Gucci Gucci Coo Page 25

  “But Sigmund’s not due for another six weeks.”

  “I know, but he might be early.”

  Ruby went to fetch her mother a glass of water. Five minutes passed and the pain came again, causing Ronnie to double up. Three minutes later, there was another one.

  “Ruby, I think perhaps we need to go to St. Luke’s.” Ronnie asked her if she would mind going upstairs and throwing a nightdress and a few toiletries into an overnight bag, just in case. “Ooh, and don’t forget my perineal massage oil. And the whale music CD is on the dressing table.”

  On the way, Ronnie started to panic about the baby arriving when she was only thirty-four weeks pregnant.

  “Mum, it will be fine. Babies survive at twenty-six weeks these days. I promise you, this is not going to be a problem.”

  But Ronnie wasn’t convinced. “I wish your dad were here.” She kept trying to get Phil on his mobile, but it was going to voice mail.

  At the hospital, Ronnie was greeted by a bustling Jamaican midwife who radiated calm. She could see that Ronnie was anxious, so she sat on the bed, holding her hand and telling her everything was going to be fine, that she was in good hands and had no reason to be frightened. She was everything you would expect from a midwife at St. Luke’s. Nevertheless, Ruby couldn’t help looking at her—as she’d looked at all the other nurses and doctors she and Ronnie had passed since they arrived—and wondering if she was involved in the surrogacy affair.

  “You cervix naht even dilated, my darlin’, and I’m getting a good strong heartbeat.” The midwife carefully rearranged the bedclothes. In her opinion, Ronnie had simply been having Braxton-Hicks practice contractions, but she wanted to get the duty doctor to examine her, just to make sure. “And if she say everything OK—we get you a nice cup of tea.” With that she bustled out of the room. If this woman was involved in anything corrupt, Ruby would eat her one and only and extremely precious Philip Treacy hat.

  It turned out that the doctor on duty was Dr. Jane Anderson, the motherly woman gynecologist Ruby usually saw when she had her checkups at St. Luke’s. She had clearly got over her virus. “Dr. Jane’s great. You’ll really like her,” Ruby said to Ronnie.

  She arrived a few minutes later. As usual her appearance was comfortingly messy. Her hair looked like it had been styled by Bob Geldof. Her clothes—a scarlet fleece over a brown pleated skirt—looked as if they had been pulled out of a drawer during a power outage. Her face lit up when she saw Ruby. “The moment I saw the name Silverman I wondered if Ronnie could be any relation to you.”

  “She’s my mum.” Ruby grinned.

  “Goodness. Surely not,” Dr. Jane said, sitting down on Ronnie’s bed. “You don’t look nearly old enough.” Ronnie was visibly relaxing. She laughed and explained that she had been a teenage mum. It turned out that Dr. Jane was one of ten children and that her mother had given birth to her first at sixteen. Soon the two women were chatting away as if they’d known each other for ages.

  Dr. Jane confirmed the midwife’s diagnosis.

  “You mean these really are nothing more than practice contractions?” Ronnie said. “But I don’t remember them being this painful with Ruby.”

  Dr. Jane patted Ronnie’s hand and smiled. “How long ago did you have Ruby?”

  “OK, I admit it was thirty-two years ago.”

  “Enough said,” Doctor Jane chuckled. “The pains were probably just as strong then, but you don’t remember.”

  Because the pains were continuing and Ronnie still seemed anxious, Dr. Jane decided to keep her overnight for observation.

  After Dr. Jane left, Ronnie turned to Ruby. “You go home and get some rest,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No, it’s still early. I’ll stay for a bit and keep you company.”

  They watched TV in Ronnie’s room, but the pains weren’t easing off. Ronnie was getting more and more concerned that she was going into real labor, even though the midwife kept reassuring her she wasn’t. Her anxiety wasn’t helped by her not being able to reach Phil.

  By about ten, Ruby was feeling hungry and suggested getting them something to eat from the cafeteria.

  Ronnie didn’t fancy anything to eat, but insisted Ruby get something for herself.

