"Brennert, Alan - Cradle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brennert Alan)

the first time Sondra seemed hesitant.

Marguerite softly cleared her throat, and all eyes in the room were, just like
that, suddenly on her. She looked at the young woman and smiled. "I don't think
you'll find it that hard to take, Sondra," she said warmly. "I've been told I
have a very comfortable home."

Sondra smiled uncertainly, though she seemed more puzzled, now, than reluctant.
"Listen," she said, finally, "this is none of my business, I know, and you can
tell me to go to hell if you want, but --

"Because you're infertile, it's my eggs that'll be fertilized; right? And Mr.
Ziegler tells me the sperm donor is anonymous. You've never even met him,
right?"

Marguerite nodded.

"So it's a kid made by two strangers. No connection to you at all. Why go to all
this trouble? Why not a normal adoption? You're got the money to get any kid you
want. What do you get out of this?"

Marguerite was impressed, she hadn't expected the thought would even occur to
Sondra, much less matter to her. Still, just to be safe, Marguerite had
practiced her response. Time had taken the innocence from her still-youthful
face, but she knew that very youthfulness could work for her here, adding
poignancy to her words. She leaned forward, voice purposely soft.

"I want," she said, "the chance to watch my child grow. From a thought, to an
embryo; from embryo to fetus; from fetus to child. I want to hear its heartbeat,
faint inside you; I want to be able to put my hand on your stomach and feel my
son, or daughter, move. I want to be able to feel . . . if only for a moment . .
. that it's inside me. By being there, with you, as it grows . . . maybe it will
seem more like it's really mine."

Sondra listened, touched despite herself. Then, after only a moment's
hesitation, she flipped to the last page of the contract, looked at Ziegler.

"Can I have a pen?" she asked.

Marguerite smiled.

The sleek white chauffeured Mercedes ghosted down Sunset Boulevard, passengers
hidden behind tinted windows like riders on a phantom carriage. Inside, Chernow
said, "She's brighter than she looks, but not quite as bright as she thinks she
is. She knew insemination doesn't require removal of the ova, but when I told
her we needed to do it to rule out genetic defects, she accepted it without a
further thought."

Marguerite lit a cigarette -- a poor substitute for blood, but at least she
didn't have to worry about cancer. "And there's nothing about the procedure