Arthur Hailey - Strong Medicine

That brain peptide you're searching for! Scientific glory! Is any of that cheating you?" "No," Martin said, "whatever else it is, it isn't cheating.”

He gave his twisted smile, though this time with a touch of sourness.”I hope they pay you well, Celia. As a crass American, which is what you called yourself, you do one helluva job.”

He stood up and reached for the punt pole.”It's time to go.”

They returned downstream in silence, Martin thrusting the punt forward with a fierceness he had not shown on the outward journey. Celia, busy with her thoughts, wondered if she had gone too far. Near the town and the boatyard, Martin stopped his poling and let the craft drift. From his perch on the stern above her, he regarded Celia solemnly. "I don't know the answer. I only know you've unsettled me," he told her. "But I still don't know.”

It was early evening when Martin dropped Celia at the Cambridge railway 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 'perhaps.” Make that "certainly.” But, she reasoned, wasn't some ruthlessness necessary? Necessary, 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 respected 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 outcome---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 GIFTS. 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. “Yippee!"

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. 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 home, 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 important to waste on organization and office work.”

"I agree," Ceila 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 rights 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 Martin needs is a woman like you to share his life. I hope he finds 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.”