Arthur Hailey - Strong Medicine

Celia was delighted to learn that, in this specific at least, Sastri had been wrong and Martin right. What was known, via a letter from Nigel Bentley, the Harlow administrator, was that the British technical achievement involved purification of a brain peptide mixture obtained from rats, and maze tests on rats had shown it to be effective in improving the memories of older animals. More experimental work was proceeding. Clearly, while a medication to improve human memory was an unknown number of years away, it was much more of a possibility than at any previous time. The news was timely in that it forestalled the latest attempt, by some members of the board, to close the Harlow institute-again because of high costs and an absence of results. Now, with some positive results, Harlow and the mental aging project appeared safe for the time being. This, too, pleased Celia, who felt happier in having recommended against closure of Harlow a year and a half earlier. In mid-December the Australian trial transcript for which Celia had asked arrived on her desk. It was a bulky typewritten volume, several hundred pages long. By then, however, the pressures on Celia were such that she was obliged to put it aside for later reading. The transcript still had not been read by early January, when another event occurred ' which was totally unexpected and seemed likely to push her reading even farther into the future. Now that President-elect Carter had surprised the world by securing the White House tenancy for the next four years, outriders for the new administration were urgently recruiting candidates for the many government posts which Republicans would soon vacate. Among those recruited was Felding-Roth's corporate vice president for sales and merchandising, Xavier Rivkin. Xav Rivkin, a lifelong Democrat and more recently an ardent Carter supporter, had given time and money in the election campaign; be also knew the new President, having served with him in the Navy. From all this, a reward now arrived-the offer of a post as assistant secretary in the Department of Commerce. Within Felding-Roth, news of the offer was at first kept secret, as was the fact that Xav wanted to accept. Sam Hawthorne and a few members of the board, between whom the matter was discussed privately, believed he should. There was awareness that it would do the company no harm to have a friend in Washington at Commerce. Quietly, a special and generous early pension arrangement was made, with Rivkin due to leave soon after the January 20 presidential inauguration. In the second week of January, Sam sent for Celia and informed her of the Rivkin arrangements, of which she had not heard previously but which would be common knowledge in a day or two. "Quite frankly," he said, "no one, including me, expected this to happen so soon but when Xav leaves, you'll move up to be vice president of sales and merchandising. I've had discussions with the same members of the board who approved the arrangements about Xav, and we realize this has happened at an awkward time, with Montayne about to--" Sam stopped.”Is something wrong?" "Not really," Celia said. They had been standing, in his office, and she asked, "Do you mind if I sit down?" "Of course. Please do.”

He waved her to a chair. "And give me a minute to get my gears engaged.”

Her voice was huskier than usual.”You may not realize it, but you did just drop a thunderbolt.”

Sam looked contrite.”Oh, hell, I'm sorry! I should have made this more of an occasion. Some days I operate in such a damned hurry that-" Celia said, "This way is fine. In fact any way is fine. You were saying about Montayne...”

But the words were coming from a part of herself that was detached. Her mind whirling, she was remembering an occasion seventeen years earlier when the then vice president of sales, Irv Gregson, now long departed, had ordered her angrily from the company's New York sales convention while an audience of hundreds watched... and Sam had saved her-from the vice president and all the othersand now it was Sam who... Dammit! I'm not going to cry, she told herself But she did, a little, and looked up to see Sam holding out a handkerchief and smiling. "You earned it, Celia," he said gently.”All on your own, every step of the way, and what I should have said sooner is--congratulations! I told Lilian at breakfast and she's as pleased as I am; she said to tell you we'll all get together soon.”

"Thank you.”

She took the handkerchief, wiped her eyes, then said matter-of-factly, "Please thank Lilian; and I thank you too, Sam, Now about Montayne.”

"Well," he explained, "because you've been so close to the plans for launching Montayne, I and those board members I spoke of would like you to see them through, even while you're taking over the bigger responsibility. It will mean a heavy load on you...”

