stopped them both in their tracks. "Yeah, sure, you're gonna get paid, so ye are! If yer boss is who I think, you're not leaving here ever!" He snorted and Emma's eyes widened in fear. A strange electrical pulse washed through her body, instantly recognisable as adrenaline. She tried to lift her arms over the high back of the chair and failed, a deadening pain spreading out from her armpits as the cuffs clanked behind her.

"Shut yer face!" the bald cockney retorted. "You don't know nothin', so shut it!"

"Aye, whatever!" Christopher replied and grunted as the handgun was swiped hard across his face. Emma gasped and moaned in misery. She pleaded out loud to Nicky's God, sobbing his name over and over for help, absolution and an end to the terrifying situation.

"Emma! Em!" Christopher saying her name came as a faint prod into her desperation and then louder as she latched onto his voice. He spluttered her name through a cracked lip and Emma took shuddering breaths and listened. "Emma, calm down, sweetheart. Take deep breaths, darlin', hold on, it's gonna be fine."

"Not for you!" The bald man waited until his companion scraped another chair next to Emma's and then pushed Christopher backwards into it. The tall Irishman folded at the knees and sat down, the chair rocking so violently it almost tipped him over backwards. Emma turned sideways and pushed her face into Christopher's bicep, crying quietly and without shame.

"Hush, hush," he whispered to her, kissing the top of her head with sore, gentle lips. "It's gonna be okay. Just hold on, Em. Calm down and wait."

"What're you sayin' to her?" The bald man slapped Christopher around the head again, drawing a hiss of pain from him and a wail from Emma, who was cruelly jolted in the process. Her arms were dragged sideways, the heavy cuffs pulling them down and a moment of clarity made her realise something. Trying to lift her arms painfully upwards and lean forward had failed to release her. But if she tipped sideways enough, she could lean slightly and allow her arms to move to the right and forward, placing her hands carefully on the seat behind her. The chair back no longer separated them from her body.

She sighed and groaned as her numb bones reacted to the release and looking sideways, she saw a nod of approval from Christopher. "Good gal," he mouthed.

A sudden arc of light flashed through the room, two beams; headlights. Emma's heart stalled in her chest as she sensed the tension in the room hike. Her frantic eyes sought Christopher's and she heard him whisper, "Game on," as much to himself as anyone else. One of the men left the room and Emma held her breath.

The vehicle outside drew to a halt on the loose gravel and a car door slammed. Footsteps ran up the stone steps out front and the front door flew open. A dull light bulb flared in the room as the dark haired man entered and flicked the switch, holding the handgun at Rohan's head. A moan of defeat left Emma's lips.

"We're screwed!" Christopher whispered, observing the Russian through dispassionate eyes. Rohan looked beyond exhausted, a thick covering of beard forming a tight blond fuzz around the bottom half of his face. His eyes were red rimmed and dull and he held his body in a tight knot of tiredness. He let the dark haired man push him into the room, offering little resistance.

Christopher acknowledged him with a sharp upwards jerk of his head and only Rohan's eyes changed in his still face. Emma watched her husband, refusing to let the tiny bud of hope die in her breast. Rohan's eyes glossed over her as though she were little more than an ornament and she felt her heart clench in disappointment. She hung her head and closed her eyes, not wanting to witness his dismissal of her any further.

"So, this is the famed Actuary, is it?" the bald man postured, enjoying himself thoroughly. "How disappointing. We've been crapping ourselves, certain it would be harder than this." He moved to stand in front of Rohan and eyed the giant of a man from his disadvantaged stature. "So, before my boss gets here, how about you hand the flash drive over to me and save yourself some trouble?" He held his hand out.

Rohan sighed and narrowed his blue eyes. "I apologise for the disappointment, but you'll have to wait." His voice sounded lusciously deep and attractive, laced by his Russian accent. Emma peeked, keeping her head down so as not to draw attention. Christopher laughed and Rohan's eyes roved to him over the top of the bald man's head. Both men sized Rohan up and in an unspoken agreement decided to leave the frisking of the giant man to someone else.

"Oh. Well, the boss is gonna be stoked with this anyway!" the dark haired man sniggered, waving the gun in Rohan's back. "I can't wait to see him."

Christopher laughed harder and Rohan smirked. The bald man looked from one to the other, realising he was suddenly the butt of an unknown joke. "What?" he asked, moving from foot to foot, unsure of himself. "What's funny?"

Rohan tipped forward slightly, bringing his nose level to the bald man's. "You wanna know?" he asked, his voice hushed. The bald man nodded and looked back at Christopher with doubt standing out in the set of his jaw. In the split second in which he removed his eyes from Rohan's face, the tall Russian flipped his head backwards, catching the dark haired man across his nose. There was a sickening crack as bones gave in his face and Rohan stood upright, faced with the startled eyes of the bald man. Seeing his mate fall to the ground behind Rohan, the bald man aimed the handgun and shot Rohan in the leg. Emma screamed. The shot took Rohan by surprise, but he managed to bend from the waist, snapping up and head butting the bald man in the forehead. His opponent went down with a grunt.

Rohan groaned and grabbed at his knee, releasing a storm of swear words in mixed dialect. He stood up straight, nudging the bald man with his toe as moans and spluttering emerged from the bloodied face. "Your boss is a woman, durak!" he hissed. "And now, she's your palach."

"What's that?" the bald man screeched. "What is it?"

"Executioner," Emma said, hopelessness breaking into her words. Christopher looked sideways at her and raised his eyebrow, releasing his wrists easily from the handcuffs. He stood up and eyed Rohan.

"Thanks for nothing!" the Russian spat. "Why this?" He waved his arm around the room in anger. "Seven hours of driving, only to find two half-assed duraki and you!" His eyes moved over Emma without interest and her heart sank lower into her stomach, bringing sickness with it.

"He shot you?" Christopher looked concerned and Rohan gritted his teeth.

"Yeah. Nice." He moved his prosthetic leg back and forth and Emma released her breath, realising it took the force of the gunshot.

"My boss is coming!" stammered the bald man and Rohan eyed him with disdain.

"Ooh, goody!" His blue eyes sought Christopher again and hate poured from them. He set off walking, his limp much more pronounced. "You did this on purpose!"

Rohan was half a head taller than the Irishman and furious. It made him appear invincible as they squared off to each other. Christopher placed the redundant handcuffs neatly on his chair seat, making Emma clink hers in case there was a secret switch for removing them easily. She doubted it, even as she felt around the casing.

"They jumped me," Christopher said with a smirk easily discernible in his voice. "It seemed like a good opportunity for catching her out so I bargained with them. I knew she'd come personally for this one. We need to get her off our backs. Sorry about your sister being involved...or should I say, your _wife?_ " Christopher cracked his knuckles and Emma looked up at the side of his face, hurt making a dramatic revisit.

"I trusted you!" Emma stood up and forced her way between the men. Her dark eyes were wide with indignation and her arms behind her back forced her to dip slightly forwards. The metal cut into her wrists but anger made her forget to care. "My son's miles away and I've just disappeared! I thought you had no choice but _you_ set this up!" Emma rushed Christopher and barged him, using her full body weight. He didn't budge and she only hurt herself, resorting to kicking him hard in the shins. Rohan grabbed her from behind, wordlessly seizing her upper arms and Emma used the leverage to increase her flurry of kicks, landing one on Christopher's knee and an opportune one in his groin. Christopher gasped and bent over double and Emma was thwarted from inflicting further damage by Rohan spinning her around behind him.

"You fool!" he said to Christopher. "Did you think she'd come alone? What's your plan then, mastermind?" He spoke through gritted teeth and Emma writhed, pinned by his painfully strong grip on her arms, grunting as she struggled to break free. The bald man made a grab for her foot so she kicked him instead, getting him in the stomach and glaring at him. The dark haired man lay on the ground behind them, still static.

"I knew you'd bring the crew," Christopher said, standing up gingerly and rubbing at his crotch. He shot Emma a nasty look, smirking at the end in true Christopher style and betraying his admiration. "Someone's telling her what we're working on and she's coming behind us. She's had her fun. We need to take her out!"

"It's you! You're telling her! And that's not how I operate!" Rohan increased his pressure around Emma's shoulders, preventing her movement. Her neck began to ache and she wiggled until he finally let her go. He turned to face his colleague, forgetting about Emma with frightening speed. "She's linked to the Triads. You don't just eliminate people like that; you learn to work around them. You know that! Why now? Pochemu? Why the big double cross?"

Emma saw Christopher shrug as she backed slowly away from them, skirting the men on the ground and keeping her footsteps light. "I'm sick of it, right! We case a job, we do the ground work and they turn up hot on our heels with a bigger price. I've had enough! And you know it's not me. We both know who the leak is but you won't sort it out."

"So bail out!" Rohan shouted. "Not this!" Emma saw him run his hands through unruly hair. He reached in his pocket and responded to a quiet vibration from his mobile phone. "I know!" he snapped. "Clean it up and get ready!"

Christopher smirked. "See, you always come equipped. Now we can get rid of a little problem and keep going the way we are."

"You reckon?" Rohan's body language set in a stubborn stance and Emma watched as Rohan lashed out at Christopher, hitting him hard in the jaw. Emma slipped towards a rear wall and leaned against it, feeling sickened.

"Is that because you're pissed or because you realised I dated your wife in that hot, red dress?"

"It was you?" Rohan's eyes strayed to Emma fractionally. "That's for trying to screw my wife!" Rohan landed another punch, his ego overriding their bizarre surroundings and imminent danger.

"Well, you didn't exactly want her!" Christopher licked at a cut which bled from the corner of his mouth. "I'm not fighting you, you eejit! So back off!" He raised the back of his hand to touch the spot and blood came away on it. He looked at it as though not believing it was his. "Besides, I thought she'd tell you and you'd be sure to come, not her! If you weren't such a dick, and spent less time playin' with that wee school secretary, you'd have asked the right questions and been straight onto it."

"What questions?" Rohan lashed out again and Christopher ducked.

"Like why I used my _real_ name, when it was clearly me. We agreed at the start, we don't do that. Working names only! And I used yours, like, fifty million times. You didn't think that was odd?" Christopher shook his head in disbelief. "You didn't even ask her, did ya?"

Rohan took a step back, his shirt untucked and a line of blood running down the front of it. His face had an odd grey tinge and he wavered on his legs while he thought for a second. Then his left fist shot out and put a bone crunching punch into Christopher's right eyebrow. The skin split easily like a sausage and blood spurted. Christopher leaned forward and Rohan pushed him back, like a boxer sizing up for a second go.

"Ah, shite! I never followed through with her." Christopher raised himself to his full height, finding he was a few inches shorter than his opponent. He smirked. "I did have a go with yer wee girlfriend though, so. She wasn't that good. Yer not missin' much. Bet she never told you about that now, did she?"

Rohan's fist shot out again, blocked this time by the side of Christopher's arm. The smaller man bounced back on the balls of his feet and egged Rohan on further in his sense of outrage. "She faked all her orgasms, mate. She's fake right through. See, I've released yer now. You can get rid once and for all. You can do the right thing; before I do it for ya!"

Unguarded, Rohan took a blow to the ribs, collapsing forwards in a spasm of pain, but he managed to stay on his feet. Christopher got into his face, shoving him hard. "Anton said you were an idealist, Andreyev. Yer never saw what was right in front of your bloody big Russian nose. Life happens like that and it's all over that quick!" Christopher clicked his fingers and took a step back. "You know that already, man, so yer do. What's wrong with yer?"

The handcuffs clanked as Emma moved and pain reverberated up her elbows and into her shoulders. Her nose became blocked with the onslaught of her silent tears and breathing got increasingly difficult. She began to gasp as her body hyperventilated, her constriction finally getting the better of her.

"Look at her!" Christopher yelled into Rohan's face. "Look what yer did! You make it right with her or I swear I'll take her and that wee boy of yers and you'll never see them again!"

"Over my dead body!" Rohan shouted and lurched for Christopher again.

Emma stumbled down the hall and into the wide lobby. She almost made it to the front door when a hand snaked around her mouth preventing the inevitable scream of shock. Emma's breath caught in her chest and she looked down at the legs dressed in combat pants and black boots. Another face came into view, a pair of male eyes peering from a black balaclava. He signed something with his hands to the man holding Emma and crept towards the door of the room, where Rohan and Christopher fought. A long, black gun led his way, pointed around the doorframe and he slipped through. Emma squealed a fruitless warning which never made it past the gloved hand. She struggled and the cuffs dug into her flesh. Biting at the heavy gloves over her mouth yielded only empty material between her teeth, which choked and suffocated her. The hand shifted, unscathed and gripped harder over Emma's mouth.

Tears of frustration and fear coursed down her face as she heard no more of Rohan's raised voice and her breath shuddered in and out of her lungs as a gag was fixed over her mouth. She was dragged sideways and handed over to someone else who shoved her over his shoulder, fireman style. The movement was excruciating, her arms behind her back and her shoulders pulled almost out of their sockets as she bounced and shook over the stranger's shoulder. Through the house he ran, exiting into the freezing cold through an open side door. She watched dark tussocks disappear underfoot and lines of straight tree trunks whip past on either side

Finally he set Emma down with care, but she overbalanced and hit her head against the side of a large dark vehicle, gasping with the pain. "Sorry," the man whispered into Emma's face. "You okay?" He turned to the dark shape waiting by the truck, at the same time as releasing the gag. "What's the plan? You hear all that?"

The heavily camouflaged man to Emma's left nodded once. Over six feet tall, he carried himself like Rohan with an ingrained military bearing. As soon as he spoke, Emma whipped her head round in surprise. "Yep," he said softly in his gentle Yorkshire accent. "We got company about a mile out. Tell the Actuary and let him know it's the Contessa. She's actually come herself."

"So Hack was right?" The man kept his hand on Emma's forearm and looked up at his commanding officer.

"Hack's a dick and he'll get what's coming to him." Frederik nodded at his subordinate. "Plan B and make sure you follow through. The Irishman provided the water so pull the electrics and let's get this done quickly." Susan's husband looked down at Emma, the black smudges under his eyes frightening in the pitch darkness. "If I don't get this lady home safe, the wife will kill me."

The other man sniggered quietly and headed off back towards the building, disappearing into the darkness like a sylph.

Frederik spun Emma round and fiddled with the handcuffs behind her. She heard and felt the click as they fell apart under his ministrations and she turned, falling backwards against the truck again and hitting her head in the same place. "Christopher's got a screwdriver and he's going to hurt Rohan," Emma gasped, struggling to stand upright in the ice underfoot.

"Na, he won't," Frederik replied. "Get in the truck, Emma and shut up. _Please_ ," he added. He pressed his ear and listened to something else coming through the curly wire spiralling out of his dark shirt collar. His body tensed and he re-fixed the dark goggles down over his eyes. Holding a radio up to his mouth he whispered instructions into it. Emma heard clicks, whirs and disjointed voices from somewhere.

Frederik trusted Emma to get into the truck and she almost did. He was distracted by a set of vehicles arriving and took his eyes off her. Emma moved around to the driver's side of the truck and waited, listening to the night noises from the dark surrounding forest. The truck was hidden in the trees, camouflaged by its dark matte colour. Emma heard the sound of slamming car doors. She felt insignificant, foolishly inconsequential in the unfolding drama. She helped Christopher get the screwdriver and a sense of responsibility crawled across her flesh. The Irishman set Rohan up and her husband had all the hallmarks of a man who hadn't slept for weeks. Frederik wasn't interested in Emma's opinion and she experienced the overwhelming urge to speak to Rohan, to find out why he disregarded her earlier as though she didn't matter. _Surely she was more than collateral damage to him, wasn't she?_

Emma crept sideways, rubbing the blood back into her arms and keeping level with the vehicle so Frederik didn't pick her up in his strange night-vision goggles, as he watched a car crawl up the driveway with only its side lights showing. She kept low to the ground and used the trees to hide herself, heading back the way she came, slipping in through the side door and navigating her way around the downstairs of the house. Twice she got lost. Her foot bumped a hefty block of wood in a corner, underneath a set of ragged, once ornate curtains and it began to slide down the wall, scraping the plaster as it moved. Emma stilled it with a panicked hand and then wielded it, knowing it could come in handy. She swung it in a couple of practice arcs, wincing at the pain in her arms but certain she could do it.

Creeping closer to the front of the house, Emma heard no sound but saw the occasional flash of metal as one of Frederik's men moved around up ahead. She didn't know how many there were but worked hard to stay out of their way.

Hiding behind a set of display curtains, Emma watched a shape slide past her. He didn't look to be cut from the same scruffy cloth as her wounded kidnappers, more of a snappy dresser, but he carried a lethal looking gun in his outstretched hand. Emma slipped from behind the curtain, hearing her ruined boots squeak against the wooden floor. The man turned in surprise. He was thin and oriental looking and he gaped in surprise at the harpy with the block of wood raised above her head. "Sorry!" Emma whispered as she swiped at his face. The look of amazement stayed fixed to his lips even in sleep as he slid down the wall. Emma struggled to hold onto the wood, imagining the fierce clunk it would make throughout the house if it hit the floor.

With great difficulty, Emma dragged the man into her hiding place and hid him there. Then she snatched up the handgun from where it bounced, luckily into the folds of the copious curtain. She looked at it in the darkness, working out how to hold it by feel and placing her finger over the trigger. Wrinkling her nose, she shoved it in the pocket of her borrowed jacket and favoured her wooden block, holding it firmly in her right hand and flexing her wrist. She batted it against her left hand a few times to regain balance and crept on.

It felt like a video game Nicky liked to play at Fat Brian's house, sneaking around in the dark and wiping out the enemy. He hated playing Emma because she was far superior with her hand-eye coordination to most of the regular players. Emma hit another man in the hallway, sneaking up behind him with incredible skill and knocking him out with the wooden block. She collected his gun also, switching it to a different pocket when the first gun clanked against the second noisily. She ran out of luck creeping past yet another hall curtain, when a gloved hand shot out and grabbed her around the neck and mouth, pulling her behind the folds of cloth.

"This is not a game!" an aggravated voice breathed in her ear. "Fred told you to get in the truck!" The soldier clearly felt he wasted his time and energy carrying the delicate female out to the vehicle and he pouted under his balaclava, narrowing his eyes in disgust. "Now stay here and shut up!" he demanded. "They've had a good look round and they're coming in."

"I've taken out two," Emma stage whispered and the man shoved his hand over her mouth again.

"I know! Fred told me to watch you so I watched you! Nice technique. Now shut up. It's important!"

Emma exhaled in temper and peered at her wooden block, convinced she saw a dark bloody edge in the growing light.

"Put it down!" the soldier hissed at her and snatched it out of her hand, placing it next to him.

"Don't care. I've got this anyway." Emma yanked the handgun from her pocket and the soldier ducked and pointed it away from his face.

"The bloody safety's off!" he squeaked and confiscated that too. Emma fondled the other gun in her right pocket and pursed her lips like a stroppy teenager.

The sound of the front door slamming made them freeze in place, Emma wishing she'd got comfy instead of engaging in chit chat with her new friend. Her legs ached underneath her and she watched through a chink in the curtains as a tall, elegantly dressed woman clicked past in a set of high heels. She was flanked by two thick set men toting guns. Emma pulled the curtain back at the sides so she could gape some more but her companion nudged her painfully in the leg. She pushed his hand away and admired the cut of the suit drifting elegantly into the room. The woman was beautiful. At the last minute, Emma saw the glint of the metal blade in her manicured right hand.

"Ah, my gorgeous Russian adversary," Emma heard her silky voice intone as she greeted Rohan.

" _Oh shit!_ " the soldier mouthed, spotting the knife.

"Why did he just wait there to be killed?" Emma squeaked and the soldier hit her again, harder this time. The dull slap sounded loud in the silent hallway and the gentle hum in the room halted.

"Check it out!" the woman rapped, her oriental tongue making the words sound exotic. Emma experienced a flash of jealousy at the thought Rohan might have actually wanted to see the beautiful woman. Rage lit a fire in her belly. _That's why he's not bothered about me!_ _I've ruined his fun!_

Emma heard the sound of Rohan talking to the woman as quick steps heralded the arrival of the first bodyguard, dispatched to investigate the slap which still stung on Emma's thigh. The soldier stood quietly and curved himself into the corner of the window frame, hearing the big male turning on the spot. He made a small enticing noise and the wide face turned towards them in the half light and held his gun out front in a menacing stance as he searched for the noise. The soldier was slick in his movements, surging forward from the curtains like water as he shoved a metal blade upwards into the man's throat and twisted. Liquid showered Emma and she bit down on the emerging scream as the soldier slithered the body behind the curtain and clamped his hand over her nose and mouth, suppressing breath as well as noise. It was over in seconds without sound but the soldier's glove was wet and Emma's imagination ran wild.

She heard the gentle hum of a woman's unconcerned voice framing her struggle for air and saw in her mind's eye, the slender fingers moving over Rohan's naked body. Her rational mind told her it wasn't real but very little about Emma Harrington-Andreyev was ever completely rational.

"Sorry about this," came the soldier's voice close to her ear. Then Emma felt a sharp spiked prick in the soft flesh of her neck and the world was sucked away from her in a single, ragged flush.

# Chapter 36

Emma woke as she was rudely bundled into a vehicle by rough hands. "Gonna kill you," she slurred, unable to work her limbs properly. She flapped a hand and smacked herself in the face.

"Yeah, yeah," came the soldier's voice. "Pretty little girls should stay away from guys like the Actuary. Take that as a word of advice from an old man."

"Old man," Emma repeated, shocked by the excruciating heat coming from behind the soldier as he strapped her into her seat. The whole world felt hot and orange. She couldn't cope with it and closed her eyes. Disjointed voices sounded in her fuddled brain, swirling words which made no sense.

" _You need to get that looked at by a doctor."_

" _I'm fine. I need to get Emma home."_

" _We didn't expect the Contessa to be tooled up like that. A gun yeah but...sorry mate."_

" _Yeah well, you live and learn. Clear up here. Make sure nobody gets out."_

" _What about Hack..."_

" _Nobody!"_

Emma shocked herself awake again as her head hit the side window of the car. Daylight burned her eyelids and she writhed on the seat. A large hand pulled her head sideways and held it there while she drifted off again. "Sleep it off, vozlyublennaya," came Rohan's soft voice.

"Cheating bastard, pig, cat, dog! You like her!" Emma heard herself say, realising it didn't make sense but unable to correct it, despite very much wanting to.

She slept deeply without dreams or any sense of time. Daylight hurt her whole face as Rohan stood next to her, shaking her awake. "Time to get out, Em," he said nicely, looking startled at her reply.

"Eff you!" she shouted into his face.

He blinked, dark lashes swishing across a cut under his left eye and he pressed his top teeth down into a swollen bottom lip. "Nice!" he exclaimed. "Someone's never playing with the Irish git again!"

"Effin' effs," Emma groaned, feeling like a rag doll as Rohan's strong arms snaked underneath her and snatched her from the passenger seat like she held no weight. Rohan's body jolted under her as he navigated stairs and balanced her against the wall while he unlocked a door. It banged behind him and Emma felt soft mattress under her back. Thinking she was still in the manor outside Falkirk, Emma tried to stand and make a run for it, lurching into a long desk with a sharp edge and flailing around on the carpet.

"Bloody hell, Em!" Rohan exclaimed. "Just trust me, vozlyublennaya! You're safe. We're going home to Nikolai."

"My Nicky! Not yours, _mine!_ " Emma sobbed, crawling back onto the bed and burying her face into the pillow. With great relief, she drifted back into the drug induced fog.

When she woke again, it was to find cold water on her face and splattering down her body. She screamed and jerked backwards, finding a hard naked chest against her spine. Emma looked down, horrified to see pink feet coming into focus, followed by pink legs, a pink stomach and some nicely rounded pink breasts. She ran her hands down them, coming to the conclusion they were hers and gasping again as the cold water attacked her face. Turning she found Rohan's firm chest inches away from her nose. So she hit it. "Stop!" he ordered, grasping her painful wrists. "I need you to wake up. I've tried everything else. Durak gave you too much. Come, wash the blood off."

Emma looked down, noticing the red splatter in the shower tray beneath her and panicked, letting out a pathetic yelp of fear.

"Not yours," Rohan said urgently. "Don't worry. It's someone else's. Wash it off." He turned the temperature of the water up and squirted a bottle of shower gel into his palm from a tiny motel container, using most of it. He rubbed it over Emma's body as she watched his hands in shock. The memory flashed back of the oriental man's startled face as the soldier stuck the knife through his artery and she jumped. Rohan placed a firm hand on her upper arm, cursing as the soap made getting a grip impossible. "It'll be like that for a while," he said softly. "You'll have flashbacks but they go eventually."

"Get your hands off me!" Emma snapped, taking over the washing of her own body, disconcerted by Rohan's obvious interest. She turned away from his arousal, visible through his tight fitting trousers. Glancing down, Emma saw his socks soaking up water. He didn't realise she knew about his leg and grudgingly she allowed him his privacy, pressing her hands up into her sore neck.

"You need to wash your hair," Rohan stated. "You've got...stuff in it."

Emma ran her wet hands over her curly mop, extracting clots of the man's blood and she shrieked again, almost slipping in her anxiety to get away from herself. Rohan pushed her gently in the back and increased the temperature of the water, soaking her hair and rubbing more motel products into her soft curls. He hissed with annoyance as he rechecked the label on the bottle. "Sorry, I washed it in conditioner. Does it matter?" His accent sounded heavily laden with tiredness and Emma felt a flash of guilt. She turned to look at him, her breasts pressed against his hairy chest in the small space.

"What the hell happened?"

"You don't need to know."

"Of course I do! I was dragged away from my son by thugs connected to a man I thought was a mathematician."

"Nikolai's fine."

"How do you know?"

"I just do, Emma! Why don't you trust me?"

Emma snorted. "I'll never trust you again!"

Rohan spun her around and ran his hands down her slick back. His fingers massaged the knots out of her shoulders as the soap left her body and Emma resisted the urge to groan with pleasure. "My whole body hurts," she moaned.

"I'm sorry. Eddie drugged you."

"Why? I was helping."

Rohan sighed and his fingers ceased their probing of her sore muscles. "He said you were losing the plot and it kicked off right then. He didn't have a choice."

Emma sighed. "I don't understand any of this."

"You don't need to." Rohan's tone was hard and uncompromising. "It's my job, nothing to do with you."

"Fine!" The emotional wall around Emma's heart began to rebuild, brick by solid brick. Rohan's dismissal of her in the ornate room bit at her ego and the way the Chinese woman said his name, pricked at her ready store of jealousy. Alanya and Felicity conspired against her in the deep recesses of her brain and Emma shut down against her husband. Tears welled behind her expressive eyes as her need for self-protection vied with the knowledge this man was her soul-mate. "I want my son."

Rohan nodded. "Yeah, we're going home, as soon as you're dressed."

Emma wrinkled her nose against the thought of underwear she'd slept in. Rohan saw and his lips turned upwards in a tight smile. "I bought clothes."

Emma cocked her head like a small bird and Rohan concentrated on washing conditioner from her fringe. "Clothes?" Emma swiped the back of her hand across her eyes and nose.

"Da. Yours were ruined." Rohan bit his lip and focussed on her hair, massaging the water through the curls like his life depended on it.

"So are yours now." Emma placed an index finger on the soaked waistband and felt Rohan shiver at her touch. She saw the concentration in his face as he worked hard not to look down at her luscious body. "Did you have an affair with the Chinese lady?" Emma asked, looking up into his face.

"What?" He looked shocked and stopped, his elbows close to Emma's face as he kept his hands against the side of her head, halted in the rubbing motion. His expression was non-plussed.

Emma shrugged, her voice haughty. "That's why you ignored me, isn't it?"

Rohan's jaw dropped, his patience snapping. "That bitch tried to kill me twice now! And what did you think I'd do, Em? Rush in and twirl you round like in a musical? Did you _want_ to die? Smert' - so final. No more mother for Nikolai?"

Emma pouted and pushed her bottom lip out and shook her head. "No."

Rohan placed a soapy index finger under Emma's chin and forced her head up to look at him. "Emma Andreyev. You know the safe world Anton Stepanovich created for you in his stories is not real, da?"

She let out a laugh, the beginnings of hysteria. "Look at my life!" she stammered. "Of course I know!" Emma heaved in a giant breath and pressed her fingers over her lips, seeing a blob of blood wiggling around the plug hole beneath her. She sniffed and sobbed at the same time, choking on her misery. Rohan wrapped his arms around her, crushing her into him. Her naked legs felt odd against his wet trousers, the material rough against her skin. Rohan hushed her and pressed his lips over hers to prevent her soul escaping through her gut wrenching cries. Emma wrapped her arms around her husband's neck and held onto his strong body. Her emotions seemed to tumble from everywhere, out of sync and nonsensical, but at the same time overwhelmingly real.

The warm water cascaded over them, running down Emma's head in rivulets, deafening her with its hiss and wreathing her in confusion. "Ro, I'm sorry," Emma cried and her lips strayed to his. Rohan gasped as his lips parted and Emma kissed him, wishing things were different and she could go back in time seven years. "I wouldn't leave," she sobbed, "I'd tell you everything. I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Her lips slipped over his slick wet skin and she felt his resistance as his body stiffened.

Rohan hushed her with softly spoken Russian and Emma gulped in sadness, doubting he understood her agonised ramblings anyway. When the shower gave them a startling douse of ice cold water, they both jumped and Rohan laughed. "Time to leave, vozlyublennaya." He smiled sadly, pushing dark hair away from her forehead.

