Strong Medicine (56 page)

was not the cause of the three babies in Australia, France and Spain being

born as 'vegetables'-babies, we ought to remember, who cannot move their

limbs and lack normally functioning brains." If others were afraid of

putting unpleasant truths into words, she decided, she would not be.

Lord said, "I'm glad you were listening."

She ignored the unpleasant tone and asked, "Since Montayne was not the

cause of those deformities, what was?"

"I thought I made clear it could be one of several, or even many, causes."

She persisted, "But which one?"

Lord said exasperatedly, "How do I know which one? It could have been a

different cause in each case. All I know is, based on scientific judgment

by experts on the spot, the cause was not Montayne."

"So the truth is, no one knows with certainty what did damage those fetuses

and cause the deformed births."

The research director threw up his hands. "For God's sake, I've already

said so! In different words, maybe, but-"

"Celia," Sam interjected, "just what are you getting at?"

"What I'm getting at," she answered, "is that despite everything Vince has

said, I'm uncomfortable. No one knows. I'm still not satisfied. I'm having

doubts."

Someone asked, "What kind of doubts?"

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"About Montayne." It was Celia's turn to survey the faces around her. "I

have a feeling-if you like, call it instinct-that something is wrong,

something we don't yet know about. Also that there are questions to which

we ought to know the answers, but we don't."

Lord sneered, "A woman's instinct, I suppose."

She snapped, "What's wrong with that?"

Sam ordered sharply, "Everybody cool it!" He told Celia, "If you have a

suggestion, let's hear it."

"My suggestion," she said, "is that we should delay the launching of

Montayne."

She was conscious of everyone in the room regarding her with incredulity.

Sam's lips had tightened. "Delay for how long, and precisely why?"

Celia said deliberately and carefully, "I suggest a postponement of six

months. In that time there may be no more instances of defective births.

Or there could be. I hope it doesn't happen, but if it does there could

be information we do not have now, and which would give us, perhaps,

greater confidence to proceed with Montayne."

There was a shocked silence which Sam broke. "You can't be gerious."

"I am very serious." She met his eyes directly. When she came here she

had been uncertain of her own feelings. She had been uneasy-but with

ambivalence. Now she was ambivalent no longer because, jarfrom reassuring

her, Vincent Lord's emphatic certaint)-too much certainty!-had reinforced

her doubts.

And yes, she admitted to herself in taking the stand she had just

declared, she was relying on her instincts, and little more. But her

instincts had been right before.

Celia knew there was a difficult task ahead of her to convince the

others, with Sam the most important. But they had to be convinced. They

must be persuaded that it was now in everyone's best interest to delay

Montayne's American debut-in the interest of pregnant women who might

take the drug and have their babies endangered; of the company,

Felding-Roth; and of all of them here who were responsible for what the

company did.

"Do you have any idea, " Sam was asking, still shocked, "what a delay in

launching Montayne would involve?"

"Of course I do!" Celia let her own voice take on an edge. "Who

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would know better than me? Has anyone been more involved with Montayne than

I have?"

"No," Sam said. "That's why what you're saying is so unbelie'vable."

"It's also why you can be sure I'm not making the suggestion lightly."

Sam turned toward Seth Feingold. "What do you estimate it would cost us to

delay Montayne?"

The elderly comptroller looked uncomfortable. He was Celia's friend. Also

he was out of his depth where scientific matters were concerned and plainly

wished he were not involved. Bill Ingram, too, appeared discomfited; Celia

sensed that Bill was torn by inner conflicts-loyalty to her and probably

his own ideas about Montayne. Well, we all have our problems, she thought,

and I, at this moment, certainly have mine.

One thing had been resolved, though. There was no longer any sense of

haste. Clearly, Sam and others had accepted that the issue raised by Celia

must be resolved, however long it took.

Feingold had his head down and was rnaking calculations with a pencil.

Looking up, he advised, "In round figures we've committed thirty-two

million dollars to Montayne. Not all of it has been spent, so perhaps a

quarter would be retrievable. But there are substantial general costs I've

not included. As to the real cost of a delay, it's impossible to guess. It

would depend on the length of delay and the eventual effect on projected

sales."

"I'll tell you one effect there would be," Hammond, of public affairs,

declared. "If we delay Montayne now, the press will have a field day.

They'll discredit the drug and it might never recover."

Sam acknowledged, "I've thought of that too. Delay at this point would, in

some ways, be as bad as canceling."

He swung back to Celia, his tone accusing. "If we did as you suggest-and

for the vaguest of reasons-have you given any thought to the questions and

angry reaction there would be from the board of directors and stockholders?

