Strong Medicine

FOUR 1977-1985

Majestically, and with a solid dignity no other form of transportation yet devised could match, the cargo liner SS Santa Isabella edged its way along Fort Armstrong Channel and into Honolulu Harbor. Andrew and Celia were on deck, standing with other passengers, below the bridge and forward. Andrew, with binoculars, was already scanning the dockside and port buildings coming into view. His scrutiny had a purpose. As the Aloha Tower loomed ahead, made golden by Hawaiian sunshine from an azure sky, the ship swung smoothly to starboard, tugs fussing beside it. Ships' whistles sounded. Among the Santa Isabella's crew, landing preparations intensified. Lowering the binoculars, Andrew stole a sideways glance at Celia. Like himself, she was bronzed and healthy, a consequence of almost six months of leisure, spent largely in the open air. She was relaxed too, he could see, as he thought of the accumulated tensions that had preceded their departure. No doubt about it: their tour, the comparative isolation and a total absence of pressures had been good for them both. He raised the binoculars again. "You seem to be looking for something," Celia said. Without turning his head, he answered, "If I see it, I'll tell you.”

"All right.”

She sighed.”I can hardly believe it's almost over.”

And it was. Their long journey, which had taken them through fifteen countries. essentially would finish here. After a brief stopover they would fly directly home from Honolulu, ready to resume their lives amid whatever changes awaited them, though such changes would be mainly those affecting Celia. She wondered what they might be. Deliberately, since leaving home in early March, she had excluded thoughts of the future from her mind. Now it was mid August and the future must be faced. Touching Andrew's arm, she said, "For the rest of my life I'll remember this time; all the places we've been, everything we've done and seen...”

Celia thought: There was so much to remember. In her mind, scenes flooded back: Yes, truly magic moonlight on the Nile, and sand and searing heat in the Valley of the Kings... walking the labyrinthine cobbled streets of Lisbon's Alfama, nine centuries old, and flowers everywhere... Jerusalem-"The hill nearest heaven, where a man can cup his hand to the wind and hear the voice of God.”... Rome's paradoxical mingling of the earthy and ethereal... Greek islands, diamonds in the Aegean, a montage memory of dazzling light, white terraced villages, mountains, olive groves... Oil-rich, thriving Abu Dhabi and a happy reunion with Celia's younger sister, Janet, her husband and young family... India, subcontinent of savage contrasts, its pleasures weighed against appalling filth and degradation. One picture-postcard scene: Jaipur, the pink city... Then the Great Barrier Reef, Australian coral kingdom, a snorkeler's Fantasia... and near Kyoto, Japan: the fragile, dreamlike beauty of the Shugakuin Imperial Villa, an emperor's hideaway and a place of poetry, still guarded from the tourist mainstream... Hong Kong's frenetic pace, as if time were running out, and so it was... In Singapore-amid enormous wealth-the humble hawker food stalls, a gourmet's paradise, with nasi beryani served at Glutton's Corner, aptly named... In Singapore, too, Andrew and Celia had boarded the Santa Isabella for an unhurried journey through the South China Sea and into the Pacific, a journey which was ending in Hawaii, here and now. There had been twenty or so other passengers aboard, most of them savoring the leisurely shipboard pace and comfortable accommodations without the hectic, organized jollity of a conventional cruise ship. As the cargo liner continued moving slowly, Celia's musing drifted on... Despite her conscious efforts at the exclusion, until now, of thoughts about the future, inevitably there had been some about the past. In recent days especially she had asked herself. was she wrong in quitting Felding-Roth so abruptly? Her resignation had been impetuous and instinctual. Had it also been unwise? Celia wasn't sure, and that thought made her wonder whether sometime soon she would experience regrets and anguish even greater than her present doubts. Clearly her departure had not affected the company or the drug Montayne in any serious way. In February, as scheduled, Montayne was launched, apparently with great success. According to trade press reports which Celia read before leaving with Andrew on their tour, Montayne was at once widely prescribed and popular, especially with women who continued to be employed during pregnancy and to whom relief from morning sickness was critically important. It seemed obvious that the new drug was a bonanza for Felding-Roth. Similarly, she had learned while in France that the same was proving true for the French originators of Montayne, Laboratoires Gironde-Chimie. The France-Soir news stories out of Nouzonville and Spain, it seemed, had not harmed the reputation of Montayne. Nor, in the United States, had Dr. Maud Stavely's anti-Montayne arguments been given much credence or impeded sales. Celia's thoughts turned back to the ship, which was close to the dockside now, approaching Pier 10 where they would disembark and clear Customs. Suddenly, beside her, Andrew exclaimed, "There!" "There, what?" He handed over the binoculars and pointed.”Focus on that second big window-above the dock and left of the clock tower.”

Puzzled, she did as instructed.”What am I looking for?" "You'll see.”

The group around them had thinned out. In addition to Andrew and Celia, only two or three passengers remained, the rest having returned to their cabins to prepare for going ashore. Celia adjusted the binoculars and moved them, exploring. Almost at once she cried, "I do see! And I don't believe it "You can believe it," Andrew said.”They're real.”

"Lisa and Bruce!" Joyously, Celia shouted her children's names. Then, holding the binoculars with one hand, she began waving frantically with the other. Andrew joined in. Behind the plate glass, in the spot where Andrew had observed them, Lisa and Bruce, laughing and excited, waved back. Celia was incredulous.”I don't understand. We weren't expecting the children. How did they get here?" "I was expecting them," Andrew told her calmly.”In fact, 1

arranged it. It took several phone calls from Singapore when you weren't around, but - . .”

Celia, still overwhelmed, seemed hardly to hear.”Of course, I'm happy to see them. But Lisa and Bruce have summer jobs. How could they get away?" "That was easy too--when I explained why it was I wanted them here.”

He retrieved the binoculars and put them in a case. "I still don't understand," Celia said.”You wanted the children?" "That's right," Andrew assured her.”It was so that I could keep a promise. One made many years ago.”

"A promise to whom?" "To you.”

She looked at him, perplexed. Andrew said gently, prompting, "It was on our honeymoon. We were talking, and you told me why you'd preferred a honeymoon in the Bahamas, rather than Hawaii. You said Hawaii would have made you sad. Then you explained about your father, and his dying at Pearl Harbor, going down with the Arizona.” "Wait!" Celia's voice was barely a whisper. Yes, now she did remember... remembered after all these years. On that honeymoon day on a Bahamas beach, she had described her father to Andrew, described the little she remembered of Chief Petty Officer Willis de Grey...”When he was home the house was always noisy, full of fun. He was big, and with a booming voice, and he made people laugh, and loved children, and was strong...” And Andrew, who had been understanding then and ever since, had asked, "Have you been to Pearl Harbor?" She had answered, "Though I'm not sure why, I'm not ready yet. You'll think this strange, but one day I’d like to go to where my father died, though not alone. I’d like to take my children.” It was then that Andrew promised, "One day, when we have our children and they can understand, then I'll arrange it. A promise... twenty years ago. As the Santa Isabella eased alongside Pier 10 and mooring lines snaked out, Andrew informed Celia quietly, "We're going tomorrow; it's all arranged. Going to the Arizona Memorial, to your father's ship and where he died. And just as you wanted, your children will be with you.”

Celia's lips trembled. Speech seemed beyond her as she reached out and grasped both Andrew's hands, Her eyes rose to his, and in them was a look of adoration such as few men in their lifetimes ever see. When she could manage it, her voice heavy with emotion, she declared, "Oh, you beautiful, beautiful man!"

