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‘I’m sorry to intrude.’The guy glanced at Gwynne. ‘I’d like a word, if you don’t mind,Carla?’

‘What about?’

‘It’s not something Ican explain in a few words. Don’t worry though, I’m not here tocause any sort of trouble – ’

‘What kind of trouble?’Gwynne interrupted with subdued menace.

Philip looked at him.‘The kind I’m not going to cause.’

Gwynne had to chew thisone over and as he did so the guy from MI5 continued hisconversation with his sister.

‘In fact, I thinkyou’ll be very interested by what I have to say, so I hope you’llhear me out. You don’t have anything to lose. In fact, you have alot to gain. Everything that you want, perhaps.’

‘Everything that Iwant?’ Carla sounded incredulous.

‘I think you know whatI mean,’ Philip said. ‘But this must be a shock for you, so what Iwant to do is go away and come back at about twelve and we candiscuss it over lunch. I mean, I’ll take you out to lunch. I’llexplain the whole deal then. But there’s no obligation, Carla. If Icome back at twelve and you don’t want to see me, then you’ll neverhear from me again. But think about it first.’ He nodded. ‘Thanksfor your time.’

He turned and left,closing the door after him. Gwynne gaped at Carla. ‘What the hellwas that about?’

She shook her head.‘I’m not sure.’

‘But you said you knewhim. Who is he?’

‘He’s the father ofthat kid I was carrying.’

Gwynne slapped hishead, ‘The father! That’s what I should’ve asked! Who thefather was.’

Carla walked away andended up in the chill livingroom, sitting on one of the armchairsand staring down into the murky patterns of the carpet. Gwynnefollowed cautiously, and watched her from the sofa, where sheseemed surprised to see him when she looked up again.

‘What?’ She asked.

‘Carl . . . where’s thebaby now? It’s not in your room, is it?’

But in actual fact hewas thinking of the attic.

‘With its real mother,of course,’ Carla blared at him with exasperation.

Gwynne shook his head.‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s simple. That guy,Philip, and his wife, paid me to have her kid. She couldn’t haveone herself, or that’s her story. But perhaps she could and shejust didn’t fancy the idea.’

‘No shit.’ Gwynne neverimagined his sister’s pregnancy could be this interesting.

‘Anyway, I did it forher because they’ve got the money and this business is going downthe drain . . . but you don’t care about that, do you?’

He shrugged. ‘So, howdid you meet them, these people?

‘Through a doctor. Heowns a clinic in Acton. I met him in Cyprus.’

‘Cyprus? Is he straightup?’

‘Of course he is. Heearns a good living out of it too.’

‘Yeah? So how much didyou get out of it?’

‘Five thousand.’

‘Five thousand! Is thatall? You can’t even get a decent motor for that.’

‘You don’t have to tellme, but I was desperate, wasn’t I?’

Gwynne’s face flushedwith indignation. ‘It doesn’t seem right. I mean it’s a new life,isn’t it? That should cost at least as much as a decent motor. Youought have kept it, just to spite them.’ Then he noticed that ifshe had done this she would be even worse off. So he added, ‘And ofcourse, waited a few months before sending it to the social foradoption.’

Carla smiled. ‘Youbonehead, if I did that, they’d only find out and adopt itthemselves, wouldn’t they?’

‘Yeah. Slimy Bastards!’Gwynne murmured. Then, having pinned these people down in the greatscheme of things, he began to wonder about the motive for Philip’svisit. ‘So anyway, what’s he talking about when he says he wants togive you everything you want? That’s money, ain’t it?’

Carla thought aboutthis. ‘Maybe they want me to have another kid. I wouldn’t put itpast them.’

‘Well, now’s yourchance!’ Gwynne cried feverishly. ‘Make fucking sure they pay thegoing rate this time.’

Carla reddened. ‘Idon’t care how much they want to pay. Being a surrogate mother is atraumatic experience. The nearest you could come to it is being ina car crash. After something like that you just want toforget.’

But for Gwynne, a carcrash was the very worst example of a traumatic experience,implying, as it did, the fulfilment of a dream – owning a car inthe first place. A decent one too. He wouldn’t want to crash in anold nail, would he?

‘Well, they sound likea pair of right shits, Carl, I agree,’ Gwynne said, adopting thetone of the oily salesman who’d sold Carla the sphagnum moss thatshe didn’t need. ‘But still, if he wants to take you to lunch thenwhy not just go ahead and see what he says. At least you’ll get agood meal out of it.’

Eleven: Credit Lunch

Philip arrived an hourlater to pick Carla up.

He took her in hisrust-blistered Rover down the traffic-clogged streets to Putney andhaving parked it between two other cars with mere inches to sparehe conveyed her into a designer restaurant.

This had a strikingsimilarity to the interior of Gerald’s fertility treatment clinic.There was a predominance of white wall, broken by a discreet-fewpine-framed pictures that did not retain the gaze too long, noreven try to draw it, but which were quite content to do no morethan satisfy the peripheral vision.

‘Ah, Saxifrage, hithere. Table for two, please.’ Philip said, as a waitressapproached them – a peculiar, diminutive being, with purplelipstick and a shockingly frosty smile. She welcomed them in aclipped, upper-class accent and led them to a table, leaving themwith a menu each.

‘I don’t suppose I cansmoke here,’ Carla said, when they were alone. Not because shewanted to smoke as such, but because that was the only thing whichall the designer chic said to her.

Philip glanced around.‘No, I daresay you can’t. In case you are wondering what to try,I’d recommend the beef fillet, with baby carrots and pea volute.Though, for myself, I think today I’ll try the rack of lamb withnew season garlic. I’ll get you a half bottle of Shiraz, shall I?It’s not sweet, but not too dry either, and although this may comeas a terrible shock, Carla, I have to say I want to do everythingin my power to see you reunited with your baby.’

Carla found herselflost for words. The waitress, Saxifrage, returned to the table justthen