On the third day, Monday, I phoned Marcus and told him I wanted out. He said. ‘It’s the drugs you’re taking. Why don’t you talk to Profess—’
‘No. There’s more to it than that, I—’
‘Jo, talk to Professor Fulbourn, he’ll be able to help you.’
‘No Marcus, I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind. And I’m sorry to have wasted so much of your time.’
I put the phone down and was immediately overwhelmed by guilt, then almost tearfully grateful when the Professor phoned me five minutes later.
‘The symptoms are almost certainly at their worst now,’ he said after I’d described them to him. ‘Give it just two more days. Trust me.’
On his advice, I continued at work (brooding at home would only make me feel worse, he said), and by the end of the following day, I did feel slightly better. Or maybe I was just learning to cope.
I’ve a bloody good mind to tell Marcus I want twenty thousand, I thought.
On the sixth, a Thursday, I went to St Michael’s to collect the ampoules of Humegon and have the first scan.
‘Are you feeling any better now?’ Prof asked. ‘You do sound a little better.’
‘A bit. Still pretty ropey.’
He nodded. ‘I think it’s possible the Humegon will ease the symptoms further, it often happens that way. Still, shall we have a look at how your ovaries are doing?’
He scanned me himself and I was surprised at how proficient he was. I suppose I’d thought anyone old enough to be a Professor would have lost the touch.
‘All quiet here,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you the first jab now, if you like.’
He wielded the syringe as deftly as he had the scanner. I told him so.
He chuckled. ‘Thank you. I’m afraid you won’t be saying that to whoever’s doing it in a week’s time, though.’
‘No, possibly not,’ I agreed feelingly.
He looked at me a moment before saying quietly, ‘Messrs Evans and Jones have been giving me a clearer idea of what you’ll be up against. I think you’re a very brave young lady.’
I felt myself flush—again.
‘Please don’t,’ I said. ‘You’ll have me in tears in a minute.’ I meant it. He was a gentleman, even more than Marcus.
‘There,’ he said gently. ‘Here’s a week’s supply of Humegon, and I’ll see you again on the twelfth.’
*
I took a taxi to Whitehall (they were paying the expenses) where I found Marcus, but no Tom.
‘He’s in Salisbury with Combes, the security firm,’ he told me.
‘He’s still not found a way of circumventing the system, then?’
‘He may have,’ Marcus said cautiously. ‘That’s why he’s down there now, checking it out.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry you’ve been feeling so low. Was Professor Fulbourn of any help?’
‘Very much so, thanks.’ I told him how the symptoms might improve now I’d started the Humegon.
‘I hope so,’ he said.
‘So do I.’ My turn to pause. ‘Have there been any further developments?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact. We’ve found out a bit more of Dr Kent’s previous history. She did all her medical training in Liverpool and was actually a consultant obstetrician there for a short period, before suddenly making a sideways move to the recently opened fertility clinic—this was back in the seventies.’
‘Why did she do that?’
‘I don’t know all the details, but apparently, she was something of a firebrand. Anyway, she was very successful in this new field until resigning under a cloud in 1986.’
‘Why?’
‘Again. I don’t know the whole story, but a woman she’d helped to become pregnant later killed her baby. After that, she went to America.’
‘Really? Did Tom tell you about the Americans at Catcott?’
‘Yes, and that’s not the only connection. We’ve done a bit of digging and discovered that Fertility Enterprises, who own the clinic, are themselves owned by Fertility Incorporated. They’re a rather shadowy concern—’
‘But American?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Where does that leave us if we do find dirty business at the clinic?’
‘I don’t think it makes any difference so far as the British end is concerned. If they’re breaking the law, then they’re breaking it, whoever owns them. But I haven’t told you the most curious thing yet.’
‘Well?’