  Ruby headed down the long corridor toward the cafeteria. She’d only gone a few paces when she remembered that access was cut off. The decorators who were painting Jill’s office and several others on her corridor were also painting the corridor itself. They’d just started on the ceiling and there was scaffolding up.

  Ruby followed the handwritten sign directing people downstairs to the basement corridor. It followed the identical path to the one above. At the end was a flight of stairs, which came up just outside the cafeteria.

  The dimly lit basement, with its municipal dark green paint and oppressively low ceiling snaked with thick pipes, gave Ruby the creeps. To make matters worse, it was completely empty, apart from a couple of abandoned carts left standing against the wall. She strode out, anxious to get to the next staircase, which would take her back to the bright light and comfort of the cafeteria. She was almost there and beginning to feel a little less spooked, when she noticed a door marked “storage.” She slowed down. What if…? No, the thought was ridiculous. It was too easy. On the other hand, Jill had said her files were going into storage and this appeared to be a storage room. She turned the handle. The door was locked. What did she expect—that the door would swing open, and sitting in front of her would be a box marked “Jill McNulty’s Top-Secret Surrogacy Files”?

  She went into the cafeteria and bought a mint tea for Ronnie and a KitKat for herself. Still wondering what might be behind that door, she went back to her mother.

  When she walked into the room, Ronnie was sitting up in bed, smiling broadly. “You look better,” Ruby said.

  “I am. Thank God we didn’t worry your father.”

  “So, the pain’s gone?” Ruby said, putting the cup of mint tea down on the bedside locker.

  “Let’s put it this way, I’ve been to the loo five times since you left. For some reason the curry seems to have upset my stomach. The midwife said it can happen and that some women become sensitive to certain foods in pregnancy.” She insisted she would be fine now and that Ruby should go home.

  “OK, if you’re sure. Ring me anytime if you need me. Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  Ruby leaned over the bed and kissed Ronnie good night. “Love you.”

  “Love you, too, darling. And thanks for looking after me.”

  “My pleasure,” Ruby said.

  As she headed toward the main exit, Ruby broke off a piece of KitKat and popped it into her mouth. A few moments later, she had demolished the entire thing. After all the stress and tension of the evening, she was desperate for a sugar fix.

  As she carried on walking, she became aware that she was about to pass the cleaners’ cubbyhole. She felt her pace slow down. The door was open and the keys were hanging on their hooks. Screwing up the KitKat foil and shoving it in her pocket, she looked first to the right and then to the left. Deciding that the coast was clear, she slipped into the tiny room.

  There were six keys marked “storage.” That meant the hospital had six storage rooms. With so many to choose from, the chances were slim that the room she had just discovered contained Jill’s files. “Oh, what the hell,” she muttered. She picked up all six keys. Putting her head round the door to check that nobody was coming, she began walking toward the basement stairs.

  As she reached the bottom a loud clanking sound almost had her charging back up again. Then she realized it was just the noise of the water pipes. She headed toward the storage room, looking over her shoulder every few seconds to check that there was nobody following her.

  The fourth key fitted the lock to the storage room. It was a largish room—maybe twice the size of her living room. It was filled with office furniture. She decided that the desks, filing cabinets and swivel chairs belonged to the of
fices that were being decorated. Under each desk was a cardboard packing case. Ruby went over to the first one. A name she didn’t recognize had been scrawled across the top in black felt tip. She didn’t recognize the name on the second one either. Feeling a bit like Goldilocks, she looked at the third. Bingo! Just right! The box was marked with Jill’s name.

  Ruby slipped the door keys into her pocket and lifted the flaps on the packing case. It contained three or four old-fashioned box files full of papers, mainly invoices marked “paid” or “outstanding.” She sat down on the linoleum-tiled floor and started sifting through the papers. If they weren’t invoices, then they were financial forecasts or lists of maintenance work needing to be carried out.

  She was halfway through the second box file when she came across a typed sheet that looked different from the rest. It was divided into columns. The first was headed up “name of patient.” Then came the time of delivery and sex of child. The final column contained the signature of the attending doctor or midwife.

