Free HER MIRACLE TWINS by MARGARET BARKER

that it had all ended for him. Yes, that was why she felt so upset, why she didn’t trust herself to speak as she turned away and focussed her attention on a picture of the view from the house.
    She could feel the warmth of the day lingering in the closed-in atmosphere. He went to open a window as she followed him into the spacious kitchen. She glanced around her. It was an absolutely ideal kitchen. The space would be a pure joy to work in for someone who had time to cook for a family or throw large dinner parties but Michel didn’t exactly fit into that category.
    The kitchen resembled something out of an expensive, glossy magazine but it didn’t look lived in. Some of the appliances had obviously never been used.
    ‘What’s this for?’ She put her hand on an expensive-looking piece of equipment that had been integrated along a wall of electric appliances.
    He grinned boyishly. ‘I’ve no idea! I only know how to work the important stuff like the cooker. And occasionally the washing machine when I’ve forgotten to put out my stuff for the woman who comes in from the agency once a week to keep the place clean.’
    He pressed a switch and quiet classical music started.
    ‘Rachmaninov,’ she said. ‘One of my favourite composers.’
    He nodded. ‘Me too. You know, the man I bought this house from was in charge of a firm that supplied houses fully furnished to order. His client had defaulted so I bought the house because I liked the view. As long as I’ve got a cooker, a fridge, music at the flick of a switch and a bed, that’s all I’m interested in.’
    ‘It’s absolutely wonderful but...’
    ‘Go on, though I know what you’re going to say.’
    ‘Do you?’ She hoped not. If she was honest she would tell him that it lacked a woman’s touch. It lacked any feeling that it was a home.
    ‘You were going to tell me it’s like a bachelor pad, weren’t you? A place where a man can lay this head at the end of the day.’
    She gave him a wry smile. ‘You said that, not me.’
    ‘I said it because it’s true. It serves its purpose.’
    He was uncorking a bottle of wine as he spoke. ‘Let’s take our drinks on the terrace. That’s my favourite place.’
    ‘I can see why.’ She settled herself among the cushions on the long wicker sofa as he handed her a glass then sat down at the other end. There were small tables at each end but only one looked as if it had been used. The other still had a label prominently displayed.
    ‘You’re quite right, Michel, it’s the view that makes this place.’
    ‘And the people in it.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you for agreeing to have out meeting up here.’ He cleared his throat. ‘It will be easier to discuss the problems we might encounter with our parenting plan if we haven’t got anyone else overhearing us. You say you’ve already contacted a clinic in Paris?’
    She took a sip of wine as she warmed to her subject. ‘The director of the clinic is a former colleague of mine. He and his wife became personal friends. They used to give excellent dinner parties. He’s an obstetrician/ gynaecologist who took early retirement so that he could open his own clinic to help couples who want a baby but need some kind of conception assistance. Most of his work is with fertility problems but he’s agreed to check out our plan for donor insemination.’
    ‘Sounds good so far. I’ve been drawing up a list of parenting responsibilities which we must take very seriously.’
    He broke off to move closer to her on the sofa, bringing the bottle with him so he could top up her glass.
    At first she felt as if she should be taking notes, but somewhere along the way they were distracted by talking about their backgrounds. She started it by asking Michel how old he’d been when his parents had died.
    ‘I think it’s important to know things that our child will need to know,’ she explained. ‘Conventional, normal couples will already know these things.’
    ‘Oh, absolutely!’ He