‘Dr Kent actually grew up in Catcott Manor—it was owned by her father. He sold it to National Heritage ten years ago, then leased it back from them and went on living there. He died about five years ago while Dr Kent was still in America. National Heritage wanted to buy the remaining five years back from her, but she refused and used some of the money her father had left her to have it converted for use as a clinic.’
‘Was it worth it, for just five years?’
‘It must have been. I suppose.’
‘And there are only a few months left now?’
‘Five, to be exact.’
‘As you say, its curious…’
I left to catch the train home before Tom came back. He phoned me that evening to say he was sorry he’d missed me and to ask how I was. I asked whether he’d had any luck with Combes and immediately sensed him clamming up.
‘Don’t know yet,’ he said. ‘It needs a bit more thinking about. I’m sure we will find a way.’
I wasn’t so sure I liked the sound of the ‘we’, although he might not have meant me. We talked a little more about the American involvement and Dr Kent’s strange homecoming without really getting anywhere, exchanged a few pleasantries and rang off.
I don’t know whether it was the Humegon, but I did feel better as the week went on. I’d arranged for my GP’s nurse to give me the injections, and good though she was, my backside grew increasingly tender, as Prof had predicted.
On the eleventh, I handed over to Mary, went home and packed before leaving for London and St Michael’s the following morning.
Prof did the scan himself again.
‘I can see ten follicles,’ he said, ‘maybe more. That’s good. They certainly won’t be able to complain about the response.’
I asked him if he could tell me when the eggs were likely to be harvested.
‘I couldn’t say for sure at the moment,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps as long as a week, certainly no longer. I’ll have a better idea when we’ve checked the hormone levels in your urine. We’ll he needing two samples a day from you from now on.’
I left them with the first in exchange for another Humegon injection. Some exchange! Already, the very sound of the word was enough to make me clench every muscle in my backside.
I went round to the flat, unpacked my night things, then phoned Marcus to tell him I’d arrived. He told me there were no further developments and to relax while I could.
Tom and Holly took me out that night to see the new production of An Inspector Calls, and somehow, Priestley’s exposition of how we all depend on each other, need to be able to trust one other, reconciled me to the job we were doing.
The next day (between urine samples and Humegon) I managed to fit in both the Tate and the National. Professor Fulbourn told me my hormone levels were fine and that the eggs would probably be collected in five days.
In the evening, I had dinner with Marcus and his wife, Gillian, at their large house in the suburbs. It needed to be large, since they had four daughters, although two of them had left home.
‘We’re the reason Daddy’s so bald.’ Kirsty, the youngest gravely informed me.
‘Kirsty!’
‘Sor-ry.’
Her mother gave her an ‘I’ll deal with you later’ look before turning back to me.
‘I used to be a nurse myself before the brood came along.’
‘Really? Whereabouts?’
‘Guy’s.’
‘D’you miss it?’
‘Mm, I do, sometimes.’
‘W
ould you want to go back?’
‘I’ve thought about it. I do get the feeling, though, that I’d be hopelessly out of date.’
‘Not necessarily. Some aspects never change.’
‘For instance?’
We compared our respective periods with Marcus throwing in the odd observation, not an unpleasant way to spend an evening.
The following day was the last in London and we held a council of war at Whitehall.
‘Has Professor Fulbourn been able to tell you yet when the eggs will be collected?’ Marcus asked.
‘He thinks the eighteenth. But whenever it is, we’ll have thirty-five hours warning.’
‘Have you sorted the sperm out with the Professor yet?’ Tom asked.
Marcus nodded. ‘As soon as we know when it’s going to be needed, I’ll warn him. Vince can collect it and bring it down.’
‘Who’s Vince?’ I asked.
‘Our ton-up boy. Motorcyclist. We can arrange the actual hand-over when you contact me.’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem,’ Tom said. ‘They may not want Jo moving about, but they can hardly object to me driving away for an hour.’
‘I want to be out no less than a day before the eggs are due to be replaced, so we’ll need to find out what’s going on before then. Have you worked out yet how you’re going to bypass the security, Tom?’
