Twin Surprise For The Single Doc. Susanne Hampton

meet their father.

      * * *

      Twenty weeks had passed since Claudia discovered she was to be the mother of two and, as she dropped her chin and looked down at her ample midsection while waiting for the elevator, she was pleased to see they were healthy-sized babies. Her waist was somewhere hidden underneath her forty-five-inch circumference and she hadn’t seen her ankles for weeks. Her mood was one of anticipation as she waited for the doors to open on her floor. Her final obstetric visit was imminent and she was thinking about little else than her flight home to London the next day. It couldn’t come quickly enough for her. She couldn’t wait to farewell Los Angeles.

      And turn her back on the disappointment and heartache the city had brought.

      Or, more correctly, that she had invited into her life.

      The day was warm and she was wearing a sleeveless floral maternity dress, one of three she’d picked up on the sale rack in Macy’s when she rapidly outgrew all her other clothes, flat white sandals and her oversized camel-coloured handbag that she took everywhere. Her deep chocolate curls were short and framed her pretty face, but her eyes were filled with sadness. She pictured her suitcases, packed and waiting just inside the door of her apartment. She was finally leaving the place she had called home for almost a year. The fully furnished apartment was in a prime high-rise gated community on Wilshire Boulevard and in demand. The home would have new tenants within days. It had only been temporary, like so much in that town, and she wondered who would be sleeping in the king-sized bed later that week and what the future held for them. She hoped for their sake they hadn’t rushed into something they would live to regret.

      The way she had.

      * * *

      Patrick Spencer waited inside the elevator for the doors to open. It had only managed to travel down one floor and was already stopping. A sigh escaped from his lips. He prayed it wouldn’t stop on every floor on the way to street level. His patience was already tested. He was having another one of those days. A day when he felt frustrated with life and struggled with a cocktail of resentment mixed with equal parts of doubt and disappointment and a dash of boredom with his new reality. Not that his reality was devoid of life’s luxuries, but it was missing the passion he’d once felt. It was another day when he felt cheated out of what he had planned and wanted for his future, even though he was the one who’d walked away from everything. A day when he almost didn’t give a damn. And whenever he had those days he always put on his sunglasses and tried to block out the world in which he lived. He had been cornered into this new life. That was how he saw it.

      If things had not gone so terribly wrong, he would be living in London instead of calling Los Angeles home.

      * * *

      With melancholy colouring her mood, Claudia paid little attention to the tall, darkly dressed figure when she stepped into the elevator. But she noticed the affected way he was wearing wraparound sunglasses with his suit. It was more of the same pretentious LA behaviour.

      Sunglasses inside an elevator? In Claudia’s sadly tainted opinion, all men were hiding something; perhaps this one was nursing a hangover. She rolled her eyes, confident in the fact he couldn’t see anything from behind the dark lenses and even more sure he wouldn’t be looking in her direction anyway. Probably obsessed with his own thoughts and problems. Just like so many in this town. A town full of actors, many with an inflated sense of self-worth and a complete lack of morals. Perhaps this man filled that same bill, she surmised. She felt sick to her stomach even thinking about the man who had wooed her with lies and then walked out of her life as shamelessly as he had walked into it.

      She patted her stomach protectively and, not caring a damn what he thought, she whispered, ‘You may have been a surprise, boys, but I love you both to the moon and back already.’ Then she silently added, And I will make sure you don’t run away from your responsibilities...or wear sunglasses in a lift!

      ‘They’re very lucky little boys.’ Patrick said it matter-of-factly. It surprised even him that he had made a comment but hearing the woman speak so genuinely to her unborn children in an accent once so familiar struck a chord with him. In a town so devoid of anything genuine, Patrick felt compelled to comment.

      Claudia thought for a fleeting moment his words had been delivered with genuine sentiment. But her body stiffened as she reminded herself there was little or no sentiment in that town. Maternal hormones, she assumed, had temporarily dressed her vision with rose-coloured glasses. His English accent, for some reason, made her drop her guard just a little. Against her better judgement, she looked over to see the man remove his sunglasses. His lips were curved slightly. Not to a full smile, not even a half smile, but she could see his teeth just a little. They were almost perfect but not veneer flawless.

      He was tall, six foot one or two, she guessed, as she was five foot nine in bare feet or the flat shoes she was wearing that day. He was broad-shouldered and, she imagined from the way his shirt fell, buff, but he wasn’t overly tanned. His hair was short and light brown in colour and it was matched with a light covering of stubble on his face. His grooming was impeccable but, aside from the stubble, quite conservative. While his looks, she conceded, were worthy of a billboard, his styling was more professional than the usual LA playboy slash actor type. Or, in his case, an English ex-pat playing the LA field.

      ‘I’m sorry?’ she finally said after her assessment. She was hoping he would shrug his shoulders, put his sunglasses back on and return to thoughts of himself or his most recent conquest.

      But he didn’t.

      ‘I said that your babies are very fortunate that you care for them so much even before they enter the world. I hope they make you proud.’

      Patrick had not said anything like that in twelve years. They were words he used to say every day as a matter of routine, but never so routine that they were not sincere. But something about this woman and the palpable love he could see in her eyes and hear in her voice made it impossible not to make comment. She appeared different from the women he knew.

      And a very long way from the women he bedded. She was cute and beautiful, not unlike a china doll. His women were not fragile like that.

      And her love for her unborn children was special. It was something Patrick very much appreciated.

      Claudia felt her stance stiffen again and her expression become quite strained. His accent was cultured and, with her own English upbringing and resultant class-consciousness, she suspected he had more than likely experienced a privileged boarding school education. His clothes were high end designer. She knew he must have an ulterior motive. All men did. There were a handful of people she had met in the year since she’d left London to make Hollywood her home who had shown a level of genuine kindness but she doubted this man would join those ranks. In fact, she doubted that any man would ever again join that group. Her desired demeanour was defensive and with little effort she reached it. No man was going to get within a mile of her or, more particularly, her children with any line. She had told herself that she had finished with men and all of their agendas. And she decided to prove it to herself.

      Her first step would be keeping this man, albeit a very attractive man, at arm’s length. Perhaps even offside.

      ‘You really should refrain from eavesdropping; it’s rude,’ she said before turning her attention back to the blank gunmetal doors. There—it was done! She had stood up for herself and it brought her a sense of empowerment.

      It had been a long time coming and she conceded her ire was directed towards the wrong man but she had finally felt strong enough to say something. And it felt good. As if she was claiming her power back.

      But the elevator didn’t feel good or seem to have any power. It seemed to be slowing and, for want of a better word in her head, since she didn’t particularly like confined spaces, it seemed to be struggling in its descent. She wished it would pick up speed and get her out of the awkward situation. Deep down inside, she knew her response had been overly dramatic and cutting but she was still proud she had found the strength to do it. There were only another fifteen floors and she hoped the elevator would reach the ground before he handed her a business card