At 10 A.m. a driver and a rented limousine ordered by Andrew were waiting for the family outside the Kahala Hilton Hotel. The late August day was warm, though not oppressive, with a light breeze from the south-Kona weather, Hawaiians called it. A few scattered tufts of cumulus dotted an otherwise clear sky. Earlier, Lisa and Bruce had joined their parents for breakfast in a pleasant suite that overlooked Waialae golf course and the Pacific Ocean to the south. Today and yesterday there had been a steady, happy stream of talk as the four of them filled in, with descriptions, experiences, and animated questioning, the six-month gap during which they had been apart. Lisa had completed, with happy enthusiasm, her freshman year at Stanford. Bruce, soon to enter his final year at the Hill, had applied for entry to Williams College in Massachusetts-itself historic, in keeping with what continued to be his main academic interest. As part of that interest, and in anticipation of today, Bruce announced he had recently completed a study of the 1941 Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor. He informed the others matter-of-factly, "If you have any questions, I think I can answer them.”

"You're insufferable!" Lisa had told him.”But since your service is free, I may condescend to use it.”

Celia, while managing to keep up with family banter over the breakfast table, felt within herself an unusual sense of detachment. It was a feeling difficult to define but somehow, on this day, it seemed as if a part of her past had returned-or shortly would-to join the present. On waking this morning she had been conscious of a sense of occasion that had persisted, and she had dressed accordingly, carefully selecting a crisp white pleated skirt and a tailored blouse of navy blue and white. She wore white sandals and would carry a white straw handbag. The effect, which she intended, was neither casual nor unduly formal, but smart and... the words came to her: caring and respectful. Inspecting herself before joining the others, a thought about her father sprang to mind, a thought she tried to resist at first, then allowed to take shape: If only he had lived to see me now-his daughter, with my familyl As if sensing something of Celia's feelings in advance, the others had dressed less casually than usual. Lisa, who the day before had worn jeans, today had on a simple but attractive flowered voile dress; it brought out her young and glowing beauty, and for a moment Celia saw herself at Lisa's age-nineteen-twenty-seven years ago. Andrew had chosen a lightweight suit and, for the first time in many days, was wearing a tie. Her husband, Celia thought, who would be fifty soon and whose hair was now entirely gray, looked increasingly distinguished as years went by. Bruce, still boyish though with serious ways, was handsome in a Hill School blazer with an open shirt. As the Jordan family approached the limousine, the driver touched his uniform cap politely and held a rear door open. He addressed Andrew.”Dr. Jordan? You're going to the Arizona, I believe.”

"That's right.”

Andrew consulted a paper.”But I was told to tell you not to go to the Visitor Center first, but to the private dock of CINCPACFLT.”

The driver raised his eyebrows.”You must be a V.I.P.”

"Not me.”

Andrew smiled and looked toward Celia.”My wife.”

Inside the limousine, as they moved away, Lisa asked, "What's CINC-whatever you said?" It was Bruce who answered.”Commander-in-Chief Pacific Fleet. Hey, Dad, you pulled wires!" Celia gazed at Andrew curiously.”How did you arrange all this?" "I used your name," he told her.”In case you don't know, my dear, it still cuts ice, and you have a lot of people who admire you.”

When the others pressed him, he admitted, "If you must know, I telephoned the Felding-Roth regional manager in Hawaii.”

Celia injected, "Tano Akamura?" "That's right. And he asked me to tell you that you're greatly missed. Anyway, it happens that Akamura's wife has a sister married to an admiral. The rest was easy. So we're going to the Arizona in an admiral's barge.”

"Dad," Bruce said, "that's great staff work!" His father smiled.”Thank you.”

"Thank you, " Celia said. Then she asked, "When you were talking to Tano, did you by any chance ask him how things were?" Andrew hesitated.”You mean at Felding-Roth... and about Montayne?" "Yes-,, He had hoped she wouldn't ask, but answered, "Apparently very well.”

"That's not all you found out," Celia insisted.”Tell me the rest.”

Reluctantly Andrew added, "He said Montayne is a big success and, in his words, 'selling like crazy.' " Celia nodded. It was really no more than everyone expected, and confirmed the earlier news given out after Montayne's launching. But it did reinforce the recent question in her mind: had her resignation been hasty and foolish? Then, determinedly for today-this special day-she pushed such thoughts aside. The limousine moved swiftly, using the Lunalilo and Moanalua freeways and passing downtown Honolulu with its modern high-rise buildings. In about twenty minutes they left the freeway near Aloha Stadium, entering, soon after, the U.S. Navy Reservation at Aiea Bay. The smallish CINCPACFLT private dock was in a pleasant landscaped area used by military families. A fifty-foot navy utility boat-the so-called admiral's barge-was waiting at the dock, its diesel motors running. The boat was operated by two naval ratings in dress whites. A half-dozen other passengers were already seated under a main-deck canopy. One of the ratings, a young woman with "bowhook" duty, cast off the moorings after the Jordans were aboard. The coxswain, on a control bridge midships, eased the boat from the dock and into the busy stream of Pearl Harbor traffic. The breeze felt earlier on land was stronger on the water, and wavelets slapped the utility boat's hull, sending occasional light spray inboard. The harbor water was a dull gray-green, with little or nothing visible beneath the surface. The woman sailor provided a commentary as they circled Ford Island counterclockwise. Andrew, Lisa and Bruce listened attentively, but Celia, preoccupied with private memories, found her thoughts wandering and caught only snatches.

"Sunday morning, December 7, 1941... Japanese dive bombers, with torpedo and fighter planes, and midget submarines, attacked without warning... first wave at 7:55 A.M.... at 8:05 explosions rocked Battleship Row... 8:10, Arizona, hit in the forward magazine, exploded and sank... by 8:12 Utah had rolled over... California and West Virginia settled to the bottom... Oklahoma capsized... casualties, 2,403 killed, 1,178 wounded...”

It was all so long ago, she thought-thirty-six years; better than half a lifetime. Yet never, until this moment, had it seemed so close. The navy boat, rolling in a slight chop near the Pearl Harbor entrance channel, altered course as it rounded the southern tip of Ford Island. Suddenly, directly ahead, was the Arizona Memorial, white in bright sunshine. Here is where it happened, and I have come at last. Lines from a poem sprang to Celia's mind.”Give me my scallop-shell of quiet... And thus 171 take my pilgrimage.” As she looked ahead, beyond the bow of the boat, an incongruous thought intruded: The Memorial was unlike what she had expected Instead, it resembled a long white railway boxcar, deflated in the middle. The commentary again: "The architect's words: 'The form, wherein the structure sags in the center but stands strong and vigorous at the ends, expresses initial defeat and ultimate victory'... Had the architect thought of that before or after? But either way, it didn't matter. The ship was what mattered, and now its shape was becoming visible-incredibly, only a few feet below the surface of the gray-green water. “.

...and the Memorial spans the sunken battleship.”

My father’s ship. His home when he was away from home, and where he died... when I was ten years old, five thousand miles away in Philadelphia. Andrew reached out, took Celia's hand and held it. Neither spoke. Among all the passengers on the boat there seemed a constraint, a quietness, as if common sensibilities were shared. The coxswain laid them neatly alongside a pontoon dock at the Memorial entrance. The woman sailor secured the moorings, and the Jordan family, along with others, disembarked. As they moved inward, there was no longer movement beneath their feet since the Memorial rested on pilings driven into the harbor bottom. No part of it touched the ship. Near the Memorial's center, Celia, Andrew and Lisa stood at an opening in the concrete structure gazing downward at the main deck of the Arizona, now clearly visible, awesome in its closeness. Somewhere beneath us are myfather's bones, or what remains of them. I wonder how he died. Was it swift and merciful, or some other, awful way? Oh, how I hope it was the first! Bruce, who had moved away, returned to them. He said quietly, "I've found Grandfather's name. I'll show you.”

His parents and sister followed until, standing beside many others, all subdued, they faced a marble wall, a sea of names and ranks. In that fierce few minutes of the Japanese attack, 1,177 had died on the Arizona alone. Later it had proved impossible to raise the ship which became-for more than a thousand of the dead-their final grave. An inscription read:

TO THE MEMORY OF THE GALLANT MEN HERE ENTOMBED

Bruce pointed.”There, Mom.”

