Strong Medicine (57 page)

and abstained."

He shook his head regretfully, and left.

One by one the others followed until Celia was alone.

13

"I know something is wrong," Andrew said at dinner, breaking a lengthy

silence, "and my guess is, seriously wrong."

He stopped, and when Celia made no immediate reply, continued. "You've been

quiet since I came in, and I know your moods pretty well, so I won't bug

you. But when you want to talk, and need me . . . well, my love, I'm here."

She put down her knife and fork alongside the meal she had scarcely

touched, and turned to him, her eyes brimming.

"Oh, darling! How I need you!"

He reached out, covering her hand with his, and said gently, "Take your

time. Finish dinner first."

She told him, "I can't eat."

Soon after, in their living room and sipping a brandy which Andrew poured,

Celia described the past two days' events, culminating in her failure to

convince Sam and others this afternoon that the launching of Montayne

should be delayed.

Andrew listened carefully, injecting an occasional question. At the end he

told her, "I don't see what else you could have done."

"There was nothing else," Celia said. "But what I have to decide is-what do

I do now?"

"Do you have to make a decision, at least right away? Why not

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take some time or I could get away too, and we'll take a trip somewhere."

Ile urged, "Away from pressures, you could think everything through, then do

whatever seems right when you get back."

She smiled gratefully. "I wish it would keep that long. But it's something

I can't put off."

Andrew came to Celia and kissed her, then assured her, "You know I'll help

in any way I can. But remember one thing. I've always been proud of you,

and I'll go on being that, whatever you decide."

Looking at her husband fondly, she thought: A lesser man would have

reminded her of their argument in the hotel in San Francisco, when Andrew

had refused to concede his doubts about Montayne, or the use of any drug by

pregnant women. That was when Celia had suggested-maliciously, as she saw

it now-that his medical reasoning might be prejudiced or outdated, maybe

both.

WeU, Celia was now the one who had come around to having doubts, but Andrew

was too big a person ever to say, "I told you SO."

If she were to apply Andrew's standards to her own present dilemma, she

wondered, which way would it be decided?

She didn't even have to ask. She knew.

She remembered, too, some advice given to her years earlier.

"There is something you have: a gift, an instinct, forjudging what is righ

t . . . Use your gift, Celia . . . When you have power, be strong to do

what you believe . . . Don't let lesser people dissuade you.

Emotion surged as she remembered Eli Camperdown. The longago president of

Felding-Roth had spoken those words, near death, in his home at Mount

Kemble Lake.

Andrew asked, "More brandy?"

"No, thank you."

She finished what was in her glass, met Andrew's eyes, then declared

decisively, "I cannot take part in marketing Montayne. I'm going to

resign."

In all of her twenty-four years at Felding-Roth, it was the most painful

thing she had ever done.

Celia's letter, handwritten and addressed to Sam, was brief.

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4

With the greatest personal regret I am resigning as Director

of Pharmaceutical Sales and from Felding-Roth.

This letter will terminate my connection with the company.

You are aware of my reasons. It seems unnecessary to repeat

them.

I wish to say that my years of employment here have been

pleasurable and privileged. Not least among the privileges have

been your support and friendship for which I have been-and

remain-most grateful

I am leaving without bitterness. I wish Felding-Roth Pharma-

ceuticals and its people success in every way.

Celia sent the letter, hand delivered, to the president's office and

followed it herself a half hour later. She was shown in immediately to

Sam's inner office. Behind her a door closed quietly.

Sam looked up from a paper he was reading. His features were set grimly

and his voice was cold. "You asked to see me. Why?"

She responded uncertainly, "I've been with the company a long time, most

of it working for you. I felt I couldn't just walk out

He cut in, with a savage anger she had never seen before, "But that's

exactly what you are doing! Walking out on all of us-your friends,

colleagues, others who've depended on you. Quitting disloyally at the

worst possible time, an important merchandising time, when the company

needs you."

She protested, "My leaving has nothing to do with loyalty or friendship."

"Obviously not!"

She had not been asked to sit down, so continued to stand.

"Sam," she pleaded, "please understand! I cannot, simply cannot, help to

sell Montayne. It's become a matter of conscience."

He retorted, "You call it conscience. I could apply other names."

She asked, curiously, "Other names like what?"

"For one: feminine hysteria. For another: phony, uninformed

self-righteousness. Spitefulness at not getting your own way, so you

quit."

Sam glared as he went on. "Why, you're behaving no better than women who

carry placards in the streets or chain themselves to fences. The truth

is, you've been duped, made a sucker by that know-nothing bitch,

Stavely."