Emma looked up at him, her huge brown eyes laced by luscious black eyelashes. "Ro," she whispered. "I can't do this anymore. I'm so confused about everything." Her vision popped out and back again, blurring and then struggling for purchase. Rohan saw. He kissed her gently, his wet lips enticing, offering solace and sanity.

"Talk when we get home, vozlyublennaya," he whispered, his eyes filled with hope. "Make decisions then. Get dressed for now and we drive _home_." He turned to open the shower door and Emma shrieked.

"Rohan! You've been stabbed! Did the woman do that?" Bile rose into her throat as she saw the parted oozing skin and exposed fatty layers between his left shoulder and his spine. Her eyes watered and she put her fingers hard to her lips.

Rohan nodded and reached behind him, unable to stretch far enough to touch the wound. Finally his finger pads closed on uppermost edge of the cut and he winced. "Hurts _,_ da."

Emma used medical tape from Rohan's small first aid kit to tape up the gaping hole in the muscle above his shoulder blade. Her fingers shook and she felt terrified of hurting him more. "You need a surgeon," she said softly, resting her face against his bicep. "Ro, I can't do this."

He nodded, his eyes shrouded in pain. "Da." He used his right hand to reach up and massage Emma's head through her wet hair. "S'okay, vozlyublennaya, I'll sort it when we get home." His fingers snagged in her curls and Emma's brow knitted in irritation, tilting her head backwards and exposing her soft neck. Rohan's guard dropped for just a second and she saw the aching need in him. His eyes strayed to her neck and he lowered his lips, kissing softly in a line up to her jaw. He let go of her hair and tugged at the skimpy towel around her. "Em," he whispered. "Em."

Emma let the towel drop to the bed and kissed his open lips, searching his eyes for anything which might give her a clue of how he really felt. His blue eyes sparkled like an aqua sea in the yellow streetlight from the window and his palms felt rough against her ribs. Rohan pushed her back and lay half across her on the double bed, his trousers still wet from the shower. Emma reached for the button at the waist and instantly he froze. "No." He pushed himself up and stood, his body rigid. "We're leaving soon. I'll dress."

Emma sat on the bed, pulling the scratchy towel around her in embarrassment as Rohan's strong muscles flexed. He snatched clothes from the open bag on the floor and stalked off to the bathroom. Emma dried her tears of humiliation with a corner of the towel, licking her wounds yet again. "I'm so done with this," she whispered to the empty motel room. "You never trusted me, did you, Rohan? Don't worry, now you don't have to."

Emma grappled in the carrier bag laid on the chair, hauling out a pair of expensive jeans and a cute sweater. She snapped the price tags off with her fingers. There was no sign of underwear and she grabbed at her own, lying on the floor next to the bed where Rohan dropped it. Blood stained her faded pink bra and her knickers smelled of smoke. She sniffed the fabric in confusion. A faint memory of fire crossed her consciousness and she grabbed the white blouse and the jeans she arrived in. The distinct scent was released immediately but the sight of the blood spatter on her blouse made her drop it to the floor in fear, stepping back to examine her hand. The stains were dried and crusty, but it was enough to drive her to the small kitchenette to wash her hands frantically with washing up liquid, making them red and sore with her need to clean them thoroughly enough.

Rohan clattered around in the small bathroom and Emma raided his bag while he was busy, stealing a pair of clean boxer shorts to wear under the jeans. It wasn't comfortable but better than nothing. She pulled the sweater over her head, feeling naked without a bra.

When Rohan emerged from the bathroom he looked more composed, smiling in approval at Emma's clothing. "Good." He nodded. "Put the ruined clothes in the black bag. Don't leave anything here!" he warned.

Emma's face fell and the image of the man falling throat first into the soldier's embedded blade coursed before her eyes. She gulped and sat down on the bed. "Are they all dead?" she whispered.

Rohan's eyes flared, warning her and Emma fixed her gaze on the ceiling. "I only hit them over the head. They would have woken up again."

"Not necessarily."

"But..." Emma began and Rohan held a hand up to silence her.

"No more!" he told her and she bit her lip.

"The sooner I leave, the better," she said through gritted teeth. "Hopefully Felicity's my size and then she can have these." Emma flicked her finger at the sweater covering her naked torso and Rohan's eyes narrowed. As she passed, he reached out and grabbed her wrist. The reddened skin ached and she winced and tried to drag her hand back. "Get off!"

One handed he reeled her in, his brow knitting against the pain in his back. Emma crashed into his chest, her hand outstretched. Rohan tasted of toothpaste as he kissed her, pulling her into him and refusing to let her go, even though she struggled. His tongue was gentle and probing in her mouth and Emma let out a howl of rage and confusion, pushing Rohan away with a huge effort and no longer caring if she hurt him. "Touch me again and I'll kill you!" she threatened.

A sultry look lit her husband's face and the smallest smile turned his lips up at the corners. Emma sat stubbornly on the bed and watched Rohan collect the clothes into a black bin liner. "What about Christopher?" she asked. "Please just tell me about him?"

Rohan's face curled into a sneer and he ignored her as though she hadn't spoken.

"Did you kill him too?" Emma asked. "He didn't deserve that! He was..."

"He was a big Irish durak!" Rohan snapped. "We make our own luck in this life. Don't speak of him again!"

Emma hugged herself tightly, drawing her legs up onto the motel bed. "I hate you!" She watched Rohan stuff the rest of her clothing into the bag, but protested when he gathered up the jacket she borrowed from him. "No! Not that! I like it." She stopped when he glared at her. Emma bent forwards and scooped up her old ankle boots. She flung them at him one at a time. "Here, take it all then. I don't bloody care!" She looked down at her bare toes and regretted it.

"I got you some other footwear." Rohan indicated another carrier bag, which Emma hadn't seen next to the door.

She shook her head and buried her face in her knees. "You're taking my old life away. You've no right."

"It's evidence. I forgot to buy socks." Rohan threw a pair of his at Emma and she left them where they lay, resisting the urge to look in the bag as he tossed her holey old boots into the black bin bag.

"What about the gun?" she muttered from between her knees.

Rohan looked up at her startled and his lips parted. "Gun?"

"In the right pocket of your jacket. Why don't you just blow my brains out too? It would definitely be easier for you. Then you could torch this place and wash _my_ blood down the shower drain." Nicky's face flashed past her inner vision. He laughed as he rode an old bike which he shared with Mo back on the estate. The tyres were flat and the pedals long gone, but his pink cheeks were flushed with enjoyment as the boys created their own fantasy world. " _Look, Mummy, I'm Harley Man!_ " he squealed and Emma gulped. She felt immediate guilt at the thought of leaving him to scratch through a life without her and pressed her eyes to her knees, smelling the newness of the jeans. She heard Rohan sifting through the bag. He swore in Russian as he pulled the handgun from her pocket and held it up to look at. There was a series of clicks as he disarmed it and when Emma peeked he looked back at her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Bloody safety was off, Em!" he chastised her. "You could have blown us to shit when you were tossing around in your sleep."

"Shame I didn't!" she muttered stubbornly. "And I didn't ask you to nearly get me killed or drug me up to the eyeballs, did I?" She raised her voice to a shout and Rohan decided it was time to leave.

Emma refused to wear the socks or new boots Rohan produced from the bag, skirting round them and waiting outside in the hallway barefoot. A passing couple stared at her pale toes as they walked down the stairs to reception. Emma flounced by, knowing she drew attention to herself and not caring. She cared a great deal once they got outside into the below zero temperatures of a late Friday night. She tiptoed across the freezing car park, the cold concrete burning her feet. Whenever Rohan looked around, she walked normally, cursing her bloody mindedness but determined not to give in.

He dumped his bag and the rubbish bag into the boot, flinging the new boots in on top. Emma noticed a beautiful cashmere coat in another bag, which bulged enough for it to be full length. His hire car was beyond the main car park and rested on gravel, covered in a layer of hard ice. He left the car unlocked and went back to the reception to pay for the room. Emma picked her way across the sharp stones, feeling Rohan's smug eyes on her periodically as he enjoyed her suffering.

He spent time defrosting the car when he returned and Emma shivered in her seat, worrying about what Nicky must be thinking about her absence. "We'll hit the motorway soon and then it won't take long to get home. I'll drop you at the house and return the car," Rohan announced, cranking the gears into reverse. "I'll have a bonfire tomorrow and burn evidence." Tiredness made his speech flip back into broken English.

"Where are we?" Emma asked.

"No matter."

"I want to know how long before we get back!" she snapped. "I just want my son!"

"Another three hours." Rohan clicked a switch on the dashboard to activate the central locking. "Get Nikolai tomorrow."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Emma shouted and lurched at Rohan, slapping him on the arm and causing him to swerve. He set his jaw and ignored her, finally fed up with her antics. Emma felt crushed inside as her whole world came crashing down. She would get Nicky in the morning and do what? _Go where?_ She didn't have enough money for a coffee let alone a train ticket.

The sickness in her gut returned and Emma curled up on the seat and went to sleep, her head periodically thudding against the cold glass next to her. She didn't speak to Rohan again, waking groggily when they got back to Market Harborough. He parked in the garage at the bottom of the garden, forcing Emma to walk the length of the gravel and freezing cold grass to the back door. The absence of Farrell's excited tail wagging hit her hard and Emma stumbled up to her room, slamming the door behind her and crawling onto the bed, exhausted.

# Chapter 37

She woke abruptly, hearing men's voices at two in the morning. Curiosity got the better of her and Emma went out into the lighted hallway, following the sound to Rohan's bedroom. He lay face down on the bed, his head dangling off the edge as a small, skinny man leaned over him, examining the wound on his back. Emma bit her lip. She hadn't even bothered to consider how he felt amidst her own thrashing around. "Can I do anything to help?" she asked groggily, standing in the doorway and watching the doctor's small movements.

When neither of them answered, she ventured into the room and held her breath at what she saw. The fatty tissue was exposed between Rohan's shoulder blade and spine, so deep it oozed a steady flow of liquid. Her ineffectual attempt at first aid lay discarded on the floor. Both men ignored her. "Will there be permanent damage?" she asked softly, edging closer inch by inch. Part of her wanted to witness the tiny man at work and part of her, namely her stomach, definitely didn't. Curiosity drove her on.

Glancing up, the doctor blinked once over his deep brown eyes and glared at Emma. "Don' touch!" he said with a strong Eastern European accent. "Don' wan' infection." He leaned over Rohan so his nose was almost touching the open wound and squirted something from a clear bottle over the raw openness. Rohan swore. Russian, English and what Emma recognised as Spanish came pouring out of his full lips. He sounded more angry than in pain.

"It's okay." Emma patted his good shoulder with gentle fingers, her eyes flickering with pleasure when Rohan reached up and clasped her hand. His vibrant blue eyes glittered in the lamplight with a strange, faraway essence as though his mind was somewhere else altogether.

"Keep still!" The doctor rapped out the order and Rohan breathed through pursed lips which were white around the edges. The doctor took black fibre from a plastic wrapper and a curved, vicious looking needle, already threaded. Rohan closed his eyes as the doctor began to sew through his tender skin, each stitch separately knotted and independent of the others. The wound was over fifteen centimetres long, stretching with a beautiful arch around Rohan's muscular shoulder blade. The man put a stitch every few centimetres, leaving long gaps through which the white fatty layers peeked. Emma rubbed Rohan's sweating fingers and fought waves of nausea.

"Go wash hand!" the doctor snapped at Emma. "Put glove on."

She gaped for a moment, wondering if he meant one hand or both. Jumping into action at his sharp look, she released Rohan's hand and ran to the bathroom, cleaning her hands with soap and watching the bubbles in the water. Last night's shower seemed a long time ago.

With a nod, the doctor indicated a box of disposable gloves poking out of his copious black bag. Emma seized a pair and dragged them onto her hands. The powder inside helped them glide over her still damp fingers.

"Der!" the doctor commanded, pointing to a place next to him. Emma moved into it. "Stitch hold ze vound. You erm...erm..." The man made pincer movements with his fingers and Emma pulled a face.

"Squeeze it?"

"Da, da!" he replied, eagerly nodding his head.

Emma took a deep inhale and used both hands to press the flesh together into a line between the first of the rough looking stitches. Her jaw dropped open at the sight of the tube in the doctor's hand. "No! You can't use that!"

"Emma, let him do his job. He knows what he's doing." Rohan spoke through gritted teeth, his pain evident in his slowness of speech and the veiled aggravation in his voice. She exhaled slowly and watched as the tiny, dark haired man squirted the liquid super glue along the seam she created between the folds.

"This is just wrong." she complained. "You should go to a hospital."

"Sleduyushchiy!"

"What? Sorry, what's he saying?" In panic, Emma appealed to Rohan.

"Next," Rohan groaned. "Next bit."

Emma appealed to the doctor. "But it's not dry. It'll bust apart."

"Sdelay eto. Just do!" His reprimand sounded clear.

Gingerly, Emma released the joined folds of skin, marvelling when already they seemed sealed shut. She moved on with more confidence, closing each area while the doctor spread the glue and waiting a moment for it to seal. In a few minutes the wound looked closed.

"Vzyaty dva." The doctor turned with a pot of pills in his fingers, dropping the rattling gift into Emma's outstretched palm. He held up two fingers.

"What are they?" Emma asked, rolling the pot in her hand. There was nothing written on it.

"Antibiotics." Rohan groaned as he sat up. "I need to take two a day. They're strong. I've had them before."

"But they could be anything," Emma protested and Rohan's voice grew low with warning.

"Please, Emma! Just take him downstairs while I get his money. Give me a minute."

The doctor flipped his gloves off his hands with expert precision. Emma held her gloved hand out to offer to put them in the dustbin downstairs, but the man shook his head and stuffed them in his pocket inside out. A dusting of powder littered the side of his navy blue suit jacket. In the light from the yellow bulb, the man's head shone like a beacon, strings of dark hair coming loose from their day job of covering his baldness.

Emma followed him downstairs, her footsteps sounding dull on the wooden treads. He knelt down and fiddled in his bag, while Emma stood awkwardly holding onto the banister one handed. "Where are you from?" she ventured, hating the resounding silence.

"Kiev." He rapped out the answer with a flat, disinterested voice.

"Oh, Ukraine?" Emma smiled, trying to impress the doctor with her stunning geographical knowledge. Then the colour drained suddenly from her already washed out face, leaving a grey appearance to her skin. "Ukraine." She repeated the word as realisation hit and she moved back instinctively until her backside touched the cupboard under the stairs. "It was you!"

Panic seized her body, rendering her immobile as the sickness bit at her guts and caused water to spring to her eyes. "You!"

The doctor stood up and eyed Emma through narrowed, half closed eyes. His hooked nose seemed to protrude further as he stared her down. Emma's breath came in sharp heaves as she stared at the face of a murderer.

Rohan's unsteady gait moved around upstairs, reaching the top of the steps and negotiating downwards, a slow, staccato beat of agonising pain. He broached the two bends in the staircase, landing on the parquet floor with a heavy, exhausted tread. His torso was still naked, the wound and its peculiar dressing eerie in the dull light. "Spasibo." The similarity in their languages clanged in Emma's head.

The doctor acknowledged Rohan's thanks and the outstretched hand stuffed with enough cash to have paid Emma's rent for a month. Sickness roiled in her stomach as she pressed herself back against the stairs. At the click of the front door, she exhaled along with a sob.

"Em, what's up? You did good, khorosho. Real good!"

At Rohan's offered embrace, Emma pushed herself further into the wood, sliding away until she was trapped in the corner between the cupboard and radiator. "You knew! How could you?"

"I didn't really have a choice, Em. I hoped you'd stay asleep."

"He was going to kill your son!" Emma screamed, covering her face with her hands and sliding down the wall until her bottom touched the cold floor. "Your mother went to get the money out to take me to him. She said they'd hold me down if they had to!" Hysteria licked at the surface of Emma's sanity, eroding it with each inward breath. "How could you invite him here to stitch you up like it didn't happen?" Emma sniffed and wiped her hand across her nose. "You don't get it. You'll never get it. I just can't do this anymore. None of it!"

Rohan reached down for her and Emma slapped his hand away, irrationally pleased at the wince of pain in his face. He stood up laid his hand down by his side. "I can't go to a hospital, Emma. They automatically call the cops for stab wounds. I have to use back street doctors and I had no idea it was him until I saw your face! I'm sorry; I'll never use him again."

"I don't even know if it was him! There could be hundreds just like him but yes you will! Because it's always all about you!" Emma's body stilled with the dawning realisation her words brought. "It was always you first, with me, your mother, everyone. What does Rohan want? What's best for Rohan? Never what's best for me!" Emma stood up abruptly, feeling the room spin around her. She shook her head slowly. "You're so selfish!" Her tears ceased as though a tap was turned off and she stared at Rohan with sudden clarity. She waved her hand at the front door, through which the back street abortionist just left and eyed her husband with something akin to pity. "How can you ever understand? You can't because you don't understand me. You never did. Anton did. We were the kindred spirits, him and me. You were no part of that, or of my life for the last seven years. Or your son's."

Emma was calm as she stood and walked past her husband. Rohan seemed diminished somehow, his height bowed and bent and his eyes dull and filled with hurt. She refused to look at him again as she ran up the stairs to her bedroom. She slammed the door and pulled the bedside table in front of it, removing the surgical gloves stained with Rohan's blood and hiding them in a plastic bag from beneath the bed.

Emma showered again at three in the morning, washing herself clean from the stink of the kidnapping, the death of her assailants and the ruination of the beautiful Scottish mansion. The smoke still hung in her nostrils and felt sooty on the back of her tongue, more psychological than reality. She scrubbed her teeth until her head filled with the stinging scent and taste of mint and the bristles on her brush arced backwards like an old broom. The sickness rose again and she fought it, subduing it by a pure act of will. "Emma Harrington, you're so done," she whispered to herself in the mirror. The staring brown eyes looked back at her with resignation.

# Chapter 38

"I'm getting Nicky." Emma stepped over Rohan's feet as he sat on the sofa in the wide hallway, deliberately blocking her exit. She conceded to wear the new boots but couldn't face the expensive coat, making do with layers of ragged clothing instead against the Saturday morning freeze.

"No!" Rohan stood up, listing to his left, his face a mask of pain. "I mean, not yet. Let's talk. Please. I wanna sort everything out. I don't want Nikolai to come home to this."

"Home?" Emma smiled sadly at him. "This isn't his home. This was a break, a holiday I foolishly tried to make permanent. You have a life which doesn't - and never has - included me or him. Let's just leave it that way, shall we?"

"No! I won't accept that!" Rohan raised his voice. "He's my son. I've been denied him all these years...I..."

"I, I, I!" Emma smiled, her voice cold and level. "See. All about you, just like I said last night. You married me, you got me pregnant and you left. You went off to a war you had no business being in. Then when you came back, you chose to believe lies about me because you wanted to play the hero in other wars that weren't yours. I've seen how Christopher works, Rohan. You could have found me anytime you wanted; I know that now. Something's only lost if you don't care enough to look." She took a step towards him. "Do you realise Christopher's looked out for me for years? He's been pretty much permanently following me ever since your brother died? No? You wouldn't, would you? Anton sent him after me and asked him to keep me safe. Where were you, Rohan? That was your job. Where were you?"

Rohan looked agonised, his blue eyes flashing with misery, words seeming to fail him as he opened his mouth and nothing came out. Then his body folded back down onto the sofa, landing with a bump. He ran his hand through his blond hair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You're right," he said softly. "Everything you've said is true. She told me you cheated on me and she caught you with him. I believed you ran away and I chose not to come and find you. I was broken outside and in and terrified of being rejected because of...well, I just was. I'm sorry. I've failed you."

"Anton told you to find me. It was his dying wish. But still you didn't."

Rohan shook his head. "No."

"Did you have any intention of fulfilling his wishes or was it pure chance that you ran into me at the wedding?"

"You ran into me." Rohan smiled at the memory and rubbed his eyes. "I knew then, when I held you in my arms what an idiot I'd been. Durak!" He thumped his temple with the flat of his hand and shook his head.

Emma watched him for a moment, ruing his failure as a husband and father. Then she left, slipping through the front door and clicking it shut behind her.

Along the street she knocked on Allaine's door, hearing Farrell bark from inside. His eager nose snuffled at the bottom of the door and the barking increased to fever pitch as he recognised Emma's scent. Emma readied her smile as the front door swung open and her friend's concerned face met hers, worried eyes and frown lines betraying a sleepless night.

"Emma!" Allaine embraced her with genuine relief. Emma hugged her tightly and saw over her shoulder, two small pairs of eyes gazing at her with curiosity. Then the dog hit her full in the legs, overbalancing her and causing her to grab at the doorframe. Between them, Allaine and Farrell managed to communicate their concern and Emma's heart sank, knowing Nicky would see straight through her attempts to brush off her disappearance.

"Whoa boy! Steady on there." Emma seized Farrell's collar and forced him to sit down. His tail wagged furiously and he lifted his chin up high, pushing the top of his head repeatedly into Emma's knee.

"You said Mummy went for a little holiday wiv Uncle Rohan," Nicky said accusingly, pursing his lips and putting his hands on his hips. "You was lying, weren't ya, Allaine?" The effect of his reprimand was spoiled by the Spiderman outfit he wore, pulled tightly across his body and cutting him uncomfortably between his legs. Kaylee bounced up and down next to him, clutching a silver wand which blended beautifully with her pink, fluffy fairy outfit.

"Om er!" she interjected. "Lying's naughty, init Mummy?"

Allaine gulped and remained silent, caressing Emma's fingers with affection and struggling to compose herself. Nicky reached behind him and attempted to retrieve the offending seam from between his buttocks, but his face was dark and unforgiving. "You left me," he said to Emma. "You promised you wouldn't ever do that."

Emma studied her son with eyes saddened by exhaustion and a sense of futility. Whatever she did would be wrong. This highly intelligent child with the bright blue eyes would know if she lied and trust her even less. She glanced at Allaine once and then faced Nicky with an injection of fake confidence. "I don't want to lie to you, Nicky. So right now, it's probably best I say nothing. We'll talk later and I'll explain what I can. That will have to be good enough for now."

Nicky studied his mother with Rohan's blue eyes, his head on one side like a little bird. "Ok then," he said. "Do you like my outfit? Allaine got it for me from the Pound Shop. It's a bit small though. There's fifty pence worth of it stuck up my..."

"Nicky!" Emma interrupted him with a speed born of experience. "Maybe go and take it off for now. I'll sit with Allaine for a little while and then we can go."

"Okay. Is Uncle Ro back too?"

Emma nodded, the haunted look returning. "Yeah, sweetheart. He's quite tired and he's got some things to sort out."

"Oh, okay." Nicky smiled and lurched forward, pressing his face into Emma's stomach and wrapping his arms around her waist. "I missed you, Mummy."

"I missed you too," she whispered and leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

The children bounced off to play and Emma sat down at Allaine's kitchen table, laying her face on her forearms. "I suppose you want to hear what happened," she said, sounding tired.

Allaine set the kettle to boil and whirled around. "Of course I do! Every last detail!"

Emma told Allaine some of her story, after exacting a promise that she would keep it to herself. She left out the bits about the dead kidnappers and the burning of the mansion, but told her most of what Christopher discussed in the eerie darkness.

"So Rohan's not just a number cruncher?" Allaine said with awe. "He takes stuff back? What did you call it? Risk management?"

Emma nodded. "Apparently so. He and Christopher fly all over the world, basically selling their skills to the highest bidder."

"Like a mercenary?"

Emma snuffed and rolled her eyes. "They're certainly that!"

"This is exciting. Tell me something they've done," Allaine begged. "Something else."

"Christopher said there was an employee who stole the blueprints for a type of bomb from a laboratory in Moscow. Ro was paid to find him and eliminate the risk."

"Does he kill people?" Allaine wrinkled her nose. "William would be angry if I knew that and didn't say something."

"I don't believe so." Emma sighed and ran a hand over tired eyes. She remembered Rohan's voice in her drugged state, ordering nobody be allowed out of the burning building. She shivered. "Christopher said they paid for it and destroyed all the copies."

"Did they bring it home?" Allaine asked enthusiastically, her political naivety touching.

"Not sure," Emma lied. "I'm guessing that kind of thing's classified by the government." She swallowed, knowing Allaine would freak out and call her husband if Emma told the truth. Rohan repatriated the bomb design to its rightful owners; the Russian government. Christopher thought it unlikely the thief got to enjoy the cash once his location was known in certain quarters. It was a bad example and Emma worked to cover up her mistake. "Another case involved a man who stole a database from the bank he worked in. He tried to blackmail account holders who were involved in tax evasion. Rohan found the man and swapped the database for a large amount of money."

"Did he give it back to the bank?" Allaine asked, chewing on a thumb nail in her excitement.

"No. His customer was the British Inland Revenue department and they prosecuted the account holders. Apparently they're still going through the courts."

"I read about that in the news!" Allaine's eyes bugged. "Oh my gosh, how exciting! So the Actuary was behind that too?"

"Please don't repeat any of this; I probably shouldn't be telling you." Emma sank her head into her hands, knowing she needed to shut up.

"I won't." Allaine looked utterly sincere as she laid a comforting hand over Emma's. "I promise. But tell me about Christopher again, your mysterious date."

"Oh, I still need to mend your dress."

"Don't worry about it. So the Irish guy followed you all that time because your dead stepbrother asked him to?" Allaine said in hushed reverence. "How romantic!"

Emma smiled. "Christopher's a complete lush. He's not someone who would ever be satisfied with one woman. I'd never feel completely secure with him. Anyway, it's not really an option." She sighed. "Look, I know Rohan's Nicky's father, but he's shown no interest for the last six years. I'm kidding myself if I think it'll be any different now. I'll let Nicky perform in the Christmas nativity next Friday and then I'll head back up north. Hopefully my council house will still be there. There're people who can help me claim it back, again. I need to accept my limits and get on with my life."

Allaine's eyes filled with dark devastation. "So soon? But I'll miss you."

Emma reached across and grabbed her hand, almost knocking over the drinks Allaine had placed between them. "I've so loved your friendship. I've never had a proper friend before."

Allaine looked down and then gasped, pushing Emma's sleeves back to reveal the red wheals from the sharp metallic handcuffs. "It'll fade," Emma said softly. "Compared to dying, it's the least of my worries."

"I think you're wrong," Allaine said.

Emma peeled back her cuffs and examined the swollen skin. "Oh. Don't you think it'll fade?"

"Not that. I think you're wrong about Rohan. He loves you and Nicky; anyone can see that! I wish you'd give him a chance."

Emma shook her head. "Ro doesn't know what love is. I feel like I've loved him forever, this starry eyed schoolgirl crush. We grew up together but we were only man and wife for a short time before he went off to Afghanistan and I fled to Wales. Maybe he was deserving of that kind of adoration once, but I've changed. I need security and a father for Nicky. I'm not going to find that here. But at least I've learned I'm ready for a relationship, maybe even marriage again. I'm lonely. I've spent the last few years since Lucya died, convincing myself I'm not. But I am." Emma smiled. "I'm also unbelievably tired." She put her hand over the escaped yawn. "Sorry."

Nicky opted to stay at Allaine's for another night, insisting he felt okay about it and was having a great time with Kaylee. "It's actually quite nice for me," Allaine insisted. "With my older kids gone, Kaylee gets quite clingy so it's great having someone else to occupy her. Please let him stay just for tonight?"

"And tomorrow morning!" Nicky begged eagerly. "I wanna go to church with you."

Emma wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "If you're happy with that, Allaine, then I'm really grateful. I could use an early night and a very long lie in."

Back at the house Emma let herself in. "Come on, boy, in you go." Farrell ran happily through the front door, inspecting his bowl, his bed and then sniffing frantically around the kitchen. "I think you'd be too much hard work for Allaine if I left you there another night," Emma said to the panting dog. She shook kibbles into his bowl and he sniffed them and then hurled himself into his squashy bed. "Stay here, I'm going for a lie down. No idea where your master's disappeared to."

Upstairs, Emma flopped onto her unmade bed, fully clothed. She yawned, turned over and woke up hours later to the feel of Rohan shaking her shoulder. "Emma wake up. Please Em! I don't know what to do! Katastrofa!" Catastrophe.

# Chapter 39

"Nicky?" Emma sat up too quickly and her vision spun. She listed, putting her feet on the rug and Rohan took her shoulders in his strong hands.

"Not Nicky, no. Where is he?"

"Allaine's. Is it Christopher then? What's wrong?" Emma rubbed furiously at the tightness of her eyelids.

"No! Why do you care about him?" Rohan let go and stepped back as though Emma was contaminated in some way. She leaned forward for a moment and then exhaled. Rohan looked startled when she turned away from him and lay back down, curling herself up into a ball and dragging the covers back over herself. Her jeans felt crunchy and uncomfortable and she contemplated taking them off, but didn't have the energy. "Emma!" Rohan sounded testy.

"If nothing's wrong with Nicky or Christopher, then there is nobody else I give a damn about anymore. So just go and let me catch up on my sleep." She made contented little moans and pushed her face into the pillow to block out the light. "What time is it?"

"Still Saturday. It's two o'clock."