W F DE GREY CEM

They stood respectfully, each with individual thoughts; then it was Celia who led the way back to where they had been earlier, looking down on the sunken hull from which the superstructure had long since been removed. The closeness of it fascinated her. While they watched, a bubble of oil rose from somewhere far below. The oil spread itself, like a petal on the water's surface. A few minutes later, eerily, the process was repeated. "Those oil bubbles are from what's left in fuel tanks," Bruce explained. "They've been coming up like that since the ship went down. No one knows how long the oil will last, but it could be another twenty years.”

Celia reached out to touch her son. This is my son, your grandson. He is explaining to me about your ship. "I wish I could have known Grandfather," Lisa said. Celia was about to speak when suddenly, without warning, her emotional defenses wavered and collapsed. It was as if Lisa's simple, moving remark was the last iota added to a barely balanced scale before it tipped. Grief and sadness overwhelmed Celia-grief for the father she had known so briefly, but had loved and whose memory these poignant moments at Pearl Harbor had brought flooding back; memories of her mother who had died ten years ago this month; and, combining with those older grief’s revived, Celia's nearer sorrow from her own failure, her great misjudgment as it now appeared, the recent ignominious end to her career. The last thought had, for six months or more, been resolutely thrust away. Now, like dues delayed but later to be paid, it added to the emotion and she broke. Oblivious to all else, she wept. Seeing what was happening, Andrew moved toward her, but Lisa and Bruce were faster. Both children embraced their mother, comforting her, and unashamedly were crying too. Andrew, gently, put his arms around them all.

The family assembled for dinner that night in the Mail Room of the Kahala Hilton. On sitting down, Celia's first words were, "Andrew dear, I would like us to have champagne.”

"Of course.”

Beckoning a sommelier, Andrew ordered Taittinger, which lie knew to be his wife's favorite, then told her, "You look radiant tonight.”

"It's how I feel," she responded, beaming at them all. Since this morning, little had been said about their excursion to Pearl Harbor. On the Memorial during the few minutes of Celia's breakdown, other people nearby had considerately looked away, and Andrew sensed that the Arizona setting, which evoked sad, sometimes tragic memories in so many who went there, had seen frequent and similar scenes of grief. Through most of the afternoon Celia slept, then later had gone shopping in one of the hotel stores, buying herself a stunning red-and-white long dress, Hawaiian style. She was wearing it now. "When you get tired of that dress, Mom," Lisa said admiringly, "I'll be glad to take it over.”

At that moment the champagne arrived. When it was poured, Celia raised her glass and said, "To you all-I love you dearly, and thank you! I want you to know that I shall never forget what happened today, and your comfort and understanding. But you should also know that now I am over it. In a way, I suppose, it was a cleansing process, a-what's that word?" "Catharsis," Bruce said.”Actually it's Greek and means purification. Aristotle used it to...”

"Oh, cool it!" Lisa, leaning across the table, slapped her brother's hand.”Sometimes you're too much!" Andrew laughed and the others joined in, including Bruce. "Go on, Mom," Lisa urged. "Well," Celia said, "I've decided it's time to stop feeling sorry for myself, and to put my life back together. It's been a wonderful holiday, the finest ever, but it will be over in two more days.”

She regarded Andrew fondly.”I imagine you're ready to get back into practice, “He nodded.

”Ready and keen.”

"I can understand it," Celia said, "because I feel the same way. So I won't stay unemployed. I intend to find work.”

Bruce asked, "What will you do?" Celia sipped her champagne before answering.”I've thought a lot about it, and asked myself questions, and come up each time with the same answer: The pharmaceutical business is what I know best, so it makes sense that I should stay in it.”

Andrew assured her, "Yes, it does.”

"Could you go back to Felding-Roth?" It was Lisa's question. Her mother shook her head.”I burned my bridges. I'm sure there's no way Felding-Roth would have me now, even if I wanted it. No, I'll try other companies.”

"If some of them don't jump and grab you, they need their business acumen examined," Andrew said.”Have you considered which ones?" "Yes.”

Celia went on thoughtfully, "There's one company, above all others, which I've admired. It's Merck. If you were to look for a 'Rolls-Royce' of the drug industry, Merck's the one. So I shall apply there first.” "And after that?"

"I like SmithKline, also Upjohn. Both are companies I'd be proud to work for. After that, if it's needed, I'll make a longer list.”

"I predict you won't have to.”

Andrew raised his glass.”Here's to the lucky company that gets Celia Jordan!" Later, over dinner, Bruce asked, "What do we do tomorrow?" "Since it's our last full day in Hawaii," Celia suggested, "how about a lazy time on the beach?" They agreed that a lazy day was what they wanted most. In the bedroom of the Jordans' suite, a few minutes before 6 A.m., a bedside telephone rang stridently. The ringing stopped, then began again. Celia was sleeping soundly. Beside her, Andrew, crossing the boundary from sleep to wakefulness, stirred at the phone's insistence. The night before, on going to bed, they had left the sliding glass doors to a balcony open, admitting a soft breeze and the murmur of the sea. Now, outside in the grayness of pre-dawn, objects were becoming visible-as if a stage director were going slowly from black, lighting a new scene. In another fifteen minutes the sun would begin ascending over the horizon. Andrew sat up, awake, the phone having penetrated his consciousness. He reached out to answer it. Celia stirred and asked sleepily, "What's the time?"

"Too damned early!" Andrew said into the phone, "Yes-what is it?" "I have a person-to-person call for Mrs. Celia Jordan.”

An operator's voice. "Who's calling her?" A different female voice came on the line.”Mr. Seth Feingold of Felding-Roth, New Jersey.”

"Does Mr. Feingold know what time it is out here?" "Yes, sir. He does.”

Celia was sitting upright, awake now also.”Is it Seth?" When Andrew nodded, she said, "I'll take it.”

He handed her the phone. After another operator exchange, Celia heard the elderly comptroller's voice.”Is that you, Celia?" "Yes, it is.”

"I've just been told we awakened you, and I apologize. But it's noon here. We simply couldn't wait any longer.”

She said, puzzled, "Who is 'we'? And wait longer for what?"

"Celia, what I have to tell you is exceedingly important. Please listen carefully.”

Feingold's voice sounded strained. She told him, "Go ahead.”

"I'm calling you on behalf of the board of directors, and at the board's request. I am instructed, firstly, to inform you that when you resigned-for reasons which we all know-you were right, and everyone else...”

The voice faltered, then continued, "All the rest of us were wrong.”

She wondered, with bewilderment, whether she was hearing correctly, or was truly awake.”Seth, I don't understand. You can't be speaking about Montayne.”

“Unfortunately, I am.”

'But from what I've read and heard, Montayne is a spectacular success.”

She remembered the positive report, relayed only yesterday by Andrew, from Tano, the Felding-Roth Hawaii manager. "That's what we all thought, up to just a short time ago. But everything has changed-a sudden change. And now we have a terrible situation here.”

"Wait a moment, Please.”

Covering the phone mouthpiece, she told Andrew, "Something important has happened. I'm not sure what. But listen on the extension.”

There was one in the bathroom. Celia waited while Andrew went to it, then said, "Seth, go on.”

"What I just told you was the first thing, Celia. The second is this: The board wants you to come back.”

Still, she could scarcely believe what she was hearing. After a pause she said, "I think you'd better start at the beginning.”

"All right. I will.”

She sensed Seth organizing his thoughts and, while she waited, wondered why he was calling, and not Sam Hawthorne. "You remember the reports of damaged babies. Vegetable babies -that awful word. The reports from Australia, France and Spain?" “Of course.”

"There have been many more-from those countries and others. So many more, there can't be any doubt Montayne has been the cause.”

