I stop dead, my heart beating faster. It’s paparazzi. They’re all clicking away! Who are they — What are they—
Oh my God. It’s the new Bond girl! She’s walking toward the building in a pink Juicy strapless top over jeans, with a definite bump showing. I can hear the cries from the photographers: “This way, love!” and “When’s the baby due?”
This is so cool!
Trying to look nonchalant, I hurry along the pavement and arrive at the door at the same time as her. The cameras are all still clicking away behind us. I’ll be in all the gossip magazines with a Bond girl!
“Hi,” I murmur casually as she presses the buzzer. “Hi, I’m Becky. I’m pregnant, too. I like your top!”
She looks at me as if I’m a moron, then without replying pushes the door open.
Well. She wasn’t very friendly. But never mind, I’m sure the others will be. I follow her through an elegant tiled hallway and then into a large room with lilac velvet seats and a reception desk, and a huge Jo Malone candle burning on the central table.
As I head to the desk behind the Bond girl, I do a quick sweep of the room. Two girls in jeans who might easily be supermodels are reading OK! and pointing out pictures to each other. There’s a heavily pregnant girl in Missoni sitting opposite in floods of tears, with a husband who’s holding her hand and saying anxiously, “Sweetheart, we can call the baby Aspen if you like, I just didn’t realize you were serious!”
Aspen.
Aspen Brandon.
Lord Aspen Brandon, Earl of London.
Hmm. Not sure.
The Bond girl finishes talking to the receptionist, then moves away and sits down in a corner.
“Can I help?” The receptionist is looking at me.
“Yes, please.” I beam. “I’m here to see Venetia Carter. Mrs. Rebecca Brandon.”
“Take a seat, Mrs. Brandon. Dr. Carter will see you presently.” The receptionist smiles and hands me a brochure. “Some introductory literature. Help yourself to herbal tea.”
“Thanks!” I take the brochure and sit down opposite the supermodels. Gentle panpipe music is playing over the speakers, and there are photographs of mothers and new babies pinned up on the satin-covered pinboards. The whole atmosphere is serene and beautiful. It’s a million miles away from Dr. Braine’s boring old waiting room, with its plastic chairs and horrible carpet and posters about folic acid.
Luke will be so impressed when he arrives. I knew this was the right decision! Happily I start flicking through the brochure, taking in headings here and there. Water Birth…Reflexology Birth…Hypno Birth…
Maybe I’ll have a hypno birth. Whatever that is.
I’m just lingering over a picture of a girl holding a baby in what looks like a giant Jacuzzi when the receptionist summons me.
“Mrs. Brandon? Dr. Carter will see you now.”
“Oh!” I put down the brochure and glance at my watch anxiously. “I’m afraid my husband isn’t here yet. He should only be a few minutes….”
“Don’t worry.” She smiles. “I’ll send him in when he arrives. Please, come this way.”
I follow the receptionist down the carpeted passage. The walls are covered with signed pictures of glamorous celebrity mothers sitting up in bed with newborn babies, and my head swivels as I walk. I really need to think about what I’m going to wear for the birth. Maybe I’ll ask Venetia Carter for some tips.
We reach a cream-painted door and the receptionist knocks twice before opening it and ushering me in. “Venetia, this is Mrs. Brandon.”
“Mrs. Brandon!” A stunningly beautiful woman with long, vivid red hair comes forward, her hand outstretched. “Welcome to the Holistic Birth Center.”
“Hi!” I beam at her. “Call me Becky.”
Wow. Venetia Carter looks like a movie star! She’s far younger than I expected, and slighter. She’s wearing a fitted Armani trouser suit and a crisp white shirt and her hair is drawn off her face with a chic tortoiseshell band.
“I’m so glad to meet you, Becky.” Her voice is all silvery and melodious, like the Good Witch of the North. “Sit down, and we can have a nice talk.”
She’s wearing vintage Chanel pumps, I notice as I sit down. And look at that gorgeous yellow topaz strung round her neck on a silver wire.
“I want to thank you for fitting me in at such a late stage,” I say in a rush as I hand over my medical file. “I really appreciate it. And I love your shoes!”
“Thank you!” She smiles. “So, let’s have a look. You’re twenty-three weeks pregnant…first baby…” Her manicured finger is running down Dr. Braine’s notes. “Any problems with your pregnancy? Is there a reason you’ve left your previous medical care?”
“I just wanted a more holistic approach,” I say, leaning forward earnestly. “I’ve been reading your brochure and I think all your treatments sound amazing.”
“Treatments?” Her pale brow wrinkles.
“Births, I mean,” I amend quickly.
“Well, now.” Venetia Carter takes a cream file from a drawer, picks up a silver fountain pen, and writes Rebecca Brandon on the front in a flowing italic script. “There’s plenty of time to decide which approach to the birth you want. But first, let me find out more about you. You’re married, I understand?”
“Yes.” I nod.
“And is your husband coming today? Mr. Brandon, would it be?”
“He should be here.” I click my tongue apologetically. “He’s just having a quick business meeting outside in the car. But he’ll be here soon.”