Strong Medicine (65 page)

Lisa and Bruce, then Celia and Andrew, embraced her, Winnie cautioned,

"Don't squeeze me too lard, m1oves, or little thingummy might pop out right

now."

Andrew laughed. "I haven't delivered a baby since I was an intem-a long

time ago-but I'm willing to try."

Hank, never talkative like his wife, beamed at them happily and busied

himself unloading baggage.

It was a little later, with the trio of Winnie, Celia and Andrew exchanging

news in the kitchen while other activity was going on outside, that a

sudden shocking thought occurred to Celia.

Almost afraid to ask, she said, "Winnie, while you've been pregnant, have

you been taking anything?"

"You mean for bein' sick in the mornin'T'

With growing dread, Celia answered, "Yes."

"Like that Montayne?" Winnie pointed to a copy of that morning's Newark

Star-Ledger spread open on a countertop, a news story about Montayne

prominent on the front page.

Dully, Celia nodded.

"Me doctor give me some samples an' told me to take it," Winnie said. "I

would lave, too. I was always bein' sick in the mornin's. 'Cept She glanced

at Andrew. "Is it okay to say, Dr. Jordan?"

He assured her, "Yes."

'Cept, before you both went away, Dr. Jordan told me-'e said

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it was a secret between us-if I was given any of that Montayne, not to

take it, but flush it down the loo. So that's what I did."

Winnie's eyes, brimming with tears, went to the newspaper, then to

Andrew. "I'd an 'ard enough time gettin' this baby. So . . . oh, God

bless you, Dr. Jordan!"

Celia, relieved and grateful, took Winnie in her arms and held her.

5

Sam Hawthorne had the appearance of a walking ghost.

The sight of him, during her first day back at Felding-Roth, so shocked

Celia that she found it impossible to speak. For that reason, Sam spoke

first.

"Well, how does it feel to return in glory, proved right and virtuous when

all the rest of us were wrong and evil? Pretty good, eh?"

The unfriendly words, in a rasping voice she scarcely recognized, added to

her shock. It was seven months since Celia had seen Sam. In that time he

appeared to have aged at least ten years. His face was haggard and pale,

with flesh around his cheekbones hanging loose. His eyes were dull and

seemed to have receded; beneath them were dark, baggy rings. His shoulders

drooped. He had lost weight dramatically so that the suit he was weanng was

ill-fitting.

"No, Sam," Celia said, "I don't feel good. Only sad for all of us, and I'm

desperately sorry about your grandson. As to coming back, I'm simply here

to help."

"Oh, yes, I thought you'd get around to being

She interrupted. "Sam, can't we go somewhere more private?"

They had encountered each other in a corridor where others were passing as

they talked. Celia had just come from a meeting with Seth Feingold and

several directors.

The president's office was a short distance away. Without speaking, Sam

walked toward it. Celia followed.

Inside, with the outer door closed, he swung toward her. The rough, sour

voice persisted. "What I started to say was-I thought

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you'd get around to being sorry. That's so easy. Now, why don't you go on

to say what you're really thinking?"

She said quietly, "You'd better tell me what you think I'm thinking."

"I know damn well! That I was criminally irresponsible in giving Montayne

to Juliet when the drug wasn't even approved. That I'm the one, I alone,

who caused Juliet and Dwight's baby, my grandson, to be the way he is-a

useless mockery of a human being, nothing but a Sam choked on the final

words and turned away.

Celia stood silently, torn by sorrow and compassion, weighing what to

say. Finally she spoke.

"If you want the truth, Sam-and this seems to be a moment for it-yes, I

did think that. I suppose I still do."

Sam was looking at her directly, hanging on her every word, she realized,

as she continued.

"But then there are other things you get around to remembering. That it's

easy to have twenty-twenty hindsight. That all of us make mistakes in

judgment . . ."

"You didn't make them. Not this one. Not a whole series of mistakes as

big as mine." Still the bitterness.

"I've made others," Celia said. "Everyone with responsibility does. And

it's often bad luck that makes some mistakes turn out worse than others."

"This is one of the worst." Sam moved behind his desk and slumped into

a chair. "And all those other babies, including the unborn ones. I'm

responsible . . ."

"No," she said firmly. "That isn't true. As far as the rest, you were

guided by the lead of Gironde-Chimie and by scientific advice. You

weren't alone. Other responsible people felt the same way."

"Except for you. What made you so special that you weren't taken in?"

She reminded him, "I was, to begin."

Sam put his head in his hands. "Oh, Christ! What a mess I've made." He

looked up. "Celia, I'm being unfair and rotten to you, aren't P"

"It doesn't matter."

His voice became lower, losing its edge. "I'm sorry, and I Ynean that.