"Okay." The pillow muffled Emma's voice. "Nicky does this play thing on Friday next week and then it's the end of term. We'll head off on Saturday. I checked my bank account earlier and I got a benefits payment so I can afford the train back up to Lincoln. I'll pay you back everything I borrowed so don't worry. You can have your life back..." Emma looked up as the bedroom door clicked shut. She was about to thank Rohan for letting her stay but he didn't give her the chance. She rolled over onto her back for a while and sought to repair the rubbled walls of her heart, building the protective barrier piece by piece. The need to close her battered psyche off from Rohan's charms seemed imperative and Emma's emotional fragility mocked her with the fake bravado she used on him earlier.

After another hour of fitful and unrefreshing sleep, Emma woke and used the bathroom, washing her face in cold water to reduce the puffiness of her eyes and the greyness of her pallor. Downstairs, she ran water into the kettle and stood over it while it boiled. Movement and the scrape of a chair came from across the hallway and the sound of Rohan talking on the telephone in the dining room. Emma steeled herself to behave and keep control of her feelings for just one more week.

The door creaked as Emma poked her head around it, making a 'T' sign with her fingers to ask him if he wanted a drink. He nodded and gave her a small smile and Emma withdrew her head. "But they've charged her. They say there's strong evidence," Rohan said to the person on the other end of the phone call.

Emma raised her eyebrows and shrugged. "Nothing to do with me," she whispered to Farrell as he popped his head up from his paws and thumped his tail on the squashy bed. She made a mug of tea, adding the milk and sugar Rohan liked, taking it to him in a demure waitress style approach. He sat at the dining table with his head in his hands, the silent phone laying on the wooden surface in front of him. His blond hair stuck up on his head and beard growth pressed through his skin like a covering of bristly grass. He sighed heavily and as Emma laid the mug on the table he grabbed her sore wrist, holding it tightly in his bunched fingers. When he turned his eyes on her they were an odd shade of glittering blue, like a misty morning sky.

"Ow!" Emma tugged at her hand, pain evident in her face. "Get off! That hurts."

Rohan released her and stood, holding her by her forearms and examining her wrists one at a time. "Why didn't you say something?" The bruising was appalling from the handcuffs, comprising every shade of ugly in the colour wheel. A long cut over her left wrist bore testament to their tightness.

Emma snatched her arms back. "Oh, what, so you could get your back street abortionist to take a look after he finished illegally stitching you up?"

Rohan's face fell and he sat down at the table in front of her, the gauze over his wound protruding through his tee shirt and making a jagged line along the ridge of his muscular shoulder. "I'm sorry." His voice was soft and the apology sounded genuine and dripped with inner agony. Emma bit back the spiteful retort, alarmed by the paleness of Rohan's honey coloured skin and the dullness of his eyes. He stroked the handle of his mug with a long forefinger. "I deserved everything you said earlier and I understand you have to leave. I won't ask you for anything, Em; you have every right to refuse. But I would like to make an allowance for you to bring Nicky up. I'd like you to be able to live better than you've been forced to."

Emma took a step back, feeling the sense of being cut off as keenly as if he knifed her. She felt the dreadful searing pain in a heart which had always dreamed of being reunited with her soulmate, accompanied by the dull ache in her stomach. She had lied to herself; nobody else would ever be good enough after Rohan Andreyev. The air in the room was laden with the sorrow of both adults and Emma gulped, reaching out against her better judgement and touching Rohan's arm. He looked down at her fingers and then cupped them with his other hand. Bringing them up to his lips, he kissed them. Then let go.

Emma's heart cracked, causing a physical tearing pain in her chest. She left the room quickly and scooped up her boots, purse and an extra sweater, ignoring the excited dog who wanted to go with her. The front door clicked behind her as the first sob escaped. Emma stood on the doormat undercover of the porch and pushed reluctant arms into her jumper. The mat felt prickly under her socks, the cold seeping immediately into her toes. With an effort of will, Emma squashed her feet into the new boots, expecting to feel the chill entering through the myriad holes. It didn't and it was weird to be able to feel her feet on such a cold day. She let the gate slam behind her as the sickness returned, permeating her spirit as well as her stomach and she used the brisk exercise to alleviate the pain. As she turned once along the street to cross the road, she saw the slender figure of Felicity bounding along towards the house and felt her resolve crumble further. Emma's heart felt shattered, but as always, Rohan would be okay.

Town was busy for late Saturday afternoon and darkness enclosed her as Emma searched for the shop she needed. Her cash card passed through the machine without incident thanks to the small allowance from the government, but she still held her breath as she punched in the numbers and waited for the satisfying beep to confirm it hadn't been declined.

Emma hid the small package in the side pocket of her fleece, feeling the hardness of it against her left breast as she sat on a bench under the protection of St Dionysius Church. "I suppose you've seen many stupid women like me?" she asked the ancient structure under her breath, feeling false warmth from the yellow glow of its floodlit stone. The church remained silent, but Emma drew comfort from its presence, a symbol of sanity in a crazy age.

On her way home she stood under the shelter of the old school house, closing her eyes and taking off her gloves to stroke the solid oak beams. Her archivist's mind sought connection with the citizens of Market Harborough, long since dead and buried in the churchyard or scattered on the green rolling hills of its perimeter. She sought their wisdom, but sensed only emptiness and loss. Emma felt the warm tear run down her freezing cheek as she pressed her lips against the ancient roughness of the wood. "I've allowed him to destroy me again," she whispered to the men and women of old, knowing inwardly that God would never allow them to hear. "I shouldn't have come. Everything's worse. What am I going to do?"

Nobody answered, but Emma's desperate confession didn't feel as though it fell on deaf ears. A fragile thread of inner strength trailed from her heart to her head and gave her a modicum of confidence. A warmth flooded from nowhere and Emma glanced back at the stone of the church behind her. It remained silent, traffic flowing past with glittering headlights, unconcerned for the plight of the woman who loitered under the old school house clutching one of its stilts. But Emma felt the stirring of new life and acceptance; from a God she always believed turned his face away from her in disgust.

With renewed vigour Emma marched home, energy coursing through her body and helping her make plans for the future. _It would be okay. Everything would be okay._

She fumbled under cover of the porch as a light December rain began. Her woolly gloves made retrieval of the door key impossible and she removed her right one with a sigh of exasperation. Parked cars lined the street on either side, but the one next to Rohan's front gate clicked as though only recently left there.

Emma stepped into the wall of heat from the central heating, the nausea pushing back into her consciousness. The hallway lights were on and the glare hurt her eyes after the darkness of outside. Emma put her boots in the hall cupboard and padded through to the kitchen. Her empty cup stood in the sink, the stain of her cold tea just a patch near the plug hole.

"Hey." Rohan's voice sounded flat as he came up behind her. Emma felt his proximity and stiffened, embarrassed as she realised the presence of the other man who followed him into the kitchen. "This is Craig. He's my lawyer."

Emma nodded to the middle aged man who leaned his backside against the fridge. Her eyes cast around for Felicity, relieved when she didn't appear. Emma allowed her heart to unclench a little. Craig was of average height, coffee skinned and green eyed; handsome in an unusual kind of way. He stepped forward and offered his hand, his mouth giving an upward tilt of approval. "Nice to meet you, Mrs Andreyev."

Emma opened her mouth to contest the title but saw Rohan wince out of the corner of her eye and released the man's hand. "Nice to meet you, Craig. Can I get you some tea?"

"Thank you." Craig gave his order, black hair running to grey in his sideburns as he declared his penchant for sugary tea. Emma went through the machinations of boiling the kettle and preparing the mugs, listening half-heartedly to the conversation which continued behind her.

"So what now?" Rohan asked, accompanied by a sigh as he leaned against the sink, arms folded.

"She already spoke to the police," Craig said. "She never asked for a lawyer so the damage is done. She waived her right to a phone call and the police were uncharacteristically nice to have fetched you. They say they have witness statements and firm evidence she's been doing this for a while. I don't see any way for her to get out of this now; I'm being honest with you. I can challenge the confession on the grounds of her age, possible manipulation of someone for whom English is a second language, but...oh, thank you." Craig took the mug of tea with a nod.

Emma looked to Rohan for clarification, but he kept his head down, chewing on his bottom lip in deep thought. "What is this? What's happened?" Guilt assailed her at the memory of Rohan trying to wake her up earlier. He came to her for genuine help and she pushed him away. Emma squeezed the bridge of her nose with her fingers, her own worries temporarily forgotten. She looked at Rohan until he raised his head and met her brown eyes. "I'm sorry...about before. I'm interested. Tell me."

"My mother's been arrested," Rohan said, the words obviously giving him pain. "She's confessed to murdering my father and..."

"And mine!" Emma's statement rapped out like an accusation and she gripped the edge of the counter in an effort not to fall. The room spun like a fairground ride and she heard the tiny moan escape her lips as though it came from someone else. She fixed her eyes on Rohan's, seeking a static point in the room as understanding flooded her. "You're trying to get her off!" Emma let go of the cold surface and stared at her husband, aghast at his misplaced loyalty. "Again, you screw me over because of your mother. Will you never learn, Rohan? She's a murderer. Anton knew it, I know it and even Christopher saw it. Are you really so deluded that you can't?" Emma turned angry eyes on the lawyer, who watched her with his mug half way to his lips. "Have they taken her herb garden from the balcony outside her apartment?"

The lawyer shrugged and looked doubtful, shooting a nervous look towards Rohan before shaking his head in a tiny motion. "They only have her confession but she wisely stopped talking so they have no hard evidence, no."

Emma's husband looked disgusted at her. "Geez, Em! It's just an herb garden, with parsley and stuff she cooks with. I bought her new compost for it a few weeks ago. Did you do this? Did you call the cops on her and finally get your wish?"

Emma's eyes flashed with danger as the lawyer cleared his throat. "Er, no actually. A number of elderly male residents who grew attached to your mother, seem to have died. She cooks for them and looks after them when they get sick. It's the residential home who called the police."

"They're old men!" Rohan roared. "I've met them all, decrepit, elderly men. It's a _residential_ _home!_ People buy apartments there so they can enjoy their last few years with help and...and...you know, friendship! They die there because it's their last home."

The lawyer shook his head. "Rohan, the best defence against the murder charge is to plead insanity."

Rohan didn't let him continue. "Are you kidding me?"

Craig sighed and placed his drink on the counter. "I wish I was, my friend. You need to let me intervene and ask for psychological reports, sooner rather than later."

"No, no!" Rohan put the heels of his hands into his eyes and pressed hard. "She wouldn't kill anyone. She's been a good mother. You don't understand. In Russia when I was so sick all the time, she took care of me. She's kind and gentle. Why can't you see that?" He pulled his hands away and begged Emma with his vibrant blue eyes. "I know you felt she didn't like you, Emma, but don't you remember? When you caught all those stomach upsets, she made you nice drinks and bought stuff to help you, didn't she?"

Emma shook her head sadly. " _She_ was my stomach upset, Ro. Anton stopped me taking anything from her eventually. He told me about your little sister and her mysterious ailments, undiagnosed by any physician in Russia. He told me how it broke you when she died." Emma moved to his side and put her hand up to Rohan's face, feeling the scratchiness under her fingers. "Remember how clumsy Anton was at meal times when she left us to eat by ourselves? All those drinks of yours he spilled and the plates of food he knocked over and then gave you his? He went without for you, Rohan, _for you_. He protected us, Ro. We cleaned up the mess because we were terrified of her, yes. But also because she needed to think you ate or drank what she prepared. Because of Anton's incredible sacrifice she decided you were immune and moved her attention to him and me. Anton was a master of deception and I learned never to touch what she made, but I wasn't as good as him at faking. When you went in the army, we knew you were safe. When Anton left and there was just me and her, it was harder to avoid her potions. She fed me her herbal crap and I was sick a few times. Then I got clever at not taking it. I learned to pretend, just like Anton did."

Emma ran her hand down Rohan's face, agony spilling from her eyes. "We married and I thought you'd take me away from her. I thought you understood, but how could you after all those years of Anton shielding you? You deployed to Afghanistan and I got so sick. Alanya believed my morning sickness was caused by her poisons and she was tender and kind, sitting with me when I couldn't manage school because of the nausea and trying to fill me with her 'cures'. I faked drinking them, but then the bump started to show and she had this dawning realisation. I saw in her eyes how much she'd like my innocent baby to torture and knew I needed to get away. She caught me packing and dragged me to the doctor for an abortion. She's damaged, Ro, crazy. I was waiting for you to come back from this last job and then I intended to leave. Your mother and that witch Felicity are as insane as each other. I can't work at the school or live in this town, I was kidding myself. They've both taken a turn at threatening me. You definitely know how to surround yourself with crazy!"

Emma withdrew her fingers from Rohan's cheek and looked into his brokenness through the sad blue of his eyes. "Anton's no longer here to speak for himself and even when he was, nobody listened. I'm sorry, Ro, but I _will_ testify against Alanya for everything she's done. She'll never have access to my son, not as long as I have breath in my body." Emma smiled sadly at the stunned lawyer, extending her hand as she headed towards the door. He took her fingers in his, confusion in his face. "When we meet again, you'll probably be cross examining me in the witness stand," she said with forced politeness. Craig stood up straight and looked down at her, admiration sneaking through his brown eyes. "I've waited years for this and it's been a great weight on my heart." Emma touched her breast bone with fluttering fingers, subconsciously emphasising her point. She smiled at Craig. "I wouldn't take this case, if I were you. There are no winners."

She left then, donning her boots and sweater and heading back out into the cold. Allaine opened the front door on the first knock. "Hey, gorgeous! Oh." She peered at Emma's ashen face in the porch light. "You don't look any better than earlier. Couldn't you sleep?"

Emma removed her outdoor clothing and hurled herself down on the lounge sofa, waiting patiently while Allaine made her a drink. "I'm so thirsty," Emma complained, guzzling the hot liquid. "I've wasted two cups of tea this afternoon already. Where are the kids?"

"Will took them to the movies in Leicester. They'll be ages yet. I bet he springs for fast food on the way home too."

"Nicky's never been to the movies," Emma smiled. "And we never afford fast food. He'll think it's Christmas!"

"It nearly is." Allaine settled on the sofa next to Emma and sat sideways so she could see her. "Will's missing our sons, I think. Having Nicky reminds him of what it was like having little boys to take to soccer games or rough around with. Kaylee's a proper girly girl. That's what happens when an unexpected one pops out. Emma what's wrong?"

Emma told her about Alanya Harrington's arrest and Allaine whistled through her teeth. "Sounds like a form of Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. The sufferer manufactures ailments for their children but really it's them making the child sick. They commonly use poison, forms of bloodletting, even suffocation in severe cases. It has a high mortality rate for children. It's like child abuse, well, it _is_ literally child abuse. But often undetected. I did heaps of testing in the lab, trying to work out how they'd done it. One woman used to feed her poor toddler salt through a syringe. He died a very painful death."

"Oh, God!" Emma pleaded, putting her hands over her ears. "Please don't tell me anymore. It makes me feel ill."

"Sorry." Allaine pulled Emma's hands down and clasped them in hers. "This must be awful for you. Did you know she was doing it?

Emma nodded. "Rohan's father was some kind of envoy when Britain became more amenable to Russia in the 1990s. From what Anton told me, this posting was meant to be a fresh start for the family after their little sister's death in Russia from some mysterious virus. They came over here and settled in London and then the boys began to get sick; mainly stomach complaints and diarrhoea. Anton had it worse than Rohan but they both had bouts of it. Then the father developed some kind of odd ailment and pulled in every specialist in London. He died with no diagnosis and Alanya received permission to stay here. They shifted north to Lincoln and turned up at our church, where my widowed father was the rector. I never understood why a Russian Orthodox woman would wind up at an Anglican church in the back of beyond, but before my father died, we had this odd conversation. It seems he met her once in St Paul's Cathedral in London when Dad was on business down there. He must have told her enough about himself that she was able to follow him home."

Emma sighed and ran a shaking hand over her face. "My father was a good man, Allaine. He believed only the very best of people. He never saw that side of her which was cruel and unrelenting. My childhood memories are ruined by visions of us avoiding her food, eating sour apples from the garden because we were hungry or groaning in agony when hunger made us give in and eat what she put on the table. Rohan broke his arm and concussed himself once, when she made us pick every damn apple in the tree so she could get rid of our alternative food source."

Allaine stroked a tear from Emma's face. She hadn't even realised it was there. "Was Rohan really so unaware, or do you think he's blocked it out?" she asked.

"Probably both," Emma admitted. "Rohan was the eldest but Anton protected us both from her. He had this larger than life zest for living and such a dramatic personality. He learned to distract us all and hide us under this safe covering of fantasy and idealism. That's the trouble, I think Rohan and I fell in love under the shadow of Anton's wing in a world that didn't really exist. Loving Rohan was like walking through the wardrobe and finding Narnia. Anton would have been the funny little faun creature, with a boy's torso and goat legs." Emma's voice broke. "I miss him so much."

Emma cried until she was spent, grieving for so much stolen life and the people snatched away from her. She felt like a tent, billowing in the wind because its pegs were ripped out of the earth by cruel hands. Allaine let her cry and then led her upstairs to the attic bedroom where her grown sons once rough housed and listened to loud, teenage music. She waited while Emma used the bathroom and helped her remove her jeans, tucking her into the single bed and listening to the exhausted hitches of her chest. "Don't think about anything else tonight," Allaine whispered over her. "We'll talk tomorrow. Things always seem better in the daylight."

# Chapter 40

Emma woke around five in the morning, confused about where she was. The room smelled masculine and unfamiliar and Emma crept downstairs for a drink of water, barefoot and dressed only in a sweater and knickers. Moonlight lit her way enough and she had moments of stress when a floorboard or stair tread creaked, fearful of meeting Allaine's husband for the first time as a suspected burglar. The long, galley kitchen was at the back of the house and Emma stood at the window and watched the daylight blooming from a far off corner of the earth, not yet reaching its pale fingers far enough to touch Market Harborough. The frost on the ground reflected the full moon outside, twinkling like a carpet of glitter. Emma sipped her water slowly and then she saw him.

He stood like an apparition in the garden, leaned casually against the wooden shed. Emma watched as a red glow from a cigarette flamed and then disappeared. She sat her glass on the counter with precision and carefully unlocked the back door. The blast of wintry English winter air assailed her bare feet and legs as she stepped onto the freezing concrete slabs outside. Clicking the button on the Yale lock so she could get back in again, Emma closed the door quietly and ran across the frozen grass, the prickly stiff blades crunching under her toes.

"Hey there." He blew cigarette smoke over Emma's head and then clasped her to him, the zipper of his coat scratching her face. "So the shit's hit the fan then?" His soft tone accentuated the beauty of his lilting Irish accent as Emma nodded slowly against the front of his coat.

"I thought you died," Emma sniffed into his chest, wrapping her arms around his warm body.

Placing his cigarette between his lips, Christopher bent and seized Emma, hauling her off the cold ground and nestling her in arms that felt reassuringly strong and secure. He carried Emma without great effort, to the very end of the garden furthest from the house. Blessed with the same quarter acre site as Rohan's place further along the street, the long thin garden boasted plenty of places to hide unnoticed in the darkness. In a small orchard crafted by Allaine's green fingers, Christopher sat down on a metal bench which creaked under their combined weight. He shifted Emma so she sat sideways across his thighs and pulled his cigarette from between his lips.

Taking one final drag and exhaling the nicotine laden air, Christopher stubbed it out on the side of the bench and lobbed the dog end backwards into the lane behind. He pulled Emma into his shoulder and cradled her, saying nothing.

It was freezing and the scent of the cigarette got into her stomach. Emma fixed cold fingers across her mouth and heard Christopher chuckle. "Sorry, darlin'. If ya come away with me, I'll give it up."

"Liar," Emma smirked and he laughed.

"Aye, yer probably right. Why give up the things yer enjoy, like sex and smokes. I'll be a long time dead. They seem like a nice family you're with. Interestin' stuff in their bins though. I..."

"Don't!" Emma sat up, her eyes glistening with moisture in the moonlight. She struggled as though trying to get up.

"It's okay, we won't talk about anything you don't wanna. Just sit with me a while. Yeah?"

Emma nodded and snuggled back down into Christopher's lapel, feeling his rough fingers rubbing warmth into her bare thighs. "I'm glad you're safe," she said, white mist escaping from her lips with her words and leaving a dissipating trail. "I worried about you. You look as banged up as Rohan." Black stitches held his eyebrow together and his lip was swollen on one side. A black eye and another cut across the bridge of his nose evidenced his fight with Rohan, plus whatever happened afterwards.

"Ach! You've enough of your own worries to be goin' on with. Don't be mindin' about me."

A bat soared overhead, visible in Emma's peripheral vision but gone when she tried to focus on it. An owl hooted and she sat up as the cold began to take hold. Christopher stroked her face and pressed their foreheads together. "I'd give ya my coat but I'm not stayin'. I came to say goodbye."

"How did you know I'd see you?" she asked and he smiled, his teeth white against his dark face.

"I didn't. But I'm glad to get the chance to say it to ya."

"How can you do this? Staying out here in the dark." The bat swooped nearer, curiosity driving it to investigate with its sonar. "Don't you get scared?" Emma crouched lower, pushing her face into Christopher's shoulder.

"No. Darkness is a state of mind," he whispered.

"I'm leaving here next weekend," Emma stated, the chattering of her teeth acting as a reminder that she needed to go inside.

"No, you're not. Don't go back to that hole, Emma, I'm tellin' ya. I'll fetch ya and bring ya right back, so don't push me. It'll be a waste of those train tickets in yer coat."

"You don't know I bought train tickets!" Emma complained and her companion chuckled.

"I do, so. And I know what else yer bought too, see."

Emma groaned. "I can't stay here, not with Rohan."

"Aw youse two pair of eejits. You'll work it out. But yer don't have to stay with him if yer don't want to."

"I know. He said today he wanted to give me money to support Nicky but..."

"No, not that, although so he should; the child's his son. _Now he knows about him anyhoo_." Christopher left his reprimand hanging in the air which spangled with floating water molecules.

"It's going to snow, isn't it?" Emma asked, sounding like a child.

"Aye." Christopher kissed her frozen forehead and rested his chin on her hair. "But listen. Just wait a few days. Someone's been lookin' for ya. Let them come and talk to ya."

"No! Who?" Emma looked alarmed.

Christopher smiled. "D'ya trust me, Em?" He waited a heartbeat until she nodded. "Then do as I ask. Wait for him to talk to ya. You've led him a merry dance up and down the country to end up on his own front doorstep. So just give the man a break and wait it out. For me. Please?"

"Is he nice?" Emma asked, turning her bottom lip down in a sulk.

"Who cares?" Christopher snorted. "He's somethin' to show ya. So you'll wait?" Emma nodded in agreement, although from the set of her shoulders, reluctantly. "Right then. You've to go in before you catch yer death and I've somewhere to be."

Emma stood up and shifted from foot to foot in the icy grass, the biting cold attacking her exposed flesh. Christopher rose from the bench and wrapped his scarf more tightly around his throat. Then he put his hands on Emma's shoulders and observed her one last time. "Goodbye, Emma Andreyev," he breathed, sadness creeping into his dark eyes. "I wish I hadn't fallen in love with ya, but hey, shit happens." He leaned forward and placed soft lips over hers. Her mouth opened in surprise and Christopher flicked his tongue over hers in a tantalisingly short dance of lust and promise. Emma closed her eyes and felt the flare in her stomach, the faint smell of cigarettes wafting round her in a haze.

She opened her eyes the moment he disconnected from her, feeling a cold, numbing emptiness surround her soul. Already he was gone, nothing but a slight movement in the darkness down near the bottom fence. Emma peered, hoping for one last sighting of her handsome Irishman, untameable and unstoppable in his constant questing for something only he understood. She raised her hand in a last wave before she turned, hearing the slightly strange hoot of an owl nearby and wondering if it was him.

# Chapter 41

"You look much better," Allaine told Emma as she served tea and toast at the kitchen table. Her red headed husband smiled nervously at Emma as he got the children ready for church.

Nicky popped up onto Emma's lap, forcing his way into the narrow gap between her stomach and the table. "Come church wiv us, Mummy. Jesus doesn't throw lightning bolts in his church, Will said. He laughed when I telled him you said fings like that."

Will bit his lip and looked apologetic, caught in his mocking of Emma's antiquated beliefs. Allaine gave her husband a stern glare before pulling on her boots. Emma kissed her son's rosy lips and smoothed away a smear of chocolate spread from around his mouth. "I just say silly things sometimes." She forced a smile. "My daddy was a good man and he knew Jesus. Don't believe everything I say, Nick. Some of it's just not worth hearing."

Satisfied, Nicky hugged her neck and popped down, wriggling into his school coat over a very old set of trousers and sweatshirt left over from Allaine's boys. Will filed them all into the thin hallway and Allaine pushed a sheaf of papers towards Emma with a slight nod, waiting until her husband was out of earshot. "Don't say anything in front of Will, because he's involved in the case with Rohan's mother. But look at this list of plants. I printed it off the internet. When I worked as a lab technician, these were the most common cause of natural poisoning we came across. Look at the symptoms and see if they match your illnesses and your father's. Then perhaps we can pinpoint which plant causes that. We might be able to go to Will with some hard evidence."

Emma gulped and stared at the white sheets, speckled with writing and colour photos of leaves and blossoms. Allaine rubbed her shoulder with affection." Have a peaceful morning. Will's promised the kids' lunch out." Allaine rolled her eyes. "I'm not having another baby just to please him, so we'll just keep borrowing Nicky. Well, until you go anyway." Her eyes became shrouded in sadness and regret.

"I don't know if we're leaving immediately. I'm waiting for something." Emma watched the light flick back on in her friend's face. "Not that I can afford to lose a hundred quid on wasted train tickets though. Maybe I can change the date. I'll walk back to the station and ask tomorrow."

"I guess it's a lot of money to waste," Allaine agreed.

"It certainly is where I've come from," Emma snorted, but there was no mirth in the sound, just profound sorrow. "We'll see, anyway. Thanks for everything you've done for me." Emma smiled up at her friend.

"Come on, Alli!" Will shouted from the street. "They'll be singing the last hymn by the time we get there."

Emma went to the front window to drink her tea in the lounge and watch the little group bounce down the street past Rohan's house. The children ran ahead in woolly hats and mittens, balls of boundless energy. Allaine and Will followed behind, holding hands and laughing together.

Emma cleared up from her breakfast and set the kitchen to rights. Upstairs she stripped the bed she slept in and loaded up the washing machine, finding the powder and fabric softener and setting a load going. She popped some things from the laundry basket in to make up a full load. The jeans she slipped on for breakfast felt scratchy against her skin and the moment for decision came. Emma stuffed the sheets of information printed from the internet into her pocket, secured the house and closed the front door, posting the spare key through the letterbox after she locked up. With a last wistful look at Allaine's comfortable home, Emma walked down the street to Rohan's front gate, taking in a huge breath as her hand rested on the catch, dreading the reception she would get.

# Chapter 42

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Emma Andreyev." The smart suited man hovered nervously in front of her, a fixed smile on his face. Emma's chest clenched with fear and she grappled at the gate catch, contemplating shouting for Rohan. "No, there's no need to be scared." The man reached a hand out towards her and Emma shied away instinctively. The hand was pudgy, betraying a white collar worker's smooth skin and a fat wedding ring adorned his left ring finger. He looked familiar. "I promise, I mean no harm, Mrs Andreyev. Christopher..." The man glanced down at a notebook on his hand, "Christopher Dolan told me where to find you. He said you'd be scared and I was to explain myself." He bit his lip and Emma visibly relaxed at the mention of Christopher.

"Dolan," she said softly, tasting the name on her tongue. "I didn't know his surname."

"Yes, I asked for his help in finding you. I employed Mr Dolan as a private investigator a while ago after the death of my client."

"Sorry, what? You employed...but I thought Anton asked..."

"Yes! Anton Andreyev." The well-dressed male took another step towards Emma and then thought better of it. "Mr Andreyev was my client. I'm a solicitor. I was _his_ solicitor."

Hearing Anton's name spoken so easily by this formal, clearly affluent man, caused Emma to halt. She gripped the wooden top of the gate and studied him, wariness in her brown eyes. The solicitor was of squat build with a black mackintosh over his smart pinstripes. Dark hair stuck up from his head like the down of a baby monkey and blue rimmed spectacles shrouded eyes peering like a mole's. "You're the man, aren't you?" Emma said with resignation. "He said you would be coming."

"Who?" The solicitor looked confused. "Oh, my private investigator." He nodded once and opened his arm, the pudgy forefinger pointing to a black car parked next to the house. "We need to take a small drive. Would you be okay with that?"

Emma glanced back at Rohan's house with doubt in her eyes. As if slamming the door on her heart, she nodded, acknowledging there was no help available there with the tortured Russian. Rohan Andreyev had problems of his own.

The car was posh and the solicitor kind, helping Emma locate her seat belt catch in the centre between them. She felt underdressed and dirty in his opulent vehicle and pushed the ever present feelings of inadequacy back down. They pulled out onto the Northampton Road and headed south, moving quickly past the new housing developments and finding rolling green countryside. Emma watched as it flew past her window at speed. "Not far now," her driver said, smiling sideways at her.

"Am I in trouble? I didn't catch your name," Emma said.

"Gosh, sorry!" The solicitor reached into a clean cigarette tray and pulled out a business card, placing it carefully into Emma's hand. "No, you're not in trouble."

She held onto it with cold fingers and read the embossed wording twice before allowing it to sink into her brain.

Allen, Holdsworth and Bowes, Solicitors.

"Why did you employ somebody to find me?" Emma asked, confusion evident in her troubled eyes.

