The Nemesis Cell

Chapter Three

Chapter ThreeBrussels, May 1st 1976

“Welcome, ladies, I bid you welcome. My name is Doctor Charles DeVries, and it is my pleasure on behalf of all the doctors and staff here at the clinic to wish you all a happy stay in our facility and an even happier future upon leaving us. If you will all please give your first names to Angelique here at the desk, one at a time please, she will allocate your rooms to you and you will be shown to them directly. Remember, first names only, please, ladies. We like to preserve our clients' privacy here at the clinic, even from one another, so we make it a condition of your stay here that you only use your first names when conversing with each other. No surnames here please, ladies, ever!”

This last was delivered with such force and conviction that some of the women assembled in the foyer of the clinic that day felt as though they'd just entered some kind of strange military boot camp and that they were being addressed by the sergeant major of the rookie platoon, rather than being checked into a fertility clinic on the outskirts of the beautiful city of Brussels by the otherwise charming and extremely handsome Dr. Charles DeVries.

Each of the six women present in the spacious, brightly lit reception area of the clinic had arrived that day, according to pre-arranged instructions from Dr. DeVries. Some had arrived in Belgium, one, two, or three days ago, but had arranged accommodation in various hotels until the time had come for them to report to the clinic. It was certain that every one of them had been impressed as their respective taxis had carried them from the small local station on the outskirts of the city to their destination, and they'd observed the broad sweeping lawns of the facility as they drove up the twisting gravelled drive, which crunched satisfyingly under the tyres of the cab. The gardens bordering the lawns were lush and beautifully landscaped, with a dazzling array of flowers of every imaginable hue set in the expansive borders, a true delight to behold.

Everything about the approach to the clinic spoke of peace and serenity, of harmony, and of a place to relax, take things easy, and enjoy. There were other women already at the clinic. The new arrivals saw them taking walks in the grounds and enjoying the spring sunshine, seemingly without a care in the world. This was truly set up to be a haven of tranquillity, a place where they could forget the pressures of home, and concentrate on the one thing that mattered most to them at this time in their lives. It would be true to say that each of those six women felt as though she had arrived at a crossroads in her life, and that the new direction she was about to take would shape a whole new optimistic future for her and the baby she hoped would be hers before too long.

Lucia Cannavaro was the first of the women to reach the reception desk, her Latin temperament causing her to rush to be 'numero uno' when it came to checking in and being allocated her room. It wasn't rudeness, but it was Italian-ness!

“My name is Lucia,” she stated clearly to Angelique, the receptionist, sticking strictly to the first name rule.

“Ah, yes, Lucia, you are in the Blenheim Wing, room number four,” said Angelique, after checking a list on the desk in front of her. Aged about twenty-four, with blonde hair cut to her shoulders, Angelique was a highly professional medical receptionist. She was also a registered nurse, as was evidenced by the shoulder flashes on her crisp, white uniform, and the badge identifying her nursing orders stitched to her dress above the left breast pocket, from which a number of pens and a mini-torch projected, all neatly arrayed like soldiers in a row.

“Please take a seat, Lucia, and when I have allocated rooms to all of the other ladies, I will have each of you escorted to your accommodations.”

Lucia did as she was bid and settled herself into one of the comfortable armchairs which were placed strategically around the reception area as Angelique efficiently continued her work with the others. As she waited, she listened as the other women identified themselves to the receptionist:

“Katerina,” said the first, in an accent Lucia couldn't place, followed by “My name is Theresa,” this time in an unmistakeable Irish accent.

Angelique wasted no time in assigning the two women to rooms one and three, in the same wing as Lucia. It transpired that all the women would be housed in the clinic's Blenheim Wing, this being reserved for those undergoing the newest experimental treatments and procedures.

Katerina and Theresa soon joined Lucia in the waiting armchairs, as first an American named Tilly, then an English woman by the name of Elizabeth and a Slavic-looking girl who went by the name of Christa each registered themselves with Angelique and were allocated their rooms. It seemed that each woman would have a private room during their stay at the clinic, as Dr. DeVries quickly explained that it was necessary for certain procedures to be carried out which needed privacy, and it was thought that the clients at the clinic would feel more at home if the procedures were carried out in the more homely confines of their accommodations rather than in the more clinical conditions of the laboratories or treatment rooms as used for some of the more routine fertility treatments on offer at the facility. Each and every room, he stated, was fitted with all the medical machinery and equipment necessary to carry out every aspect of their treatments, and if it weren't for the need for fresh air and exercise, they could actually spend their whole time at the clinic in their rooms, without ever seeing the daylight, though, as he laughingly pointed out, that would be like a prison sentence, and not at all what they had come for.

Some of the women giggled nervously at his words. Some, Lucia included, felt a slight shiver of trepidation as he spoke, as though the good doctor was not quite as convincing as he could have been. As soon as Angelique had finished with Christa, she pressed a button on her desk. A minute later, as if by magic, a door in the panelling behind her slid open and a man in white jacket and trousers appeared. The automatic door had opened in such silence that his entrance took them all by surprise, and drew one or two gasps from the waiting women.

“Automation, the technology of the future, ladies,” said DeVries, sensing their incredulity.

Of course, today we accept automatic sliding doors as an everyday appliance as we enter shops or offices, but, back in 1976, such things were a novelty, and usually confined in most peoples' minds to those scenes in Star Trek where the Captain or crew member approached a solid wall which suddenly sprang open with a whoosh to allow access to the bridge or another deck of the Starship Enterprise. The small group of women viewed the revelation of the automatic doors as though they were indeed entering the realm of science fiction.

The young man, who introduced himself as Marc, was no Captain Kirk, but was in fact the medical orderly in charge of escorting the women to their rooms in the Blenheim wing. DeVries spoke once more.

“You ladies will now be allowed two hours in which to settle in to your new accommodation. I trust you will find everything to your satisfaction. We wish you to be comfortable here. Please, take some time to refresh yourselves, take a shower, unpack, and perhaps phone your husbands to inform them of your safe arrival. At the end of the two hours I will visit each of you in turn to discuss the direction your individual treatments will take. You are all unique; your conception problems are individual and will require one-on-one consultations at all times during your stay at the clinic. Today is all about assimilation and tomorrow you will meet the clinical team who will carry out the actual procedures that we hope will be successful in helping you fulfil your dearest wishes.”

Lucia thought him one of the most considerate men she'd ever met. His voice was clam and reassuring, and she felt confident that she'd made the correct decision in responding to the advertisement.

With that, Marc bade the women follow him, and he led his multi-national cortege of ladies to their new homes away from home, in the Blenheim Wing, or 'Special Procedures Unit' as the staff at the clinic described it.