I suppose if I tell the truth, I'm jealous of you. That, and wishing I'd

listened, taken your advice." Disjointed words followed. "Haven't been

sleeping. Lie awake hour after hour, think-

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ing, remembering, feeling guilty. My son-in-law won't speak to me. My

daughter doesn't want to see me. Lilian tries to help us all, but doesn't

know how."

Sam stopped, hesitated, then went on, "And there's something else.

Something you don't know."

"What don't I know?"

He turned his head away. "I'll never tell you."

"Sam," Celia said firmly, "you have to take hold. Nothing will be gained,

for you or anyone, by torturing yourself" '

As if he had not heard, he said, "I'm finished here. You know that."

"No. I don't know it at all."

"I wanted to resign. The lawyers say I mustn't, not yet. I have to stay

in place." He added dourly, "The faqade must be preserved. To protect the

company. So as not to provide more fodder for the jackai-lawyers with

their damage suits, closing in. That's why I'm still to be president for

a while, sitting in this chair, for the sake of shareholders."

"I'm glad to hear it," Celia said. "You're needed to run the company.,,

He shook his head. "You're going to do that. Haven't you been told? The

board decided."

"Seth just told me some of it. But I need you."

He looked at her, unspoken anguish in his eyes.

Making a sudden decision, Celia went to the outer door. It could be

locked with a bolt. She turned it. There was a similar bolt on a door to

the secretaries' office. Celia locked that too. Lifting up a telephone,

she said, "This is Mrs. Jordan. I'm with Mr. Hawthorne. We are not to be

disturbed."

Sam was still at his desk, unmoving.

She asked him, "Since this happened, have you cried?"

He seemed surprised, then shook his hea-d'. "'V1011dat good would that

do?"

"Sometimes it helps."

She came close, leaned down, and put her arms around him. "Sam," she

whispered, "let yourself go."

For a moment he eased away, peering into her face, uncertain, wavering.

Then suddenly, as if a dam had broken and like a child, he laid his head

on her shoulder and wept.

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Following Celia's first-day session with Sam, it quickly became evident

that he was a tragically broken man, his former spirit shattered, and that

he would contribute little to the top-echelon running of the company. While

caring deeply, Celia was obliged to accept the situation as it was.

Sam came in each day, still driving his silver-gray Rolls-Bentley and

parking it on the garage catwalk level. Occasionally he and Celia would

arrive there at the same time, Celia in her chauffeured company car, for

which she was grateful since it enabled her to work, reading papers, during

her journeys to and from home. At such moments she and Sam would walk

together to the main headquarters building, using the glassed-in ramp to

reach the special elevator to the executives' eleventh floor. Between them

there might be some small talk but, if so, it was Celia who started it.

Once in his office, Sam mostly stayed there. No one inquired exactly what

he did, but apart from a few innocuous memos, nothing of any consequence

emerged. At management conferencesthough informed of them in advance-Sam

was noticeably absent.

Thus, from the second day after her return, there was not the slightest

doubt that Celia was in charge.

Top-level issues requiring policy decisions were referred to her. Other

problems, which had been hanging in abeyance, were brought to her attention

for solution. She dealt with them all, using the promptness, common sense

and strong purpose that had always been her hallmark.

Conferences with lawyers occupied much of her time.

The first lawsuits were being filed as a result of publicity concerning

Montayne and the drug's withdrawal. Some of the lawsuits appeared genuine.

A few babies, among them premature ones, had already been born in the

United States with deformities similar to those in other countries where

the mothers of defective children had taken Montayne during pregnancy.

Inevitably, this list of genuine cases would increase. A confidential,

in-house estimate of the total number of U.S. babies who would be born

malformed because of Montayne was slightly more than four hundred. This

figure had been reached using statistics coming in from France, Australia,

Spain, Britain and other countries. It took into account the length of time

Montayne had been on sale in those countries, the quantity of the drug

sold, and comparative figures for the United States.

Of the other lawsuits, some were filed on behalf of Montayne-

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taking mothers who had not yet given birth; these were based on fear of what

might happen and, for the most part, charged FeldingRoth with negligence. A

small remainder were believed frivolous or fraudulent, though all would have

to be dealt with formally-the whole involving enormous legal time and cost.

As to cost overall, Celia-who had had to learn quickly about a subject

entirely new to her-discovered that Felding-Roth carried product liability

insurance amounting to a hundred and thirty-five million dollars. As well,

the company had an internal reserve, for the same purpose, of another

twenty million dollars.

"That hundred and fifty-five million sounds a lot, and might cover all the

claims we'll settle," Childers Quentin, a lawyer, told Celia. Then I;e

added, "On the other hand, I wouldn't count on it. The likelihood is,

you'll need to raise more elsewhere."

Quentin, an avuncular white-haired figure in his seventies, with courtly

manners, was head of a Washington law firm specializing in pharmaceutical

matters, especially defense against damage claims. The firm had been