"You'll see," the man replied. "Two more minutes."

"Which one are you?" Emma asked, glancing back down at the plush card in her fingers. "Allen, Holdsworth or Bowes?"

The solicitor laughed. "None of the above. I'm not a partner. I just work for them as a solicitor. I'd like to be a partner one day, but it's a way off. My name's Kieran Miles, but it will be irrelevant soon. You won't need to remember my name. Any problems, you just deal with the company."

"Nice to meet you, Kieran," Emma said politely, deliberately challenging a statement which rendered him insignificant.

Kieran smiled in acknowledgement as the vehicle sped towards the border between Leicestershire and Northamptonshire. Emma glanced left and spied the beautiful manor house on the hill. The windows looked dark and sad against the watery grey daylight, its red brick taking on a dark sheen as the threatening clouds scudded overhead and threw it into shadow and back out again. An unloved heaviness hung over it, pulling Emma's mood even further into depression. They passed the layby Emma usually parked in to gaze at the stunning building and then Kieran took his foot off the gas slowing the heavy car into a driveway.

Emma tensed, her legs and back locking up. A set of giant iron gates loomed up ahead, shrouded by a stand of trees either side of a long driveway. Kieran leaned out and pressed something into a keypad after opening his window. With a groan, the gates swung open on an automatic system and the car rolled forward. "No!" Emma gasped, memories of her last trip with strangers. "I'm sorry. This is stupid. I shouldn't have come." She grappled for the door handle, pushing with all her might. To her surprise it opened in a rush and she spilled out of the moving vehicle, losing her footing and tumbling onto the hard concrete driveway. The driver looked first astounded and then mortified, his lips opening in an 'o' of shock. Emma heard him put the hand brake on and the engine cut as she used her hands against a nearby tree to push herself upright. Fear made her breathing speed up and the world swam around her head, the trees curving into her vision in threatening arcs.

"Mrs Andreyev, whatever's wrong?" Kieran Miles looked stunned as he rounded the back of the car and slowed down to approach Emma, his mackintosh flapping round his legs. He held his arms out as thought flying, palm upwards like an ungainly blackbird.

Emma wiped her nose on the cuff of her sweater. "I'm so dumb! I got into a car with a complete stranger because I was too proud to just go into the house and ask Rohan for help!"

"I'm not going to hurt you!" Kieran looked horrified. "That's really not why we're here!" He cast around him as though expecting armed policemen to jump out from behind the trees lining the driveway. The overhead branches creaked as though in accusation, bending to the freezing cold wind. "Look," he made a decision. "Let's leave the car parked here and walk up to the house. We can walk on either side of the driveway and I won't come near you but it'll give me an opportunity to explain." He ran his hand through the spiky hair and looked devastated. "I've messed this up. I've messed it totally up."

Emma watched him panic before her, sensing his genuine misery. She still had his business card in her left hand and peered down at it, seeing his name in small type underneath the name of the firm.

_Kieran Miles, Legal Consultant_.

She hadn't noticed it before and ran her fingers over the deep embossing of the firm's name, feeling the names, Allen, Holdsworth and Bowes rubbing against her skin. Emma studied the man in front of her, aware he was more afraid than her. She straightened her spine. "Tell me why we're here and then I'll decide if I'm going up there with you. I've been here before, anyway." Emma pointed towards the imposing house on the hill and then looked back at Kieran. His brown eyes flickered in panic and he gulped, struggling to get a hold on his fear triggers. He relaxed his body with a huge effort of will.

"I know you have, Mrs Andreyev. The day of the auction I tried to catch you but you left before I got the chance. Okay, I'll start at the beginning. My firm is based up the road in Northampton. The senior partner, Mr Allen is solicitor to Anton Andreyev and handled his affairs for just under a decade. He handled the conveyancing on Mr Andreyev's property purchases and is also listed as the executor of his last and final testament. Mr Andreyev's theatre company is also considered part of his estate."

"Theatre company?" Emma shivered in the biting wind and Kieran waved his arm towards the shelter of the huge house up ahead.

"Can we walk and talk?" he asked, drawing his coat around him.

Emma nodded and stuck to the left of the driveway, forcing Kieran to call across to her. Gradually as the story unfolded, she edged closer without realising it. "So when Mr Andreyev sadly died, Mr Allen was informed as the executor of the will. The address we had for you in Wales was amended a few years ago and the will rewritten to name only you as his sole heir, but the address in Lincoln proved fruitless."

Emma stopped. "You knew about my address in Wales? Anton made his will that long ago?"

Kieran nodded with enthusiasm. "Oh yes! Everyone should have a will, even if they don't have much to leave." He smiled at Emma, confident with talk of his chosen profession. "A Mrs Lucya Andreyev was also an heir but I understand she passed away?"

Emma nodded sadly. "Yes. Lucya died just over two years ago. I moved back to Lincoln then." Emma walked, observing the house ahead. "How long is this driveway?"

"Half a mile exactly." Kieran stated the distance with such precision, Emma wondered if he had the deeds stashed in his copious mackintosh pockets. "So, Mr Allen travelled to Lincoln to visit you and met with...considerable obstacle."

Emma's head whipped round, curiosity blossoming in her face. "What do you mean? Because I was already down here, in Market Harborough?"

"Oh, no!" Kieran looked scandalised, his brown eyes round and staring. "Some thug refused to allow him access to the estate you lived on. Our letters went unanswered and there was no phone number for you. Mr Allen's personal visit was not a positive one! He made a complaint to the local police and they promised to look into it."

"Sounds like you met Fat Brian," Emma mused. "But it's worrying if he was intercepting my post. I never heard anything to suggest he did that kind of thing."

"The letters arrived back in our office as undelivered towards the end of November, by which time we had already engaged Mr Dolan to find you."

"Our estate wasn't very nice and the post office didn't like sending people out there to deliver mail. Things did sometimes take a long time to arrive. I once had this birthday card which Anton sent in June and I didn't get it until..." Emma stopped. "It's hard to believe he won't be sending me any more cards or funny jokes; that he won't just turn up unannounced." Emma sniffed and Kieran poked around in the inside pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a packet of tissues and offered it to Emma. "Thanks."

The first one tore into pieces and parts of it blew away, dancing over the wide expanse of lawn in front of the house like confetti. The wind tore at the next one as Emma lifted it with frozen fingers but she managed to hold on and dab at her eyes. She handed the packet back to Kieran and he wrestled it into his pocket. "Nothing you've said explains why we're here." Emma looked at the solicitor with accusation in her eyes.

Fine pea gravel appeared underfoot, littered with weeds and the brown autumn leaves that hadn't yet blown away on the harsh wind. It crunched under Emma's boot soles and she winced as a tiny nut of gravel spat up and hit her spitefully on the chin. "I've been here," she said to Kieran, rubbing at her sore skin. "I wandered in and there was this auction. They sold everything."

Kieran looked at Emma with a coy smile. "I know. I saw you. But we didn't sell everything."

Emma shrugged. "Yeah, it seemed such a shame. The auctioneer said the owner died and..." She stopped abruptly. "Who was the owner? Who owned this house? What have I got to do with this?"

Even before the solicitor uttered the name, Emma knew. She paled as the realisation hit her like a force ten gale, shock dilating her pupils until her eyes looked black against her white face.

"This was Mr Andreyev's home." Kieran looked at her with sympathy in his face, his head tilted slightly in a _there-there_ posture.

Anton's house rose above Emma, two main floors and the servants' attic. An unexpected shaft of sunlight lit the scene, cheering the red brick and making Emma feel as though Anton's embrace warmed her through the yellow glow. "Why are we here? It's Rohan you need to talk to, not me." Emma grew nervous again as the solicitor stepped up to the front doors and placed a key into the lock. A paper label flapped from it, twisting in the breeze.

"Welcome," Kieran smiled, stepping back to allow Emma entry.

Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous hall and Emma gasped as she looked around. "You lied. It's all gone! They sold everything!" Her eyes sought out Freda's dent in the oak paneling but it was too small to see from a distance and Emma gave up. She rounded on the solicitor. "Why am I here? This is nothing to do with me."

Kieran smiled again and walked down the long corridor to the sitting room. He pushed open the doors to the huge square room which overlooked Market Harborough from its vantage point. The bare wooden floors creaked under his shiny black shoes. "Please, sit down, Mrs Andreyev." He held his arm outstretched to indicate the window seat. Even the plush cushions were gone, leaving bare, painted wood against cold windows. Emma dragged her feet, not wanting to be confined any further with the stranger.

"Not unless you tell me why. I've got my mobile phone; I can call for help," she lied, remaining standing, her face set stubbornly in a look which resonated of her son's rare petulance.

Kieran sighed and pulled a sheet of paper from his inside pocket, flapping at it gently until it opened into its full A4 size. He directed his voice towards the window seat and began reading as though Emma was already sitting there in abject obedience. She pouted in the doorway at the weird charade. " _This is the last will and testament of I, Anton Stepanovich Andreyev, written in the presence of my executors, Mr David George Allen and Mr Andrew John Holdsworth..._ "

# Chapter 43

Emma clung to the edge of the window seat with fingers which were white and aching. She sat rigidly for the reading of Anton's final wishes, her head bowed so her eyes saw only the reddened wood of the floorboards in her immediate vision. Occasionally she saw Anton, his ready smile as he chastised or mocked her for some minor infringement, the intensity of the Andreyev blue eyes and the lightness of spirit which was always his. Emma's tears fell unchecked as Kieran read in a voice which didn't waver in the discharge of his peculiar duty.

"... _I have ordered the house to be stripped and the proceeds from an auction of the minor pieces put into a fund. We never shared artistic taste, Em. Some of it was too good to dispose of_... _the best furniture will be restored and returned after you take up residence...it's up to you what you do with it._ "

Kieran read on, detailing a trust fund for Nicky to remain untouched until he was twenty-one and numerous investments she would need to learn to manage, a theatre company into which Anton had placed a manager. "... _Henry Macey will contact you at the direction of my solicitor...yours to do what you wish with..."_

"Stop!" Emma held a hand up in front of her eyes and Kieran ceased his monotonous rendition. Her face was streaked and sticky, her dark eyelashes speckled with tear drops which glinted in the light sneaking through the wooden shutters. "I can't do this," Emma begged. "I can't take anymore."

Kieran reached into his pocket for the packet of tissues and then slumped down onto the seat next to her. The vast bay window would have fitted a junior soccer team into it with room to spare. "I'm sorry. It's a lot to take in. Mr Allen was meant to do this part and I would be here in case you fainted or needed clarification. It just took so long to find you and he's not in the country. I have to say though, I love Mr Andreyev's final words to you." The solicitor smiled and looked down at the paper in his hand. "Can I just read this last bit? I really wanted to."

Emma nodded as Kieran handed over a tissue and glanced around the empty room, as though seeking an audience. He puffed up his thin chest and spoke to the empty room. " _To my dearest Printsessa Emma. Everything I have achieved, I lay at your feet. It is all for you; from Russia, with love. Just like her, we will be bent, but never broken._ "

Emma let out a wail and sobbed into her hands. It was Anton's gay joke, bent but never broken. Emma saw his coy, mischievous smile and missed him with a physical, gnawing ache. ' _From Russia, with love_.' Russia gave Anton to her, but death stole him back. Russia gave her Rohan too, once upon a time, but not to keep. Her gifts were empty gestures.

"Is there someone I can call for you?" Kieran shifted the paper in his hand and flapped it towards Emma. "I think I've read all the parts which required it. I don't wish to cause you any more distress. I have two copies for you to sign to acknowledge receipt, one for you to keep and one for Mr Allen. Then I can leave you to it. It's all yours. Call the number on the business card once you've collected your thoughts and we'll transfer the money from the estate."

"But what am I going to do with all this?" Emma held her arms out sideways to encompass only a tiny corner of the enormous mansion.

Kieran shrugged, hints of a well disguised Welsh accent sneaking through as an undertone. "Sell it, live in it or restore it properly to its former glory. You've got the money to do any of it." He poked at a fleck of paint on the window seat. "Personally, I'd like to see it restored to how it used to be. But you'd need a historian to know how to do that."

Emma's mouth dropped open in surprise. Kieran looked nervous and shifted around on his bottom. "Bloody hell!" Emma gasped. "Or an archivist. The cunning git!" Then she laughed, shaking her head and giggling at Anton's perfect fix for her life. When the laughter stopped, the tears ran again until Kieran grew eager to leave.

He produced a beautiful ball point pen for Emma to sign her signature on the two sheaves of paper. Then he folded his copy and poked it into his inside jacket pocket. He held out his hand. "Lovely to have met you, Mrs Andreyev. I hope you'll be happy. Please get in touch with us if you require further assistance. Allen, Holdsworth and Bowes have considerable expertise in all legal matters and Mr Bowes deals with investments, covenants and trusts. I'm sure we'll be able to help you."

Emma took his cold fingers in hers and nodded her thanks. "Nice to meet you too," she muttered, stumbling over her words. Kieran placed the key with its paper tag on the seat next to her and left the room after telling her all the other keys were in an envelope on the mantelpiece. Emma nodded woodenly and listened to his footsteps tapping away across the hall and then the slam of the front door. She sat for a while, absorbing the calm of the old building, feeling the stillness comforting her. With everything gone, it was as though Anton had deliberately removed any trace of himself and Emma felt the gnawing grief again. There was no funeral, his will stated that, just a private cremation with nobody invited and his ashes scattered on the grounds of the old house by his solicitor. Kieran didn't know where.

Emma walked slowly over to the huge fireplace, seeking warmth in the cold dark grate and knowing even before she got there, how futile that was. Part of her wanted to revisit the blue room upstairs and see if it was still as Anton left it, but a bigger part feared that it wasn't and Emma's fragile sensibility meant she wouldn't cope. Her fingers reached up and touched the envelope leaning against the wall on the mantel, tutting as it tipped forward with the clang of myriad keys. She experienced a flash of anger. "Why did you do this?" she shouted into the empty room. "I'm an archivist, not an interior designer! I wouldn't know what I was doing!" She imagined Anton's high snort of laughter at her expense. "It's not funny!" she yelled at his ghost.

The sound of a car firing up caught Emma's attention and with a flash of horror she realised her mistake. She rushed to the windows, hauling back the shutter nearest to her and hammering on the glass with the flat of her hand. "Come back! I don't have a ride back into town."

Kieran Miles' car slid out of the gates and indicated left, heading out on the road to Northampton. Emma groaned out loud and sank onto the seat. "Nicky!" She ran her hands through her curls and heaved a huge sigh. "It'll take me ages to walk!" she grumbled and stamped her foot on the floorboards. The old house groaned around her.

"Aye, maybe."

Emma jumped at the sound of Christopher's voice. He leaned against the doorframe with casual ease and acknowledged her with a slight upwards tilt of his head. "Your front door was open."

"I thought you left." Emma stood, wanting to run to him with relief but unsure suddenly.

"Aye. I had a wee job up north with a school teacher who couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself. It's a great pity what a fall down stairs can do to a set of dirty fingers what won't stop touchin' things that don't belong to them."

Emma gulped. "There are no stairs at the school." Her words sounded stupid even to her. Christopher smiled.

"Aye, an' it was my job to be extra inventive, so it was."

"That's terrible." Then Emma smirked. "Do you think I should send him a get well soon card?"

Christopher shook his head. "Na. I'd be stayin' well away from that estate if I was you."

Emma sighed. "I decided to go back there. I thought if I agreed to shag him occasionally he might give me my job back."

"Aye right." Christopher's dark face remained impassive. "Well, I didn't wanna mention the other kind of accident he might also have had."

Emma sat back down and put her face in her hands. "Why is my life so complicated?"

"It's not!" the man scoffed. "You've made it that way. Anton left yer this house and a business. Just fetch yer wee son up here and make somethin' of it - and yerself for that matter."

"Do you think God puts people in your path exactly when you need them?" Emma asked, staring around the room.

"Dunno." Christopher shrugged. "Maybe."

"It's just that the solicitor made an odd comment. He said if I stayed here, I'd need a historian to help renovate this place properly." Her companion raised an eyebrow in question and Emma cocked her head. "I think Anton meant _me_ to do it but it's completely out of my league. Then recently I met this elderly lady who's a local historian. She married one of the Ayers sons brought up in this house." Emma bit her lip. "She'd be perfect. Freda would remember the house how it was in the 1920s."

"Well get on with it, then!" Christopher opened his arms wide to take in the surrounding pile.

"I can't!" Emma snapped. "I can't get back into town." She raised her eyes hopefully in Christopher's direction. "Please could you give me a ride?"

Emma locked up the front door and followed Christopher round the side of the house. She looked up at the darkened windows and struggled to deal with the responsibility of it all. Christopher kept his hands in his pockets, trudging along slightly ahead of her. "Oh!" he pulled out a long key ring adorned with silver keys of varying shape. "You'll be wanting these back after."

Emma frowned. "After what? And what are they all for?"

Christopher stopped in front of her and bit his lip. "I came here often so I had my own keys. Anton lent me a room over the old stables and I kept my gear in the shed underneath. I cleared out when the executors came and moved into the motel in Harborough. It's not my proper base but it was somewhere to come when I needed it." He smiled. "It's all yours now."

"You could stay?" Emma said softly, framing the question in her brown eyes.

Christopher laughed and shook his head. "What and cosy up in the middle of you and yer husband? No thanks!" He sounded bitter, striding off towards a long building with an apex roof over the centre of it. He clattered over the cobbles under an archway leading into a stable yard which looked derelict.

"But me and Rohan aren't..." Emma gave up and followed, her mind doing somersaults. Christopher was right. Rohan was Nicky's father and would resent his influence being diluted by the larger than life Irishman. Their enmity was clear. Besides, something told Emma a relationship with Christopher would wield a world of hurt. He was too fly-by-night, definitely not a one-woman-man.

Emma touched a hand to her breast. She didn't need any more heart damage. "Did Anton leave anything for you?" she dared to ask. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I wasn't his lover, if that's what yer askin'," Christopher snapped, his dark eyes flashing with injustice.

Emma halted. "I...that never even occurred to me." She tilted her head like a quizzical bird. "I suppose it should have."

"Well, I wasn't! We were just friends. But yes, he did leave me something."

"Oh, good." Emma's eyes filled with curiosity but it felt inappropriate to ask what. Christopher opened one of the stable doors and went inside and she hovered in the courtyard, whirling around and taking in the silent, brooding atmosphere of the place.

"Here!" Christopher thrust the motorbike helmet into Emma's hand and her eyes widened in alarm.

"What? No!"

"It's a fair ole walk back to town. Suit yerself." He disappeared back into the stable. Emma gulped as he pushed the gleaming machine out into the daylight. It glittered like the male equivalent of bling.

"Is this yours?" She reached out and touched the sparkling chrome handlebar.

"T'is now." Christopher grinned like a maniac. "It was the first thing Anton bought when his investments paid off. That's what happens when you've a mathematical genius as a brother; you get to play stockbrokers with the big boys. He got too sick to ride this beauty in the last year so I ran it about, just as a favour you understand." Christopher glowed as he mounted the Harley Davidson and pushed his helmet down over his face. "He left me this and the money for chasin' you indefinitely. It's ironic how his solicitor then engaged me to find you."

"Cunning. Paid twice for the same job." Emma smiled. Any doubts about Christopher as a bed partner evaporated. There was no suggestion he wouldn't invoice the solicitor and Emma knew the payment would come out of Anton's estate, _her_ estate. She shook her head.

"You gettin' on or what?" Christopher's voice sounded muffled under the helmet. With great reluctance, she fitted the tight head gear over her delicate ears and brushed her hair out of the front so she could see.

"I thought this was a mid-life-crisis sort of bike," she shouted over the deafening throb of the engine.

Christopher turned his brown eyes on hers and slapped her backside hard as Emma walked past him. "You definitely wanna walk," he yelled, his eyes curving into a smile, his lips hidden behind the bar of his helmet. Emma clambered onto the bike, using Christopher's strong torso to hold onto. She settled herself, the machine vibrating beneath and through her, praying she arrived home before Nicky did and in one piece. Something about the sight of the handsome Irishman in his helmet jarred with Emma's memory and she wrestled to bring it forwards. His brown eyes sparkled as he looked back at her and Emma's brow knitted in confusion.

"Hey!" Christopher turned his head to talk sideways to her and Emma leaned forward, bumping helmets awkwardly. "I'll take care of you," he promised in a half-shout which conveyed his sincerity. He reached behind him with one long arm and wrapped it around Emma, scooting her forward on the seat so her breasts touched the back of his jacket. His fingers lingered on her waist and Emma understood his promise, the weight falling from her chest to her stomach in one fell swoop.

# Chapter 44

Emma tapped Christopher on the shoulder at the end of Granville Street, wanting him to release her there instead of on Newcombe Street. He obliged, pulling the bike over and coming to rest against the curb. Emma struggled from the bike and went to war with her helmet, pulling to no avail.

"Stop, woman!" Christopher batted her hands away and lifted it off easily, leaving Emma panicked and sweating on the footpath. Christopher laid her helmet down on the ground next to his and then began to smooth her frantic hair away from her face. "So, this is goodbye proper then?" A sadness crept into his eyes and Emma felt the hitch in her chest.

"I guess so." She gulped and her eyes filled with tears.

Christopher shook his head. "No more cryin' for you. You've got choices now, so get makin' them." He pressed his forehead to Emma's, curving his neck and spine to reach her. His hands rested either side of her cheeks and he touched his lips to hers, causing the flare of natural passion to spark between them. Too soon, he pulled away, a small smirk touching the corner of his full lips. "Go home to yer husband, beautiful," he said wistfully and let go, leaving Emma standing on the pavement feeling empty.

"Christopher!" Emma's voice sounded panicked and once he turned to look at her, she felt her head empty of all sensible thought. She gulped. "The solicitor couldn't get onto the estate." Christopher looked confused and dismissed the statement with a shrug as he pulled his helmet back on and stowed her redundant one in the cavity under the seat. Emma took a step forward. "Anton did. He came heaps of times. How come?"

Christopher's eyes narrowed into slits of pleasure as his helmet masked the broad smile. Emma mouthed the words even as he said them and shook her head. "Fat Brian." She watched as Christopher started up the engine and pulled out into the traffic. She lifted her hand in acknowledgement of his single left handed salute and then he was gone, blending into the line of lunchtime traffic heading north into town. Emma watched as Christopher plunged through the traffic lights just before they turned red and bit her lip as the memory dislodged itself and flashed before her eyes. The tall motorcyclist stood at the cash register in the service station after Emma's hasty exit from the wedding, his neat backside encased in dark pants and those brown eyes twinkling through the gap in his visor. Nicky waved and Christopher ruffled his hair. _Harley Man_.

" _It was him!_ " Nicky argued back in the hire car and Emma had sighed at her child's insistence. But he was right. Harley Man wasn't just a figment of her creative son's imagination. He was real; he was Christopher bloody Dolan.

"Well, looks like everyone knew except me," Emma mused. "And I always deemed it likely anyone with something as expensive as a Harley, would leave that estate in a coffin, robbed for the bike and anything else of value."

' _I chatted to Harley Man today_ ,' Nicky would tell her and mostly Emma humoured him, not wanting to quash his imagination, even when little Mo nodded enthusiastically and validated Nicky's tale. Now she thought about it, Harley Man often appeared around the same time as one of Anton's surprise visits and more so in the last year. Emma sighed and shook her head. Christopher Dolan would love the nickname and Emma regretted not getting to share it with him. She put her hand into her pocket, feeling the weight of the envelope full of keys. Then she smiled. Christopher hadn't given his back.

With a huge sigh of resignation, Emma trudged up Granville Street with a lightness in her heart. Allaine's God was certainly having a busy morning interceding in her life. The thought wasn't unpleasant and Emma readied herself to see Rohan again after their fight, buoyed up by the knowledge that at least now, she owned somewhere else to go. Realism plucked at her dreams, reminding her how her meagre wage at the school would probably be swallowed up in the power bill for the enormous house. The powerful sense of Rohan which stayed constantly with her, tugged at Emma's heartstrings, fighting with her over her life decisions. Everything about Rohan belonged to her and she squeezed the bridge of her nose as she walked, banishing the love and affection for him which overrode everything else. Allaine's sheets of incriminating plant descriptions nestled against the envelope of keys, daunting and as poisonous as their subject. Rohan would never accept the truth.

Christopher was a gorgeous, dangerous distraction from the reality of her sham marriage and Emma wrinkled her nose in displeasure as she opened the front door, her heart already belonging to the strong Russian but her head convincing her otherwise. The waft of Felicity's overpowering perfume caused a wave of nausea and Emma readied herself for the other woman's spite.

"Em?" Rohan appeared in the doorway from the plush lounge they hardly ever used. His eyes were bloodshot and his blond hair stuck up on end. Yesterday's white shirt listed to one side, untucked from his jeans and he leaned against the doorframe as though afraid he might fall down. Relief flooded his face.

"Hi," Emma replied, shooting a polite smile in his general direction. She slipped her boots off and tutted at the piece of fluff from her tattered sock which floated down onto the wooden floor, ignoring the waft of Rohan's masculine pheromones attacking her hormones with vigour. Emma hung her sweater on its peg and shoved her boots in a cubby hole underneath. Scooping the fluff from the floor, she headed for the dustbin in the kitchen.

Rohan blocked her, putting his body in her way. "Bin!" Emma held the fluff in his face and he snatched it out of her hand.

"I need to talk to you."

Emma tried to turn away in exasperation but found herself pinioned by her shoulders from behind. She resisted the urge to kick out backwards, suspecting Rohan might overbalance. "Em, please?" His voice contained an unfamiliar begging edge as the strong, capable Russian spun her around until her breasts touched his chest. "No more, please," he whispered. "Not just for me, for both of us." His fingers caressed her shoulders and Emma felt herself weakening. Rohan gave her a small shake as though trying to wake her up from some delusional stupor. "Tell me you don't love me and I'll let you go. You can walk away and I'll even give you the money you need. You just have to say the words, Em. Say it."

"We did this already!" Emma stared up into Rohan's deep blue eyes, losing herself like she did when she was a small girl and then a teenager. His soul was as firmly knitted to hers as her own and it would be like admitting she didn't love breathing, or eating or being Nicky's mother. She faltered and her lips moved, wondering if it would be better for all of them if she tried to detach from this beautiful man. The words stuck in her throat, refusing to perjure her heart in the lie.

"I know. But you didn't answer that time." Rohan watched her lips with frightening intensity and the light dulled in his eyes as Emma tried to speak.

Emma shook her head finally. "I can't. I can't do it. I hate you right now, but I can't tell you I don't love you. It wouldn't be true."

Rohan swallowed and wiped Emma's tears away with his thumbs, clasping her face, his fingers moving against the soft skin behind her ears as he pulled her lips towards his, guiding her in to oblivion, just like the first time they kissed, her twelve and him, fifteen. He inhaled and pulled her into him, arching his tall body around hers and making her neck ache with the effort of meeting his lips.

Emma yelped in surprise as Rohan lifted her off her feet, not in a romantic sweep as Christopher had done in the garden but upright, Emma's feet off the floor as Rohan aimed blindly for the lounge door, keeping his arms tightly around her body and his lips over hers. He ceased only long enough to lay her on the sofa and strip off his tee shirt. Emma's eyes narrowed as he turned to throw the garment, the long wound on his back protruding from underneath the white gauze. Staining showed through, reminding her of the back street doctor and his unethical practices. Rohan stroked her cheek as he undid his jeans one handed, bringing Emma's focus back to the dark blue pools of his eyes, which fixed on hers as though welded there by an unseen hand. "Look at me," he whispered as he helped her with her zipper. "Don't think about anything else. Just us."

Their lovemaking wasn't a testimony of romance. It was the consummation of an agreement, the resurrection of a covenant made long ago by which each was irrevocably bound. The first time was a rush of explosive passion, a feast for the hungry, but the second time was the love Emma remembered and spent the last seven years craving. Rohan Andreyev was a considerate, attentive lover, leaving Emma moaning, breathless and desperate for more.

When Rohan's feet slipped on the floorboards for the umpteenth time, his foot trapped in the hem of the jeans he resisted pulling down any further than his knees, Emma placed her hand against his chest and turned her face away from his kisses. "Take them off, Ro," she whispered, looking up into his tortured eyes.

"It's fine." He tried to place his lips back over hers, the fire beginning to rage again.

"Ro, I know about your leg. Please, take your jeans off."

His lips parted in futile protest as courage and lust fled. He lay sprawled across her, his skin warm and enticing but the moment ruined. Emma reached up and smoothed the crow's feet next to his eyes, laughter lines no longer used in his present, empty life. "It doesn't matter. It makes no difference to me. Please don't shut me out now. We seem to go forwards making progress and then slip backwards so much further. We need to go forward and keep going, or..."

"No." Rohan placed his lips over Emma's to prevent the threat escaping. "Okay." He kissed her neck and nibbled her ear lobe. "But can we go upstairs to bed? I'm getting too old for shagging on the sofa."

Emma chose her own bed and they snuggled down under the covers, her head tucked tightly in Rohan's armpit and her hand resting on his muscular stomach. They lay for a while as the day waned, not talking but enjoying the sound of each other's heartbeat and the familiarity of being together. The weight of all the things they needed to talk about seemed to hover overhead like a menace.

Emma rolled over onto her stomach and pushed herself up on one elbow, using her other hand to play with the dog tags around Rohan's neck. They clinked in her fingers, a tinny, delicate sound. She pressed her lips against Rohan's service number, punched into the metal. "About Felicity..."