  Ruby studied the sheet and noticed that in the column marked “patient,” there were always two names. The second was in brackets. She went through the list. Many of the names meant nothing to her, but several did. They were the names of celebrities. The first one she spotted was China Katz. Ruby’s heart rate began to speed up. In brackets next to the star’s name was another name: Kate Murphy. Somebody had written the words “baby girl” and then there was a signature.

  She carried on scanning the list. Farther down was a second name she recognized: Mia Ferrari. As usual, a woman’s name was bracketed next to it. “Oh, my God,” Ruby muttered, hand shaking. “These have to be the names of the surrogates.” Her eyes widened. There had to be more than a dozen women here who had used them.

  Her eyes carried on down. When she finally found the name she was looking for, she let out a gasp. She ran her finger across the columns. Claudia Planchette…[Hannah Morgan]…Boy. Finally her eyes came to rest on the signature of the doctor who had performed Hannah’s cesarean. The signature read: S. Epstien.

  She thought she must have read it wrong, but she hadn’t. She must have watched Sam sign dozens of credit card slips. There was no doubt in her mind. This was his signature all right.

  Shocked and confused, Ruby stuffed the piece of paper into her bag. Then she carried on hunting through the papers. She came across a photocopy of the original list. She thought about leaving it, but instead she put it in her pocket. Having made sure that the rest of the papers were arranged tidily in both box files, so that they didn’t look as if they had been tampered with, she closed the lids. Then she put them back in the packing case and secured the flaps. She was convinced that there had to be a rational explanation. There was no possible way that Sam could have been involved in this. He must have been set up in some way. She had to speak to him.

  Her adrenaline flowing overtime now, she switched off the light and opened the door into the corridor. Since she was looking down, it was the woman’s shoes she saw first: sensible black slip-ons with a tiny heel. Ruby’s entire body went rigid. Her eyes shot to the woman’s face. “Jill! What on earth are you doing here?”

  Judging by her stunned expression, Jill was as shocked as Ruby.

  “I have an important meeting tomorrow,” Jill spluttered nervously, as if she were the guilty party. She cleared her throat. “I came to collect some papers.”

  It was then that Ruby realized Jill wasn’t alone. Standing beside her was Tom Hardacre. She recognized him from the TV. He was even more good looking in the flesh. On the other hand, he was wearing a rugby shirt with the collar turned up. The supposedly rakish public school look tended to attract sporty fillies from the shires, but always left Ruby thinking “Dodgy Fulham estate agent.”

  “This is Ruby Silverman,” Jill said to Tom Hardacre. “She has been giving talks to some of our expectant mums.”

  Hardacre nodded slowly. “Ah, yes, I remember you mentioning her.” His tone was languid and aloof.

  “I thought you were on holiday,” Ruby said to Jill.

  “There have been heavy storms in the south of France. Tommy and I decided not to go, didn’t we, darling?” So, Tom Hardacre was her “chap.” That was something Ruby hadn’t known.

  Hardacre ignored Jill and turned to Ruby. “Your turn to answer a question,” he said icily. “What exactly are you doing here?”

  Ruby considered her options. She could make up some story and attempt to lie her way out of the situation, or she could attempt to overcome the shock and fear she was feeling, pull herself up to her full five feet four and a half inches and confront this pair.

  “I’ve been doing some detective work,” Ruby heard herself say.

  “In this dreadful place?” Hardacre smirked. His expression contained all the sympathy of a shark ambushing lunch. “Goodness. What could you possibly have been looking for?”

  “Evidence,” Ruby said.

  “Evidence,” he repeated chirpily. “I see. Might I ask, what sort of evidence?”

  Ruby noticed that Jill was looking petrified and practically hyperventilating.

  “Evidence that proves you and Jill were involved in finding surrogates to carry babies for rich women who didn’t want to lose their figures by getting pregnant themselves.”

  Hardacre put his hands in his pockets and roared with laughter. “I’ve never heard such utter piffle. This hospital and all the doctors in it are committed to natural childbirth.”

