Strong Medicine (38 page)

station and they said a formal, somewhat strained, goodbye. Celia's return

train was a painfully slow local which stopped at almost every station, and

it was past 11:30 P.m. by the time she arrived at the London terminus, this

time King's Cross. She took a taxi to the Berkeley, reaching the hotel

shortly before midnight.

During most of the journey Celia reconstructed the day's events, especially

her own part in them. What had jolted her, as much as anything, was

Martin's cutting accusation: You're quite ruthless, aren't you? Was she

ruthless? Looking in a mental mirror, Celia admitted that perhaps she was.

Then she corrected herself: Not '~qerhaps. " Make that "certainly. "

But, she reasoned, wasn't some ruthlessness necessary? Neces-

sary --- especially for a woman-to have carved a career, as Celia

had, and to have made it to where she was? Yes. Of course!

Furthermore, she reminded herself, ruthlessness was not-or, rather, need

not be-equated with dishonesty. In essence it was a commitment to be tough

in business, to make unpleasant hard decisions, fight through to the

essentials, and dispense with an excess of worry concerning other

individuals. Equally to the point: If her own responsibilities increased in

future, she would need to be even tougher, even more ruthless, than before.

Why, then, if being ruthless was a fact of business life, had Martin's

remark so bothered her? Probably because she liked and re-

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spected him, and therefore wished him to feel the same way about her.

Well, did he? Celia wondered about that briefly, then decided obviously

not, after their showdown of this afternoon.

However, did Martin's opinion of her really matter? The answer: nol One

reason: there was still something of the child in Martin, even at

thirty-two. Celia had once heard someone say of research scientists,

"They spend so much of their lives becoming more and more educated that

they have time for little else and, in some ways, stay children forever."

For sure, some of that seemed true of Martin. Celia knew that she was

much more a person of the world than he.

What was important, then? Not Martin's personal feelings, nor Celia's

either, but the outcome of today.

True? Yes, again.

As to that oatcome---Celia sighed within her-she wasn't optimistic. In

fact, she almost certainly did, to use Sam's phrase, "blow it by being

crass." The more she thought about that, the less she liked what she had

done, the more the memories of the day depressed her. The downbeat mood

persisted as far as the hotel.

In the lobby of the Berkeley she was greeted by a uniformed concierge.

"Good evening, Mrs. Jordan. Did you have a pleasant day?"

"Yes, thank you." In her mind she added: Just some parts of it.

In turning to reach for her key, the concierge gathered up several

message forms which Celia accepted. She would read them later in her

room.

Then, about to turn away, she heard, "And, oh yes, Mrs. Jordan. This one

came in a few minutes ago. A gentleman phoned. I took it down myself. It

doesn't seem to make much sense, but he said you'd understand."

Tired, and without interest, Celia glanced at the slip of paper. Then her

eyes were riveted.

The message read:

TO EVERY THING THERE IS A SEASON INCLUDING

CRASS AMERICANS BEARING GIFrS. THANK YOU.

I ACCEPT. -MARTIN.

Unusually, and to the frowning disapproval of the concierge, the staid

lobby of the Berkeley echoed to a loud and piercing cry from Celia.

I'Yippeel"

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A few days before Celia's Sunday tour of Cambridge, Sam and Lilian

Hawthorne had left Britain for a brief visit to Paris and from there had

flown directly to New York on Saturday. Therefore it was not until Monday,

at 3:30 P.m. London time, that Celia reached Sam by telephone in his

office at Felding-Roth, New Jersey.

When she informed him of the news about Martin Peat-Smith, he reacted

enthusiastically, telling her, "I'm delighted, though astounded. Celia,

you're incredible! How the devil did you do it?"

She had been expecting the question and said cautiously, "I'm not sure

you'll like this." Then she reported her conversation with Martin about

money, and how that, as much as anything else, had influenced his change

of mind.

At the other end of the line, Sam moaned audibly. "Oh, shit!-if you'll

pardon me." Then he said, "I was the one who warned you not to mention

money, and how could I have been so wrong?"

"You couldn't have known," she assured him. "I just probed, and uncovered

some of Martin's problems. By the way, he called me ruthless for doing

that."

"Never mind! What you did produced the result we wanted. I should have

done the same, but didn't have your insight and persistence. "

Celia thought, You also didn't have Andrew to advise you. Aloud, she

said, "Sam, for goodness' sake stop blaming yourself! It isn't

necessary."

"All right, I will. But I'll make you a little pledge."

She asked, "What's that?"

"If ever, someplace down the road, you and I differ on a matter of

judgment that's important, you have my permission to remind me of this

incident, and that your judgment was right and mine wrong."

"I hope it never happens," Celia said.

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Sam changed the subject. "You're coming home this week, aren't you?"

