Gucci Gucci Coo (22 page)

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, half an hour before opening, Hannah turned up at the shop with Alfie. She tapped on the door, and Chanel went to open it.

“I’m so sorry about running out yesterday,” she said as Chanel invited her in. “It was so rude of me. I got rather upset, that’s all.”

“Don’t worry,” Chanel said. She began stroking Alfie’s head. “Mornin’, poppet.” They went over to the counter where Ruby was standing.

“Your stroller’s all ready,” Ruby said brightly. “I’ll get it.”

“No, wait. I’d like to say sorry to you, too.”

“Forget it.” Ruby smiled. “You’re a single mum. You’ve just had a baby. Your hormones are all over the place and you just got a bit stressed, that’s all.”

“I wish I could stop it, but it keeps happening. The thing is, I’m not coping very well with Alfie. Trying to look after three children under three on my own isn’t easy. Sometimes I get so tired and emotional that I feel like I’m falling apart.” Hannah ran her fingers through her hair.

“Come on, let me take Alfie,” Chanel said gently. “You sit down.”

Hannah eased a wriggling Alfie from his sling and handed him to Chanel.

“It was also the picture of Claudia Planchette that upset you, wasn’t it?” Ruby said. The girl gave a “maybe” shrug.

“It was so awful, her losing her baby,” Ruby went on.

Hannah didn’t say anything, but her expression had changed suddenly. It was clear that she was anxious to say something.

“What is it?” Ruby said gently.

“No, it’s nothing.”

But it was obvious that it wasn’t “nothing.” “Come on,” Ruby urged, “you might find it helps to talk.”

Hannah rubbed her hand across her forehead. “I need to tell somebody. My mum knows, but not being able to talk about it to anybody else is driving me mad.”

“Not being able to talk about what?” Ruby asked.

“OK…” Hannah paused and inhaled deeply. “What would you say if I told you that Claudia Planchette never lost her baby?”

“Of course she lost it,” Ruby said. “I’m going out with a doctor who works at St. Luke’s. I know for a fact that she lost her baby.”

“I’m telling you she didn’t. After Claudia gave birth to Avocado, she was petrified that a second pregnancy would ruin her figure, so I carried her baby instead.”

“You’re saying that she used you as a surrogate?”

“Yes.”

Chanel shot Ruby a look as if to say “the woman is totally bonkers.”

“I’m not mad,” Hannah said, picking up on Chanel’s expression. “And I’m not lying, either. OK, I was a fool to get involved in the first place, but the money I was being offered was going to allow me to move into a bigger flat, go back to university and finish my English degree.”

“Go on,” Ruby said, intrigued now.

“It all happened so fast. The mother of a friend of mine is a midwife at St. Luke’s. She knew how hard up I was and she asked me if I was interested in earning some really big money. Usually surrogates only get paid enough to cover their expenses. She was talking tens of thousands, so long as I signed an agreement not to speak to the press.”

“So, who was the father?” Ruby asked. “The newspapers said it was some French movie star, but she was refusing to name him so that he could grieve in private.”

“There was no movie star. That was just gossip. Claudia hasn’t had a relationship since her divorce. She had her eggs fertilized by an anonymous donor—a Mensa member, I think. Apparently he has a thing about spreading his seed for the benefit of humanity.”

“But the embryos weren’t implanted in her?”

“That’s right. They were implanted in me. There were three. Two died early on. I carried the remaining baby while she wore a series of body suits and convinced the world she was pregnant.”

“Good God,” Ruby muttered. She shot a look at Chanel as if to say: “See, I told you I was right. That day in the fitting room, she was wearing a body suit.”

“Claudia’s not the only star hiring surrogates. I know for a fact that Mia Ferrari and China Katz used them. There are bound to be others. It’s all about vanity. Can you believe these women are so scared of putting on weight during pregnancy that they are actually hiring other women to carry their babies?”

“Bloody ’ell,” Chanel gasped. “So that’s ’ow they keep their figures. They never lose them in the first place.” Alfie started to whimper. She put him over her shoulder, shushed him and began gently rubbing his back.

Ruby was leaning on the counter, trying to take in what Hannah had just told her.

“I know my story sounds absurd and I don’t really expect you to believe me, but it is the truth. I promise.”

“Yes, I know it is,” Ruby said. She began telling Hannah about the day Claudia came into the shop to buy a maternity swimsuit. “Ever since, I’ve been trying to convince myself I was seeing things.”

“You weren’t seeing things,” Hannah said.