"I don't want you to mention her name ever again!" Rohan wrinkled his face in displeasure. "Especially not in bed with me."

"So can I mention her in bed with someone else?" Emma asked facetiously and Rohan's blue eyes widened.

"No! You won't be in bed with someone else. Felicity was never my girlfriend. She turned up here yesterday and I sent her away after she admitted threatening you. Craig told her he'd call the cops if she didn't leave. But she came again today, just before you got back. I'll just keep sending her away until she gets the message. I think there's something a bit unhinged about her."

"You noticed!" Emma scorned. "It took you long enough!"

"Sorry." Rohan became silent and brooding, smoothing his fingers across a crease in the bedsheet. It occupied all his attention as myriad thoughts coursed through his brain.

Emma sighed and put her fingers over his, stilling their movement. Rohan swallowed, but didn't look up. "You seemed to have a lot to say to me downstairs," she smirked, her lips rising at one corner. Her eyes flickered with mischief as her dark curls tumbled around her face.

"We didn't do much talking," Rohan commented, rewarded by Emma's triumphant smile.

"I didn't mean that kind of talking." She put her lips over his and heard him inhale as her hand wandered below the sheets, exploring forbidden territory. "You seem to have lost your way, Mr Andreyev. Let me help you."

As Emma's soft lips tousled the downy hair on Rohan's chest, he groaned and splayed his fingers across her lower back, grinding her body into his. Emma giggled, sixteen again, as she reached up and bit his full lip, drawing another gasp of pleasure from him. "I forgot what a bad girl you are," he sighed and Emma laughed.

"So did I."

# Chapter 45

When Nicky hammered on the front door mid-afternoon, Emma opened it and scooped her son up into a bear hug. "Don't you want to come in?" she called to Allaine and Will as they stood outside on the pavement.

"I wanna!" Kaylee squeaked and Will shook his head.

"Thanks, but we've got stuff to do. Have a good weekend."

Emma looked at Allaine and smiled. "Thanks for everything, guys. I really appreciate it."

They waved and proceeded down the street into the growing gloom as daylight withdrew its services from the town early. Emma watched them with confusion in her face at Will's sudden hostility. She feared Allaine might have broken her promise already and winced, hoping the policeman didn't make problems for Rohan.

Nicky was full of where he'd been and what he'd done, chatting non-stop as he shed his outdoor clothes. At the sight of Rohan sitting on the sofa in the lounge, Nicky squealed with delight and hurled himself at him. "Uncle Ro! I knowed you'd come back for me. I'm a wise man and I'm gonna make you laugh. Mummy said she didn't knowed if you'd be back in time." He looked accusingly at Emma as though she'd lied to him.

Rohan stayed seated and hauled the small boy onto his knee, wincing as Nicky's feet caught the prosthetic leg. Emma's brow knitted in concern. Rohan let her touch and kiss every inch of his body earlier as she sought to recapture their former intimacy, everywhere except his right leg. She understood his anxiety about it, but the fact it still hurt to that extent after almost seven years, seemed strange.

Nicky snuggled down into Rohan's body and popped his thumb in his mouth. Emma watched the touching scene with fondness and a sense of disbelief. It was the stuff of her dreams and she waited for it to be ripped from her grasp.

Rohan took his reading glasses off and laid them on the coffee table, putting his energy into holding his son. Nicky's body slumped with exhaustion and Emma smiled as he chatted around his thumb to Rohan. Their voices were a low, comforting hum.

"Hungry Nicky?" Emma asked from the doorway and her son shook his head.

"No fanks. Will fed me till I popped."

"Okay, baby. Why don't you go and have a lie down on Mummy's bed for a while? You look shattered."

"I'm not tired." Nicky punctuated his sentence with a yawn and Emma laughed. "Mum?" Nicky squirmed around on Rohan's knee so he could see his mother. "I'm not getting married ever. Kaylee just talked all night wivout stoppin'. She weared me out."

Emma bit her lip and smirked at Rohan, whose blue eyes danced with laughter. "Know what you mean, mate. Girls wear me out too." He gave Emma a wink which set her heart racing. Thinking about her hunger for Rohan raised another knotty issue and her smile faded from her lips. Rohan saw and his brow knitted. He cocked his head and asked with his face expression what was wrong. Emma shook her head and smiled reassuringly at him.

Later she laid on her bed with Allaine's sheaf of notes, sifting through endless pictures and descriptions of common garden plants and the symptoms resulting from ingestion. Emma jumped at the feel of Rohan's hand on her shoulder. "Budge up," he whispered, sliding onto the bed behind her.

"Where's Nicky?" Emma rolled over onto her back, lifting her head so Rohan could slip his arm under her neck.

"He fell asleep so I laid him on the sofa. Is that okay?"

Emma kissed the underside of Rohan's stubbly jaw. "Of course it is. I knew he was tired, stubborn child."

Rohan's hand slipped underneath Emma's sweatshirt and caressed her stomach. Emma stiffened involuntarily and inhaled. "What's wrong? Are you having regrets?" He shifted so his face was above hers, the dusting of hair on his face adding to his rugged good looks. She shook her head and let her eyes study his, willing him to read in her brown irises what was wrong without her having to tell him. His eyes narrowed as he registered something but Rohan misunderstood, placing his lips over hers and fitting their bodies together like a jigsaw puzzle. Emma breathed out and let him play with her lips, enticing her deeper so she wouldn't be able to back out. His tongue flicked the underside of her top lip and she heard herself moan as Rohan's fingers sneaked higher.

Farrell barked downstairs and they both jumped apart like guilty school children, thrown backwards in time over a decade to another life.

"Gets me every damn time!" Rohan exhaled crossly and Emma giggled.

"Me too. Guilt is an amazing contraceptive."

Rohan tutted and blew a raspberry on Emma's neck and she sniggered and pushed him off. "Don't wake Nicky, please?"

Rohan nodded and rolled off her. "Okay. I'll take your lead, Em. He needs to know I'm his dad and you're my wife though. I can't cope with sleeping next door when you're in here...alone...naked..." He trailed his fingers along the delicate skin of her ribs and Emma squeaked.

"Okay, okay. But if you've got any suggestions about how to drop this all on him, I'm keen to listen." Emma shifted and the papers under her made crinkling sounds as she crumpled and bent them.

"What are you looking at?" Rohan reached under her and grabbed the top piece of paper. Emma stiffened, not quick enough to stop him and it tore, coming away without its heading. "Oh." His face dropped as he read the first paragraph and peered at the picture of the green leaved plant with the vibrant blue flower. Emma tried to struggle away from him, but Rohan increased the pressure around her shoulders, clamping his other arm across her middle and dropping the paper between them. "No! I'm not letting this come between us, Em. It's fine. You do what you think is right."

"Oh, how can I?" Emma sat up and brought her knees to her chest, hugging them and rocking backwards and forwards. "I'm so deluded! There's no way this can work, Ro. You're going to do everything in your power to stop your mother going to prison and I'm doing the exact opposite. We can't possibly build a relationship on that. Besides, today I found out that..." "

"Oh, no." Rohan leaned up on one elbow, leaving his arm possessively across Emma's stomach. He sighed and Emma looked down at him. Rohan pointed at the plant half way down the page, tapping the paper. "It's that one. I don't remember it in Russia, but she's grown it since we came to Britain. You must remember." He turned the torn page for Emma to look at. "At your dad's house it was at the bottom of the garden but after he died and we moved out of the vicarage, she kept some in a raised garden. It always looked like a weed to me but she seemed to like it."

"It is a weed. Look." Emma read the description. "Wolfsbane's from the aconite family and can kill within six hours of consumption." Emma peered at the attractive blue flowers and looked up at Rohan, her eyes registering surprise. "I thought they were lupins. But they were this stuff. Ro, look at the symptoms. _Vomiting, diarrhoea, burning and tingling, numbness of the mouth and burning in the stomach_. My father had those symptoms. Severe poisoning can result in motor weakness, what's that?"

"Movement I think," Rohan said, twisting the paper so he could read it too. "Didn't he have problems with dropping things? Oh no, Em, look. _Organ failure leads to death_. I'm so sorry!" Rohan lay on his back and put his hands over his face.

"We all had stomach problems, didn't we?" Emma's voice sounded small. "Wolfsbane. So it was in the garden the whole time."

"But a pathologist would pick it up in a post-mortem wouldn't they? It's a poison so it must linger in the body."

Emma poked through Allaine's notes, trying to remember what her friend told her about the toxins listed in the pages. "No, look. The Greeks called it the _Queen of Poisons_ because it's hard to detect and can be hidden in food. Anton and I knew it was the food but we never worked out how she did it."

Rohan lay back and held his hand out for the other pages. Emma passed them over and their fingers touched. "I recognise some of these others." He flicked a few of the pictures with his fingernail. "But not in the same way as the Wolfsbane. Mum was quite picky about it. I mowed over some by accident and she gave me the belt across my legs. Your dad pulled her off me."

"What're we going to do?" Emma's face knotted with pain.

"Em, you told me Anton took you to Lucya to have the baby. Would you tell me about her?"

Emma stared at Rohan, her eyes wide with doubt. "Your grandmother, Ro? She was your father's mother. Did you never meet her? She talked of you often. She gave Nicky all his middle names."

"I don't recall her." Rohan sounded unbearably sad, his head low on his chest and his body slumped. "Tell me Nikolai's names?"

Emma knitted her brow and stroked his hair back from his face, keeping her tone light. "Nikolai Rohan Davidovich Andreyev. Nikolai is your handed down name from your father, Rohan is for Nicky's father and Davidovich was your grandfather. Lucya's the reason Nicky knows so much Russian. She spoke it all the time to him. Your father brought her over from Russia and sorted out her residency but after he died, your mother sent her away. She ended up in Wales at the mercy of the state. Lucya was always adamant your mother killed her son, but being a foreigner felt she had no voice. It's maybe why Alanya banished her. Are you sure you don't remember her at all? She was gorgeous and incredibly outspoken; Anton took after her."

"No." Rohan shook his head. "Not one bit." He sat up and leaned forward, mirroring Emma's stance. "What a mess!"

Emma put her arm around his shoulders and kissed his bicep. "I'm sorry. I don't know what to say."

"How come Anton knew all this stuff? How come I didn't?" Rohan shook his head in disgust at himself. "Geez, Em. No wonder you didn't want my mother near Nicky. If we'd stayed together, she would've had access to my son and...I get why you ran now. I've been such a fool."

"I can't argue with that." Emma smirked, realising as the expression lifted her lips, it was inappropriate. Rohan looked irritated and Emma slapped his arm. "We tried so hard to tell you, Ro. In the end you just became a liability so we protected you instead."

"If Anton was such a hero, how come you didn't fall in love with him?" Rohan sulked, his bottom lip protruding slightly.

"Because he was gay, idiot. Otherwise I would have."

Rohan looked horrified and Emma laughed, the tension momentarily dissipating. "He really was like a brother. My love for him was completely different to my hankering after you. Anton was amazing, but apart from not liking girls at all, can you imagine the trouble we'd have caused in the world as a couple? It doesn't bear thinking about." Emma giggled with the memories swimming before her inner vision. In their childhood games, Anton always took the role of leader, directing the mischief in his creative inimitable way. "About Anton, Ro, he..."

"Oh, hell! What are we going to do about my mother?" Rohan closed his eyes and balanced his chin on his wrists, interrupted by the appearance of Nicky, who stumbled through the bedroom doorway rubbing his eyes.

" _Oh no!_ " Emma hissed, waiting, her body stiff as her son opened his eyes and observed his mother and uncle sitting on the bed together. She waited for the awkward questions. Then Nicky yawned and the moment passed as he pushed his way in between them, crushing the papers underneath.

"Feel better, baby?" Emma asked, kissing him on his forehead. Nicky nodded.

"Mum, I like how Kaylee has a daddy. She has more fun 'cause she has one. I want a daddy." The child laid between the adults and Emma bit her lip, afraid of the chasm threatening to open up in front of her. Rohan turned towards his son and brushed the baby fine blond hair from his eyes.

"I could be your daddy," he offered, laying down on his side and leaning up on one elbow. "If you want. You have a think about it."

"No." Nicky took his thumb out of his mouth and Rohan looked devastated. Emma bit back a ready retort at her son's rejection of his father, her heart clenching in agony.

"No?" Rohan's voice wobbled.

"No. I don't need to fink about it," Nicky said. "I want you to be my daddy. I'd like that. Can I call yer _Dad_ then?"

"Reckon so." Rohan stroked the boy's soft forehead and smiled at Emma, cuddling Nicky into him as the child popped his thumb back into his mouth. Over the top of the boy's head Rohan spoke to his wife. "I'll sort out that other thing tonight, okay?"

She knitted her brow and looked confused, mouthing, " _What?_ " to him. There seemed so many things to still deal with. The threatening notion of Felicity floated across her inner vision, taking pot shots at Emma's fragile happiness. She'd called twice more that afternoon, resulting in a screaming match in the street between Felicity and Rohan's closed front door.

Rohan jerked his head towards the pile of crumpled papers. "That stuff," he said. "I'll sort it out tonight." His eyes strayed to the blond child cuddled sideways into his chest, sucking his thumb with obvious contentment.

Emma saw the look of determination cross her husband's angular face and sighed, seeing also the level of sacrifice which hid behind it. _His mother in exchange for his son_.

# Chapter 46

Emma arrived back from taking Nicky to school, stamping as she arrived abruptly in the warm hallway to shake warmth into herself. "Eek, it's freezing out there!" she commented, shivering on the mat and doing a funny little dance.

Rohan stepped through the hall doorway and watched her, his eyes dulled by longing. Emma registered his silence and stopped, stripping off her sweater and kicking off her boots. As she opened the cupboard door to put it all away, she felt the air behind her disturb with Rohan's presence. He brushed her long hair off her neck and bent to kiss the soft flesh. Emma exhaled at the welcome feel of his kisses. The night apart after such passionate contact the previous afternoon left them both desperate. "I've been waiting for you," Rohan whispered, teasing her with kisses that ran gently down her neck and onto her shoulder. He pulled her shirt aside and lifted her bra strap, sliding the apologetic grey material down her arm.

"Ro," Emma whispered, sighing at the feel of his lips against the soft skin under her earlobe. "I really need to sit down and talk to you about a couple of things. I..."

"Later." Rohan's kisses were urgent, pressing into Emma's flesh like a brand. She sighed and lifted her lips to his, feeling the plunging sensation behind her navel and giving in to it. His fingers found the gap between her shirt and the waistband of her jeans, lifting the rough material and caressing her cold skin with his warm fingers. "I love you, Emma," he whispered, his eyes glazed with desire as he pressed her backwards against the staircase. The wooden spindles dug into her back and neck as Rohan kept control of her, parting her legs with his thigh and working his magic with his tongue in her mouth.

The sudden hammering on the front door made Emma yelp in fear and Rohan hissed in anger. They jumped apart and Emma felt the arrival of the all too familiar guilt, which settled in her heart again and made her feel dirty. She gulped and pushed herself further into the corner, letting the sharp angles behind her bottom give her a false sense of security.

Rohan strode over to the door and yanked it open. "What?"

Emma feared for the poor postman or some random salesman with his subscription to an unknown magazine. As Felicity stepped over the threshold and into Rohan's hallway, Emma felt her patience snap. "Where have you been?" Felicity screeched into Rohan's face and she prodded his strong chest with a manicured fingernail. "Why didn't you call?"

"Not this again! Working!" Rohan spoke through gritted teeth and Emma winced at the warning in his tone. She edged towards the stairs, snagging her shirt on a loose nail, delayed in the extraction of it. Rohan's words were aimed to hurt. "Same as I was when you bedded that smarmy Irishman!" Rohan took a step back and pointed towards the door. "Yeah, I know about him. But you know what? I actually don't care. I told you countless times I wasn't in the market for anything more than friendship. Now, get out! I don't want you to keep turning up here so please, just leave! The next time you show up, I'll get the police."

Felicity postured in her high heels, the fluff around her coat collar dancing in the breeze from the open door. "But what about all those times when we nearly..."

"We didn't nearly anything! I wasn't interested and you just wouldn't take no for an answer Felicity!"

The woman's perfect blonde hair fluttered in the breeze from the still open door. "Who's been gossiping, baby? Is it _her?_ " She pointed at Emma, pinned to the wooden staircase by the back of her shirt. "She fancies you and it's _gross!_ It's incest. You're disgusting!" Felicity directed her bile at Emma and Alanya's voice came echoing back down the ages. They were her stepmother's words and nausea rose into Emma's throat at their familiar, biting sound, feeling like a physical blow.

Emma pulled and the shirt ripped, the threadbare fabric giving way suddenly. Emma pounded up the stairs, making it only as far as the bathroom on the second level. She locked herself in and only just made it to the toilet in time, as the threatening nausea exploded her nerves and discharged itself into the toilet basin.

The ruckus continued downstairs in the hallway as Emma sat on the floor of the bathroom and cried. She periodically flushed the toilet to mask the sound of the argument, watching copious amounts of toilet paper swilling down its hungry insides. She sniffed and blew her nose again.

"I never proposed to you!" she heard Rohan yell in indignation and leaned her head back against the wall, figuring he just found out first-hand about his impending marriage to Felicity.

Emma splashed water on her face, dried it on the hand towel and headed to her own bedroom to clean her teeth and lie down on the bed.

As Rohan's voice continued downstairs in the hallway, Emma put the pillow over her head and blocked out the noise. Wave after wave of nausea bit her insides and she buried herself further into the bed and tried to distract herself from the overwhelming urge to throw up.

"Em?" Rohan's steady voice disturbed her from a dark fog and Emma struggled free. She sat up in the bed, her hair sticking up on one side and her left eye welded shut with the pressure from the pillow.

"What?" Her voice clanged in the silence, loud to her own ears.

"Your shirt's ripped." Rohan's fingers touched the loose threads and Emma felt the tug.

"Don't care. Go away." She pushed out at him hard, her fingers contacting his right leg just above the knee and she heard a hiss.

Rohan slumped down on the side of Emma's bed, squeezing a section of his leg through his jeans, his face grey with pain. He looked sick, beads of sweat budding on his forehead.

"What did I do?" Emma felt in the wrong, hating the immediate defence mechanism which rose up in her.

"Nothing. It's fine." Rohan exhaled through pursed lips and forced a wooden smile back onto his face. "Did you fall asleep through all that yelling?"

"I put the pillow over my head and it seemed to go away." Emma pushed her unruly hair out of her face. "But the sickness didn't."

"No, _she_ went away!" Rohan sounded bitter as he spat the words. " _Eventually!_ "

"I don't care," Emma yawned, covering her mouth with her hand. "I feel really tired of it all."

"She informed me we were apparently engaged, just as my lawyer walked through the gate." Rohan laughed. "He gave her about twelve reasons why he was inclined to go to the cops and file a complaint about her stalking and then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled. She gave in and left."

"You strung her along." Emma sounded grumpy. "You knew how she felt and you did wrong by her. You ate take-away in your bedroom. How could you not think she'd read into that?"

Rohan looked hard at Emma. "There was nothing physical between us, Em. I made it very clear I wasn't interested."

"Well, that's not what she's been telling people, including me! I think you liked the attention and particularly enjoyed how it wound me up."

"Musor! Rubbish!"

"Yeah you did. But I really don't need any more of her wacko visits, thanks."

"Geez Em! Don't let her damage what we've got. I'm sick of how she pops up just as its going okay."

"Well, you're the one who allows her to drape herself all over you, like at the school...oh crap!" Nausea gripped Emma's stomach, accompanied by a dull headache. She shoved at Rohan to get past him before she threw up and he groaned in pain as his right knee slipped sideways. Emma slammed the bathroom door behind her, not expecting Rohan to still be there when she emerged, feeling marginally better.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked, perched on her bed looking concerned.

"What's wrong with you?" she retorted rudely. "You jump like a cricket every time you move your leg."

"Nothing. I'm fine."

"Well so am I then," Emma sulked. "But I can't cope with another visit from Cosmopolitan Barbie today so if she turns up, make sure you do call the cops. Bloody woman."

"She won't come back. Hack's welcome to her! Looks like he had a grab at everything he thought I valued." Rohan eyed Emma sideways in accusation and she sighed.

"Mmnnnn, I don't think he's interested in Felicity." Emma face planted into her pillow and heaved out a big muffled sigh. "Ro, I really need to talk to you about something. Well, about two things actually." The weight of Anton's legacy pressed down on her chest.

"Yeah, sure, what?" Rohan looked at Emma with concentration etched into his handsome face. She opened her mouth to speak, wondering which particular problem to deal with first, just as his mobile phone rang. Emma groaned.

Rohan lay back against the pillows, keeping his right knee bent and his foot on the floor, the other leg stretched out on the bed. He looked uncomfortable. "Go on. I'll ignore it." He wriggled around, removing the trilling object from his pocket, disconnecting the call and turning the sound down.

Emma pushed her face into his side, smelling his warm, clean scent. "Yesterday, when I was almost home," she began. The phone danced around on top of the bed covers, working itself into a vibrating frenzy. Resignation covered Emma. "Oh, just answer it," she said, laying back on the bed and feeling her stomach churn with the stress.

"Andreyev!" Rohan snapped into the phone. "Oh, hi." His tone changed completely and he limped out into the hallway to finish the call. Memories of his post-coital conversation with Felicity pricked at Emma's security and the nausea flooded her senses and robbed her of practical thought.

"I need to go out." Rohan's voice was low as he re-entered the room and he sounded depressed.

"Who this time? Felicity or your mother?" Emma asked, her face pushed into her pillow.

"Neither. I told you, Felicity's got the message. Mother's been before the magistrates and they're holding her while they get psychology reports. It's more complicated, but that's the gist of it. I handed the printouts to the leading detective last night and pointed out the plant we both recognised. They're checking some stuff with the labs. I saw her for a few minutes, which was nice of them to let me. I er...it was hard. My lawyer's seen her this morning. That's why he popped round. But it's not why I have to go out. I have an appointment, Em. I need to go."

Emma rolled back over to observe her husband, maternal instinct working overtime. His face was locked tight with something other than Felicity's screamed accusations or his mother's plight. It left a residue in his eyes and she recognised it.

"Rohan, what's wrong? Are you in pain?"

The tall, strong Russian bowed his head and looked astounded at Emma's perception, the surprised expression quickly replaced by shame. Then he nodded and ran his hand across his eyes. Emma got shakily up and stood in front of him, her own problems pushed instantly aside. Worry etched lines into her face as Rohan bit his bottom lip and struggled to form his words. "The travma to my leg is painful. The durak shot me and shattered part of the prosthesis. Now..." Rohan waved his hand at his knee to accentuate his distress. "My leg bleeds. The call was from my doctor at the clinic. I left a message for him this morning. He wants to see me now."

"Then let's go." Emma strutted from the bedroom and down the stairs, listening to the agonising sound of Rohan limping behind her. "Want me to drive?" she asked, flinging a sweater over her shoulders and pushing her feet into her boots.

"Yes please." Rohan's progress down the long garden to the garage compound at the end of the orchard seemed much slower than usual, but he refused Emma's help, forcing her to walk ahead of him along the crazy paved stones leading to the steps down to the garage. Emma wanted to tell him not to be so foolish but resisted, suppressing her maternal instinct under a need to respect her husband's feelings of protracted uselessness. She beat down the desire to berate him for leaving it a full two days before summoning help, wanting to chastise him like she would her son. But Rohan wasn't six years old. He was a full grown man with an ego that currently stuttered and cringed under her concern. _Leave it_ , she told herself.

Emma hopped into the driver's side of the large Mercedes and started the engine, hearing the soft purr as the car vibrated with life underneath her. She eased it out of the garage and Rohan limped over to pull the garage door down after her. Emma put the hand brake on to get out and do it herself, then caught the look of determination and concentration in his face. "Okay," she said to her reflection in the rear view mirror. "This isn't about you. Get it?" Her pale face and messy, dark curls stared back at her, wide brown eyes condemning her for the seven years they'd been apart, leaving Rohan to struggle alone.

Emma rolled the car forward while Rohan opened and closed the huge gate onto the lane behind Newcombe Street. He got into the passenger seat bum first and closed the door behind him, his face flushed from the effort.

"Right then." Emma turned a beautiful hundred watt smile on him. "Tell me where to go and how to get there, and I'll be your chauffeur for this morning."

"Yeah, I've seen your _chauffeuring!_ " Rohan snorted. "Just don't take it up professionally."

"That wasn't my fault!" Emma stuck her nose in the air and revved the engine. "I parked near the bushes and the wind blew them and they kinda scratched up and down the side a bit. I moved it as soon as I heard the first screech of the branches on the metal..." Emma turned down the lane and waited at the entrance to Newcombe Street. "It's only a few scratches. Which way?"

"It needs a whole new wing! Left here. Then right onto Nithsdale Avenue, then left at the end."

"No," Emma whinged, "not helpful! Just tell me one instruction at a time. And remind me, which foot do I brake with?"

Rohan looked at her in terror and she saw him grip the door handle, the fingers of his left hand turning white. "What?"

Emma put her head back and laughed, watching the colour flood back into Rohan's rugged features. "Got ya!" she said in an irritating sing-song voice.

"Whatever!" he smirked, realising she had successfully distracted him from the discomfort in his stump. "You wreck it and you'll be off my Christmas card list."

Emma snorted. "I bet you don't even give Christmas cards! You're far too grumpy."

Rohan smiled and leaned his left elbow on the window ledge. "You know me too well." He ran his teeth over his thumbnail and Emma felt his eyes on her. "Em..."

"Which way now?" she interrupted him, not wanting to go where the conversation was bound to take them right then. "Please tell me I don't have to swing this thing round a multi-storey carpark? I don't think either of us will come out unscathed."

"Straight on and no."

"There's other parking then? Thank goodness."

"Yeah." Rohan reached into the glove box and pulled out the orange parking disk. Emma immediately felt terrible about making a big deal of the parking. _You just don't know when to shut up_ , she berated herself. She sensed Rohan watching her again, his blue eyes searching for signs of revulsion or diminishing respect. Emma glanced sideways at him, her eyes narrowed and sultry.

"Free parking," she sighed, as though he just donated a month's worth of chocolate ice cream to a diet convention. "Every girl's dream. I think I'll keep you just for that."

She saw Rohan smirk and shake his head. Emma exhaled slowly, controlling the nervous whoosh of air so he couldn't hear her, relieved at having surmounted the obstacle of using the disabled badge. "Saw that," he said without even looking at her. "I'm not fragile. My ego won't smash into pieces, not today at any rate."

"Liar!" she bit at him and reached across the centre console, laying her hand over his clenched fist. Rohan squeezed her fingers and then put her hand carefully on the steering wheel.

"Two hands in my Merc, woman! Neposlushnyy!"

"Naughty yourself!" she commented back and he laughed, his eyes glinting with pleasure at her command of his mother tongue.

"Given half a chance, I will be." Rohan looked more like his old self as he smiled at Emma, his colour returning to normal and the stress leaving his eyes. But as they approached the sprawling city, his body tensed with hidden emotions and the tell-tale vein pulsed in his neck.

"How do I get to the hospital from here?" Emma asked as they whizzed past the city sign.

"You don't need to." Rohan's voice became clipped, issuing orders as he once did, Emma obeying with frustrating slowness. The huge car swung around narrow streets until they came to the clinic Rohan indicated.

"I'm not sure I can squeeze this giant car into that tiny space." Emma's face became pinched with worry. She looked around hopefully. "There aren't any disabled spaces. You lied to me."

"I'll do it. Shift over."

Emma pushed herself over the centre console, banging her backside on the gear lever, hand brake and everything in between. She sat in the passenger seat and rubbed her buttock. Rohan heaved himself into the driver's seat, struggling less as he led with his left side. "Bloody hell, woman!" He cranked the seat back to admit his long body and legs, shooting Emma a look of disbelief. "I was kissing the windscreen!" he exclaimed.

"And you could have been kissing me instead." She smiled and turned her full beauty on him, making Rohan pause as he lifted his painful right leg into place.

"You're very distracting." He cleared his throat and closed the car door.

Emma watched carefully as he backed the huge vehicle into the tiny spot, leaving only enough room for them to squeeze out either side. He did it with practiced skill, but she was fascinated by the use of his left foot on the brake, allowing his prosthetic responsibility only for the accelerator. She marveled how she failed to notice that before.

The cars either side of them sported orange badges on the dashboard and Emma held Rohan's up with the unspoken question in her face. He nodded and she turned the dial to show their arrival time and slipped it in front of her, face up against the windscreen. They poured themselves out of the tight space, Emma getting her sweater pocket caught around the wing mirror and hearing a foreboding rip as she yanked it off. Rohan fared better, stepping sideways and holding onto the car chassis, fitting his neat butt through a miniscule gap with ease. They met at the bonnet of the car and Rohan caught Emma's arm as she waited for him. "Em." He fought for his words with difficulty. "I...er...I don't know if you'll want to come in with me." He chewed at his upper lip with his teeth. "It's pretty shocking."

"Is that why you never told Felicity?" Emma reached up, feeling the rough stubble of his face under her palm.

Rohan's lips parted in surprise and after a moment's thought, he nodded. "Yeah."

Emma smiled. "You know she thinks you're impotent, hey?"

Rohan's mouth opened wide in shock. "Really?" He sounded so gutted, Emma laughed. Rohan slapped her on the backside. "Bitch!"