"The day after tomorrow. I love London, but I love Andrew and the

children more."

"Good! As soon as you're horne, you'd better take some days off to be

with their. But then, in a few weeks, I'll want you back in Britain

again. There'll be more things to do. in setting up the institute; also

we'll need to hire an administrator. Martin's research skills are too

ir-aportant to waste on organization and office work."

"I agree," Ceiia said, "and all of that sounds fine."

"Something else that's fine," Sam said, "is that during the few days I

had in Paris last week I acquired the American rigl~l_s to a new French

drug for Felding-Roth. It's still experimental and won't be ready for at

least two years. But it looks extremely promising."

"Congratulations! Does it have a name?"

"Yes," Sam said. "It's called Montayne. You'll hear much mere about it

later."

The remainder of 1972 and into '73 was, for Celia, an exciting,

stimulating time. She made five more trips to Britain, each of several

weeks' duration. On two of them, Andrew joined her for part of the time;

ori another, Lisa and Bruce flew over. While Andrew was in Britain he and

Martin met; the two men liked each other and later Andrew told Celia,

"The only thing Mar-tin needs is a woman like you to share his life. I

hope he flads one."

While the children were visiting her, and during times when she was not

working, Celia, Lisa and Bruce inspected the sights of London to---in

Celia's words-"exhaustion point."

Bruce, now twelve, revealed himself as a history addict. As he explained

it one Sunday morning while the three of them walked around the Tower of

London, "It's all there, Mom, for anybody to find out-what went right,

and all the mistakes. You can learn so much from what's already

happened."

"Yes, you can," Celia said. "Unfortunately, most of us don't."

Bruce's fascination with history continued during a second tour of

Cambridge. conducted, this time for the children, by Martin Peat-Smith.

Celia met regularly with Martin during her working trips to Britain,

though their total time together was not great because each was busy in

differing ways.

Martin, now that his decisioD to join Felding-Roth was made, showed

himself very much in charge, and aware of his requirements

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of equipment and staff. He recruited another nucleic acid chemist, a young

Pakistani, Dr. Rao.Sastri, who would be second-in-command on the scientific

side. There were specialist technicians, including a cell culture expert and

another skilled in electrophoretic separation of proteins and nucleic acids.

A woman animal care supervisor would safeguard the hundreds of rats and

rabbits to be used in experiments.

During visits to Harlow, Martin discussed the location of laboratories,

staff, and equipment in the building where conversion work was already

under way. However, such visits were brief, and until the institute was

ready Martin would continue research in his Cambridge lab. Apart from the

necessary excursions to Harlow, Martin insisted that his time not be taken

up by administrative matters which others could handle-a strategy already

endorsed by Sam Hawthorne and implemented by Celia.

Celia hired an administrator whose name was Nigel Bentley. A smallish,

confident, sparrowlike man in his mid-fifties, Bentley had recently retired

from the Royal Air Force where, with the rank of squadron leader, he was in

charge of the administrative side of a large RAF hospital. The ex-officer's

qualifications for the new post were excellent; he also understood what was

expected of him.

In Celia's presence, Bentley told Martin, "The less I bother you, sir-in

fact, the less you see of me-the better I'll be doing my job." Celia liked

the statement, also the "sir," which was a gracious way of making clear

that Bentley understood what the relationship between himself and the much

younger scientist was expected to be.

In between trips to Britain, and while Celia was back in the United States,

a personal milestone-at least, as she saw it--occurred in her life. That

was in September 1972 when Lisa, at age fourteen, excitedly left home to

enter boarding school. The school was Emma Willard in upstate New York, and

the whole family accompanied Lisa on her odyssey. At home during dinner the

night before, Celia asked Andrew nostalgically, "Where did all those years

go?"

But it was Lisa--ever practical-who answered, "They happened while you were

getting all those promotions at work, Mommy. And I've figured out that I'll

just be graduating from college when you get to sit in Mr. Hawthorne's

chair."

They all laughed at that, and the good time extended through the next day

when they, with other parents, families and new girls,

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were initiated into the beauty, enlivening spirit, and traditions of Emma

Willard School.

Two weeks later Celia returned once more to Britain. Sam Hawthorne, deeply

involved with other requirements of the company presidency, was now leaving

almost all details of the British scene to her.

Eventually. in February 1973, the Felding-Roth Research Institute (U.K.)

Limited was officially opened. At the same time, Dr. Martin Peat-Smith's

research project into Alzheimer's disease and the mental aging process was

transferred from Cambridge to Harlow.

It had been decided, as a matter of company policy, that no other research

wouid be embarked on in Britain for the time being. The reasoning, as Sam

confided it to the board of directors at a meeting in New Jersey, was that