And have you considered our employees who would have to be laid off, who

might lose their jobs permanently?"

"Yes," she said, trying to stay calm, concealing the agony this was causing

her, "I have thought of all that. I thought about it last night and through

most of today."

Sam grunted skeptically, then returned to Feingold. "So one way or another

we'd be taking a chance of losing twenty-eight million,

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more or less, to say nothing of a much greater loss of anticipated

profits."

The comptroller glanced regretfully at Celia as he answered, "That's the

potential loss, it's true."

Sam said grimly, "And we can't afford it, can we?"

Feingold shook his head sadly. "No."

"However," Celia pointed out, "the loss could be greater still if we ran

into trouble with Montayne."

Glen Nicholson said uneasily, "There is that to think about." It was the

first support, even if tentative, which Celia had received and she shot

the manufacturing chief a grateful glance.

Vincent Lord chimed in, "But we don't expect to have trouble. That is,

unless the rest of you"-he surveyed the others-"are willing to accept the

lady as our ranking scientific expert."

There was some halfhearted laughter, quickly snuffed out at an impatient

gesture from Sam.

"Celia," Sam said, "please listen to me carefully." His voice was

serious, but more controlled than a few moments ago, and again their eyes

met directly. "I'd like you to reconsider. It could be that you've spoken

hastily and made a judgment without weighing all the implications. Each

of us here does similar things at times. I certainly have, and have had

to swallow my pride and backtrack, admitting I've been wrong. If you were

to do that now, none of us would think an iota the worse of you, and what

happened here will end here. I promise that, just as I urge you to change

your mind. What do you say?"

She was silent, not wanting to rush into a commitment either way without

considering it first. Sam had just offered her-easily, graciously, as was

his way--a dignified route out. All she had to do was utter a word, a

phrase, and the impasse would be over, a crisis averted as swiftly as it

came. The offer was extraordinarily tempting.

Before she could answer, Sam added, "You have a lot at stake personally."

She knew exactly what he meant. Her appointment as corporate vice

president of sales and merchandising had not yet been confirmed. And if

what was happening here proceeded to its logical conclusion, it might

never be.

Sam was right. There was a lot at stake.

She took a moment more to consider, then told him quietly and decisively,

"Sam, I'm sorry. I have weighed everything. I do know

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what's at stake. But I must still recommend that we delay the introduction

of Montayne."

It was done. As Sam's face clouded, then suffused with anger, she knew

that now there could be no turning back.

"Very well," he pronounced tautly. "At least we know where we stand." He

considered, then went on, "Earlier I said there would be no formal vote

here. Cancel that. I want us to go on record. Seth, please take notes."

The comptroller, his expression still sad, again produced his pencil and

held it poised.

'I have already made my own position clear," Sam said. "I am, of course,

in favor of continuing our introduction of Montayne, as planned. I wish

to know who agrees or disagrees. Those who agree, raise their hands."

Vincent Lord's hand shot up. Those of Dr. Starbut, Hammond, and two other

vice presidents followed. Nicholson, apparently overcoming his doubts,

raised his hand too. Bill Ingram hesitated; he looked at Celia in mute

appeal. But she turned away, refusing to help him; he must make his own

decision. After a second more, Bill's hand went up.

Sam and the others were looking at Seth Feingold. The comptroller sighed,

put down his pencil and waveringly raised his hand.

"That's nine to one," Sam said. "It doesn't leave any doubt that this

company will continue with the launching of Montayne."

Once more there was a silence, this time awkward, as if no one knew what

to do or say next. Amid it, Sam stood up.

"As you know," he said, "when all of this began, I was about to leave to

see my (laughter and grandson at the hospital. I'll go there now." But

the earlier joy had left his voice. Sam nodded to the other men, but

pointedly ignored Celia as he left.

She remained in her seat. Bill Ingram, now standing, moved toward her.

"I'm sorry . . ." he began.

She waved him to silence. "It doesn't matter. I don't want to hear."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, she realized that everything she had built up for

herself within the company-her position, authority, reputation, future

prospects-had come tumbling down. Could she even survive here now? She

wasn't sure.

Bill said, "I have to ask this. What are you going to do?" When she

didn't answer, he went on. "Surely, now that you've made your

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protest, now that everyone knows where you stand about Montayne . . . surely

you can go on directing sales?"

Celia responded dully, not wanting to make decisions now, "I don't know. I

just don't know." But she did know that, at home tonight, she would have to

think her position through.

Seth Feingold told her, "I hated to vote against you, Celia. But you know

how it is-I don't understand anything scientific."

She glared at him. "Then why did you vote at all? You could have said that,