"Oh, my God!" Celia's free hand went to her face. Her shocked f irst thought was: Don't let it be true! This is a bad dream and isn't happening. I don't want to be proved right, not this awful way. Then she saw Andrew through the open bathroom door, his face set grimly, and noticed the increasing light of dawn outside, and she knew that what was happening was no dream, but real. Seth continued, reciting details.”

...began two and a half months ago with some scattered reports... cases similar to those earlier ones... then the numbers increased... more recently, a flood... all the mothers had taken Montayne during pregnancy... nearly three hundred defective births worldwide, so far... obviously more to come, especially in the United States where Montayne has been on sale only seven months...”

Celia closed her eyes as the tale of horror grew. Hundreds of babies who could have been normal. but now would never think or walk, or sit up unaided or, through their lifetimes, behave in any normal way... And still more to come. She wanted to weep bitter tears, to cry aloud in anger and frustration. But whom to cry to? No-one. And weeping and anger were useless and too late. Could she, herself, have done more to prevent this grisly tragedy? Yes! She could have raised her voice after resigning, gone public with her doubts about Montayne, instead of keeping silent. But would it have made any difference? Would people have listened? Probably not, though someone might have, and if one baby had been saved, her effort would have been worthwhile. As if reading her mind from five thousand miles away, Seth said, "All of us here have asked ourselves questions, Celia. We've had sleepless, conscience-ridden nights, and there isn't one of us who won't carry some guilt to his grave. But your conscience can be clear. You did everything you could. It wasn't your fault your warning was ignored.”

Celia thought: It would be so easy and comfortable to accept that view. But she knew that to the end of her days she would always have doubts. Abruptly, a new and troubling thought occurred to her. "Is everything you've told me, Seth, being made widely known? Is there urgent publicity going out? Have there been warnings to women that they should stop taking Montayne?" "Well... not exactly in that form. There's been some scattered publicity, though-surprisingly-not much.”

That would account, Celia thought, for the fact that she and Andrew had heard nothing adverse about Montayne while on their tour. Seth went on, "Apparently no one among the news people has pieced the whole story together yet. But we're afraid it will happen soon.”

"You're afraid Obviously, she realized, there had been no attempt to create massive publicity, which meant that Montayne was still being sold and used Again Celia remembered Andrew's report yesterday; in quoting Tano he had spoken of Montayne "selling like crazy.”

A shiver ran through her as she asked, "What has been done about withdrawing the drug and recalling all supplies?" Seth said carefully, "Gironde-Chimie have told us they'll withdraw Montayne in France this week. I understand the British are preparing an announcement. And the Australian government has already stopped sales there.”

Her voice rose to a shout.”I'm talking about the United States.”

"I assure you, Celia, we've done everything the law requires. Every bit of information coming into Felding-Roth has been passed on promptly to the FDA in Washington. Everything. Vince Lord attended to that personally. Now, we're waiting for a decision from FDA.”

"Waiting for a decision! In the name of God, why wait? What other decision can there be but to withdraw Montayne?" Seth said defensively, "Our lawyers advise us strongly that at this stage it will be better to have the ruling from FDA first.”

Celia was close to screaming. Holding herself in, she replied, "The FDA is slow. Their machinery could take weeks.”

"I suppose that's possible. But the lawyers insist-if we make the withdrawal on our own, it could be an admission of error and therefore of liability. Even now, the financial consequences...”

"What does finance matter when pregnant women are still taking Montayne? When unborn babies - . .”

Celia stopped, realizing that argument was useless, that the conversation was going nowhere, and wondering again why she was talking with the comptroller and not Sam Hawthorne. She said decisively, "I must speak with Sam.”

"Unfortunately, that isn't possible. At least, not now.”

An uneasy pause. "Sam is... well, not himself. He has some personal problems. That's one of the reasons we want you-need you back.”

Celia snapped, "Double-talk. What does it mean?" She heard a long, deep sigh.

"I was going to tell you this later because I know it will distress you.”

Seth's voice was low and sad.”You remember... just before you left us, Sam had a grandchild.”

"Juliet's baby. Yes.”

Celia recalled the celebration in Sam's office in which she had shared, though she dampened it later with her doubts about Montayne. "It seems that when Juliet was pregnant, she suffered a good deal from morning sickness. Sam gave her Montayne.”

At Seth's last words, Celia went icy cold. She had a horrible foreboding of what was coming next. "Last week the doctors established that Juliet's baby was adversely affected by the drug.”

Seth's voice was close to breaking.”Sam's grandson is mentally defective and has limbs that won't function-a vegetable like all the others.”

Celia emitted a strangled cry of grief and anguish, then incredulity replaced it.”How could Sam have done it? At that time Montayne wasn't approved for use.”

"There were physicians' samples, as you know. Sam used them, telling no one except Juliet. I suppose he had so much faith in Montayne, he assumed there was no risk. There was some personal involvement too, and maybe pride. If you remember, Sam acquired Montayne himself from Gironde-Chimie.”

"Yes, I remember.”

Celia's thoughts were whirling-a melange of frustration, anger, bitterness and pity. Seth interrupted them. "I said we need you, Celia, and so we do. As you can imagine, Sam is torn with grief and guilt and, at the moment, isn't functioning. But that's only part of it. Everything here is a mess. We're like a damaged, rudderless ship, and we need you to assess the damage and take charge. For one thing, you're the only one with sufficient knowledge and experience. For another, all of us-including the board-respect your judgments, especially now. And, oh yes, you'd come back as executive vice president. I won't go into the financial arrangements, but they'd be generous.”

Executive vice president of Felding-Roth. Only one rung below the presidency, and higher than she would have been as vice president of sales, the promotion she had forfeited by resigning. There was a time, Celia thought, when the offer just made would have been a cause for rejoicing, a shining landmark in her life. How strange that suddenly it meant so little. "You may have guessed," Seth said, "that some others-a few members of the board-are with me, listening to this conversation. We’re waiting here, hoping your answer will be yes.”

Celia became aware of Andrew signalling to her from the bathroom. For the second time since the conversation began, she said into the telephone, "Wait, please.”

Andrew hung up the extension and came out. As before, with her phone mouthpiece covered, she asked him, "What do you think?" He told her, "You'll have to make the decision. But remember this: If you go back, it won't matter that you resigned and have been away. Some of the Montayne mess and responsibility will rub off on you.”

"I know.”

She considered.”But I was with the company a long time. They were good years, and now they need me. I'll only go back, though, if...”

She returned to the phone. "Seth, I've listened carefully to what you've said. I will accept, but under one condition.”

"Name it.”

"Montayne must be withdrawn from sale by Felding-Roth today, and a public statement made about its dangers. Not tomorrow, not next week, and no more waiting while the FDA makes up its mind. Today - " "Celia, that's impossible. I explained the warnings from our lawyers, the question of liability. We could be inviting millions of dollars' worth of lawsuit&---enough to break the company.”

"There'll be lawsuits anyway.”

"We know that. But we don't want to make the situation worse. Withdrawal is bound to happen soon. Meanwhile, with you here we could discuss it...”

"I don't want it discussed. I want it done. I want it on national TV and radio today and in every newspaper in the country within twenty-four hours. I'll be watching and listening. Otherwise, no deal.”

It was Seth's turn to say, "Just a moment.”

Celia could hear a muted discussion at the other end. There was some obvious dissension, then she heard Seth say, "She's adamant," and a moment later, "Of course she means it. And remember, we need her more than she needs us.”

The debate in New Jersey continued for a few minutes more, most of it inaudible to Celia. Finally, Seth returned to the phone. "Celia, your terms are met. What you insist on will be done at once- -within the hour. I guarantee it personally. Now... how soon can you be back?" She told him, "I'll get the first flight out of here. Expect me in the office tomorrow.”

