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Virginia gasped. Not in her wildest dreams … “How can that possibly be a problem?” she asked.
“You must agree not to reveal the identity of the father to anyone, and that means anyone.”
“I’m happy to agree to that.”
“You and the child will never be allowed to set foot in Louisiana, and if either of you ever decide to travel to the United States, Grant’s lawyers must be informed at least a month in advance.”
“I’ve only been to the States once in my life,” said Virginia, “and I have no plans to return.”
“The child’s surname must be Fenwick,” continued Trend, “and Mr. Grant has to approve the Christian names you select.”
“What’s he worried about?”
“He wants to make sure that if it’s a boy, you don’t call him Cyrus T. Grant IV.”
Virginia laughed. “I’ve already selected the name if it’s a boy.”
“And if any of these conditions are broken at any time, all payments will immediately cease.”
“That’s quite an incentive to keep to the agreement,” said Virginia.
“All payments will automatically cease in 1995, by which date it is assumed the child will have completed his or her full-time education.”
“I’ll be nearly seventy by then.”
“And finally, Mr. Grant’s attorneys will be sending a doctor and a nurse to England to witness the birth.”
Virginia was glad Trend couldn’t see her face. Once she’d put the phone down, she immediately rang Desmond Mellor to ask him how they could possibly get around that seemingly intractable problem. When the phone rang again at 7:45 the following morning, Desmond had come up with a solution.
“But won’t Dr. Norris object?” asked Virginia.
“Not while there’s a chance he might have to explain to his wife and children why he’s been struck off the medical register.”
* * *
Virginia waited until she heard the siren before she called her lawyer in Baton Rouge.
“The baby’s going to be born prematurely,” she screamed down the phone. “I’m on my way to the hospital now!”
“I’ll inform Grant’s attorneys immediately.”
A few minutes later there was a loud knock on the door. When the butler answered it, one of the paramedics picked up Virginia’s overnight case, while the other took her gently by the arm and guided her to a waiting ambulance. She glanced across the road to see two men clambering into a car. When the ambulance arrived at 41A Harley Street, the two paramedics opened the back door and led their patient slowly into the private clinic, to find Dr. Norris and a staff nurse waiting for them. Norris left instructions that he should be told immediately the American doctor and his assistant arrived. He only needed fifteen minutes.
Nobody took any notice of the couple who slipped out of the back door of the clinic and took a taxi for the first time in their lives. But then, it wasn’t every day the Mortons were handed a thousand pounds in cash.
Virginia undressed quickly and put on a nightgown. After she had climbed into the bed the nurse dabbed some rouge on her cheeks and sprayed a little moisture on her forehead. She lay back, trying to look exhausted. Twenty-two minutes later the nurse rushed back in.
“Dr. Langley and his assistant have just arrived and are asking if they can witness the birth.”
“Too late,” said Dr. Norris, who left the patient to welcome his American colleagues.
“We heard it was an emergency,” Dr. Langley said. “Is the baby all right?”
“I can’t be sure yet,” said Norris, looking concerned. “I had to perform an emergency caesarean. The baby’s in an incubator, and I’ve given Lady Virginia a sedative to help her sleep.”
Dr. Norris led them through to a room where they could observe the new-born infant in the incubator, seemingly fighting for its life. A narrow plastic tube inserted into one nostril was connected to a ventilator, and only the steady beeps of the heart monitor showed the child was actually alive.
“I’m feeding the little fellow through a gastric tube. We just have to pray his fragile body will accept it.”