Ruby was still shaking her head in disbelief. “So, these stars leave St. Luke’s, apparently having just given birth. They pose for the paparazzi in their skimpy little jeans, smug as you like with their perfect babies and perfectly flat postpregnancy stomachs and tell the world it’s all down to sensible eating and good genes. The upshot is that they make every new mother on the planet feel gross and hideously inadequate for having put on a few pounds. And all the time, they weren’t even pregnant. Even by Hollywood standards, it’s beyond belief.”

Chanel hadn’t said anything for a few minutes. “So,” she said to Hannah. “If you carried Claudia’s baby and it didn’t die, Alfie must be…”

“…Claudia’s baby. That’s right.”

“So why is he with you?”

“That’s the really twisted part. Alfie was born by emergency cesarean. There he was, this tiny, two-month premature scrap lying in an incubator and Claudia decided she didn’t want him.”

“What? She didn’t want her own baby? You’re saying she rejected this precious little mite? Why?”

“He has a deformity.”

Chanel frowned. “What deformity? He doesn’t ’ave a deformity. You can see he’s totally perfect.”

“No he isn’t. He has ginger hair. She didn’t want her baby because he has ginger hair.”

“Oh, come on,” Ruby shot back. “That I don’t believe. There has to be more to it.”

“Nope. Claudia hates ginger hair. She finds it repulsive. It seems there was some mix-up over the coloring of the sperm donor. She was led to believe he had dark brown hair. In fact his hair was ginger.”

“But I thought it was only the British who had hang-ups about ginger hair,” Ruby said. “I didn’t realize Americans disliked it, too.”

“I’m fairly sure they’re less than keen on it,” Hannah replied. “It’s just that they don’t make jokes about it like we do. Think about it, though. When did you last see a ginger-haired man take the romantic lead in a Hollywood film? It’s not sexy. The last thing Claudia wanted was a son who would grow up to be unsexy.”

Ruby said she got the point.

“Anyway,” Hannah continued, “Claudia came into my room shortly after I had Alfie, took one look at him, threw an almighty hissy fit and left. Hollywood stars like Claudia think of themselves as royalty. They demand total perfection.”

“But this wasn’t a designer dress with a wobbly hem,” Ruby said. “It was a baby. Her baby. Her flesh and blood.”

“I know, but as far as she was concerned, Alfie wasn’t real. He was just another lifestyle accessory—one that didn’t meet the required standard. Her parting words were: ‘I’ll pay you to keep him. Anything you want. Name it.’ She paid me half what I was owed for the surrogacy, but I’ve seen nothing since Alfie was born.”

“But I saw you had all that cash,” Ruby blurted before she could stop herself. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. That was so rude of me. Your money is none of my business.”

Hannah smiled. “It’s OK. It came from my uncle. He’s ancient and doesn’t trust banks. He isn’t rich by any means, but he keeps what money he has stashed down sofas and under mattresses. He adores Alfie and insisted I buy him a few really special things. I’d never even heard of Les Sprogs, but I just happened to be passing, so I came in.”

Ruby went over to Alfie, who was now fast asleep on Chanel’s shoulder. She began stroking his cheek. “It’s beyond insane. How can anybody reject their own flesh and blood because they have the ‘wrong’ color hair? I have to say that when I met her she seemed a bit emotionally unstable, but to do something as wicked and cruel as this…The woman has to be completely, seriously ill. No wonder her ex is fighting her for custody of Avocado.”

“I didn’t know that,” Hannah said. Ruby picked up a copy of the
Daily Mail
and showed it to her. The headline read: “Planchette Unfit Mother—ex-husband claims.”

Hannah shook her head. “She is an unfit mother. I’ve got no doubts about that. It’s why I didn’t go to court to force her to take Alfie. What kind of a life would he have had with her? And if she had still refused to take him, he would have ended up in foster care. I couldn’t do that to him.”

Ruby let out a long breath. “But why would St. Luke’s put its reputation at risk to get involved with something like this? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“You can never underestimate people’s greed,” Hannah said. “Even doctors in private practice can be dazzled by dollar signs. And we all know how underpaid midwives are.” To her instant shame, it occurred to Ruby—albeit for no more than a second or two—that Sam might be involved. It would certainly explain all the secrecy and phone calls.

“And of course,” Ruby added, purging her appalling thought about Sam from her mind, “what they’re doing isn’t actually illegal. It just stinks morally.”

“So,” Chanel chipped in, “the too-posh-to-push brigade ’as gone a stage further. Now they’re ‘too-fabulous-to-fertilize.’”

“Absolutely,” Hannah said with a bitter laugh.