They managed to get four coach seats on a United Airlines 747, leaving Honolulu at 4:50 P.m. The flight was a nonstop to Chicago, where they would change to another flight due in New York at 9 A.M. local time the following day. Celia intended to get what sleep she could en route, then go to Felding-Roth headquarters that same morning. Lisa and Bruce, who had planned to spend two more days in Hawaii, made the decision to return east with their parents. As Lisa put it, "We haven't seen you for so long, we want to be with you as much as we can. Also, if I'm by myself I know I'll be sad, and probably cry, thinking about those poor deformed babies.”

Over a hurried breakfast in Andrew's and Celia's suite, interrupted by several telephone calls relating to their departure, it was Andrew who had explained the tragic situation to the children. "I will talk about it," Celia had said, "but if you don't mind, not any more for a while. I guess you could say I'm shell-shocked at this moment.”

Even now, she wondered whether she had done the right thing by agreeing to go back, then reminded herself that her insistence on having Montayne withdrawn at once would save at least some babies and mothers from their otherwise terrible fate. That Felding-Roth's promise to Celia had been kept became evident shortly before they left the Kahala Hilton for Honolulu Airport. A radio music program was interrupted for a special news bulletin. It reported the withdrawal of Montayne from public sale because of "possible harmful effects which are being investigated," and added a warning that doctors should cease prescribing the drug and pregnant women should stop taking it. On a regular newscast, soon after, an amplified report had Montayne's withdrawal as the top item and, at the airport, an afternoon edition of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin carried an Associated Press news story on the subject on its front page. It seemed clear that a barrage of publicity had begun and was likely to continue. For the Jordan family it proved a very different day from the quiet one on a beach which they had planned the night before. The airplane was crowded, but their four-abreast seats in the aft section at least allowed some private conversation and after a while Celia told the others, "Thank you for being patient. Now you can ask questions if you wish.”

Bruce was first. "How could something like this happen, Mom, with a drug being okayed, then having so much bad effect?" She organized her thoughts before answering. "What you have to remember first," Celia said, "is that a drug, any drug, is an alien chemical in the human body. It's put there usually when a doctor prescribes it-with the aim of correcting something that's wrong in the body. But as well as doing good, it may also do harm. The harmful part is called a side effect, though there can be harmless side effects too.”

Andrew added, "There's also something known as 'risk versus benefit.' A physician has to judge whether the risk of using a particular drug is worth taking in order to get results that he and the patient want. Some drugs involve more risks than others. But even with simple aspirin there's a risk-a serious one at times, because aspirin can cause internal bleeding.”

"But surely," Lisa said, "drug companies test drugs before they're sold, and the FDA is supposed to find out about risks what they are and how bad.”

"Yes, all of that's true," Celia acknowledged.”But what often isn't understood is that there are limitations with testing, even nowadays. When a new drug is tested, it's used first on animals. Then if the animal data looks okay, it's tried on human volunteers. All of that takes several years. But at the end of human trials, when everything about the drug may appear to be fine, it has still been used by only a few hundred, or perhaps a thousand people.”

"And none of those people," Andrew said, "may have suffered any adverse effects--or only minor, unimportant ones.”

Celia nodded agreement, then went on, "But when the drug is on the market, and being taken by tens of thousands, maybe millions, adverse reactions can show up in a few people, sometimes a tiny percentage of the population-reactions that could not have been foreseen during testing. Of course, if the percentage proves large enough and the new reactions are serious or fatal, the drug has to be withdrawn. The big point is, there's no way to be certain how safe a drug is until it has been used widely.”

"Those reactions," Bruce said.”They're supposed to be reported, aren't they?" "Yes. And if a drug company hears about any, in this country the law requires us to report them to the FDA. Usually that happens.”

Lisa's forehead wrinkled.”Only 'usually'?" Celia explained, "That's because it's difficult sometimes to decide what is a true adverse reaction to a drug, and what's caused by something else. Often it's a matter for scientific judgment, with room for genuine, honest disagreement. Something else to remember is that a hasty decision could cause the loss of a good, perhaps lifesaving medication.”

"In the case of Montayne, though," Andrew reminded them, "everything went the other way.”

He told Lisa and Bruce, "Your mother's judgment was right about those disputed reactions, the other judgments wrong.”

Celia shook her head.”Even that isn't quite true. Mine was an instinct, not a scientific judgment, an instinct which could have been in error.”

"But it wasn't," Andrew said.”That's the important thing. More than that, you stuck with what you believed, and had the moral courage to resign on principle, which few people ever do. And for all of that, my dear, this family is proud of you.”

"I'll say it is!" Bruce echoed. Lisa leaned over and kissed her mother.”Me too, Mom.”

A meal was served. Picking at the contents of his tray without enthusiasm, Andrew observed, "The one thing you can say about airline food is that it helps to pass the time.”

Soon after, they returned to what was on all their minds. Bruce said, "Something that's hard to believe, Mom, is that newspapers and TV didn't know what's been happening about Montayne-at least not the big picture, and not until today.”

It was Andrew who answered. "It can happen, and it's happened before, almost in the same way. The other occasion was with Thalidomide, which is something I've done a lot of reading about.”

For the first time in many hours, Celia smiled.”This family has two history buffs.”

"In 1961 and '62," Andrew said, "the American press ignored what was already a Thalidomide disaster in Europe. Even when an American physician, Dr. Helen Taussig, testified before Congress, and showed slides of deformed babies that made congressmen shudder, not a word appeared in American newspapers.”

"That's incredible," Lisa said. Her father shrugged.”It depends on your view of the press. Some reporters are lazy. Those assigned to that hearing weren't in their seats, and afterward didn't read the transcript. But one who wasn't lazy was Morton Mintz, a Washington Post reporter. He put all the pieces together, then broke the Thalidomide story, beating everyone else. Of course it immediately became big news, just as Montayne is becoming now.”

"I should tell you both," Celia said to the children, "that your father was opposed to Montayne all along.”

Lisa asked, "Dad, was that because you thought Montayne would do the awful things it did?" Andrew answered, "Absolutely not. It was simply because, as a doctor, I don't believe a drug should be taken for anything that is just uncomfortable or self-limiting.”

"What does 'self-limiting' mean?" Lisa again. "Sickness during pregnancy is an example. It's limited, normally, to the early months of pregnancy and before long will go away, leaving nothing harmful behind. To take any drug at that time unless there's some other medical emergency-is foolish and always a risk. Your mother didn't, with either of you. I made sure of that.”

Andrew eyed his daughter.”When your time comes, don't you take anything, young lady. And if you want a sound, healthy baby-no liquor, wine, or smoking either.”

Lisa said, "I promise.”

Listening, Celia was struck by an idea that might perhaps, in time, turn Felding-Roth's Montayne experience into something positive. Andrew was still talking. "We doctors are at fault in a lot of ways about drugs. For one thing, we prescribe too often-much of the time unnecessarily, and in part because it's well known among us that there are patients who feel cheated if they leave a doctor's office without a prescription. Another thing, writing a prescription is an easy way to end a patient interview, to get that patient out of the office and another one in.”

"This sure is confession day," Bruce said.”What else do doctors do wrong?" "A lot of us are not well informed about drugs--certainly not as much as we ought to be, especially about side effects or the interactions of one drug with others. Of course, it's impossible to carry all that information in your head, but doctors usually don't bother, or are too proud, to open a reference book while a patient is with them.”

Celia said, "Show me a doctor who isn't afraid to look something up in the presence of a patient, and I'll show you a secure, conscientious doctor. Your father is one. I've seen him do it.”

Andrew smiled.”Of course, I've had some advantages where drugs are concerned. That comes from living with your mother.”

"Are there bad mistakes made by doctors with drugs?" Lisa asked. "Plenty of times," Andrew said.”And there are other times when an alert pharmacist will save a doctor from his own mistake by querying a prescription. Generally, pharmacists know a lot more about drugs than doctors do.”

