Planned Conception
"I take it you were expecting me."
Doctor Peter Triar felt as if he had been cast overboard without a life belt. Had he expected to be faced with the indomitable woman before him it was doubtful whether he would have entered the surgery that day.
He studied the cards on his desk. "Good morning Mrs Chambers."
"My appointment was with Doctor Sharpe but your receptionist says he gone to Marbella with Miss Kisset. How long will he be away"
"I'm not sure, I've just had the tax office asking the same question. What seems to be the problem?"
"Problem, problem," she echoed. "There's no problem my end. I say there isn't a hitch is there?"
"Hitch? No I'm sure not." He cleared his throat. "What was Doctor Sharpe treating you for?" The record cards were no help the last recorded visit was some months ago.
Murial gave an exasperated sigh. "Didn't he leave instructions? I was to have the injection today."
Dr. Triar almost gasped with relief. Thankfully he replaced the card on his desk. "Ah yes. Going abroad are we?"
"Going abroad? Are you mad? If I was going abroad I would hardly be going with you." She leant over the desk her brawny arms encroaching on him. "I see I'll have to put you in the picture. I'm a breeder, horses you know. Well my stable needs new stock and servicing is so expensive."
"Mrs Chambers," he interrupted nervously. "I'm afraid there has been some mistake. I'm an MD not a veterinary."
"What?" she brayed. "No, the idea is for me to produce first to raise the capital."
"I still don't"- he began.
Murial cut him off impatiently. "I've had all the tests and today is the best time."
Dr. Triar heard the alarm bells. A sprain he could have dealt with. Even a pregnancy, but this! He was sinking into a bog created by his predecessor.
"Dr. Sharpe was going to make me pregnant today. There was to be a payment of £500. Now he's hopped it so you'll have to do it."
He played for time, "You want me to make you pregnant?" Inspiration came to his aid. "I can't I've had a vasectomy."
Murial forgot her mission. She studied the creature in front of her speculatively. "Been gelded have you? Well I suppose it's a good idea; always make the best steeds."
Dr.Triar squirmed in his seat. For one blissful moment he imagined riding this splendid creature. He visualised her strong muscular body gripping his puny frame.
"A bit randy are you?" Murial dispersed his daydream.
"Certainly not." Why he wondered did he always squeak when he most needed to sound firm and assured? "Mrs Chambers," he continued, "have you thought this through? Women of your age often think they would like a baby." He loosened his tie. "It's a matter of hormones you know." He heard her deep intake of breath- "I expect the stables keep you very busy."
"They certainly do, but you still don't understand. I'm not broody. I'll hand the child over as soon as it is born. It's all arranged."
She might have been explaining egg marketing to a backward child.
He made one last effort to dissuade her. "Have you considered the things that can go wrong? Suppose the baby isn't normal; it can happen particularly with a 'er - mature woman. You may not be able to place the baby as easily as you imagine."
"Dr. Triar, I am an experienced breeder. The pedigree is sound and in any event the contract is water tight."
"Well Mrs Chambers, I'm sorry but I don't think I can help. Dr. Sharpe omitted to leave instructions and I have no idea where he obtained his supplies so - "
"That is no problem," Murial Chambers assured him as she delved into a large, brown, handbag. "I have it here. I collected it myself from Dr.Sharpe's laboratory." She handed him a small vacuum flask.
"I understand the donor is a splendid stud, made his wife preggy half a dozen times but she slips her foals, just like farmer Grouse's cow."
"Farmer Grouse's cow," Dr Triar echoed.
"Yes .He put her down in the end."
"Down where?" His head was spinning, could this be part of a nightmare? If he pricked his finger would he wake?
"The knacker's yard. Rotten luck but it won't happen to me. Dr Sharpe said I had a cervix as tight as a drum."
A gleam of sunlight brightened the room and lent new strength to the doctor's shrinking soul. "Perhaps I should see the wife. If her problem is slipping - er miscarrying I may be able - "
"No, impossible," she swept away his unspoken offer. "Dr. Sharpe arranged for her to have the chop after their last attempt. Best thing in the circs."
He acknowledged defeat. "I see." He took the biro from his top pocket and clicked it several times before busily writing the date on the record card. "In that case Mrs Chambers are you sure you have not had intercourse during the last twenty-eight days."
Murial Chambers drew her breath, her face turned puce. For a moment he thought she was having a seizure.
"Do you mean sex?" She exploded. "What do you take me for? I've never done anything like that in my life!"
What else was there in life like sex, he thought? Inspiration came. "Never?"
"Certainly not!"
"Ah in that case there could be a problem. You see if you are hymen intactus - "
"Hymen what? Oh you mean a virgin. No, no, lost it on the back of a horse. I was about eleven at the time. The brute tried to throw me and I came down with a wallop. Often happens I believe."
"I have heard of it," he replied faintly. "But I understood you to be married."
"No I adopted the Mrs. for business reasons. Never met a man who could compete with a horse." She threw back her head snorting jovially.
Neither of them saw or heard the door open.
"I must warn you Mrs Chambers, I cannot guarantee to make you pregnant. If you wait in the nurse"s room I will be with you as soon as I am ready."
As Murial Chambers marched down the stairs to the nurse's room Miss Trombie, the receptionist stood behind the opposite door her mouth compressed.
Dr. Triar's hand trembled as he removed the cap of the vacuum flask. The phone rang. The flask flew from his hand. "Damn," he exclaimed. He picked up the flask and shook it gingerly, it rattled. The phone was still ringing but he had a more urgent problem. Mrs Chambers was waiting downstairs and she was not a patient woman.
It was barely three months later when Murial clattered into the surgery waving a parcel like a declaration of war. She thrust it at him. "I found this on my doorstep."
Gingerly he opened it. Inside was the remains of a flask and a note that read, "I know the name of the father of your child."
"Well?" She said. "I want to know what this means and who the donor is."
He blinked nervously, "I can explain. There's nothing to worry about." He tried to sound reassuring.
"Nothing to worry about! How can you say that. The original donor was the adoptive father. Now who is going to want it when the sire could be a drug addict a convict a politician, anyone."
Weak Dr. Peter Triar might be but he knew when to acknowledge defeat. His colleagues laughed and joked about errors or unethical acts but he knew he could not escape nemeses.
"I dropped the flask."
"Dropped the - but I am pregnant."
"I didn't want to disappoint you so I substituted myself."
"But you said - "
"I lied."
"You mean? Oh you dear little man." She whinnied with delight revealing her strong ivory molars in a smile that shone like torch light through her eyes.
Dr. Peter Triar stared mesmerised.
Murial Chambers advanced upon him. The slap on his back did not hurt as much as the impact of his chest on the desk.
"You realise what this means," she cried.
He trembled in fearful anticipation.
"My little foal will have a pedigree after all. Whacko!"
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