Celia assured him, "That won't be a problem. And I agree about Montayne.”

"At the same time," Sam pointed out, "you should think about a successor as director of pharmaceutical sales.”

"Bill Ingram," Celia said without hesitation.”He's good and he's ready. He's also been working on Montayne.”

The hitching-your-wagon-to-someone-else's-star principle, she thought, just as she had described it to Andrew on their honeymoon ---also long ago. Celia had followed Sam upward, and how successfully her plan had worked! Now Bill had followed Celia,- and who, she wondered, had already attached themselves to Bill? With an effort-her mind for the moment split in two---she concluded her discussion with Sam.

That evening, when Celia told Andrew of her impending promotion, he hugged her and said, "I'm proud of you! But then I always have been.”

"Most of the time," she corrected him.”There were moments when you weren't.”

He grimaced.”That's all behind us.”

Then, with a brief, "Excuse me," he went to the kitchen, returning moments later with a bottle of Schramsberg champagne. Winnie March followed, beaming, with glasses on a tray. Andrew announced, "Winnie and I are going to drink to you. You can join us if you like.”

When the glasses were filled, Andrew raised his.”To you, my dearest love! To everything you are, have been, and will be.”

"Me too, Mrs. Jordan," Winnie said.”God bless you!" Winnie sipped her champagne, then looked at the glass and hesitated.”I'm not sure I should drink the rest of this.”

Celia asked, "Whyever not?" "Well... it may not be good for the baby.”

With a glance at Andrew, Winnie blushed, then giggled.”I just found out I'm preggers-an' after all this time.”

Celia ran to embrace her, "Winnie, that's wonderful news! Much more important than mine!" "We're happy for you, Winnie," Andrew said. He took the champagne glass from her.”You're right. You should do without this stuff now. We'll open another bottle when your baby's here.”

Later, when Celia and Andrew were getting ready for bed, Celia said tiredly, "It's been quite a day.”

"A joyous day all around," Andrew pronounced.”I hope everything stays that way. No reason why it shouldn't.”

He was wrong.

The first hint of bad news came precisely a week later. Bill Ingram, still boyish despite the passage of years, came into Celia's office, which would soon be his. Running a hand through his red hair, unruly as ever, he said, "I thought you should see this, even though I don't believe it's important. A friend in Paris sent it.”

"This" was a newspaper clipping. "It's a news item from France-Soir," Ingram explained.”How's your French?" "Good enough so I can understand.”

As Celia took the paper and began reading, she experienced a sudden sense of chill and premonition, felt a physical shiver as if her heart had skipped a beat. The news story was brief. A woman in a small French town, Nouzonville, near the Belgian border, had given birth to a female child, now one year old. Doctors had recently diagnosed the baby girl as having a central nervous system disorder which permanently precluded any normal movement of the limbs; also, tests showed a lack of any brain development. No possible treatment was foreseen. The child was-in the terrible descriptive term-a vegetable. The examining doctors expected her to remain one. During pregnancy the mother had taken Montayne. Now, she and others in her family were blaming the drug for the baby's birth defects. There was nothing in the news item to indicate whether Or not this view was shared by doctors. The France-Soir report concluded with a cryptic sentence: Un autre cas en Espagne, apparernment identique, a signal. Celia stood silent, meditating, weighing the significance of what she had just read. ... another case, apparently identical, in Spain. "Just as I said," Bill Ingram assured her, "I don't think there's any reason we should get concerned. After all, France-Soir is known for sensational reporting. It's not as if it was printed in Le Monde.” Celia did not reply. First Australia. Now France and Spain. All the same, common sense told her Bill was right. There was no reason for concern. She reminded herself of her own convictions about Montayne, the painstaking French research, the multicountry, lengthy testing, assurances sought after and obtained, Montayne's remarkable record of safety. No cause for concern, of course. And yet She said decisively, "Bill, I want you to find out, as quickly as possible, everything there is to know about those two cases, then report back to me.”