Bruce asked shrewdly, "But are there many doctors who admit it?" Andrew answered, "Unfortunately, no. As often as not, pharmacists get treated as an inferior breed, not the colleagues in medicine they really are.”

He smiled, then added, "Of course, pharmacists make mistakes too. And sometimes patients themselves mess up by doubling or trebling a prescribed dose to get-as they explain later in the ambulance-a quicker effect.”

"And all of that," Celia said firmly, "is more cans and more worms than this tired drug person can handle in one day. I think I'll try to sleep.”

She did, and remained asleep through most of the remaining journey to Chicago. The connecting flight to New York was uneventful-though more comfortable because the family's reservations were in first class, which had not been possible from Honolulu. Then, to Celia's surprise, a Felding-Roth company limousine and chauffeur were waiting at Kennedy Airport to drive them to Morristown. The chauffeur, whom she knew slightly, saluted and handed her a sealed envelope which contained a letter from Seth Feingold.

Dear Celia: Welcome home!-in every sense. The car and chauffeur are with the compliments of the board of directors, and for your exclusive, regular use as executive vice president. Your colleagues and subordinates-this one included-look forward to meeting you when you are rested from your journey. Yours, Seth At the Jordans' Morristown house there was a joyous reunion with Winnie and Hank March-Winnie hugely extended and in her final weeks of pregnancy. As 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 intern 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' 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 have, 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 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 wearing 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 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, thinking, 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 facade must be preserved. To protect the company. So as not to provide more fodder for the jackal-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 head'.”What 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. 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 conferences though 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 taking mothers who had not yet given birth; these were based on fear of what might happen and, for the most part, charged Felding-Roth 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 he 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 retained on the advice of Felding-Roth's regular lawyers. Quentin, Celia learned, was known among colleagues as "Mr. O. C. Fixit," the initials denoting "out of court.”

This because of his negotiating skill-"he has the nerve of a high-stakes poker player," a company lawyer commented-in knowing just how far to go in getting claims resolved without court proceedings. Celia decided early that she would trust Childers Quentin. It also helped that she liked him. "What you and I must do, my dear," he informed her as if addressing a favorite niece, "is make swift settlements that are reasonable and generous. Those last two points are essential in containing a disaster situation such as this. About being generous, remember the worst thing that could happen is for one Montayne case to go into civil court and result in a multimillion-dollar jury award. It would set a precedent for other awards which could break your company.”

Celia asked, "Is there really a chance of settling everything out of court?" "A better one than you might think.”

He went on to explain. "When grievous, irreversible damage is caused to a child, such as is happening with Montayne, the first reaction of parents is despair, the second, anger. In their anger the parents want to punish those who caused their grief; therefore they seek a lawyer's help. Above all, the parents want-as the cliché goes-their day in court. "But we lawyers are pragmatic. We know that cases which go to court are sometimes lost, and not always for just reasons. We also know that pre-trial proceedings, crowded courts, as well as defense engineered delays, may cause it to be years before a case is heard. Then, even if won, appeals can drag on for years more. "Lawyers know, too, that after that first flush of anger their clients will become weary and disillusioned. Trial preparations can dominate their lives. These are personally consuming, an ever-present reminder of their sorrow. Invariably, people wish they had settled early and resumed, as best they could, their normal living.”

"Yes," Celia said, "I can understand all that.”

"There's more. Personal-injury lawyers, which is the kind we'll be dealing with, look to their own interests as well as clients'. Many take a damage-claim case on a contingency fee basis, so they receive a third, sometimes more, of what is won. But the lawyers have their own bills to pay-office rent, their children's college fees, mortgage installments, last month's American Express account...”

Quentin shrugged.”They are as you and 1. They would like their money soon, not doubtfully in the distant future, and that is a factor in achieving settlement.”

"I suppose ”

Celia's mind had drifted during the last exchange, and now she said, "Some days, since coming back here, I get a feeling of being cold and calculating, thinking only in money terms about Montayne and all that's happened.”

Quentin said, "I already know you well enough to believe that will never occur. Also, my dear, in case you think otherwise I assure you I am not indifferent, either, to this terrible tragedy. Yes, I have a job to do, and I will do it. But I am a father and a grandfather, and my heart bleeds for those destroyed children.”

From this and other sessions, a target was set for a further fifty million dollars to meet possible settlements. Also looming was an estimated cost of eight million dollars for the withdrawing, recalling and destruction of all supplies of Montayne. When Celia relayed these totals to Seth Feingold he nodded gravely, but seemed less alarmed than she expected. "We've had two fortuitous happenings since the beginning of the year," the comptroller explained.”One is exceptionally good results from our O-T-C products, where sales are much greater than anticipated. There also is a large, unexpected and 'once only' profit from foreign exchange. Ordinarily, of course, our shareholders would benefit. As it is, both windfalls will have to go toward that added fifty-million reserve.”

"Well, let's be grateful to both sources," Celia said. She remembered that this was not the first time 0-T-C products, which she once disdained, had helped keep Felding-Roth solvent in time of trouble. "Another thing that seems to be working for us," Seth continued, "is the promising news from Britain. I assume you're aware of it," "Yes. I've read the reports.”

"If it becomes necessary, on the strength of them the banks will lend us money.”

Celia had been delighted to learn of progress at the Harlow institute from where an exciting new drug, Peptide 7, seemed likely to emerge soon-"soon" in drug-development parlance meaning another two years before submission to regulatory agencies for approval. In an attempt to re-involve Sam in company policy, Celia had gone to him to discuss the latest U.K. news. Because the British institute had been Sam's idea, and he had fought to keep it funded, she assumed he would be pleased to have his faith confirmed and hoped, too, it would help offset his deep depression. Neither idea worked out. Sam's response was indifference. He also rejected a suggestion that he fly to Britain to talk with Martin Peat-Smith and judge the significance of what was happening. "Thank you, no," he told Celia.”I'm sure you can find out what you need by other means.”

But even Sam's attitude did not change the fact that Harlow could now loom large in Felding-Roth's future. And something else. Vincent Lord's long years of research into what was known chemically as "the quenching of free radicals," the elimination of dangerous side effects from otherwise good drugs, had at last shown positive results. These were so auspicious-with all the indications of a major scientific breakthrough, something Lord had always coveted-that a massive research effort in Felding-Roth's U.S. laboratories was now being directed toward final development. While the British Peptide 7 was clearly the drug that would be

340 _ ready first, Vincent Lord's creation, provisionally named Hexin W, was likely to be only a year or two behind. The second development had another effect. It made Lord's future more secure at Felding-Roth. Celia had at first considered-in view of Lord's strong advocacy of Montayne, and for other general reasons-replacing him when an opportunity arose. Yet now he seemed too valuable to lose. Thus, surprisingly, and despite the overhanging shadow of Montayne, the company climate suddenly looked brighter.