She explained that from what she could work out, the hospital acted as the agent for Hollywood stars looking for women to carry their babies. They charged tens of thousands to find surrogates, arranged for them to be artificially inseminated and supervised the pregnancy and birth. “Not that anybody will ever prove what’s going on. These people are very clever. They’ve got every angle covered. The insemination doesn’t happen on the hospital premises. They will have gone to huge lengths to make sure all payments look legitimate.”

Ruby suggested that maybe the midwives would be prepared to blow the whistle.

“Are you kidding?” Hannah said. “They’re making a great deal of money. Why would they risk losing it? On top of that, they would be struck off the nursing register.”

“So, who was your obstetrician?” Ruby asked.

“His name is Hardacre. Tom Hardacre.”

“You are kidding,” Ruby cried. “He’s involved in this? But he’s a leading authority on natural childbirth. I grant you he comes across as a bit arrogant and pleased with himself, but loads of doctors are like that. There’s no way he could be connected to this.”

“Well, I assure you he is.”

“OK, so why haven’t you reported him to his superiors?”

Hannah started laughing. “Because for all I know, his superiors are involved as well. And even if they’re not, my allegation sounds absurd. Do you really think anybody at St. Luke’s would even listen to me?”

“You could go to the newspapers.”

“I could, but then we’re back to square one. As soon as the story became public, the courts would get involved. Any judge would insist on DNA tests to prove Alfie is Claudia’s, but like I said, I can’t risk her taking him—and I also couldn’t bear the thought of him put into care.”

“So you’re prepared to keep ’im?” Chanel said.

“I’m prepared to, yes.”

“Does that mean you don’t really want ’im?” she persisted, but not unkindly.

Hannah sat considering her response. “I want to want him,” she said finally. “After all, I’m all he’s got. But the truth is, I’m not his biological mother and I haven’t bonded with him, like I did with the twins. I know that makes me sound heartless and wicked, but it’s how I feel.” Her eyes began to fill with tears. “I’m just not coping. My mum’s still staying with me, but even with her help, I’m not up to this.”

“Hey, come on,” Ruby said. “You’re doing brilliantly and nobody thinks you’re remotely heartless or wicked. We’ll sort something out. Just you see.”

Chapter 15

“Look,” Ruby said, rooting through Sam’s kitchen cupboard for the pepper grinder. “I know Hannah’s story sounds like some mad fantasy, but if you met her, you’d see she’s isn’t mad, just exhausted; and I think probably very angry about what’s happened to her.” She found the pepper behind a jar of honey and passed it to Sam.

“I have no doubt that she comes across as totally credible,” he said holding the grinder over the pan of Bolognese sauce and starting to turn the handle. “But what she’s saying is inconceivable. If you’re asking for my opinion as a doctor, it sounds like she’s suffering from postpartum depression. She needs to see a shrink.” He put the grinder down on the counter and began stirring. “She’s also a very convincing actress—so much so that she’s managed to draw you and Chanel into her crazy world.”

“But what about the body suit?” Ruby persisted. “I saw Claudia in a body suit and now Hannah’s confirming she wore one.”

“Taste this,” he said, putting the wooden spoon to her lips. “What do you think?”

“Very nice,” she said. “A touch more oregano, maybe…but you haven’t answered my question.”

Sam shrugged. “You said yourself the suit could have been some kind of maternity girdle.”

“But it clearly wasn’t. Hannah saw it. And my mum said there was this time when they were all messing around after her prenatal class and she refused to show off her bump.”

“OK, I admit I don’t have all the answers, but believe me there will be a rational explanation.” He then asked—exactly as she had asked—why a hospital like St. Luke’s would risk its reputation by getting involved in some kind of morally suspect surrogacy scam. “St. Luke’s is synonymous with natural childbirth worldwide. Arranging for women to use surrogates purely because of vanity is way beyond hypocrisy. The press would lynch us. Our patients would lynch us. And quite rightly.”

“Hannah said the people involved are making massive amounts of money.”

“But if something like this were going on, don’t you think there would have been rumors? Gossip? I’ve been working at St. Luke’s for more than eight months and there’s been nothing. Surely something would have leaked by now.”

“So you’ve really heard nothing?”

“Not a whisper.”

“And this Tom Hardacre, the obstetrician who was on TV, the one Hannah saw when she was pregnant…” As she took a step back, her foot came down on Cat Damon’s tail. He let out a long loud squeal.

“
If
she saw him.”

“OK,” Ruby said reluctantly, bending down to comfort Cat Damon. “
If
she saw him. So, you reckon he seems like a decent enough chap?”