‘I think so. I’d rather not go into details until we’re down there and I can check out whether or not it can be done.’
‘Does it need me?’
‘Hopefully not.’
‘I hope not too, since on the second night, I’ll probably have the injection of Pregnyl. Prof warned me that it might make me feel as bad as the Nafarelin did at first.’
‘So if you do need Jo,’ Marcus said to him, ‘you’d better do it the first night you’re there.’
‘I’ll make that decision when we get there.’
I said to Marcus. ‘One thing that has been worrying me: what if we do get caught? I don’t want to end up like Mrs Murrell.’
‘Tom’ll be armed, and I’ll be not far away, at the Pheasant Inn. The problem will be if they catch you before you’ve found anything and they sue us.’
‘Could they do that?’
‘Not really, hut it might mean them getting away with whatever it is they’ve been doing, which would be a shame.’
There wasn’t much else we could discuss or plan until we were actually there, and the meeting broke up shortly after this. I was on my way out when I remembered something.
‘Did Catcott ever bill us, Marcus?’
‘Yes, and it’s been paid.’
‘Oh. You didn’t say. When was this?’
‘A few days after your last visit there.’
‘How much was it in the end?’
‘Three thousand nine hundred pounds.’
He’d probably already paid it when I’d told him I wanted out, I thought with a smile on my way downstairs. No wonder he’d got on to Prof so quickly.
What wasn’t so amusing was the fact that it was the same amount as the Murrells had paid.
Doesn’t mean anything, I told myself.
Tom and Marcus had both invited me to their homes for the evening, but I’d already decided to stay in the flat. I wanted to think things over by myself, and it was the last chance I’d have.
Think ten thousand pounds, Josephine, I kept telling myself as I travelled to St Michael’s and then back to the flat. It didn’t help me to sleep, though.
12
‘If you’d like to leave your cases here while you take your car round to the back to park,’ Leila said smilingly to Tom,
‘I’ll show you up to your suite when you get back.’
‘OK.’
‘Did you have a good journey down?’ Leila asked when me he’d gone.
‘Fine, thank you.’
‘Do have a seat while you’re waiting.’
‘Thanks.’
She picked up her phone. ‘Dr Kent? Mr and Mrs Jones have arrived…yes, I’ll tell her.’
She replaced the receiver. ‘Dr Kent would like to see you before lunch, Mrs Jones. I’ll take you along after I’ve shown you your room.’
‘Fine.’
Tom came back in.
‘Can I take one of the cases for you?’ Leila asked him.
‘Certainly not,’ he said indignantly, picking them both up.
She laughed. ‘I’m stronger than I look,’ she said. ‘But thanks anyway.’
To my surprise, she led us away from the stairs and along Dr Kent’s corridor. We went past her room, round the corner to the theatre, where Leila stopped and pressed a button in the wall opposite, and I realised that what looked like a recess was in fact the lift shaft.
‘I didn’t realise you had a lift here,’ Tom said.
‘It’s used mostly for patients coming in and out of theatre,’ Leila explained, ‘So normally, we do ask you to use the stairs.’
There was a click as the lift arrived and Leila pulled the outer door open. It was big enough to take a supine patient; quite fast too, I could feel the weight on my feet as it rose. Leila opened the doors again after it had stopped.
‘You’re just here in number three,’ she said, producing a key and opening the door that stood opposite the lift. Tom carried the cases through, set them down and looked round.
‘There should be everything you need,’ Leila said. ‘The en suite bathroom and toilet’s in here, tea and coffee making facilities over here…’
We didn’t tell her that Dr Kent had already shown us one of the suites.
‘…and here’s what we call the panic button, beside your bed, Mrs Jones. You must push it if you feel unwell, or need attention. The on-call nurse at the end of the corridor will come straight away. She has a pass key.’
‘I take it I can press it if I think my wife’s unwell?’ Tom said.