6

At Harlow, Yvonne Evans and Martin Peat-Smith were spending an increasing amount of time together. Although Yvonne still kept a small apartment she had rented when beginning work at the Felding-Roth institute, she was seldom there. Every weekend and most weeknights she was at Martin's house, where she happily took over the domestic side of Martin's life as well as attending to his-and her own-sexual needs. Yvonne had reorganized the kitchen, which was now orderly and gleaming. From it she produced appetizing meals, exercising a talent as a versatile cook which seemed to come to her naturally and which she enjoyed. Each morning before they left, separately, for work, she made the bed she and Martin shared, seeing to it that the linen was clean and changed more frequently than in the past. She left notes with instructions for the "daily," the cleaning woman, with the result that the remainder of the house took on the immaculate appearance that comes from an eye for detail, which Yvonne had, and proper supervision. Some changes in the pet m6nage were also made by Yvonne. She added a Siamese cat of her own. Then, one Saturday when Martin was working but Yvonne wasn't, she brought a saw and other tools with which she constructed a hinged "cat flap" in a rear downstairs door. It meant that the cats were free to come and go at any time, the effect being healthier for the pets and for the household. Also, when Yvonne stayed overnight she exercised the dogs in the early morning, supplementing the regular exercise Martin gave them every evening. Martin loved it all. Something else he loved was Yvonne's cheerful, usually inconsequential chatter. She talked about a multitude of subjects, few of great importance--current films, the private lives of stars, pop musicians and their offstage antics; which London stores were having sales, and the latest buys at Marks and Spencer; the telly; gossip of the institute--who had become engaged, was pregnant, or about to be divorced; sexual excesses of the clergy, as reported in the vigilant British press; even a political scandal or two... Yvonne absorbed such matters, garnered from listening and selective reading, like a sponge. Strangely, not only did Martin not object to hearing all this, at times he found it refreshing and a change and, at other times, like background music. The point was, he decided when he thought about it, he was surrounded so much of the time by intellectuals whose conversation was on a serious scientific plane, with trivia excluded, that he grew weary of it. When he listened to Yvonne he could coast contentedly, leaving his brain in neutral. One of Yvonne's interests-a near-passion-was the Prince of Wales. His much-publicized romances fascinated, though sometimes worried her. She discussed them endlessly. A name linked with Charles's at the time was Princess Marie-Astrid of Luxembourg. Yvonne refused to take the gossip seriously.”A marriage would never work," she assured Martin.”Besides being a Catholic, Marie-Astrid isn't right.”

"How do you know?" he asked. "I just do.”

Another touted candidate, Lady Amanda Knatchbull, found more favor.”She could be okay," Yvonne conceded.”But if only Charles will be patient, I'm sure someone else will come along who's more right for him, even perfect.”

"He's probably worrying himself, so why not write and tell him?" Martin suggested. As if she hadn't heard, Yvonne declared thoughtfully and with a touch of poetry, "What he needs is an English rose.”

One night after Yvonne and Martin had made love, he teased her, "Were you pretending I was the Prince of Wales?" She answered mischievously, "How did you know?" Despite her penchant for chitchat, Yvonne was no birdbrain, Martin discovered. She showed interest in other things, including the theory behind the mental aging project, which Martin patiently explained and which she seemed to understand. She was curious about his devotion to the writings of John Locke, and several times he found her with an open copy of Locke's Essay, her forehead creased in concentration. "It isn't easy to understand," Yvonne admitted. "No, not for anyone," he said.”You have to work at it.”

As to their liaison and possible gossip, Martin was sure that some was circulating-Harlow was too small a place for that not to happen. But at the research institute he and Yvonne were discreet, never communicating with each other unless their work required it. Apart from that, Martin took the view that his private life was his own affair. He had given no thought as to how long the relationship between himself and Yvonne would continue, but from their casual remarks it was clear that neither saw it as demanding, or more than temporary - An enthusiasm they shared was the progress of the Harlow research. As Martin wrote in one of his rare reports to New Jersey: "The structure of Peptide 7 is now known. The gene has been made, inserted into bacteria, and large amounts have been prepared.”

The process, he noted, was "much like the preparation of human insulin.”

At the same time, tests for Peptide Ts safety and effectiveness continued via injections into animals. A vast amount of animal data was accumulating, to the point where permission for human trials would be sought within the next few months. Perhaps inevitably, rumors about the institute's research leaked out and reached the press. Though Mar-tin declined requests to give interviews, arguing that anything printed would be premature, reporters found other sources and newspaper accounts appeared anyway. On the whole they were accurate. Speculation about a "wonder drug to delay growing old, now being tried on animals" was given prominence, as well as "the drug's remarkable weight-reducing effect.”

All of this aroused Martin's anger because clearly someone on the scientific staff had been indiscreet. On Martin's instruction, Nigel Bentley attempted to find out who had talked, but without success. "Actually," the administrator pointed out, "the publicity hasn't done much harm, if any. The scientific world already has a good idea of what you're doing-remember those two consultants you had in. And titillating the public now could help sales of Peptide 7 later on.”

Martin was unconvinced, but let the matter drop, One unwelcome effect of the publicity was a flood of letters, pamphlets and petitions from "animal-rights" crusaders--extremists who objected to experiments of any kind on animals. Some described Martin and his Harlow staff as "sadists," "torturers," "barbarians" and "heartless criminals.”

As Martin told Yvonne after reading samples of the more vituperative mail at home, "All countries have their anti-experimentation kooks, but Britain is the worst.”

He picked up another letter, then put it down in disgust.”These people don't just want animal suffering kept to a minimum-which I'm in favor of, and I believe in laws to enforce it. But they want our kind of science, which has to use animals, to come to a screeching halt.”

Yvonne asked, "Do you think there'll be a time when research won't need animals at all?" "Someday perhaps, yes. Even now, in places where we used to use animals we're using methods like tissue cultures, quantum pharmacology, and computers instead. But doing without animals entirely...”

Martin shook his head.”It could happen, but not for a long time.”

"Well, don't let it get to you.”

Yvonne collected the protest letters and stuffed them back into a briefcase.”Besides, think of our animals. Because of Peptide 7, they're healthier and smarter.,, But her words failed to change Martin's mood. The recent mail influx had depressed him. Overall at the institute, however, the contrast to the early days of groping-when there was so little progress and only negative results-was so great that Martin confided to Rao Sastri, "I'm worried. When anything goes this well, a major setback can be just around the corner.”

His words proved prophetic-and sooner than expected. It was the following weekend---early Sunday morning, shortly after 1a.m. -when a telephone call awakened Martin. Yvonne was still asleep beside him. When Martin answered, the caller was Nigel Bentley. "I'm at the institute," the administrator said.”The police called me. I think you'd better come.”

"What's wrong?" "It's bad news, I'm afraid.”

Bentley's voice sounded grim.”But I'd rather you see for yourself Can you get here quickly?" "I'm on my way.”

By now, Yvonne was awake. As Martin began to throw on clothes, she hurriedly dressed too. They went together, in Martin's car. At the institute, other vehicles were outside, two of them police cars with blue lights flashing. A third flashing light was on a fire engine, just leaving. The institute's front doors were open. Bentley met them inside. A uniformed police inspector was with him. If Bentley was surprised to see Yvonne, he effectively concealed it. "We've been raided," he announced.”By animal lovers.”

Martin's brow creased.”Animal lovers?" "Actually, sir," the policeman said, "the people who did it call themselves the Animal Rescue Army. They've given us trouble before.”

The inspector, approaching middle age, had the resigned, sardonic manner of one who had watched many human follies and expected to see more. Martin said impatiently, "Did what? What's happened?" "They broke in," Bentley answered, "And then they released all the animals. Some are still loose in the building, but most were taken outside, the cages opened, and of course they're gone. Then they collected all the files and records they could find, carried them outside, and poured petrol on.”

"They started a fire, Doctor," the inspector said.”Someone in another building saw it and phoned in an alarm. When the fire brigade came and put it out is when we got here too. We were in time to catch two suspects, a woman and a man. The man's been in prison, he admits, for another similar offense.”

"The two the police caught are being held in my office," Bentley continued. "There seems to have been a gang of six. They overpowered our watchman and locked him in a cupboard. They also knew how to deactivate the burglar alarm.” "The whole operation was carefully planned," the police inspector said. "That's one of the hallmarks of these people.”

Martin scarcely heard. His eyes were on four rats which had scampered into a corner of the reception area and were huddled there. Now, frightened by voices, the rats ran through another open door. Martin followed, heading for the laboratories and animal rooms. Mess and confusion confronted him. Animal cages had either been removed or were open and empty. Loose-leaf reference books were gone. File drawers had been pulled out, some of their contents scattered on the floor. Many files were missing. Presumably they had been burned outside. Bentley, the inspector, and Yvonne had followed Martin. Yvonne murmured, "Oh, my God!" Martin, emotional, despairing, could only ask, "Why? Oh, why?" The inspector suggested, "Maybe you should put that question to the pair we've arrested, Doctor.”