"Don't blame me!" she laughed. "Do you want me to put her straight?"

Rohan sighed and shook his head. "No thanks. I'm fine." He kept his eyes trained on Emma's, his brow knitting slightly as she reached for his hand and joined their fingers.

"Guess what?" she whispered against the cacophony of traffic on the main road. Rohan tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "You've got a son," Emma said, binding her fingers more tightly around her husband's. "And Nicky loves you, no matter what. So let's go and get this leggy thing fixed up so you can play with him after school."

# Chapter 47

Rohan lay on the bed in the examination room while Emma fanned herself with a leaflet about prosthetic arms. Rohan stretched his head back to look at her. "You okay?"

"No," she admitted, "it's bloody hot in here." She fanned harder, her vision beginning to swim.

Rohan looked devastated. "I know it's ugly and oozing right now, but it doesn't always look this bad. I'm sorry, you should probably have stayed in the waiting room." He sounded depressed, the anticipated rejection surely on its way.

"Nope," Emma insisted. "This was definitely happening out there too. It's not your leg, I promise. I know what it is and it's not that. It's a mixture of things, but your leg is not one of them. I'll get a drink. That should help to cool me off." Emma sipped at the tap where the doctor washed his hands earlier before he lifted the stump sock away from Rohan's leg. The scar tissue where the man's shin once curved was neat and smooth, but a painful ulcer began on the inner part, continuing the line of a deep welt.

Rohan stared at the ceiling, defeat etched in every part of his posture. Emma sipped more water and willed her body to behave, for now at least. Rohan's jeans lay over the back of Emma's chair and he tugged at the white sheet the doctor laid over his thighs, eager to cover himself and avoid further scrutiny. "Ro, stop it." Emma staggered over to the bed, running her hand up Rohan's leg from his knee to the end of his boxer shorts. "I promise it's not that. It's so hot in here. Can't you feel it?" Her vision did a crazy jerk to the right and she gripped his leg too hard.

"Ow!" Rohan put his hand over the fingers, feeling the hardness of her knuckles. "Just sit down, Em." He sounded annoyed. She lurched backwards with a valiant effort and contacted her chair, seating her bum none too carefully. Rohan observed her through eyes filled with hurt. "Emma?" His voice sounded subdued. "When I laid there on the sand...my leg gone and blood everywhere...I thought of you. I regretted going back to the army base without trying harder to...to understand you. I lay there and knew what it would be like to die with that on my conscience." His eyes looked tortured and Emma reached out to him, feeling their connection reviving in her chest. She rubbed her thumb across the flesh above Rohan's top lip, feeling the maleness of his rough skin, shaved just a few hours ago but already budding with stubbly hairs.

Then it came again, the pesky nausea, robbing her of the chance to comfort the man spilling his guts before her. "So hot!" Emma peeled off the sweater and threw it on the ground next to her, quickly adding her sweatshirt to the pile. Sweat seemed to cover her whole body and she stood up again and tugged at the window above her head. "Mind if I have this open? I feel a bit weird." She sat and fanned herself with a whole stack of leaflets to create a decent breeze, slowly losing control of everything as her body violently rebelled. Rohan looked devastated and Emma sought to reassure him. "Lucya was diabetic," she puffed, her breath coming in short bursts. "She had heaps of ulcers constantly over her legs. I used to dress them for her, even the ones with puss and the ones that ate away through the fatty layers. She always said I'd make a superb little meditsinskaya sestra."

Emma leaned forward in her seat and concentrated on the swirls in the carpet. Her eyes began following the psychedelic patterns and she realised her mistake as the nausea took a more fairground style hold on her stomach. "Why do you get to come here, instead of the hospital?" she managed to gasp out.

"Agreement with the health service and the army," Rohan stated, not wanting to elaborate.

"Cool," Emma managed, saved from her agonies by the doctor returning. Rohan stared aghast at his empty hands and groaned. Then he swore in Russian and Emma pursed her lips.

The doctor looked nervous. "Sorry, Rohan. Not good news I'm afraid. That jolt you took to the prosthetic leg has knocked the central peg out of alignment as well as shattering the plastic cuff. It's not working properly which is why you've ended up with the pressure sores and cuts, despite using a copious amount of socks." He eyed the stained stocking material forming a cream gauze mountain next to the bed. "We'll throw those away and I'll get you some more. The boys in the workshop think it'll be about a week. They're also quite interested in how you did it. Scorch marks aren't really usual." The doctor looked at Rohan's flushed, angry face and his tone changed. "Look, I get how bad this is for you. It's like going right back to the beginning. I wish there was more I could do."

Every muscle in Rohan's body looked tense, his jaw square and fixed and his fists clenched at his sides. "Yeah, course you do. Because you know what's it's like to look at the car, the toilet, the shower or your trousers and wonder how the hell you're going to tackle every single bloody task with only one leg." He swung himself up using his stomach muscles and glared at the medic. Then he noticed Emma and his jaw dropped, causing the doctor to look over at her too. "Emma!" Rohan sounded shocked.

Emma ignored him, peeling herself out of the flimsy vest which covered her over washed bra. The middle aged doctor watched her unladylike striptease with fascination. Rohan swung his leg over the side of the bed and tried to stand, hobbling on the spot with his arms stretched behind him, grappling for support on the bed. "Emma!" he said again, a tinge of amazement in his voice.

"Sorry!" she gushed, making a dash for it and shoving the prone doctor out of the way. Clasping both hands firmly around the sink, she relaxed like an athlete finding the finish line and hurled straight into the examination room sink.

# Chapter 48

"It can be a bit traumatic," the doctor sympathised, handing Emma another Styrofoam cup filled with cold water. Rohan sat on the bed in the corner, cupping his chin in one hand and refusing to catch Emma's eye.

"Oh, will you both stop with the leg stuff?" she exclaimed in frustration. Now she'd purged the last of the morning's cup of tea, her stomach growled in hunger, further irritating her. The breeze from outside caused goose pimples to rise on her bare flesh and she felt like the Elephant Man on a trip to the supermarket. Nurses came and went, mainly out of curiosity and only one of them thought to wrap her in a thin blanket, for which Emma was truly grateful. "It's not the damn leg! I never liked that one anyway. I always preferred your left one with the little mole on your..." She halted her sentence at the look of warning on her husband's face.

Emma stared up at the ceiling, testing the temporary vertigo which could happen again if she stood up too soon. The white plaster rose decorating the centre of the room stayed where it was. All good. Emma slipped the blanket from her shoulders, exposing her bra while the doctor watched with interest. She pushed her arms and head through her vest and then added the sweatshirt. Still okay. She took another sip of water, deciding the fleece might be a step too far for the moment. She focussed on the ornate architrave around an alcove, testament to the age of the converted old house. Thoughts of Anton's mansion rose to the forefront of her mind, too big to talk about right then. But her other problem pressed on her chest like a concrete block and Emma sighed, feeling as though her head would explode with it all if she didn't confess something.

"Please could I have a moment with my husband?" Emma asked the doctor, registering his reluctance to leave. She waited while he messed around with some paperwork and then left, closing the door behind him. Still Rohan said nothing, looking at his hands and adjusting the blanket covering his knees and the scarring below. Emma stood gingerly, finding she felt okay. She walked over to Rohan and tugged at the blanket, engaging in a violent version of the table cloth trick.

"Stop it!" he complained as the blanket fell to the floor, exposing his silky black boxer shorts and the covering of blond hair on his muscular thighs. He gritted his teeth in irritation.

"Rohan Andreyev, stop being such a big baby." Emma pushed herself between his legs, feeling his thighs part but his chest remained hard, like a wall of muscle. He made no attempt to embrace her. "I'm not sick because of your damn leg." Emma pressed herself closer into her husband and turned her face sideways to snuggle into his warm neck. "It's morning sickness," she whispered. "I've been trying to tell you a few things since yesterday and one of them is that I'm pregnant."

"What?" Rohan's neck crinkled as he craned it to try and see Emma's face. Failing, he grabbed her by the shoulders and sat her up. "What did you just say?"

"You heard. I'm not repeating it," Emma replied stubbornly, watching the myriad of emotions cross Rohan's handsome face. He worked his way through the full gamut, shock, disbelief, shock and then hope.

"Pregnant?" He bit his lip and tried to hide the smile which threatened at the corners of his mouth, wrenching his lips upwards to reach the ceiling. "Really?"

Emma glared at him. "If you even dare to ask if it's yours, I'll slap your face!"

Rohan shrugged and looked confused. "That never occurred to me. But how can you know already? I mean yesterday..."

"Whoa boy!" Emma's brow knitted in consternation. "Back up a month more like it, to a certain night at the start of November and a nice red dress which you ripped and I had to mend!"

Rohan's eyes widened. "Then? Wow!" He swallowed and looked at Emma as though she was made of delicate china. His grip on her upper arms relaxed to a caress. Then his face clouded. "So you were pregnant when they kidnapped you?" His jaw hardened and he swore. "I'll find who started this and make them sorry!" He ran a shaking hand across his face. "Argh! Eddie drugged you. What if it hurts the baby? How can we find out?"

Emma shuddered at the memory of that night and the beautiful, burning mansion. She shook her head and Rohan dismissed the rage, burying it somewhere inside him for another time. Emma pushed herself into her husband's chest and he held her tightly, wrapping his arms around her back and pressing his face into her long dark curls. "What will be, will be," Emma muttered. "We'll deal with it if it happens."

The doctor returned with reinforcements, a white coated gentleman and another nurse. He knocked on the door with a tentative little rat-tat-tat and entered despite being ignored. The little group stopped at the sight of the couple entwined around each other. The new doctor stepped forward and offered his outstretched hand to Rohan. "Captain Andreyev, it's a pleasure to meet you."

Emma released herself from Rohan's arms and sat on the bed next to him, keeping hold of his powerful bicep in case the floor began to move in her vision again. Rohan accepted the man's handshake and observed him through blue, dancing eyes filled with life. "I understand you're upset at the length of time it'll take to mend your prosthetic leg," the doctor began, his voice filled with more authority than his colleague. "I've had a word with the boys in the workshop..." he corrected himself. "Laboratory, sorry. They think they could have it ready by this Friday, late afternoon. So you'll have to manage until then but hopefully you'll have it back before Christmas." The man looked nervously for Rohan's approval.

Rohan considered for a moment and then gave it. "Sounds fair. My son's six. I want to be able to play with him on Christmas Day." He looked at Emma and smiled, his face bursting with happiness. He touched her stomach with tender fingers as she balanced on the edge of the bed. "I've already missed far too much," he whispered.

# Chapter 49

"Oh my goodness, what a pair of decrepits!" Emma commented as she helped Rohan negotiate the miniscule space between the cars. He swivelled on his only leg and pushed his backside into the car, falling backwards across the gear stick. Emma clanked his crutches and shoved them on the back seat as Rohan managed to get himself seated. In the driving seat, Emma turned to him. "Definitely buckle up. This ain't gonna be pretty. You've only got enough feet to press the brake and I'm working up to another puking session." She exhaled slowly and touched her stomach lightly. "We'll have to have all the windows open."

Rohan snorted. "We don't even make up one decent body between us."

"Speak for your bloody self!" Emma slapped his arm, groaning at the jarring of her body. "Ooh, not good."

It was a slow and painful journey back to Market Harborough and Emma parked out front on the road. "I'm pretending I parked out here for you," Emma grumbled, "but actually it was more for me. I don't think I can make it up the garden without decorating everything on the way."

"It's fine." Rohan spoke softly, stroking Emma's cheek with the backs of his fingers. He glanced up at the house. "Now we just have to work out how to get indoors, seeing as neither of us can help the other."

"If it wasn't so tragic, it'd be funny," Emma groaned, leaning her head against the headrest.

The neighbours may have been momentarily shocked by the sight of the handsome Russian on crutches with a flapping, empty pants leg blowing in the breeze. But they were far more entertained by Emma's spectacular decoration of the hedge, followed by the pot plants either side of the front porch. "I love how you treat my foliage with scrupulous fairness," Rohan commented as he hopped on one leg, trying to get his key in the lock.

"Hurry up, or the next lot goes in your shoe," Emma threatened as she clutched Rohan's right trainer in her fingers. As the front door opened and Rohan hopped back for her to pass, Emma made a beeline for the downstairs cloakroom, taking her husband's shoe with her.

They snuggled on the couch in a blanket later, Emma clutching a cup of milk which seemed to be miraculously curing her sickness. Rohan sat with his phone in his hand, peering at the tiny writing, his reading glasses in his other hand, resting against his bottom lip. "They work better on your face," Emma sighed, wrinkling her nose as the milk mixed with the taste of toothpaste.

Rohan looked up. "It says here that morning sickness is the stomach's way of telling you it's empty but the hormones mess up the signal. That's why the milk's working. It's satiating the hunger."

"Please don't tell me you plan to Google every sneeze, Ro." Emma stopped herself adding, I've done this before. She kept the cruel rejoinder to herself and switched to another knotty issue. "What was that call when I was in the bathroom. Was it about your mother's case? Has she worked out a way to kill her guards yet?"

Rohan shook his head at Emma's jibe and folded his glasses carefully flat, slipping them into the breast pocket of his shirt. "Don't, Em." He glanced at her. "Do you think you'd be alright to light the fire now? I can tell you where everything is."

"Please don't make me?" she groaned. "Why can't you just get a gas fire like normal people? Then you can press a button and heat pops out." Emma silenced herself at the memory of the cold gas fire at her house in Lincoln, which she never afforded to light, even when snow dusted the ground outside. Rohan misinterpreted her silence as a rebuke.

"It's fine. You don't have to." He slipped his arm around her shoulders and Emma snuggled into his chest, the milk tipping dangerously sideways. Rohan took it from her fingers and balanced it on his thigh.

"Stop changing the subject," Emma muttered, pressing her face into his shirt and inhaling his familiar scent. A different feeling began in her stomach, a gentle stirring desire which filtered up through the other signals to her brain. Emma popped one of the buttons and kissed Rohan's blond chest hair, feeling the fire ignite under her. Rohan's snuff of laughter made her realise her error. Now she was the distraction. "Tell me then? I'll keep quiet, I promise."

Emma shifted position so she faced the back of the sofa and laid across her husband's thighs, her face pushed into his hard stomach. It felt deliciously comfortable and daytime-decadent. She sighed and closed her eyes, feeling Rohan move slightly as he balanced her mug on the arm of the sofa. She sensed his soft breath on her cheek as he looked down at her and his long fingers sifted through her curls, selecting one and then twirling it. The first time he did that, Emma was six and he was nine, lined up in front of the new matriarch in terror as she ranted about some misdemeanor. The tiny Emma was so scared, she almost wet herself.

"Tell me about Alanya." Emma heard the hardness in her voice.

Rohan exhaled, shifting Emma's head as the gush of air left his body. "She's been moved to a secure unit. At the moment she seems like a normal, level headed fifty-six year old woman, but the cops noticed significant agitation when asked about your father, in particular." Rohan paused, his words seeming hard to form. "The detective in charge told the lawyer he didn't believe she was a cold blooded serial killer, but actually someone who has...issues." He swallowed. "She seemed to think she was genuinely helping people, showing them love and nursing them. She'll have a mental health assessment and go back to the court when it's complete. I'm leaving it to the lawyers to sort out."

Emma wrapped her arms securely round Rohan's waist and nestled in, trying to infuse him with love and comfort. The bleakness of her childhood threatened her from its forbidding darkness and Emma squeezed her eyes tightly shut to avoid its onslaught. Alanya affected them all in different ways. Anton became cunning and sly, overtly flamboyant yet protective of his siblings. Rohan switched his mind off and blocked out the bad times, excelling in school and throwing himself into activity and love with Emma. Sighing, Emma reached out with her mind and tried to touch the glowing threads of her stepmother, allowing herself to truly feel her inner emotions about the woman.

For years there was dread and terror but now? Emma stretched her mind to allow Alanya's face to appear, severe, autocratic and dictatorial. She stared into the blue eyes in her imagination and saw something else; a woman haunted by herself, tortured by a spirit of death, always seeking thanks and acclamation but causing only misery and grief. She exhaled and opened her eyes. "Ro?" Emma slid her body up his chest, her breasts banging against every button on the way up until their eyes were level.

Rohan smiled sadly at her and his pupils dilated with attraction, looking huge in his glittering blue eyes. "Da?" he replied. Emma reached over and took the remains of her milk from his right hand, sliding the contents down her throat quickly in warning to her delicate stomach not to try any funny business. She put the mug on the floor and putting her arms behind her, seized the edge of the scratchy blanket, pulling it up over her head and Rohan's and sealing them into a grey, secret world.

"I feel better now," she whispered. "Wanna play 'Let's Pretend' with me?"

Rohan snorted softly. "Hey, I was honourable. I waited until you were sixteen and got the marriage certificate in my hand. I'm a good Russian Orthodox boy."

Emma shifted closer, deliberately pushing herself against him and feeling his arousal under her body. She touched her lips to his and gently nipped his bottom lip. Then in deference to the beautiful Anton, who schooled her in a fake Russian accent until she made him cry with laughter, Emma lowered her voice and said, "But I give you good, strong sons, comrade. And you vill find me very bad Anglican."

It was too hot under the blanket, which became discarded in the freezing lounge, but Emma found some creative ways of warming them up. Rohan's shirt buttons were the only casualty fortunately, but as Emma hunted around for them on the floor, shivering and naked, her husband deliberately sent her in the wrong direction so he could ogle her longer. "You're lying!" she complained, snatching at the blanket and meeting the resistance of Rohan's strong fingers. "Count how many are missing. I've got four here."

Rohan ignored his gaping shirt and kept his eyes fixed on Emma as she pouted. "You are krasivyy. I've missed you so much," he whispered. His eyes were narrowed and sultry and Emma sat naked on the bare floorboards holding his gaze, wishing she could bottle the moment for harsher times. The buttons clinked in her palm and Rohan's exposed chest was muscular and defined. The blanket covered his modesty, unlike her, and only one sock rested on the cold floor, accentuating the loss of his other foot. Aching for him, Emma kneeled up and tumbled the four tiny buttons onto the blanket, resting her body against his knees.

"You call me krasivyy, beautiful, Ro. But I have stretch marks from Nicky and I'm bound to get a whole lot more soon. Breastfeeding ruined my boobs and I avoid trying to look at the state of my ass in the mirror." She tugged at the blanket between them, seeing Rohan's fingers clench over the edge in refusal to let go. Emma allowed him to hold on but pushed it aside so his thigh and knee were exposed, Emma's breasts resting against the skin above the gauze stocking. The buttons piled gleefully to the floor again. "You're the sexiest man I've ever met, Ro. Women stare at you and girls like Felicity fixate on you. It drives me crazy and I hate it." She rested her hand on the gauze and felt his muscles tense beneath it. "I love you, Ro. I've never known anyone else and this...doesn't matter." She slipped the top of the stocking back with questing fingers and kissed the exposed space above Rohan's knee. She watched his stomach flex and a storm of emotions dance across his face. Emma pushed the stocking down to his knee cap and kissed the flat bone, careful not to disturb the packing further down which guarded the painful, sensitive wound.

With gentle fingers, Emma replaced the stocking and felt Rohan relax. She laid her chin on his knee and repeated the words of the registrar at Gretna Green a lifetime ago, when presented by two teenagers and a naive and burning love for each other. For some reason on that day, instead of performing his usual speech, he stopped and looked at the kids before him. 'I feel like today, I should say this to you both.' He smiled, grey hair wafting in a breeze from an open doorway. 'Marriage is for life, a covenant between both of you and God himself. You will be required to love each other through good times and bad, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty. But this is for keeps, no matter what comes your way.' He smiled at them, a benevolent father approving of a secret marriage known only to Anton.

"Have you ever wondered why he said that?" Rohan asked, his voice hushed with reverence.

Emma nodded, her cheek moving his leg with the motion. "Yeah. I have, often. He was just a registrar and we paid for short and sweet. Well, you paid. But with hindsight, it seems so relevant." She smiled up at him and Rohan stroked her hair back from her face.

"Happiest day of my life," he whispered. "And for the record, I love every one of your stretch marks." Emma gave him a poignant look and raised one eyebrow. "Yeah, yeah!" He cuffed her lightly on the shoulder.

Emma pressed her lips against her husband's thigh and gave him a beatific smile. "I'm hungry now, Ro. But after we get Nick from school, please can I drive us somewhere special?"

Rohan cocked his head sideways in curiosity and smiled at Emma. She hugged herself like an excited child, although gooseflesh rose on her arms in the cool temperatures. "Do you want to go out for lunch?" he asked, although his jaw tightened in fear of her answer.

"I got the impression you wanted to hide here until your prosthetic was fixed?" Emma asked, laying her cheek back on his knee.

Rohan studied something outside the French doors, his gaze fixed on things Emma couldn't see. He nodded slowly and sighed. "It's what I feel like doing and pretty much what I did when it first happened. But it's not what I should do, is it? I need to face people. Apparently fear is an illusion. But I am scared."

Emma stood up and pushed herself into his lap, covering them both with the blanket and laying her head on his shoulder. "What are you scared most of?"

"Moy syn." Rohan's answer was immediate, listing his son's opinion as his biggest fear. "Him thinking I'm ne polezno."

Emma inhaled and fondled the soft downy hair on Rohan's chest. "He'll never think that, Ro. Not of you. 'Useless' isn't in his vocabulary where you're concerned.

"What do we do? How do we deal with this?" Rohan asked. "I can't stand in the playground with everyone pointing and staring and casually inform him I've only got one leg."

"No, I know." Emma sat up and looked down at her husband. "How about you let me worry about Nicky?"

Rohan opted bravely to accompany Emma out for lunch. He directed her to a village public house to the west of Market Harborough and sat in the car, twisting his fingers with nerves. "My driving that bad, baby?" Emma asked, putting her fingers over his to stop the writhing.

Rohan looked up and inhaled. "Bloody shocking. Dunno why I let you drive my damn car." His eyes flared and he bit his lip. "Let's get this over with then."

"We can go to the drive through at McDonald's if you'd rather?" Emma offered.

Rohan shook his head. "What, after you helped me dress so beautifully?" He waved a hand at the three quarter pants revealing one, blond haired leg, its foot stuffed into a trainer. The other pants leg hung over the seat, the absent leg creating a strange illusion.

Emma shrugged. "It looks better than full length jeans. I'm not sure why. But hey, you can wait in the car when I go for Nicky. Then I'll drive you somewhere nice and we'll just hang for a while as a family."

Rohan nodded and Emma got out to hand him the crutches which took up most of the back seat. He used the door to lever himself out, waving away Emma's help with a small look of exasperation. She watched him expertly make his way to the pub door and lower himself down one step and then the next, a look of pride on her face. This man is truly awesome, she smiled inwardly, the expression of adoration giving her complexion an ethereal glow.

Emma flanked Rohan to the bar and picked up two menus, waiting for him to order the drinks. He leaned a crutch against the wooden bar and pulled his wallet awkwardly from his pocket, balancing with enormous skill as he handed over his card in payment for the drinks. Emma wordlessly picked up the soft drinks as the barman handed Rohan the receipt. "Grab a seat over there, mate. Order at the bar when you've decided what food you want. Kitchen closes at two o'clock."

Emma watched her husband struggle over to a small table for two, dropping his crutches down the side next to the wall and shifting into his seat. She felt torn between wanting to smack the barman in the face for his thoughtlessness and kissing him for treating her husband like everyone else. She decided the latter was preferable for Rohan and reached across, taking her husband's fingers in hers. "Want me to order the food?" she asked, trying not to make assumptions about how Rohan might be feeling. He shook his head and smiled up at her, peace beginning to burgeon in his eyes.

"I'll do it. What do you fancy?" Emma shot him a coy look and Rohan squeezed her fingers. "Stop that!" he whispered, biting his bottom lip and looking away. Emma smirked and chose her food, sticking to the soup and some ciabatta bread to help her ailing stomach. Rohan hefted himself to the bar to order and periodically glanced back at Emma, narrowing his eyes at her as she watched his gorgeous bum move across the distance between them. She blew him a sultry kiss, smirking as an elderly lady nearby gave her the thumbs up. Emma snorted out loud and covered it with a fake cough.

Observing the crowd in the snug dining room, Emma watched them glance at Rohan by the bar. Without exception, they all took a longer look as he balanced on his crutches. Nobody screamed, fainted or ran out. They studied the odd gap at the bottom of his trousers as though processing a complicated jigsaw puzzle, then made the pieces fit and moved on mentally, choosing to look elsewhere without concern. They weren't deliberately cruel, just curious in a human nature sort of way. But for Rohan, it was paralysing.

Emma watched her husband turn and battle his way back to the table, a laminated sign gripped between his lips bearing the number seven. His upper body strength exuded power as he wielded his crutches and his striking good looks drew more than passing glances from all the sexually active women in the room, including the little old lady who winked at Emma through sparkling eyes filled with naughtiness. The pub was olde worlde, dating back hundreds of years. The ceilings were beamed and low and the ambience timeless and calm.

Rohan pushed himself back into the seat and went through the palaver with his crutches again, fitting them back down the side of the table.

"Ro," Emma started and he looked up at her, exhaustion showing in his face already. It was more than just a physical tiredness though, it was mental and emotional fatigue which leached from slightly glazed eyes.

"Yeah?" He sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"Remember that night when I came to you?" Emma fiddled with a packet of sugar between her fingers. Rohan waited for her to go on. "Did you just not want me in bed with you, or was it because you didn't want me to know about your leg?"

"My leg," he replied immediately. "I wasn't ready to tell you. I heard you bang the crutches by the bed and lost my nerve. I sent you away and spent the whole night regretting it."

"I cried myself to sleep," Emma said, feeling guilty at the look of misery which immediately darkened Rohan's face. She reached across and clasped his fingers. "It's okay," she smirked across at him. "You can make it up to me."

After lunch, Emma drove to the school and parked up on the road. She leaned back in her seat and yawned. Rohan turned sideways and slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Tired, vozlyublennaya?"

Emma nodded and he massaged the back of her neck with strong fingers. She sighed with pleasure as he teased the stress knots and aching nerve endings with a firm, kneading action. "I could get used to this," she joked, her energy levels plummeting the nearer it got to meeting Nicky.

Rohan stayed in the car as agreed and Emma walked to the playground to fetch her son. Mel and Allaine stood waiting, tapping their feet on the concrete to keep their toes warm. "How's the job going?" Emma asked Mel, gratified by the happiness which flooded across the beautiful face. Mel's newly beaded affro shimmered and shook in the bland daylight. "It's amazin'!" she gushed. "Such nice people I work for. I'm lovin' it. You should come in for one of ma special coffees," she encouraged. "People are tellin' me how nice ma drinks is."

"I'd like that," Emma smiled, pulling her sweater more snugly round her torso.

"How are you doing?" Allaine asked in a low voice as Mel turned to speak to another parent about a play date for Mo.

"I'm okay," Emma replied and smiled at her friend. "Lots to deal with in the last couple of days but I'm doing alright."

"What about the, you-know-what?" Allaine whispered and Emma rolled her eyes in an exaggerated motion.

"Which one?" Emma hissed back. "There's more than one to choose from."

"Oh." Allaine cringed and looked at Emma with concern. "Anything I can do to help?"

Emma leaned in so she could speak without being overheard. "Well, Rohan knows about the baby and is fine, excited actually. His mother's currently undergoing mental health assessments for a form of disorder which leads her to poison people so she can appear to help them get better." Emma paused, not wanting to gossip about Rohan's health issues without his permission.

"Want coffee after this?" Allaine indicated the children bursting from the main door with an outstretched hand.

Emma touched her arm in thanks but shook her head. "I've just got something else to deal with, but tomorrow would be good if you're free? Maybe after I drop Nicky in the morning. I wouldn't mind a bit of help with his wise man costume for Friday."

Allaine snorted. "You're lucky. A granny nightie and a tea towel will do Nicky. Pity both of us. Mrs Clarke is gonna regret these particular wise men ever being given air time, let alone a stage!"

"Definitely" Emma agreed. "Well don't lose hope. I think I've just the thing for Kaylee in the suitcase I brought from Lincoln." She smirked. "I've got all Lucya's old nighties."

"Thank goodness for that!" Allaine groaned. I can't make Kaylee understand the small fact that wise men didn't turn up to see Baby Jesus in fairy outfits!"

Emma laughed, but the happy expression faded from her lips as Nicky's eager face appeared on the steps. "Here goes," she muttered, as much to herself as to Allaine. Her friend looked at her with curiosity, distracted by Kaylee splatting into her stomach armed with several wet paintings. By the time Allaine looked back up, Emma walked slowly towards the play park, her arm around Nicky. Both looked serious.

"Nick, I need to talk to you about some grown up stuff," Emma said, forcing an unthreatening lightness into her voice. Nicky's shoulders automatically drooped as he trudged along next to her. They sat on a wooden bench near the lane out onto Scotland Road and Nicky stared at the floor.

"We're leaving, aren't we?" he asked, sounding far too old for his years.

"No, baby," Emma replied and he looked up at her in confusion.

"Well, what other grown up stuff is there then?"

Emma sighed and bit her lip. "This is to do with Rohan," she began, frustrated by Nicky's interruption.

"Is he leaving?" His eyes widened in horror, tears pricking at the corners.

"No! Nicky, this is important. I need you to listen to me." Emma huffed, wrestling with her exasperation, reminding herself he was only six. "Many years ago, around the time you were born, Rohan had an accident in the army and he lost his leg..."