He motioned to that morning's New York Times, which lay open

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on his desk, turned to a news item featuring a statement by Dr. Maud

Stavely who, too, had learned of the deformed baby cases in France and

Spain and was using them in her own campaign to delay Montayne. Celia had

read the Times story earlier.

"What you just said isn't the truth," Celia insisted, "and I have not

been duped." She decided to ignore the petty anti-feminist remarks.

As if he had not heard Celia's disclaimer, he sneered, "Now, I suppose

you'll go to join Stavely and her gang."

"No," Celia said. "I'll be joining nothing, seeing no one, making no

statement whatever about why I'm leaving." She added, in a voice she

hoped was reasonable, "After all, I admitted yesterday that most of what

I feel is instinct."

Never before had she seen Sam in a mood so ugly. Despite it, she decided

to make a last appeal, one final try.

"I'd like to remind you," Celia said, "of something you once told me. It

was when I was in London after we recruited Martin PeatSmith.,'

Earlier today, thinking about this meeting, she had remembered Sam's

words when she managed to lure Martin into the Felding-Roth orbit after

Sam had failed. Before it happened, Sam warned her against mentioning

money to Martin, but Celia ignored the warning and it was money which,

in the end, had tipped the balance where Martin was concerned. On

learning the news, and an the telephone from Boonton, Sam declared, "If

ever, someplace down the road, you and I differ on a matter ofjudgment

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

and that your judgment was right and mine wrong. "

She reminded him now, and it was as if she had addressed an iceberg.

"Even if that's true," he snapped, "and though you say it is, I don't

remember, it's merely proof your judgment has gone to pieces in the

meantime."

Suddenly, great sadness and emotion seized her, so she had difficulty in

speaking, but managed to say, "Goodbye, Sam."

He didn't answer.

At home, it seemed extraordinary to Celia that the act of leaving

Felding-Roth had been so simple. She had merely cleared her desk of

personal things, said goodbyes to her secretary and a few others in the

office, some of whom had been tearful, then driven away.

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In a way, she supposed, her abrupt departure had been inconsiderate, but in

another it had been essential. In recent weeks almost all of Celia's work

had centered on Montayne, and since it was work she could no longer do in

good conscience, staying on would have achieved nothing. There was also the

fact that everything in her department was in order; therefore Bill Ingram,

who would have taken over anyway in a few weeks' time, could move in at

once without disruption.

The thought reminded her that she would never, now, be a corporate vice

president-a poignant disappointment since the cup had come so close. But,

she told herself, it was a disappointment she would learn to live with.

Andrew telephoned Celia twice during the day, first at her office, then

later at home. On learning that her resignation had already taken effect,

he announced he would be home early, and arrived in time for afternoon tea

which Celia prepared. The experience was new for her. She supposed that

from now on she would be doing it more often.

They greeted each other lovingly.

Soon after, as Andrew sipped his tea, he told her gently, "You need a rest

from decisions, so I've taken some for us both. One is that you and I are

going to live a little."

He produced a large manila envelope. "I stopped at a travel agency on the

way home, about one of my other decisions. We are going on a tour."

"To where?"

"To everywhere. A world tour."

She threw up her hands. "Oh, Andrew, you're wonderful! You're a comfort

just to be with."

"Let's hope you feel that way after six months of togetherness on ships and

in hotels." He began pulling brochures from the envelope. "To begin, I

thought we'd fly to Europe, do some touring there-France, Spain, Italy,

anywhere else that interests either one of us-then take a ship through the

Mediterranean . . ."

Despite her depression from the past few days, Celia's spirits lifted. A

world tour was something they had often talked about, but always vaguely,

as something for the future. She thought: so why not now? Would there ever

be a better time?

Andrew-with a small boy's enthusiasm, she observed affectionately-was

already making the idea come alive. "We should go to Egypt and Israel, then

stop at the United Arab Emirates . . . In-

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dia, of course . . . Japan's a must, so is Singapore . . . we have to

include Australia and New Zealand

She said, "It's a magnificent idea!"

"Something I'll have to do," Andrew explained, "is get another doctor in

the practice-a locum tenens-to help out while I'm away. That will probably

take a month to arrange, so we can get away by March." There would be no

problem concerning the children, both of them knew, because Lisa and Bruce

had committed themselves to summer jobs away from home.

They went on talking, Celia aware that the pain of today would inevitably

return, and perhaps never disappear entirely, but at the moment-with

Andrew's encouragement-she succeeded in pushing it away.

Later that evening Andrew asked, "I know it's early, but have you given any