“As far as I know. Like I said, he is very highly respected. I admit that some people at the hospital don’t like him because he’s a bit flashy. He’s independently wealthy and he buys and sells property. Not just houses—commercial property. Apparently he’s made millions. The guy owns two Porsches, for crying out loud. Don’t you see? He can’t possibly be involved. He simply doesn’t need the money.”

“But he is involved. I just know it. Hannah is not a liar or a mad fantasist.”

Sam started to laugh. “You really have got the bit between your teeth, haven’t you?”

“Too blinkin’ right I have.”

“OK, would you like me to do some digging? See what I can find out?”

“About Hardacre?”

“About him and this whole surrogacy thing. I’ll ask around discreetly. Who knows—maybe there is something going on and I’m the only one who doesn’t know about it.”

Ruby’s face lit up. “You’d do that? Even though you think I’m totally bonkers?”

He put down the wooden spoon he was using to stir the pasta sauce, drew her toward him and kissed her.

“You know what?” he said as they pulled away.

“What?”

“You’re very sexy when you’re bonkers.”

She swatted his arm playfully. “You just wait. When it turns out I was right all along, you won’t be calling me bonkers.” She kissed him briefly on the lips. “You will be careful, won’t you? We don’t know who’s involved in this, or at what level. The last thing either of us wants is for you to lose your job.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll be discreet. All I can say is that I hope to God you’re not right about all this. The consequences for the hospital would be dire.” He opened a cupboard and took out a couple of plates. “For now, though, I think we need to take a break and stop thinking about all this.”

“You’re right,” she said. “Listen, why don’t we go for a drive after dinner? I still haven’t seen your new office.”

R
UBY HAD NEVER
seen Sam’s old office, but apparently this new one on the fifth floor was luxurious by comparison.

“It has to be three times the size,” Sam said.

Ruby looked round, taking in the huge window overlooking the park, the light gray carpet, the ultramodern dark mahogany-and-steel desk and black leather swivel armchair. “Umm, very Philippe Starck,” she said, running her hand across the desktop. Spread out over the desk were dozens of photographs of newborns. She began sifting through them.

“Oh, Sam. These are gorgeous. All from grateful customers, I presume?”

He nodded. “I thought I’d put them up on the wall.”

She went over to the picture window and pulled back the vertical blinds. The lights of London were twinkling like a box of spilled jewels. “Wow, look at this view. You can see the very top of Big Ben.”

Eventually she turned away from the window. It was a moment or two before she noticed the screen. No doubt there. And…stirrups. Memories of her experience with Dr. Double Barrel came flooding back. Beside the screen was a metal stand. On top, there was a box of rubber gloves and a tray of instruments. She felt herself tense. “Omigod, is that a speculum? I’ve never seen one up close.”

He started laughing. “Ruby, what do you expect? I’m a gynecologist.”

“Yes, but you know that gynecologists’ consulting rooms make me squeamish.”

She moved back to the desk. She was looking for something to divert her attention. She noticed a stethoscope lying next to the photographs. She picked it up and draped it around her neck. “What do you think?” she said, adopting a sexy pose. “Do I look the part?”

“Very professional. You know I could really fall for you in that.”

He was half sitting, half leaning against the desk. “C’mere,” he said, smiling at her.

She went. He put his arms around her.

“I thought you’d already fallen for me,” she said coyly.

“What I mean is that if I hadn’t already fallen for you, I would have just then.”

“I see. That’s all right, then.” She was aware that he was running his hand over her bottom.

“Hey,” he whispered, “you want to play doctors and nurses?”

She burst out laughing. “I
cannot
believe you just said that. You’ll have me in suspenders and a white cap next.”

“Ooh, now there’s a thought.”

Still laughing, she went to swat his arm, but he caught her wrist in midair and started kissing her. She made a feeble attempt to fight him off, but quickly gave in.

“Take off your top,” he said, starting to undo the buttons on her blouse.

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.” She clamped her hand over his. “Somebody might come in.”

“It’s late. Who’s going to come in?”

“Dah. This is a hospital. Anybody could come in.”

Somehow he had managed to undo all her shirt buttons. The stethoscope was back on the desk. She let him slip her shirt off her shoulders and start unhooking her bra. A moment later he was flicking one of her nipples with his tongue. “You’re right,” he said at one point. “I should lock the door. Somebody might barge in.” He moved to go.

She caught his arm. “No, no. Please don’t stop. Forget about the door.”

“But you just said…” His face became a grin. “Oh, I get it. The danger’s turning you on.”

She felt herself blush. “Maybe.”

“OK, but let me turn off this bright light. It’s not exactly romantic.”