"Can we help him look for it?" Nicky asked, his little face so sincere, Emma found it hard to be cross.

"There's no point. It was badly damaged so the doctors gave him a special one. Unfortunately it got a bit broken over the weekend and it's gone to the menders." Nicky studied his mother with his full concentration, wide blue eyes boring into her face. "So," Emma bit her lip. "He's only got one leg and he's worried you might not..."

"Might not help 'im up the stairs?"

"No, might not..."

"Might not fetch him fings?"

"No, might not..."

"Might not get 'im cuppa teas?"

"No Nick!" Emma put her head in her hands. "Might not like him!"

"Oh." Nicky seemed genuinely stunned. "Why would I fink that? I love 'im. He's my daddy. Look, I done 'im a picture of us all. That's you, look."

Emma glanced down at the A4 sheet with the stick men splatted on it. There was a tall blue one and a small blue one and a large green one, which Emma assumed was her. In view of her morning sickness, it was an appropriate colour. A black splat sojourning on the bottom of the page denoted Farrell's fuzzy body. He was bigger than everyone else. "Beautiful," Emma smiled. "Well, Ro's in the car so let's go and get him, shall we?"

"Not Ro!" Nicky corrected her. "Daddy!"

Emma opened the door for her son and he slid into the back seat. "Belt up, love," she told him.

"Nice crutches, Daddy!" Nicky complimented Rohan on the metal apparatus straddling the foot well. "These isn't the ones from under your bed, is they?"

Emma shook her head and started the engine, noticing the look of amazement on Rohan's face. She glanced at Nicky in the rear view mirror and saw him rub his eyes and look miserable. "What's the matter, Nick?"

He shifted in his seat, squirming like he had fleas. "Well, I do walkings about in the night sometimes wiv my pen torch and I seen Daddy's pretend leg in the bathroom in his room. I only touched it though, just a little stroke." Nicky rubbed his eyes again and tears squeezed out and ran down his face. "I didn't mean to break it!"

Rohan peeped through the centre between the two seats offering reassurances and Emma climbed in the back and held her son. "It wasn't you, funny boy," she soothed. "It was a different sort of accident and it broke real good. That's not why I wanted to talk to you. I just wanted you...oh, it doesn't matter." She held her son, glad of the tinted windows as other children filed by on their way home.

Darkness gripped the land in its firm fingers and Emma sighed as all hope of her trip to Anton's place in daylight faded.

# Chapter 50

"I'm not sure if the power will be on," Emma said as she punched in the code written on the paper instructions from the envelope. The keypad beeped and the gates slid apart with a small hiss. Emma closed the passenger window and drove slowly up the driveway, the headlights bouncing yellow orbs onto the concrete ahead. The lights picked out the trees, making them look like forbidding sentries stood to attention.

"Where are we?" Nicky asked.

Emma pulled up next to the front door, trepidation blossoming in her heart at the darkened house and blank, faceless windows. Rohan watched her with the same expectation as his son and Emma took a deep breath. "This was Uncle Anton's house," she said, hearing the waver in her voice. "He's given it to me."

"Wow!" Nicky unclipped his seatbelt and stood in the foot well, tripping and falling over the crutches. "Can I see 'im? I love Uncle Anton!"

Emma's chin wobbled as she glanced sideways at Rohan. He put his hand over hers and turned in his seat to face his son. "Climb through, syn." His strong arms caught the boy as Nicky clambered through the gap, turning him to sit sideways on his knee. Nicky looked down at the space where Rohan's leg should be but tactfully said nothing and Emma felt a moment of pride in her son.

Rohan waited patiently for Nicky's attention and then began. "Anton was my rodnoy brat, you understand?"

Nicky sniggered and shook his head. "That sounds naughty!" He put his hand up to his mouth to stifle the escaping giggles.

"Brother," Emma whispered, overwhelmed by the moment and Rohan clasped her hand with gratitude.

"Da, brother," he repeated. "Nikolai, I was sad when Anton Stepanovich got sick because he was full of life and love and I knew I would miss him. The last thing he said to me was that I must find your mother. And you." Rohan ruffled Nicky's hair with his left hand, keeping Emma's fingers under his right.

Nicky thought for a moment. "So you're a good boy then? You done as you was told?"

"Da, kind of." Rohan nodded slowly. The child accepted his answer but his face crumpled with sadness.

"But I want to see 'im now!" His voice hung between them in the darkness.

"He gave me this house," Emma repeated, looking up at the hulk of brick with a feeling of exhaustion lacing her voice. She sighed. "Would you like to look inside?"

They exited from the vehicle into freezing cold darkness and Emma was gratified by the care Nicky gave his father. The small boy fetched the crutches one at a time and made sure Rohan was stable before slamming the car doors. After struggling with the lock, Emma ran her hand along the wall in search of a light switch while the boys waited patiently just inside the door. She found it miles away from where she expected and the click echoed in the empty hallway as light flooded the area from an ornate overhead chandelier.

"Wow!" Nicky squealed.

"Der'mo!" Rohan exclaimed and Emma glared at the expletive. Her husband eyed the staircase to the right of them, solid oak and angular as it doglegged twice before sailing to the upstairs level. The balustrade betrayed a gallery over the entrance hall. Rohan glanced down at his crutches and wrinkled his nose.

"Want to look around downstairs?" Emma asked, keeping her tone casual. Rohan nodded and Nicky bounced on the spot with valiantly restrained eagerness.

The little family wandered the many rooms and spaces of the downstairs. The front of the house faced the main road and the back, open fields and what looked like a forest in the distance. A small single storey spur ran off beyond the kitchen with a downstairs bathroom, boot room and empty storage spaces. The light ebbed away, making a trip outside inadvisable but Nicky skipped from room to room with increased excitement. He seemed to be searching for something, spending little time in each space when it failed to reveal the thing he sought. "Upstairs now?" he said, turning hopeful eyes on Emma as she clicked off the last light switch.

"Let's look upstairs tomorrow," she said softly.

Rohan hauled himself along the corridor behind Emma and she glanced back at him, fearing condemnation from his silence. It seemed she was damned no matter what she did. Concentration was etched into his face, growing more pronounced with each click of the rubber pads on the floorboards. "Ro? You wanna head home now?" Emma asked, raising a finger to tell Nicky to wait for her at the end of the hall. "He doesn't get it. I need to actually explain Anton's gone. He's looking for him."

"What, sorry?" he asked, looking up from his task.

"I said did you want to leave now?" Emma asked.

"What about upstairs?"

Emma experienced a flush of awkwardness and deliberately didn't look at Rohan's leg or crutches. "I thought you might be tired."

Rohan's eyes flashed with danger. "I'm not sick, Em. I'm still the same person I was last week. I just took my bloody leg off so life got a whole lot harder. That's all. And I'm trying to work out why my brother lived a few miles away from me and never thought to mention it! He knew everything about me! Pity he never thought to return the favour."

Emma exhaled in frustration, irritated at him but also herself. She recognised the presence of pity in her attitude towards Rohan's disability and understood his resentment. "Sorry," she replied defensively and turned to leave.

There was a crash as Rohan's left crutch hit the floor and he reached out for her, his fingers hard on Emma's shoulders. She thought at first he was falling, until he maneuvered her against the wall with surprising skill. A dado rail dug into Emma's back as Rohan pressed her backwards. Then he bent and kissed her. His lips conveyed passion and hunger and demanded loyalty and healing.

Breathless, Emma pulled away, leaning her head against the wall, her breasts rising and falling against Rohan's hard chest muscles. "Don't leave me, Em." Rohan's whisper was filled with fear and pain and Emma screwed her face up in confusion.

"Leave you?" Emma heard the patter of Nicky's shoes as he skipped round and round the huge entrance hall. She searched Rohan's handsome face for an answer. "Why would I leave you now?"

Rohan's fingers stroked her face as he studied her like an artist about to put brush to canvas. It was as though he read every contour and shadow of her skin so he could do it from memory. "Anton left you this. Why would you want to live with me back in Harborough now? Unless you plan to sell it and I don't believe that was my brother's intention." He looked up at the high ceiling, his blue eyes sparkling in the light from the bulb. Emma wanted to reach up and touch the firm line of his jaw and kiss him until he understood how she felt. When Rohan's glittering eyes settled on her again, he smiled sadly. "You don't remember? All the times we hid from Mama and Anton would make up stories. He would say, 'I buy a big house for us to hide in. And you, vozlyublennaya Emma, you will be printsessa.' This is it, Em. This is his gift to you and you'll be queen here. You don't need me."

Emma squeezed her eyes shut against the remembered pain. Each beating from the cruel woman, each bout of sickness or diarrhoea, only served to drive the child Emma deeper into a world filled with Anton's ridiculous fantasies. Teenage pregnancy and poverty ensured their illusion never resurfaced. To understand they lived on in Anton's mind and he actively worked to see them happen, was a warped twist of fate, especially as he never survived to see their fruition. This house represented another brick in his fantasy world of endless kindness and joy. Emma felt the impossibility of owning another's dream.

"Emma?" Rohan called her back to him with a stroke of his fingers on her cheek. His warm breath stirred her fringe. "What is it, vozlyublennaya?"

"Rohan," Emma swallowed hard. "Do you love me?"

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, his dark lashes casting long shadows under his eyes. "Ya tebya lyublyu." His voice came out low and husky. "You know I do. I tell you all the time." His top lip lifted on one side and Emma felt a flush of love which overwhelmed her chest and made her gasp.

"Then stay here with me," she asked him. "Be my tsar?"

Rohan ran his thumb under Emma's eye so gently, a sensuous flush embarrassed her and she looked away. He leaned in close so their foreheads touched and whispered, "Opredelenno, my tsarina. I feared you wouldn't ask."

Emma moaned as Rohan's lips touched hers and she clasped her fingers around his neck, feeling the spiky hair at the back of his head against her palms. His breath came in quick gasps as their passion wound free and he slipped questing fingers inside Emma's sweater, raising her tee shirt from her pants in excitement.

"Oh no!" Nicky's wail of dismay sent them skittering apart, Rohan grabbing at the wall and balancing on one crutch. Emma's heart sank as the words inappropriate and stupid ran through her mind waving switchblades.

"Er, Nicky, I...Rohan and I...we..." She gulped and collected herself, faced with her son's disapproving eyes. "Nicky, I love Ro...Daddy. I always have and..."

"I know all that!" His small face screwed up and he began to gasp, tears leaking from his eyes and refueling from his clearly broken heart. He rubbed at his face with rough, angry hands, while Rohan leaned against the wall, his fingers white against the handle of the crutch and his eyes dark and unreadable. "But I wanted to be a wise man so bad!" Nicky wailed from the other end of the corridor. "My best friends, Other Mo and Kaylee are wise mens and I wanna be a wise man." His voice hitched and Emma's face turned from rebellious and guilty to mystified in the seconds of silence after Nicky stormed off to the other end of the darkened house.

# Chapter 51

"What was that about?" Emma's mouth hung slightly open as she stared at the empty corridor. "Did you see where he went?" Panic and annoyance vied for attention as Rohan placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I didn't think he would take it so plokho!" Rohan's face looked ashen, the honey colour stripped from his complexion in the bad lighting. He bent and retrieved his other crutch, righting himself but not moving.

"I'll go after him," Emma sighed. "He can't have gone far."

Within minutes she was back, her face a mask of fear. "I can't find him, Ro. I checked all the rooms on that wing and we know he's not on this one." She ran a frantic hand through her hair. "I called and called him and he's not answering." A sob caught in her throat.

Rohan smiled kindly at her and jerked his head towards the centre of the house and the huge hallway. "Go. Sit in the window seat we passed back there. I'll find him."

Emma looked doubtful, trotting to the end of the corridor to the hallway and then casting about her. "I didn't check upstairs." She pointed back behind them at the oak balustrade. Rohan shook his head.

"I know where he is. I heard." He pointed at his ear and then gave Emma a long fortifying kiss before sending her to the square room on the left to wait. Kieran's stumbled will reading came back to Emma. Rohan stopped in the doorway and fixed his gorgeous blue eyes on her. "I'll bring him back. Trust me, Em. Please? I'll prove I'm worthy of it." Rohan set off towards the stairs and Emma stood in the doorway and watched his laborious progress. Her heart vied with the combined agony of giving up either one of her boys and she fought the urge to cry and beat her fists on the old wooden floor beneath her feet. Why would Nicky take their relationship so badly? It seemed unexpected and so unlike his previous overtures.

Rohan turned to the right to face the stairs which led upwards, each dogleg representing a face of Everest to him. Emma crept close and watched as he leaned forward and shoved one of his crutches up onto the fourth step. With huge physical strength, he used the other crutch and the handrail to begin his ascent. He kept the crutch in his right hand, his arm rigid as he hopped up onto the first tread, the handrail to his left taking some of the strain. His shoulder and arm muscles bulged through his jacket and Emma watched him breach the first four steps with apparent ease. Rohan retrieved the dormant crutch and laid it flat along the eighth step, moving upwards again at surprising speed. The stairs punctuated in front of him at the first landing and then Rohan began again. Ceasing to worry, Emma lay her head back against the wall and sighed. When Rohan was finally out of sight, she heard him make his way across the upstairs landing and begin his search of the upstairs. "I'm going to bloody kill you, Nikolai Harrington!" Emma muttered, returning to the empty room. Then she hurled herself onto the window seat to wait.

Half an hour passed. Half an hour of walking to the bottom of the stairs, listening and then walking back to the window seat. At one point, Emma left and wandered to the downstairs cloakroom on the far side of the kitchen, disturbed when the elderly pipes clanged and banged in protest at the toilet flushing.

"This is ridiculous!" she told herself, staring at her foot as it rested on the bottom tread of the stairs. Then she removed it for the hundredth time. Rohan said he would find him and unless he fell into the same peril as Nicky, he must have. Emma listened for movement, holding her breath when she recognised the sound of Rohan's crutches padding along the wing above her. The metal fixings clinked and clanked in the silent house and Emma released the breath with a whoosh as she heard Nicky's level voice.

The boys looked unconcerned as they stood at the top of the stairs. Emma experienced a flash of anger at what they'd put her through in the last half an hour, tempering its effects as irrational and foolish. Emma walked slowly to the bottom of the stairs and watched her men interact. "Hold it like this, Nikolai," Rohan told his son, putting the crutch upright in his small arms and directing him towards the carved oak bannister rail. "Hold on with one hand and carry viz other."

Emma bit back concern as tiredness made Rohan's native accent bleed into his English. She loved it but would never tell him she noticed.

Sinew and muscle stood out on Rohan's neck as he used his upper body strength to negotiate the stairs. The last barrier protecting her heart shattered as an old love flooded through, tightening her chest and causing a pressure to build in her throat. In her memories, Rohan struggled down the stairs at the vicarage, holding onto the wound from his appendectomy. His face registered agony from the cruel staples pressed into his flesh and thirteen year old Emma felt an uncontrollable surge of love for the teenager. Rohan was like a drug to her from before puberty. She needed him as she needed oxygen. He smiled at her back then, pretending like it didn't hurt. He did the same now, brushing off his infirmity against the honesty of her gaze.

"Sorry, Mummy." Nicky pressed his face into her stomach, accidentally bashing her ankles with the crutch. Rohan levered himself down behind the boy and alleviated him of his metal burden.

"I taught you never to run off," Emma said, surprised at the cold element in her voice. "It's dangerous."

Nicky put his head back and Emma looked down into swollen, bloodshot eyes. His chest gave a little hitch which suggested his tears had evolved into full blown hysteria. She caught Rohan's eye and he smiled, a hint of satisfaction in his blue eyes. He dealt with it. She was no longer alone in the parenting game. "Mummy?" Nicky's throat constricted the word as his body rebelled against the gulped air in his lungs. "Mummy, I'm so sad 'bout Uncle Anton. And Daddy said I will be a wise man and the nasty lady can't stop me. I'm sorry I runned away. I didn't want to tell her if you and Daddy did kissing but I saw." The child's whole body shuddered and Rohan laid a strong hand on his tiny shoulder.

"Papa sort it all out. Zapomnit'."

"I remember, Dad." Nicky gave another gulping swallow and Rohan shook his head furiously at Emma to warn her to stay quiet.

"Tomorrow, we'll make you a wise man costume, Nikolai. And we'll practice your words."

"I don't say much," Nicky smiled. He leaned sideways and touched Rohan's thigh with his small hand. "I love you being my dad," he said with genuine affection.

"Thank you," Emma mouthed and stroked Rohan's rough cheek with a soft palm. "I feel tired now. I'll look at the upstairs another day."

"I found Uncle Anton's room," Nicky smiled up at her with a tearful hiccough punctuating his sentence. "I smelled his smell in a bedroom. Can we live here and please may I have that blue bedroom to sleep in? It's right next to the massive big room which can be yours. Then I can still hear you when you get scared and cry."

"We'll see, baby," Emma soothed, knitting her brow at the extent of the small boy's understanding. "For now though, let's go home."

Later, after a hastily scratched together dinner of cheese toasted sandwiches, Emma faced Rohan as he lay on her bed. "Are you freaking kidding me? Felicity said what to my son?"

"Keep your voice down," Rohan replied, his tone serious. "She said she'd stop him being in the nativity unless he promised to tell her what we were doing. She also told him we were disgusting and she'd get the police involved. From other things Nicky said, she's been feeding him little er..." Rohan struggled with the English word, unusual for him. He spread his hands, asking for help.

"Tidbits? Snippets?"

Rohan shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. "Things to make a small boy scared of her. Monstr."

"What's that?" Emma scratched her head, perplexed. "Beast? Monster?"

"Da! Fiendish things of the night."

"I'll kill her!" Emma thumped her fist on the bed. "The selfish little...where does she live? I'll go round now and show her what fear is!" Her brown eyes glared in her face and Rohan smirked and dragged her body into his.

"Hush. I said I'd deal with it. He's my son. Let me be his papa."

"I'm trying. It was difficult staying downstairs while you talked to him. I wanted to rush up and make it better. It's how things have been for the last six years; just me and Nicky."

"I know, vozlyublennaya. I know." Rohan exhaled and his breath ruffled Emma's hair. His arms felt strong around her and she pushed into his chest. His lips on the top of her head felt safe and comforting, but the sickness had already taken hold in the pit of Emma's stomach. Rohan knew. He stroked her back and whispered gentle Russian words into her ear.

Emma groaned, keeping her voice low. "It's that word, disgusting. Your mother called me, gryaznyy. Anton said it means filthy. It tainted everything, even Nicky's birth. If it hadn't been for Lucya, I'd be more of a mess than I am already. I always wondered if Alanya suspected the baby was yours; until that bitch kindly informed her Nicky had Anton on his birth certificate. Your mother knew I loved you. I'd like to say that's why she hated me, but I don't feel inclined to make excuses for her."

"I'm not justifying it, but in Russia when we blend families, we accept those new siblings as blood. She saw you as my sister so to her, it was a bad thing. You have to admit, she never treated you any better or worse than she did me and Anton. She was pretty awful to all of us."

Emma grunted and kept silent, not wanting to accede anything to Alanya, least of all fairness in her cruel upbringing. She pressed her face into Rohan's blond chest, moving his shirt aside with her fingers to touch the muscular chest and feel closer to him. The metal dog tags cut into her cheek and she moved them in frustration before giving up and sitting upright. "Do you think we're disgusting?" she asked, her tone defensive.

"No! Never. We aren't blood and didn't choose to be put together in one family." Rohan ran his hand up Emma's thigh, his grip firm against her jeans. "My love for you was always different to Anton's. He cossetted you like a tiny flower, protecting and nurturing. I battled with my feelings and was shy of you for years. I kept myself separate until I understood what it was and then I kissed you. Remember?"

Emma nodded and allowed a tiny smirk to light her face with pleasure. "I remember."

"Lie down with me?" Rohan's voice sounded seductive and sent a shiver down Emma's spine. His fingers strayed from her thigh to the button at the top of her jeans and she put her hand over his, halting his progress.

"I can't. I'm too angry!" Her tone was huffy with a hint of stubbornness. "And your army tags are getting on my nerves. They keep smacking me in the face."

Rohan hauled himself up to sit next to Emma, punching the pillows behind him to get comfy. Then he undid his shirt buttons one at a time and pulled the fabric slowly from inside his pants. Emma watched in her peripheral vision, ogling the firm abdominal muscles and smooth skin, watching them flex as he moved to slip his shirt off his shoulders. She caught sight of the firm biceps which had bulged through his shirt sleeves as he hauled himself up the long staircase earlier. She couldn't resist turning her head for a sneaky look. Rohan's deft fingers plucked the metal chain and pulled it over his head, dropping it onto the floorboards with a clunk. "I told you I'll deal with school so you don't need to be angry. Now dog tags is all gone."

Emma grinned and turned her face away. "That's bad English and Nicky will hear us. It's embarrassing!"

"Da, embarrassing, but not disgusting. Get here woman, I have zmeya to show you."

Despite herself, Emma snorted, glancing back at the bedroom door and covering her mouth. "Is this your famous trouser snake? Because I've seen it and I'm not impressed." She squeaked as Rohan grabbed her, hauling her down the bed and biting her neck.

"Too loud!" he chuckled into her soft skin. "My room has more sound proofing. When will you move in there?"

Emma became still. "I don't want to. I have images of Felicity in there with you, giggling up a storm and I can't do it." She sighed, adding, "Sorry. I know you've set that room up to make it easier for you, but I don't think I can. Nicky and I slept in there when you were away and it wasn't a great time for me."

"Okay." Rohan sounded philosophical. "Then I'll move into this room." He worked his fingers under Emma's sweatshirt and laid his palm gently over her stomach. She flinched as his soft movements tickled but another feeling grew, something deeper which emanated from her chest. She waited, allowing it to spread and take hold of her, experiencing the spiritual communion between an excited father and his unborn child filling her heart and soul. It was powerful, breath-taking and full of wonder. Emma choked and spluttered as the nakedness of it overwhelmed her, driving home the emptiness of her pregnancy with Nicky and the months filled with terror and dread. This felt so different and the dismay seeded itself again with phrases like, it will never last, you'll end up alone again like always.

"Em?" Rohan's alarm and instant concern was touching and his strong arms around Emma were welcome, shoring her defences against depression and misery. "Don't be afraid," he whispered, holding her tightly. "I'm here."

Emma cried against Rohan's silken skin and breathed in the warm masculine scent. But she had already seen the light in his eyes at the adrenaline rush which came with danger and the sense of aloneness snaked back into her heart. He was here for now maybe, but the Actuary would soon be gone again, roving the world for risks to neutralise, silently, with calculation and skill. Aloneness would take up residence with Emma and stay for good one day.

# Chapter 52

Rohan looked nervous hauling himself out of the car. Emma left him to negotiate his crutches and slammed the door after him, waiting until he was stable enough to begin the trek up the road and through the school gates. A bitter wind howled around their legs, whipping Emma's new coat around her shins and repeatedly legging her up. Rohan plodded steadily along next to her, smirking from the corner of his mouth. "You're more unsteady on your feet than me," he chuckled.

"It's this gorgeous new coat you bought me." Emma stopped and fixed the bottom button closed. Her cheeks were already a healthy pink from the biting cold and her eyes sparkled. The sumptuous cashmere coat matched her tan boots and Rohan stopped, transfixed. "But I do love it." Emma smiled and her brow knitted at the sultry look on her husband's face. She moved across the footpath and wrapped her arms around his waist, careful not to overbalance him. "I love you," she whispered. "I know how hard this is for you, going public about your leg, but...your son will appreciate your bravery."

Rohan's blue eyes glittered like diamonds in the cold, a tear collecting in objection to the freezing onslaught. But his full lips smiled and his freshly shaven face put his affection on show. "I do it for him." Rohan's eyes roved to Emma's stomach and the smile broadened. "For _them_."

Emma kissed him slowly on the lips, oblivious to the parents and grandparents navigating around them in the winter blast. "We'll be okay, won't we?" Emma begged, pushing away the dread in her heart.

"Of course!" Rohan looked surprised, kissing away a delicate snowflake which dared to land in Emma's curls. "Let's go in or he'll think I didn't come."

Emma's heart beat a tattoo as they joined the long queue to enter the school hall, displaying tickets and receiving hot coffee and a mince pie from a stand next to the ticket table. Her nerves were partly for Rohan, enduring the stares and curiosity of the school community. She listened to the awkward questions tittering from the mouths of tiny children around them and the well-meant silencing from embarrassed parents.

"Why's that man got one leg?"

"Ssh, I don't know," came the whispered answer.

Emma's back felt rigid and her whole body tense with the force of emotions, wanting so badly to protect the tall Russian from other thoughtless people. It made her feel powerless, wishing with a stab of guilt that she had made excuses for him instead, persuading Nicky not to beg his father to do this public thing.

Part of her nerves were for her son, the familiar dread of a mother anticipating the aftermath of her child making a spectacle of themselves. His line was short and she knew it backwards. Seeing Rohan dart a sideways look at her, Emma leaned towards him and whispered, "I really hope he doesn't forget his line."

Rohan snuffed gently and kissed her on the forehead. "He has nine words to say, vozlyublennaya. His address is longer! He doesn't forget that."

Emma nodded, reassured. Then she focussed on the other object of her nerves. Felicity sat behind the ticket table, checking the number on the ticket against the seating plan in front of her. She gave Emma a haughty look and snatched the ticket from her hand, glaring up at Rohan with an acerbic look in her eyes. "You got the wrong tickets," she said in a sing-song voice. "Yours are on the back row." She glared at Emma in challenge and pulled the tickets towards herself, reaching into a biscuit tin and dragging out two replacements. As Emma reached out to take them from her hand, she deliberately dropped them onto the table.

Rohan gave a hiss of displeasure and Felicity looked up at him, her face screwing up in fury. "Thank you," he said politely, his accent sounding sexy in his throat. "Back is fine." He nudged Emma with his crutch, recognising the glint in her eye which signified she was about to jump across the table and rip the other woman's head off. As they moved away, Felicity noticed the crutches and stood up. Her eyes fixed on Rohan's lower half, seeing the right trouser leg neatly pinned up, folded over and over in a garish hem. Emma had struggled with it, knowing Rohan tried so hard not to get frustrated with her fumbling.

"What happened?" Felicity's voice rapped out as a screech amidst the dull hum of adults talking quietly. She pointed at Emma. "What did you do to him?"

Emma's body stiffened as she drew herself up to her full height, hearing the hissed warning from Rohan as she turned back towards the officious secretary. "No!" he told his wife. "Please find a seat for me? I can fight my own battles."

Emma's brown eyes flashed as black as coals in her fury and her jaw worked. The smirk in Rohan's eyes and his dilated pupils told her he found it sexy, infuriating her further. "She menaced my son!" she hissed at him through gritted teeth and Rohan nodded once.

" _My_ son," he replied.

Emma walked woodenly to the hall door, aware of hundreds of eyes boring into her back with avid curiosity in an otherwise boring situation. The beam of the headmaster met her and he held out his hand for the tickets, chatting to her with a cheer she no longer felt.

Emma's eyes watched Rohan turn to face Felicity, the crowd around him abruptly silent. He jerked his head towards his missing shin and spoke. "I lost my leg six years ago in Afghanistan serving my chosen country." Felicity gulped and there was an outbreak of interested whispering and acknowledgment from around him. "I came to see my son be a wise man, if that's okay with everyone?" Rohan's hidden temper accentuated his Russian accent as he looked around for approval.

The crowd behind and around him nodded with acceptance and an elderly male voice called, "Bless you for your sacrifice, son."

"Bloody right," another male voice called and Rohan addressed the group with his beautiful smile, flashing his white teeth and gorgeous blue eyes with the skill which made him an officer whom men were willing to follow to their death.

"Danke," he said with gratitude.

Felicity sat down with a bump in her seat behind the ticket table, her cheeks flaring red and her lips pressed tightly shut. Emma wondered what backlash the twisted woman would plan as a suitable revenge for her and shuddered. But the way her husband said _thank you_ in Russian made Emma's cheeks flush. His whispered words in their shared bed the night before came back to her as a hot memory and she bit her lip against the inappropriate smirk of pleasure.

"I'm so looking forward to you starting here with us," Mr Dalton intoned, oblivious to Emma's absence in the one sided conversation until now. "It's bothered me all our precious photographs shoved in that attic up there." His Welsh accent sparkled through his speech in lyrical bounces, making it feel as though he called to her from a trampoline. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "These aren't your tickets! Staff sit in the front row." He waved a hand to a small child next to him. "Mr and Mrs Andreyev sit on the end, please, Angela."

The child skipped off ahead, her flowing white costume drifting round her legs in an elegant swish of sumptuous net curtain. Emma thanked the headmaster and took a step after her, watching the yellow ponytail swing from side to side as she bounced happily down the centre aisle towards the stage. Emma heard Rohan's crutches behind her and waited, seeing the headmaster grip her husband's right hand without dislodging the metal support. "I dealt with that other little business," Mr Dalton said, leaning in towards Rohan to prevent those bottle necked behind from hearing. "She gave her notice and won't be back next term." He rolled his 'r's,' creating a sound like a purr in his throat. His eye line reached the centre of Rohan's chest but his character rose far above that in stature. He let go of Rohan's hand with a nod and the men parted, Rohan clacking slowly behind his wife.

"I like Nicky," the little girl informed them as Emma held the child sized seat still for Rohan to fold himself into. His leg stuck out forwards for what seemed like miles and he tried to poke his crutches under his own and Emma's miniature seat.