‘Of course you can.’ She paused briefly. ‘The other thing is security. Because of the nature of our work here, we do have quite an elaborate security system.’ She grinned. ‘You saw one of our security guards last time you were here, didn’t you?’
‘Caliban, you called him,’ Tom said.
‘I shouldn’t have really, Dr Kent doesn’t like it. His real name’s Calvin. You won’t forget, will you?’ she said anxiously.
‘I don’t think I’d dare,’ Tom said, smiling back at her.
‘If you go downstairs at night, an alarm goes off in the security room, so it’s best to try and avoid it. If you do have to go down for any reason, call the guard first, OK?’ She indicated the telephone.
‘OK. But why do you need such tight security?’
‘Well, we do have a lot of valuable equipment here, but the main reason, I’m afraid, is because of the extremist groups who don’t approve of what we’re doing.’
‘What extremist groups would that be?’
‘I don’t know all their names. The worst one’s called Nature’s Way, but some of the pro-life groups don’t think much of us either.’
‘But that’s ridiculous! Why ever not?’
Leila shrugged. ‘Because they think it’s not natural, I suppose. You’d have to ask them.’
Tom shook his head in disbelief and outrage, then said, ‘Can we use this phone to call outside?’
‘You can ask reception for an outside line during the day, but it only goes through to security at night. I’ll leave you to unpack now. If you’d like to come down in a minute, Mrs Jones, I’ll take you to Dr Kent.’
She smiled again, then left, gently pulling the door to behind her.
I sank into the nearest armchair. Tom hoisted his case on to his bed.
‘Fancy a coffee?’ he said.
‘I’d better not keep Dr Kent waiting.’
‘It won’t take long.’ He went over to the kettle, filled it and plugged it in. ‘Well, whatever’s going on here,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t think Leila’s any part of it.’
‘You’re only
saying that ‘cos she’s bubbly and sexy and bats her eyelids at you.’ I was still feeling bloated (I’d put on weight) and rather dowdy.
‘Not at all. The others we’ve met are all constrained and defensive. She’s just open.’
‘Hmm. Hurry up with the coffee while I use the loo.’ When I came back in, he was examining the window.
‘It’s double glazed,’ he said, looking round at me. ‘I wonder why.’
‘Gets cold up here in the winter, I expect. Is this my coffee?’
After I’d swallowed it, I left him unpacking and went downstairs to find Leila, who showed me through to Dr Kent.
After the usual greetings and enquiries, she asked me how I’d been feeling. Awful, I told her.
‘I’m sorry to hear that—you should have phoned me.’
‘Professor Fulbourn’s staff were very helpful.’ Better not tell her I’d had the sole attention of the great man himself.
‘I’m sure they were.’ She paused. ‘Do you have their reports with you?’
‘Oh, yes.’ I took them out of my bag and handed them to her.
‘Good hormone levels, and at least ten follicles,’ she said after studying them a few moments. She looked up. ‘You did stop smoking, didn’t you?’
‘Oh yes, Dr Kent.’
‘Good girl. Well, shall we take a look at you now on the scanner?’
As before, she left me to undress. With a towel round my midriff, I raised myself onto the examination bed.
‘I can see what Professor Fulbourn means,’ she said a few minutes later. She indicated my ovaries on the screen with the follicles round the edges. ‘I think there may be more than ten—a vaginal scan should tell us tomorrow.’
‘That picture, Dr Kent—I can’t get over it. It’s ten times better than the one at St Michael’s.’
‘It should be. This is the Colour Flow Doppler system. It’s from America, the very latest development.’
‘Well, it’s very impressive. Can you say when you’ll collect the eggs?’
‘That’s just what I’m wondering myself.’ She studied the screen again, moving the sensor slightly. ‘I think you’re a day ahead of Professor Fulbourn’s estimate, in which case, we’ll give you the Pregnyl at midnight tonight and collect the eggs on Monday.’
Tonight! She looked back at me and I tried to hide the panic on my face.
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