Inconceivable! (37 page)

“What happens now?” I worked to keep panic out of my voice.

“Well, we have several options. I can do what’s called a hysterosalpingogram or HSG test. We flush a special dye through your fallopian tubes and use X-ray equipment to watch how well it flows. It’s a way to see whether your tubes are blocked.. Sometimes, this diagnostic procedure can remove tiny obstructions that may be interfering with the egg getting to the uterus and increase fertility.”

“That sounds like a reasonable next step.” This is where my online obsessing paid off. I knew exactly what she was talking about with the procedure she described.

“There’s another option I want to discuss. The last time you were here, you said you went on the pill in high school to ease menstrual cramping. You also mentioned that you sometimes have pain during intercourse. All of this may point to endometriosis. That’s where the tissue that normally lines the uterus grows in the abdominal cavity. For some women, the presence of this tissue interferes with ovulation or impacts the quality of the eggs. A laparoscopy allows me to make very small incisions in your abdomen and see if there are any structural issues.”

“What are the other options? I don’t want Hatty to go through that kind of surgery.” John rubbed my back.

“We can also try several cycles of assisted reproductive techniques. Hatty would take an ovary stimulating drug. She’d use an ovulation predictor kit at home to pinpoint when she’s about to ovulate. Then, you’d supply us with your sperm so we can prep it and transfer it into Hatty’s uterus.” It was all business as usual for Dr. Dreesen.

“I appreciate knowing our options. Could we also just keep trying on our own and see what happens?” John looked a bit pale.

“Of course. Why don’t you discuss how you’d like to proceed? When you’re ready, give my office a call.”

We thanked Dr. Dreesen and left. When we arrived at Langbroek Palace, John went into the study and shut the door.

I walked onto the balcony outside our second story bedroom. I shuddered in the cold of January’s early evening air as I gazed over the back lawn. The air was brisk, and twilight had slipped its orange-red mantel over the daytime sky. I pulled the chunky sweater tighter around my body, closed my eyes, and listened. There was the dull roar of traffic outside the fence that separated our grounds from the public street. I heard the low mewing of the cat. He was a gift from John for our one year anniversary. As I picked up Booters and turned to go inside, I paused at the sound of a child’s laughter. It was like half hearing a secret hastily whispered in a crowded hallway. So soft and brief, I wasn’t sure I’d heard it at all.

ohn sent the cue ball cracking into a big cluster at the far end of the table, scattering the balls in all directions. His father stood back with his cue stick in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. Leopold had invited us to Belvoir for dinner, and suggested a game of billiards afterward. It was a pleasant ending to a day that brought a flicker of hope: I’d had an HSG that morning and both of my tubes were clear. I was thrilled and relieved. Maybe the very act of sending liquid shooting through my tubes would improve our chances of conceiving. I’d read multiple stories online about women who got pregnant the cycle after their HSG.

Energized by my new optimism, I sipped hot tea in a comfy chair by the window; I ditched alcohol altogether in case it was having a negative impact on my fertility.

“How did it go with Dr. Dreesen?”

John looked at his father, unsure what to say. Someone couldn’t keep a secret. So, Leopold knew what we were doing?
Awesomesauce.

“It went fine. She ran some tests, and there are no obvious problems. She offered some advice and options for how we might move forward.” John sounded non-committal, casual.

“You know, if things don’t work out, you two will have to get a divorce.” Leopold took a final swig of his beer and I nearly did a spit take. I caught myself before any tea left my mouth.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I blurted.

John stared down his father. “She has no idea what you mean and I can’t believe you’d say such a thing in front of her. Hatty, there’s an antiquated section of our legal code that makes it possible for male members of the royal family to initiate a divorce or have their marriage annulled if the wife can’t conceive. But you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m not worried. I know you love me. Leo, you can take that law and shove it right up your ass.”

John’s father took a step toward me but directed his words at John. “I bring it up only because I did everything in my power to make sure your mother got pregnant with you so Granny and I never had to have this conversation.”

“I don’t understand,” John said, his hands gripping the cue stick.
He’s going to break it.

“I took your mother to see Dr. Cloutier, and he gave her a new fertility drug. The next month, she was pregnant with you. I suggest you and Hatty do whatever is necessary to fulfill your obligations to the people of Toulene.”

“We’ll do whatever Hatty wants in terms of medicine and procedures. But I am not divorcing her, even if she never gets pregnant. And I forbid you to speak to her again about any of this.”

John slammed the cue stick onto the table, grabbed my hand, and pulled me out the door.

Astrid set a paper bag on the dresser in our bedroom. “Here’s your medicine, Madam.”

“Thanks, Astrid.”

After she left the room, I walked over and picked up the bag. I liked the name of the ovary stimulating drug: Overa. It sounded hopeful, and reminded me of the word “overcome.” Astrid’s name was listed as the patient, yet another layer of protection for us.

John burst into our bedroom, his eyes huge and his mouth open.

“What’s wrong?”

“There was an explosion at the smelter,” he said with almost no inflection in his voice.

“The one near Kortrijk?” A sinking feeling opened in my stomach because I knew damn well there was no other smelter.

“Yes. We have to go to Belvoir. Now.”

On the fifteen minute drive, John gave me the details. No one had been killed or injured when a homemade bomb exploded inside one of the hallways. It went off in an area that was empty on the weekends, thank goodness. The authorities suspected an employee had something to do with it.

At Belvoir, the public affairs staff was in overdrive. Though they offered advice, their job was to follow our decisions on how, when, and what to communicate to the public through the media. Cilla asked me and John to step inside her office.

“Hatty, there’s already chatter on social media about the investigation you did as an intern into the environmental impact of the plant. You need to tell me everything.” Cilla had a pen and notepad in hand. We’d gone over this once before.

I told her about the interviews I conducted and the spreadsheets I created. All the work was saved on my school laptop, which I’d returned to the university’s computer help desk. I watched them wipe the hard drive. All my handwritten notes were in a big box in storage at Langbroek.

“It looks like the source of the social media posts is
Les Valenciennes
. I’m sure they feel some level of betrayal since you left them to join the institution they adamantly oppose,” Cilla said in a matter-of-fact tone.

I hardly knew what to say. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Of course you didn’t. But that doesn’t matter to them. They deal in speculation and innuendo.” She turned her laptop around so I could see it. “Look at this post from one of your former colleagues. ‘The Duchess set out to help the people of Kortrijk by investigating how the smelter is harming local residents, but the crown bought her silence.’”

I was standing at the bottom of a ravine looking up as the wolves descended.

ust relax, Hatty.”
If only.