"That's nice," Emma said with a smile, experiencing a maternal flush at hearing her child was accepted.

"Yeah, I like him a _lot_." Angela's blue eyes widened in meaning and Emma gulped as the little girl scratched at an itchy looking lace collar on the front of her angel costume. "I was a sheep," she informed Emma, distracting herself temporarily and staring at Rohan's pinned trouser leg. She turned her huge liquid blue eyes back on the mother of the object of her desire. "Mrs Clarke made me be a sheep but I cried and cried to be an angel. Angels get to sit with the wise men." She scratched again at her neck and extended the movement down her chest to her stomach, her nails making a scritching sound across the starchy cloth. "Do wise men ever marry angels?" she asked pointedly, her confidence ebbing away.

Rohan sat up and slipped his arm around Emma, fixing his handsome smile on the child. "Oh, da!" he replied with enthusiasm. "I did."

Angela beamed, showing all the reasons she was easily absorbed into the angel-brigade. She looked up at an agonised shout from her leader. "Where's my angel gone?" Mr Dalton yelled into the darkened hall. "I've lost my angel!" With a cute wave, Angela was gone, skipping off back up the aisle to the teacher.

"Idiot!" Emma snorted, digging Rohan in the ribs. "I'm definitely no angel."

He grunted with the impact of her elbow and kissed her temple. "It's okay. I'm no wise man." His deep voice sounded sexy in the darkness and Emma sighed with contentment.

"I heard what Mr Dalton said at the door," she whispered. "Thank you for sorting it out."

"It was all my fault," Rohan admitted. "Was my mess to clear up. Loneliness made me unclear so I was wrong." He squeezed her shoulder and then let go as Allaine settled herself in the seat behind them.

"I hope you're ready for this!" she warned. "Why Mrs Clarke would let those three even sit together let alone act together, is beyond me."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Emma snorted. "They're like the three musketeers."

Rohan shrugged and looked confused. Allaine's husband, Will, leaned forward to shake Rohan's hand. "It sounds ominous, mate. I've no idea what they're talking about. My Kaylee's been practicing with me most days. She's word perfect."

Allaine rolled her eyes and snorted. Her Scottish husband eyed her nervously. "Well, I don't trust those three!" she said sagely with a mother's intuition and Emma nodded in agreement.

The men shrugged and devoured their coffee and mince pies. Rohan ate Emma's too as she rejected it after a single bite. "It's nice," she said apologetically, "I just don't feel so good."

"Ah, poor vozlyublennaya!" Rohan pulled her chair into his in a single easy movement, not realising they were fixed together. The whole row came scuttling a few inches to the right and an elderly granny squealed at the other end.

Emma heard Allaine burst out laughing behind her, quickly silenced by her husband's muffled rebuke.

The darkness seemed oppressive as silence descended, marred only by the odd shuffle of feet or the loudly whispered question from a bored pre-schooler.

Light burst from a spotlight overhead, blinding the audience as the nativity began, an annual feast of colour, inappropriate behaviour and forgotten lines. It was Rohan's first experience of the fiasco and his eyes shone with a mix of bafflement and hilarity as the disasters unfolded one after another. The first narrator was word perfect and amazing, the second passable but cute and the third, apoplectic. A loud fart issued from the collected menagerie of animals seated in darkness to the right of the stage. There was a lot of shuffling as the animals divided around the offender, leaving a wide area of floorboards for the boy dressed as a chicken to comfortably stretch out in. Assorted sheep, cows and what looked like a gorilla in the gloom, crushed up one end, hugging the stage and forcing it to wobble dangerously.

The narrator giggled and spluttered for three minutes without saying a word before Mrs Clarke's level voice cut through the confusion with, "The inn was full." She rapped it out like an order and the child sniggered his way to the side and flopped down into nothingness.

The light remained trained on centre stage as Mary and Joseph rode a tricycle dressed as a donkey around it for a while. The cardboard donkey head looked sad and Rohan pulled a face at Emma which set her off giggling, exacerbated by her urge for the toilet whenever her stomach constricted. He leaned in close so she felt his breath on her cheek and whispered,

"It's comedy? Da?"

Emma caught the sound of Allaine behind, trying to keep it together in the presence of an adoring crowd. She shook her head to tell Rohan, _no_ , this was serious stuff.

The donkey's head fell off before it reached the stable and Mary gave birth to Baby Jesus with incredible speed, whipping him out from underneath her skirts with practiced skill.

"Half her luck!" muttered a woman from somewhere in the audience and Emma heard Allaine's muffled squeak from behind. There was a blinding flash as some overenthusiastic parent ignored the _no photography rule_ and snapped themselves a photograph of a bicycle pile-up and a stunned Mary and Joseph with an upside down Cabbage Patch doll falling to the ground.

The chicken farted again, producing a collective groan from the other animals and Mrs Clarke hastily dispatched her classroom assistant. All manner of acceleration was employed to ensure the egg was laid in the appropriate place and the chicken was escorted to the bathrooms.

Emma tensed as the threesome arrived on stage with a fanfare, like a recipe for disaster. The two wise men and one wise woman strode in like something from the Wild West, Mo clutching his trousers in an accurate rendition of a black gun slinger. "Me belt broke!" he announced, peering out into the audience like Long John Silver with his hand shading his eyes. Mel sat in the same row as Allaine and Emma saw her slide down into her tiny seat in an attempt to pretend Mo belonged to someone else. He gave a small, painful squeak as Kaylee hoisted his trousers up from behind and hauled him backwards. In deference to her broad Scots father, she performed her words perfectly, although the forced Scots accent sounded a little weird.

Nicky whipped out a long telescope made from toilet roll holders and held it to his left eye, spinning on the spot to get a good look from every angle. He wavered a bit as he accidentally focussed on the spotlight above the audience and rubbed his eye. "Bloody blinded meself!" he told Mo.

"Oh yeah, it's bright, is that!" Mo agreed, his eyes rolling at the ferocity of Kaylee's grip on his pants. Nicky was taller than his friends, built like his father and with all Rohan's natural Russian beauty. He drew himself up to his full height, his bare toes showing underneath his great grandmother's old dressing gown. "Der is a star, vot shine in de east!" he said, sounding exactly like Rohan, when tiredness reverted his speech into its heavily accented state.

"Ay up! Will us find it then? Is it over Manchester?" Mo asked, a suggestion more than a stage direction. Nicky and Kaylee conferred with him, producing nods of affirmation eventually.

Nicky poked his eye against the end of his wobbly telescope and focussed on Rohan, sitting right at the front. "That's my dad," he announced proudly. "He's a war hero."

There was a muted, impromptu round of applause and Rohan sank down in his seat, cringing. Nicky waved his telescope at his parents and the end flew off and landed amongst the angels. Angela dived for it and had a tug of war with another girl, their scrap divinely lit from above by a spotlight.

Mrs Clarke waved them frantically off the stage from her seating position near the animals, her shoulders slumped as though she had finally reached breaking point. Nicky and Kaylee went one way and Mo the other, meaning he was on his own with his troublesome trousers. There was a whump as his pants hit the wooden stage and a squeal as he pitched off it, followed by a muffled, "I'm okay!"

Everyone worked hard not to look at Mel, who squirmed her way slowly out of a private mortification in her seat and came up smiling. The final bow was loud and raucous, with ample opportunity for parents to photograph the cast.

Emma stood to the side and clicked snaps of the wise men and woman on Rohan's phone, gratified when Nicky threw himself into his father's arms with obvious pleasure. She snapped one of the two of them which they smiled for and one which Rohan wouldn't know about until later. She stroked the screen, seeing two blond heads close together in conversation, animated blue eyes and the same striking facial structure. _Peas in a pod_.

Needing the toilet urgently, Emma handed the phone back to Rohan and set off in search of the ladies toilets, finding them blessedly empty half way along the wide, brightly lit corridor. Looking up whilst washing her hands, she found herself observed by Felicity. Her heart sank. "You disgust me!" the other woman bit, raising her voice to hysterical proportions. "He was _my_ boyfriend! We were getting married!"

"Did Rohan _ever_ say that to you?" Emma asked, drying her hands on a paper towel. In her angst, she shredded it and reached for another.

"He didn't have to!" Felicity spat. "We were in love." Her eyes looked crazed and Emma took a step back, shades of Alanya colouring her view.

She shook her head. "I don't think so, Felicity. I think you saw what you wanted." She cast her mind back to Rohan's interactions with the woman, seeing only tolerance and a need for company amidst Felicity's insipid grasping. "If I'm honest, it's not the impression I ever got."

"I'm pregnant!" Felicity snapped, resting a speculative hand over her abdomen.

Emma tutted. "By a man you called impotent?"

Felicity's cheeks flushed harder and Emma took a step towards the doorway. Felicity's eyes snapped in the same direction and she moved slowly sideways, blocking it. "I lied. He...we..."

"Oh come on!" Emma shouted. "You didn't even know about his leg! He didn't trust you. Surely that tells you something? I'm his wife, Felicity. I'm sorry for how this has turned out, but threatening a child? Really? That was sick! You made him terrified of you. It's unforgiveable."

"He's a brat!" Felicity answered, her voice laden with venom. "I knew he was Rohan's son from the start. I've seen pictures of Rohan's brother and that brat is nothing like him. I hate you for what you've done. My life was great until you appeared. You turned it to crap!"

Realisation lit Emma's face with a sneer. "Is that why you hired a private investigator even before I turned up, Felicity? You paid someone to drive up and down the country following my husband to business meetings. It must have cost you a fortune and the silly man didn't even tell you the basics about Rohan Andreyev. You didn't know he'd lost his leg and you still don't know what he does for a living. For goodness sake, Felicity. What is wrong with you?"

Emma took another step towards the open doorway, anger making her eyes flash dangerously. Felicity was unhinged, but nothing compared to some of the women on the estate in Lincoln. Emma braved it out, refusing to show weakness. "Get out of my way!"

She should have seen the slap coming, but wasn't quite quick enough to stop it landing hard on her face. Felicity put her whole grievance into it; her broken hopes and dreams went into the blow and the obsession with Rohan Andreyev which cost her everything. Emma's ears were deafened by the sound of tinkling glass as her head hit the mirror above the sinks and she was showered with sharp debris.

The cunning left hander made her right cheek ring with the vibrations from the blow, but her head smarted above her left ear and blood trickled down her face and onto her new coat. "Damn!" she heard herself say as the word tumbled from her lips and nothingness shrouded her head like a blanket.

Emma felt the soft cushion of Allaine's arms beneath her as she crumpled and Nicky's shrill, hysterical screams overhead as help was summoned.

# Chapter 53

"Was I a good wise man, Mummy? You didn't fall over because I was rubbish or anyfink?"

"No, baby. You were wonderful. I think maybe I got a bit overexcited." Emma ruffled Nicky's blond hair and tried not to think about the stitches in the side of her head. They pulled taut and painful, her pregnancy denying her the usual welcome brand of pain relief.

"Why did Kaylee's daddy take the nasty lady off in a police car?" Nicky asked, looking backwards at his wide-eyed friend, who nodded in confirmation. "Is it because she hurt you? Did she make you fall down?" Nicky's words came in short gasps as he panicked. "She said she'd hurt you. Is it my fault? I should've told Daddy she said that." Hysteria picked at the sides of the child's composure and Emma swaddled him in to her breast.

"None of this is your fault, Nick. Forget about it now. Go and see if there's a TV somewhere but don't talk to strangers. Okay? Promise?"

Nicky nodded and Allaine stepped forward to point the way to a room at the end of the hospital ward. She reiterated Emma's warning and watched the children walk away. She turned to Emma with a sigh. "Felicity threatened you?"

"Apparently so." Emma lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. "I really should have seen that coming. It threw me because she's right handed and she hit me with her left." Emma thumped the sheets in frustration and shook her head, wincing when it hurt.

Allaine sat in the visitor's chair next to the bed, her pretty face paled by the nightmare. "I wasn't quick enough. I saw her follow you out of the hall but Kaylee delayed me. I checked every classroom and then realised you'd probably gone to the toilet. I got there as she hit you and was just in time to stop you falling on the floor and hitting your head again. There was so much blood."

"Nothing you haven't seen before," Emma smiled. "I thought lab technicians were great with bodily fluids."

Allaine nodded. "We don't usually collect it from the scene. Or from people we love." She rubbed a hand across her eyes.

"Thank you." Emma reached out a shaky hand and Allaine took it, holding on firmly.

"How do you feel?" She indicated Emma's stomach with a nod of her head.

Emma shrugged. "I honestly feel fine. It's just my head really. I've asked for a scan, even though the baby won't be much bigger than a walnut yet. I'm just waiting for Rohan." Her face creased in anxiety.

"He's not far now. He's talking to Will." Allaine stroked Emma's fingers, listening to the sound of childish voices from the end of the ward. Nicky and Kaylee sang the theme tune to a popular children's cartoon with sweet clear voices. Emma smiled.

Rohan swung into the room with purpose, his crutches squeaking on the linoleum floor. Will followed him in, telling an eager, uniformed police constable to wait outside. Allaine rose quickly and went to her husband, putting her hands against his strong chest. "Felicity threatened Emma. That makes it different now, doesn't it? She told him she'd hurt her if he didn't do what she wanted. It's why he got so upset in McDonald's that lunchtime when we bumped into her. Don't you remember? Nicky wanted to go home once she arrived."

Will nodded. "Yeah. I do." He looked at Emma in apology. "I thought you'd just muscled in on her boyfriend and the boy was caught in the crossfire. I'm so sorry."

"I kinda did and he kinda was." Emma sounded tired, waving Will's apology away with a flap of her hand. Rohan perched a butt cheek on the side of the bed and held Emma, infusing her with love and strength. "What about getting your prosthetic." She looked up at him, squinting through her tearful left eye. "They close for Christmas today."

"Nothing matters except you and my baby. We're going for a scan soon."

"But what about your leg?" Emma began again and Rohan shook his head.

"It doesn't matter, Em. Believe me, suddenly it just doesn't." Rohan dipped his head but shied off kissing her on the face. Both sides looked pretty messed up. "Just rest."

Will cleared his throat. "It would be good if the officer and I were able to ask Nicky some questions, just preliminary ones. We need to stop this woman just being bailed for giving you a slap and hold her on more serious charges. Would it be okay if Allaine sits in or...what do you want me to do?"

"Allaine can stand in for me," Emma nodded. "If it gives you what you need. But you'd better bring Nicky here first." She sighed, sounding exhausted.

Nicky's feet pattered down the hallway, slapping on the linoleum loudly. "Ssh, Nick. There's sick people here trying to sleep," Emma said calmly. Will sauntered into the room after the child, waiting with interest while Nicky clambered onto the bed.

"Yeah, Mum?" he said, putting his best listening face on.

"Right, baby. Will needs to ask you some quick questions about the lady at school, Miss Robinson. I need you to tell him the truth."

"But he's _police!_ " Nicky said the word as though it tasted foul and rolled his eyes at Emma. "Our kind never talks to police."

Emma exhaled. "Nicky, our kind is good, decent, law abiding people. Okay? And we do talk to police, we just haven't needed to."

"But Fat Brian says they take you in a cell and break your arms!" He looked back at Will in the doorway, trying to reconcile Kaylee's fun daddy with his warped image of the police force, courtesy of Fat Brian and Big Jason.

"They don't, Nicky. And this is real important, son. I need you to tell Kaylee's lovely daddy exactly what the lady said to you. I need them to keep her locked up for now. She could have hurt me bad, Nick, so it's important."

"We're ready for you now, Mrs Andreyev." A nurse appeared in the doorway with a porter and Nicky's head swivelled round and back again.

"Where you goin', Mum? Why can't you or Dad be wiv me when Kaylee's daddy talks to me."

Emma looked her son in the eyes, holding him either side of his beautiful face. She couldn't bear to have him in the scan with her, in case it was bad news. "Nicky, I have a baby in my tummy and the nurse needs to make sure the lady didn't hurt it. Please tell Will everything you know and pray to your God for me, Nick." Emma's voice broke as fear trampled across her heart and Rohan rubbed her back. He smiled at Nicky, not knowing who needed him most, his face a mask of agony.

"We'll be fine," Allaine said, standing up and nodding to her husband. Will scooped the small boy up into his capable arms and held him as Nick wept a river of tears.

"I love you, Mummy," he wailed as Emma was wheeled away down the corridor, to find out the fate of her unborn child.

# Chapter 54

"It's so beautiful out here," Allaine said, watching Nicky and Kaylee tearing round the front lawn with Farrell barking up a storm. "You're so lucky." The dog herded them like cattle but grew bored as they hurled themselves to the snowy floor giggling.

"I know," Emma agreed, sitting against the side of the window seat and drawing her knees up to her chest.

"How are you?" Allaine asked, and Emma nodded.

"I'm good, thanks. It's a relief the baby was okay. Stupid woman, why would you hit someone that hard over a man?"

"She's done it before, apparently." Allaine lowered her voice. "But please don't tell Will you heard it from me. She gave Mr Dalton one hell of a time at the start of last year and he threatened to sack her when he caught her following his wife around the supermarket. She packed it in and then switched to Rohan when she bumped into him in town. She followed him home and then rented a house round the corner on Granville Street. It was easy after that to keep appearing at his door needing things. She moved here from Nottingham and changed her name after...get this; she was bailed for stalking a local councillor."

"That doesn't make sense." Emma rubbed a hand over her face. "The education department would have paid her wages. They would need to see birth certificates and proof of name and stuff like that, tax number and official stuff. I know because I had to take all that in to Mr Dalton for him to draw up a contract for me for next year."

"She took someone else's identity." Allaine laid a hand on Emma's knee. "Please don't tell anyone. Will would kill me. I just know that you're kind of holding it against Rohan for her behaviour. I wanted you to understand how she worked. It would take nothing for her to be encouraged, believe me."

Emma sighed. "That's partly it. But the other thing I keep asking myself is, how can Rohan not see these strange women attaching themselves to him? I mean, right now, he's visiting his mother who's on remand for murdering vulnerable men and possibly her own child. He shut his mind to her behaviour all those years, Allie. Of course he couldn't see what Felicity...or whatever her name is, was doing. He didn't _want_ to see." She dragged a finger down the small rectangular pane of blown glass, leaving a streak in the condensation. "He's like this massive hunk of prime Russian killing machine, who believes anything a manipulative woman says to him. It makes me scared." Emma sighed and stretched her legs out, putting her hand on Allaine's foot as she stretched out next to her. The two of them hardly filled the huge window seat.

"All men have their weaknesses," Allaine said, sounding wise. She watched the children making an igloo in the snow drifts beyond the driveway. "Those kids are gonna be freezing."

Emma watched her friend's face, searching for the wisdom she always managed to produce. Allaine turned back to her and smiled. "Take Will for example. He's handsome, got a great body, still turns me on at forty. He's an incredible father, amazing lover, excellent husband and outstanding police sergeant." Emma waited patiently for the punch line. Allaine fixed her blue eyes on Emma's brown ones, her face all serious. "The guy can't stand the sight of blood. All that and he's scared of a little bodily fluid! So see, they all have faults."

Emma snorted. "I thought you were going to say something really helpful!" she laughed, holding her sides. "He's squeamish!"

"Hey, what do you usually do for Christmas?" Allaine said suddenly, changing the subject. "It's less than two days away now."

Emma's face took on a haunted, faraway look. "When my father was alive, we did a proper Christmas lunch and gifts. His housekeeper cooked the turkey and ate with us. When he married Alanya, she claimed she couldn't cook such food and the housekeeper was too intimidated to stay and eat with us. My father got sick and it gradually fizzled out. After he died, we didn't do it at all. Lucya and I had no money but it was always happy. We'd save up and buy three chicken drumsticks and watch Christmas movies all afternoon on television. Sometimes the shelters gave food donations and those times were better. There was always a gift for Nicky but she would kiss me on the forehead on Christmas morning and say Nicky was my present to her. After she died, in Lincoln..." Emma sighed. "Nicky knew I had nothing. He drew me a picture and I might write him a story. Once I did it on the computer at work and printed it off. I stitched it into a book and he pretended it was real. We played cards and cuddled. Mostly we listened to the crack addicts next door getting high and the family across the street knocking the snot out of each other. Better than television." Emma inhaled. "I'm not sure about this year. I've promised to visit Freda but I don't know what Rohan has planned. The clinic allowed him to get his leg fitted on Saturday so now there's nothing stopping him. Maybe he'll be away." Emma picked at a piece of loose paint and bit her lip.

"You think he'll still work as the Actuary?" Allaine asked and Emma shrugged.

"I don't know. The night he came for me, he was like a moth to a flame. I'd never seen him more alive. I understood then, once I saw him in action. He won't be honest with me about what actually happened after they drugged me, so I don't even know if she...oh, it doesn't matter. I begged him not to go back to the army all those years ago. He came home on leave and I knew I was pregnant. I was sixteen and terrified and I begged him. He looked me in the eye and said, ' _I can't stop, Emma. I love it. I love thinking on my feet and strategising. I work out risks and then walk the paths I map for myself. I love it.'_ I asked him, ' _Do you love it more than me?'_ He couldn't answer." Emma looked at the children rolling in the snow, their bodies covered in icy flakes. She gulped. "I walked out in frustration, he left and I didn't get to tell him about Nicky. He got blown up and I never knew."

Depression settled on her, bringing her very real fears to the surface and ruining her enjoyment of the relaxing afternoon. Emma forced herself to smile at her friend, fixing a false calm over herself to stop her betraying any other deep secrets.

"He might surprise you," Allaine whispered, leaning forward and gripping Emma's cold hand in hers.

"Yeah. And he might not." Emma spread her fingers across the tiny child inside her belly, communicating love through her touch. Her eyes roved again to her son, giggling and hooning around with his friend. "I might just have to accept that I'm on my own again," she whispered, extreme sadness penetrating through her words.

"Come to us for Christmas?" Allaine begged, tears in her eyes. "Please? Whether Rohan's here or not, please come and be part of our family. It's crazy busy and there're people everywhere but you'll be so welcome. Think about it, please? Promise me? Freda can come too."

"Thank you." Emma gripped her friend's hand and clung on for dear life, wondering what the future would hold for her and daring to believe it might be good this time.

The women sat in the silence of the ancient house, listening to the boards settling and the old structure giving the occasional involuntary creak. The sound of squeals on the front lawn were joyful and comforting, casting them back to a time when this house was filled with people living their lives, making enemies, making love and rolling around in the winter snow. Emma glanced up with a sigh and raked the garden with her eyes, looking for the children. Nicky heaved his body weight against a round white ball of snow, forcing it uphill with enormous exertion. Kaylee's tiny form lent its help, pushing and making hardly any difference.

The tall, strongly built man squatted down in the snow next to them, a dark jacket protecting his torso. His blond hair blended with the white snow and his hands were bare. He bent to push the snowball, an awkward movement for him and he shoved one handed from between the children. It crumbled to pieces with the added force and the children stood up and stared at its dilapidated state, their swaddled faces downturned in disappointment. Rohan bent and collected a ball of snow, rolling it in his fingers while the children stared up at him. He set off away from them with long strides and threw the ball backwards with skill, an underarm which caught Nicky on the chest of his duffel coat. With combined squeaks of joy, the children buried their gloves in the snowball, breaking off chunks and rolling them. They pelted Rohan with squeals of delight, running away on small legs as he bent to make sturdy ammunition and advancing with giggles and belly laughs when he ran out.

His car sat idling on the long driveway and he ran towards it with a loping gait and the children pursued, missing him by miles with their hurriedly thrown missiles. The black dog barked and leapt around, trying to catch the balls of flying snow.

Emma watched as Rohan ran to the boot of the car and produced a wide plastic sled with a string attached. The children whooped and screeched, dropping their snowballs and running towards him. Nicky hurled himself at Rohan, hugging his legs and Kaylee took the opportunity to sit herself in the red lid-shaped sled. Rohan bent to kiss Nicky and then stood for a minute, watching as his son hauled his friend around the garden with excitement. Kaylee held on with mittened hands, the bobble on top of her hat wobbling furiously with the action, their laughter carrying back to the women indoors.

Rohan observed for a moment before thrusting cold hands into his jeans pockets and trudging back to the car through the deep snow, his limp barely noticeable in the wide footsteps over the drifts and hidden flower beds.

"It'll be okay, Emma." Allaine's voice was soft as Emma looked up, realising her friend studied her with an intent look on her face. Allaine nudged her shin and Emma nodded and looked away. Rohan's car slid up the driveway, negotiating the pockets of ice and snow with care. He would reach the front doors and pillared steps in seconds and Emma's heart gave a lurch of anticipation, which she beat down with a valiant effort.

Emma watched him emerge from the black car and slam the door, walking up the wide front steps and banging his shoes on them to release the clumps of snow. A few days' blond beard growth kissed his angular face and dark lashes framed his expressive marbled blue eyes. He was beautifully made and knitted together and Emma laid her head back against the shutter and closed her eyes. An image of his smile danced in front of her inner vision, teasing and seductive. She sighed and looked at Allaine, who watched her with concern. "I've loved him since I was not much older than Nicky," Emma said softly. "But I can't own the unpossessable. He's a danger addict. He left once and probably will again. I think that's what this is." Emma looked up at the ceiling rose and the ornate cornering in the huge room. "Anton offered me security in the event of all else failing. He understood. Life as the wife of Rohan Andreyev, the Actuary, has no certainties; he would have known that."

The women jumped at the sound of the front door slamming against the wind. The panes of the inner glass doors shook and they heard Rohan whistling to himself as he wiped his shoes on the doormat. Emma splayed her fingers across her unborn child and stiffened her back as his footsteps echoed down the hallway towards them. She accepted a kiss from her husband's bitterly cold lips and pushed the sense of foreboding away for a little while longer.

Grab the next book in the series HERE and hold on to your seat. The Actuary's Wife is in danger and this time, it's really going to cost her.

If you really can't wait, take a sneak peek...

# The Actuary's Wife

## 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, vozlyublennaya." 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 had 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 she 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, vozlyublennaya," 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, vozlyublennaya."

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.

Don't wait. You can buy The Actuary's Wife HERE now.

# Please can you help me?

I'm always grateful when people take the trouble to review my work. I pretend I don't read reviews because I don't want to admit that the bad ones affect me. I do though. Mostly they're nice and occasionally they're blunt. All reviews are great because that's your opinion of my work and I need that to grow my craft.

A one word review is fine. That's the great thing about being grown-ups. Nobody's marking you out of ten. Entertaining one word reviews for this series include, 'Awesome,' and, 'Bleeek!'

I'd love for you to add to those with your own clever creation. It would really help me.

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Send me the link to your review when you've done it. I've started keeping a notebook of useful quotes from reviewers. They cheer me up on the days when I wonder why I'm bothering, not that it happens often...

# About the Author

K T Bowes worked in education for more than a decade, both in New Zealand and the United Kingdom and has been writing since she could first hold a pencil.

Until recently, she worked part time as an archivist maintaining a private collection. She believes in God, which is just as well because the situations she gets herself into often require divine assistance.

Surprisingly happily married despite her crazy escapades, K T Bowes still hankers after another parachute jump but hasn't convinced her husband to join in. Her four beautiful children are all now making their own way in the world and finally eating salad and vegetables.

She lives in the North Island of New Zealand between the Hakarimata Ranges and the Waikato River with a mad cat and often a few crazy horses. Horse riding is her passion but unfortunately she keeps falling off and breaking bones, so has gone back to road running instead. She can't be seen pacing the streets of Ngaruawahia because she runs in the dark, convinced people will laugh.

Often accompanied by one of her characters complaining about something, the author appears to have mental problems as she frequently answers back, which is another good reason for running under cover of darkness.

You can find her hanging out on social media in the following places.

Check in and say hello. Maybe suggest she gets back to writing and stops watching cat videos.

FACEBOOK

<https://www.facebook.com/NZauthorKTBowes/>

TWITTER

<https://twitter.com/ktboweswrites>

INSTAGRAM

<https://www.instagram.com/k_t_bowes>

PINTEREST

<https://www.pinterest.nz/hanadurose/>

LINKEDIN

<https://www.linkedin.com/in/ktbowes/>

# Other books by this author:

The Hana Du Rose Mysteries in order:

Logan Du Rose

About Hana \- FREE

Hana Du Rose

Du Rose Legacy

The New Du Rose Matriarch

One Heartbeat

The Du Rose Prophecy

Du Rose Sons

Du Rose Family Ties

The boxed set is available containing the first 4 novels HERE

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The Calculated Risk Series:

The Actuary \- FREE

The Actuary's Wife

The Actuary in Trouble

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Troubled series for teens/young adults in order:

Free from the Tracks -FREE

Sophia's Dilemma

A Trail of Lies

Gone Phishing

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New Zealand Soccer Referee Series:

All Saints

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Escaping the Back Country NZ Series:

Pirongia's Secret

Deleilah

*******

A Keeper's War Fantasy Trilogy:

Perpetual Winter FREE

The Bee Queen

Hive

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UK based mystery/romances:

Artifact

Demons on Her Shoulder

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Take a look at all K T Bowes' novels HERE

# Last Chance

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The Actuary

The Calculated Risk Series

K T Bowes

Published by Hakarimata Press  
Copyright 2015

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's hard work.

# Disclaimer

This novel is a work of fiction, entirely the product of the author's imagination. Any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, businesses and events are purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in whole or in part without the express written permission of the author. This work is the intellectual property of the author writing as K T Bowes.

