Perfect People

42

‘So congratulations, John,’ Carson Dicks said, raising his glass. ‘Here’s to your first few months.’

John rarely drank at lunchtime. He never usually even went out for lunch, preferring to eat a sandwich at his desk. But today Dicks had wanted to discuss the design of an experiment with him, and had driven him to a nearby pub.

A short, tubby man in his early fifties, with a crop of wild, fuzzy hair, an unkempt beard, and glasses as dense as the bottoms of wine bottles, Carson Dicks was any cartoonist’s dream caricature of a mad professor.

John raised his glass. ‘Cheers!’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘ Skal! ’

John grinned. ‘ Skal! ’ Then he drank a mouthful of the Chilean Sauvignon Blanc.

‘So, how are you finding life at Morley Park?’

He detached some of his sole from the bone with surgical precision. ‘I’m very happy. I have a great team, and the place has the academic feeling of a university but it doesn’t seem to have the politics of one.’

‘Exactly. That’s what I like. There’s some, of course, as there is in all walks of life. But here it doesn’t interfere. We have this huge diversity of departments and research, but there’s a great sense of unity, of everyone pulling together, working towards common goals.’ He paused to fork an entire battered scampi into his mouth, then continued talking as he chewed. ‘We have the pursuit of science for Health, for Defence, and for the far more intangible – and of course debatable – Greater Good. ’ He gave John a knowing look.

‘And how do you define the Greater Good?’ John asked, suddenly feeling a little uncomfortable.

Dicks swilled his mouthful down with some more wine. One shred of batter dangled precariously in his beard and John found himself watching it, waiting for it to tumble.

‘It’s something we haven’t talked about. A lot of people here did read that unfortunate interview you gave in the States. But of course, being British, no one wants to embarrass you by raising it.’

‘Why didn’t you mention it before?’ John asked.

Dicks shrugged. ‘I was waiting for you to do that. I respect you as a scientist. I’m sure you wouldn’t have done anything without a great deal of thought and investigation.’ He broke off a piece of his bread roll and buttered it. ‘And of course, I know the press must have got it wrong. Designer babies aren’t possible, not yet, are they?’ With a broad grin he again stared hard at John, as if for confirmation.

‘Absolutely; they got it wrong.’ John gave a hollow, phoney, uncomfortable laugh.

‘How are Luke and Phoebe?’

‘They’re terrific.’

‘And Naomi?’

‘She’s exhausted. But she’s happy to be back in England.’

They ate in silence for some moments, then Dicks said, ‘If you ever did want to talk about anything, John, in total confidence, you can always come to me. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘I appreciate it,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

Dicks picked up his glass again. ‘Do you remember something Einstein said, back in the 1930s? Why does science bring us so little happiness?’

‘And did he have an answer?’

‘Yes. He said it was because we have not yet learned to make sensible use of it.’ Again he gave John a penetrating stare.

John looked down at his food, then fingered his glass, tempted to drink more to alleviate his awkwardness. But he was already feeling a little light-headed from the first glass, and he was determined never to make the mistake of opening up to anyone again, not even to someone he could trust as much as Carson Dicks.

He reminded himself, as he had to frequently, why he and Naomi had made the decision they had. And he thought of the two beautiful children they had now brought into the world. Two children who would never have been born if it hadn’t been for science.

‘Einstein was wrong about a lot of things,’ he said.

Carson Dicks smiled.