  “Really? So, what do you make of this?” Ruby reached into her pocket and pulled out the copy of the list she had found.

  “What is it?” Jill said, voice trembling. Ruby handed her the paper. Jill began reading—but clearly far too slowly for Hardacre’s liking. He snatched it from her.

  “The names of the surrogates are in brackets,” Ruby said.

  Hardacre started to laugh. “None of this implicates us. The only signatures I see here belong to Sam Epstien and the other foreign doctors working here. Quite a little scam they’ve got going, I would say.”

  “Absolutely,” Jill echoed.

  “But I found it among your papers,” Ruby said to Jill.

  “I…I have no idea how it got there. Maybe you planted it. That’s it. You could have planted it.”

  “What! Don’t be absurd. Why would I do a thing like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Hardacre said. “To blackmail us, maybe?”

  “What possible reason could I have to blackmail you?”

  At this point a young porter approached, pushing an empty cart. He kept his head down, pretending not to have heard the raised voices. The three of them responded with silence.

  Ruby watched as Hardacre slipped the paper into his back pocket. It was clear he now thought he had retrieved the evidence against him. Of course he hadn’t. Ruby still had the original list in her bag.

  “Right, this conversation is over,” he said. “I don’t know who put you up to this, but I would suggest you go home and forget all about it. Although you might want to have some words with Sam Epstien, who clearly isn’t the honest straightforward type you thought he was. In fact I am tempted to pay a visit to the hospital’s chief executive myself.”

  Ruby wasn’t about to be browbeaten. “I suggest you take that form out of your pocket and look more closely at it.”

  “I’m not sure you heard me,” he came back at her. “I said this conversation is over.”

  “Indulge me.” She smiled. “Just look at it.”

  He took the paper out of his pocket.

  “OK, look down the list until you get to Claudia Planchette. The name next to hers—the one in brackets—belongs to a woman called Hannah Morgan.”

  “What of it?”

  “Hannah was one of your patients, wasn’t she? It was Hannah who gave birth to Claudia’s baby.”

  “What? You’re mad.” Hardacre crossed his arms defensively in front of him. He was trying to retain the upper hand, but it was clear that he was losing it.

&nbs
p; “Hannah claims she was Claudia’s surrogate and I believe her. So, are you telling me you knew nothing about it?”

  “Yes, I am. This form is rubbish. It has nothing whatsoever to do with me and I have no interest in some madwoman who might be trying to extort money from Claudia Planchette.”

  “Did you know that Claudia still owes Hannah a great deal of money?” Ruby persisted.

  Hardacre stared her straight in the eye and said: “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Even in the poor light, it was clear that the color had drained from Jill’s face. She looked as if she might throw up from nerves at any moment.

  “What’s more,” Ruby went on, “Claudia rejected her son because she didn’t like the color of his hair. He is ginger and Claudia doesn’t do ginger. Even when it comes to her own child.”

  “This is madness. I’ve never heard such utter bilge.”

  “You know, my guess is that at some stage—sooner rather than later—Hannah will go to court to get the money Claudia owes her. DNA tests will be required and I fail to see how you and Jill and, more to the point, St. Luke’s, won’t be implicated. Of course, technically you may have done nothing illegal, but bearing in mind St. Luke’s commitment to natural childbirth and your public comments about anorexia in pregnant women, you have done something morally outrageous. By caving in to these women’s vanity and allowing them to have babies using surrogates, you are perpetuating a vile culture in which women are only acceptable if their bodies look emaciated. Not only will St. Luke’s reputation be ruined if this goes to court, but I doubt you will ever work as a doctor again.”

  Jill hadn’t said anything for a while. Suddenly it was clear that her anxiety had turned into full-scale panic. “My God, what are we going to do? How many times did I try to tell you that Claudia Planchette was a loose cannon and not to be trusted?”

  “Shut up,” Hardacre spat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  But Jill wouldn’t or couldn’t shut up. “I knew we could trust all the others, but I begged you not to get involved with Claudia. As usual you refused to listen to me. Your greed and arrogance got the better of you. Now look what’s happened.”