Читать книгу Child of Her Heart - Cheryl St.John - Страница 9

“If the press gets wind of the mistake, the clinic’s reputation is shot.” Standing, Oliver Pearson leaned forward, one age-speckled hand on the polished mahogany table, and addressed the board of directors in his resonating deep voice. “I say we make a decision today. That baby was born nearly three months ago, and out of fear we’ve tabled the discussion long enough.”

Dianna March straightened her already rigid spine in her leather chair, the overhead fluorescents highlighting her elegant silver pageboy. “We had to give the woman some time, Oliver, for goodness’ sake! She gave birth to an African-American infant when she was expecting a child who looks like herself. How insensitive would we look if we rushed right into her hospital room and asked her to sign waivers of release?”

Albert Squires, a balding, paunchy, retired executive, joined the discussion. “Miss Malone has had time. Her lawyer is calling and threatening to sue. The Children’s Connection needs to offer compensation.”

It was a generous offer coming from a man who’d worn the same burgundy suit to board meetings since 1995.

“A payoff is an admission of wrongdoing,” Miles Remington, the youngest member of the board, disagreed. “Are we admitting responsibility?”

“The clinic is responsible,” Dianna replied. “Someone mixed up the sperm from the donors and fertilized her eggs with sperm from an African-American.”

“How do we know for certain that Miss Malone intends to sue?” John G. Reynolds asked, joining the conversation for the first time.

“Her mother’s lawyer is asking for compensation,” Oliver replied.

“The mother can’t sue without the daughter,” the man replied. “Perhaps this is a lot of blustering to see how much they can bleed us for without going public.”

Terrence Logan, retired CEO of Logan Corporation, stood and walked to a table laden with a silver coffee urn and assorted pastries. He poured himself a steaming cup and returned to again fold his six-foot frame into his chair. “We’ve kept tabs through her doctor and her counselor at the clinic. What we need is someone to talk to the woman directly. Check her out, see where she stands on the issues and discover whether or not she’s amenable to compensation.”

“Justin’s the man.” Miles emphasized his words by jabbing his doughnut in the air. “Why isn’t he here, anyway?”

Miles was referring to Justin Weber, the Logans’ close family friend and corporate attorney for Children’s Connection, one of the premier fertility clinics in the country.

“He’s flying back from Chicago this afternoon,” Terrence replied. “Late yesterday he settled with the insurance company over that fire incident.”

“Send him to evaluate the Malone woman,” Garnet Kearn said. She was a small woman with thin, wispy hair dyed a mousy brown and badly permed, making her head look like a large coconut. “That’s his job.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Terrence said. “He’s scheduled for his vacation, and I can’t ask him to postpone it again. He’s promised to take his boys to Cannon Beach.”

He was referring to the company-owned suites in an elegant inn on the coast of Oregon where their executives, board members and corporate attorney shared privileges.

“When does he leave?” Albert asked.

Terrence took a sip of coffee. “He should have returned this morning, but he stayed over to wind up this Chicago deal.”

Silence fell over the room. The clock on the wall ticked off the minutes like a time bomb.

Wayne Thorpe sat forward, his chair complaining beneath his considerable weight. The other board members looked to him with interest. He didn’t speak often, but when he did, his words were usually worthy of listening. His nose and cheeks were florid from his nightly appointment with a bourbon bottle, and he wore heavy gold signet rings on both pinkies. “Things are probably tense for Meredith Malone,” he said. “We need to consider her feelings in the matter. The board might be wise to give her more time to think over her situation and her choices.”

No one said a word, digesting the suggestion, wondering where he was taking it.

Dianna March nodded her agreement.

“I’m sure there’s an available suite at the Lighthouse Inn,” Thorpe added. “It’s February, after all, off-season.”

Terrence looked decidedly uncomfortable.

Dianna’s eyebrows rose.

As the implication sunk in, Thorpe’s proposal was met with nods and sidelong glances. Send Meredith Malone to the same inn where their attorney would be vacationing.

“It would keep her away from the media awhile longer,” Albert agreed.

“And give her some private time with her baby,” Garnet said. “The clinic is all about families.”

Terrence shook his head, but every person in the room, including him, knew something had to be done.

“Who will make the offer?” Miles asked.

“The chairman?” Wayne Thorpe suggested.

“Excellent idea.” Oliver slapped the table as if banging a gavel. Murmurs of agreement echoed.

Dianna March was the chairwoman this term. Fitting that a woman should make the offer. As she tucked her hair behind one ear, diamonds glittered on her slender hand. “I’ll see to it this afternoon.”