He moved to the panel of switches by the window and flicked one. The room was suddenly bathed in darkness, broken only by the glow and twinkle of the lights of London.

He came back and slipped his hand under her skirt. Her entire body shuddered in delight as his fingers skimmed over the crotch of her panties. Any second he was going to make her take off her skirt. What was she wearing underneath? She racked her brain to remember what she’d put on that morning. She was behind with her laundry and there had been virtually nothing to choose from in her underwear drawer. She prayed she wasn’t wearing her flesh-colored Bridget knickers or the red thong Chanel had bought her the other Christmas with “Hey, Santa Baby” written across the front. No, it definitely wasn’t the red thong. She would have remembered that.

S
HE LET HIM
unzip her skirt. It fell over her hips, revealing cream lace panties.

“Come with me.” He was leading her toward the screen.

“Oh, Sam, I’m not sure about this.” Making love on a gynecologist’s table might have been Fi’s idea of erotic heaven, but it definitely wasn’t Ruby’s.

“It’s either that or the floor,” he said. “Under this carpet, it’s solid concrete.”

She eased herself up onto the table. He stood beside her, tilted her face and kissed her lips. “I love you,” he said, smiling at her as he trailed a finger over her breast.

“I love you, too.”

Soon their kissing became more urgent. His tongue was probing hard and deep into her mouth. With one hand he was easing her panties down. He put his hand between her legs. She was aware that this was the most kinky thing she had ever done in her life, but she was way past caring. She closed her eyes, let herself float away and waited for him to touch her. She let out a gasp as he gently parted her and began caressing her. She thought she would come in a matter of seconds. He seemed to sense she was close to orgasm and eased up the pressure. At one point he stopped completely, making her cry out in frustration. Then, slowly, barely touching her at first, he began again.

As her orgasm approached she became vaguely aware of someone singing. She could swear that somewhere way off in the distance, a male voice was belting out Bob Marley’s “One Love.” The singing seemed to be getting louder. Then footsteps kicked in. Sam had clearly heard them and was beginning to panic. “Shit. C’mon, Ruby, are you almost there?”

“Al…most. Just…just give me another couple of seconds.”

“One love, one heart. Let’s get together and feel all right.”

“He’s getting closer. It could be one of the security staff. He might come in.”

“I know, but don’t stop. Please don’t stop now. I’m almost there. I can do this. I know I can.”

She came in short, electrified jerks, just as the door opened. Aware that she was prone to call out during orgasm, Sam had clamped his hand over her mouth. “Not a sound,” he whispered, his voice steely with tension.

The screen surrounding the examination table was made up of strips of curtain. There was a gap between two of the strips, wide enough for them to peer through. As their eyes focused, it was as much as they could do not to cry out in shock. Standing in the doorway, backlit by the light from the corridor was a six-foot-tall, grinning skeleton. A violent shiver shot up Ruby’s back. She was so petrified that she couldn’t think straight. She knew they shouldn’t have done this. Now they were being punished. As over-the-top as it seemed, the Grim bloody Reaper was coming for them. Every instinct told her to get the hell out of there. So what if she was caught running naked and screaming around the hospital parking lot.

After a few seconds she noticed that—oddly, for the Grim Reaper—he wasn’t carrying a scythe or wearing a hood. On the other hand, what he did have was a mop of thick black, Afro-style dreadlocks. Her fear was turning to confusion. She watched as the thing rattled into the room, legs and arms bouncing and waving like a ghoulish-looking string puppet.

“One love, one heart. Let’s get together and feel all right.”
And since when did the Grim Reaper announce his arrival by singing Bob Marley songs?

It was then that the dreadlocks became separated from the bones. A Rastafarian porter—six-six if he was an inch—eased the skeleton into the corner of the room and checked that it was safely balanced on its stand. “There we are, bro’. Now you can rest in peace, even if you are made out o’ plastic…
One love, one heart. Let’s get together…
” And with that, he left the room and gently closed the door behind him.
“…Let’s get together and feel all right…”

Sam instantly exploded with laughter. “It’s my new skeleton,” he cried, rocking back and forth. “All the doctors are being given them for their offices. The hospital bigwigs thought they added a touch of class. God only knows why mine arrived at this time of night…I’m sorry if you were scared.”

“Me? Scared? I wasn’t scared. I was taken aback, but I could see what it was right away.” For some misguided feminist reason, she always got defensive around men when they suggested she might be scared.

“Well, I’m glad you could,” he said, running his hand over his head, “’cause I tell you, for a second back there, I actually thought the Grim Reaper had come to get us. Can you believe that?”