Martin nodded without speaking, and the policeman led the way to the administrator's office. Inside, a young police constable was guarding a man and a woman. The woman, in her mid-thirties, was tall and slim. She had aquiline, haughty features and her hair was trimmed short. A lighted cigarette drooped from her lips. She wore tight jeans, a lumberjack shirt, and plastic, thigh-length boots. As the inspector and the others came in, she regarded them disdainfully, seemingly unconcerned about her capture. The man, of about the same age, was slight and in other circumstances could have been thought of as meek and mild. He looked like a clerk, was balding, slightly stooped, and wore steel-rimmed spectacles. He smiled thinly at the newcomers-and defiantly. "These are the pretty pair," the inspector said.”They've been cautioned legally, but they seem to want to talk. Real proud of themselves, they are.”

"And so we should be," the man said. His voice was reedy and unsteady; he coughed nervously to clear it.”We've done a noble deed.”

Martin exploded, his voice close to shouting.”Do you have any idea what you've done? How much important work you've wrecked and wasted?" "What we do know," the woman said, "is that we've saved some fellow creatures from the vivisectionists-tyrants like you who exploit animals for your selfish ends.”

"If you think that, you're ignorant fools.”

Martin wanted to lash out physically at the two in front of him, but restrained himself.”All the animals you released were born in captivity. Those outside can't survive. They'll die horribly. And those inside will have to be destroyed.”

"Better that," the woman said, "than suffer your inhumane cruelty.”

"He isn't inhumane! He isn't cruel!" It was Yvonne, her face flushed, her voice pitched high.”Dr. Peat-Smith is one of the kindest men who ever lived. He loves animals.”

The man sneered.”As pets, I suppose.”

"We don't approve of animals as pets," the woman said.”That's a master-slave relationship. We believe animal fights are equal to human rights. Furthermore, animals should not be restricted, confined, or have to suffer, merely to make humans happier or healthier.”

Her voice, measured and assured, had the tone of one blessed with total moral certainty. The man said, "Something else we believe is that the human species has no superiority over other species.”

"In your case," the inspector said, "I'd say that's true.”

Martin addressed the woman.”You and your fellow lunatics have just destroyed scientific research which will take years to repeat. And for all that time you'll have deprived thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of decent, deserving people of a medicine to make their lives better, more bearable...”

"Well, good for the Animal Rescue Army!" Scornfully, the woman interrupted, spitting words at Martin.”I'm delighted to hear our effort was successful. And if what you call scientific research, and I call barbarous atrocities, is repeated, I hope you die in agony doing it.”

"You maniac!" The words were a scream, spoken as Yvonne dived forward, hands extended. There was a second's stillness in which no one else realized what was happening, then Yvonne was attacking the woman fiercely, fingernails raking her face. Martin and the inspector between them pulled Yvonne away. Now the Animal Rescue woman screamed.”That was an assault! A criminal =assault.”

As two long red weals, one of them bleeding, flared on her face, she demanded of the two policemen, "Arrest that bitch! She must be criminally charged.”

"Arrest this lady?" The inspector seemed pained. He glanced toward Yvonne who was trembling and seemed in shock.”Arrest her for what? I didn't see any assault.”

He looked toward the constable.”Did you?" The other policeman answered, "No, sir. I reckon the prisoner got those marks on her face from the animals when she was opening some of those cages.”

Martin put his arm around Yvonne.”Let's get out of here. There's nothing to be gained by talking to these people.”

As they left, they heard the inspector ask, "Now how about being reasonable, and giving me the names of those others with you?" "Go screw yourself, copper," the woman said. Bentley had followed Martin and Yvonne. He told them, "Those two will go to jail.”

Yvonne said, "Oh, I hope so.”

"They will," the administrator assured her.”And they'll join others from that Animal Rescue Army who are there already because of other raids like this. The whole bunch see themselves as martyrs. I've read a lot about them. Supposedly they have hundreds of followers around the country.”

He added, glumly, "I'm sorry. I should have foreseen this.”

"None of us could have," Martin said. He sighed.”Tomorrow we'll start cleaning up and see what's left.”

7

The dispiriting task of assessing damage at the Harlow research institute took several days. At the end, Martin estimated that the "animal- rights" raid had caused a two-year setback. From the ashes of a burned pile of papers and other records outside the building, some assorted material was salvaged, but not much. Later, Nigel Bentley reported to Martin, "Those nut cases apparently knew what they were looking for, and where everything was. That means they had inside help which, according to the police, fits the pattern of other raids they've made. What they do, I'm told, is persuade people like cleaners and maintenance staff to become informers. I'll try to find out who were our Judases, though I haven't much hope.”

Bentley was also putting into effect strong and expensive security precautions for the future. As he expressed it, "In a way, it's an exercise in stable-door shutting, but those self-righteous people don't give up easily and could be back.”

Martin, in turn, reported to New Jersey by telephone the day after the raid. He talked with Celia Jordan. A few days earlier Martin had been delighted to learn of Celia's return to the company; now he expressed regret that their first conversation should involve bad news. Celia was shocked to learn of the Harlow devastation-so much in contrast to the recent heady progress reports concerning Peptide 7. She questioned Martin sharply about his estimate of delay. "What we'll have to do," he advised her, "is repeat all the animal experiments to recover our data, which will be needed, of course, to accompany any drug application the company eventually makes. It's a terrible time waste and cost, but there isn't any choice.”

"Are you sure about two years?" "That's the worst case. If we can shave a few months from that time, we will. We know a great deal more than we did two years ago, and some shortcuts may appear. We'll all do our best.”

"I want you to know," Celia said, "that Peptide 7 has become tremendously important to us here. Do you remember a conversation you and I had at your home? When you said that given more time, you'd produce an important medication which could make Felding-Roth enormously rich? Those last two words were yours.”

At the Harlow end of the line, Martin grimaced.”I'm afraid I do remember. I wasn't behaving like a scientist, and I hope that conversation doesn't go further than the two of us.”

"It won't. But I remind you of it because the first part of your prediction came true. Now we desperately need the rest.”

"Two years to get back where we were," Martin repeated.” Shortcuts or no, it won't be much less.”

But the conversation spurred him to hasten reorganizing. Replacement animals were ordered promptly from supply houses, and as they arrived the institute staff commenced the tiresome rote of repeating work begun long ago. As a result, within three weeks the data recovery process was moving at full speed. Through the entire ordeal, from the night of the raid onward, Yvonne sustained Martin in body and spirit. She took total charge of his domestic life, asking him nothing, doing everything, so that neither his attention nor energy was diverted from the institute. At other times she comforted him, seeming to know instinctively when to be silently attentive or, at other moments, to amuse him with cheerful chatter. Once, after an especially grueling day, she told him at bedtime to lie face down, and when he did, gave him a slow Swedish massage which sent him into a deep sleep that lasted until morning. When Martin asked next day how she learned to do such things, she answered, "I once roomed with a friend who was a masseuse. She taught me.”

"I've noticed something about you," he said.”You never miss a chance to learn. The same way you did by working at John Locke. Have you read any more from him lately?" "Yes.”

Yvonne hesitated, then said, "I found something he wrote which kind of fits those 'animal-rights' people. About enthusiasm.”

Martin said curiously, "I'm not sure I remember. Can you find the passage?" Locke's Essay was across the room, but without bothering to get it, Yvonne began:

"Immediate revelation being a much easier way for men to establish their opinions and regulate their conduct than the tedious and not always successful labor of strict reasoning, it is no wonder that some have been very apt to pretend to revelation, and to persuade themselves that they are under the peculiar guidance of heaven in their actions and opinions...”

As she recited, obviously from memory, Martin regarded her with astonishment. Observing him, she stopped, blushed slightly, then continued. "Their minds being thus prepared, whatever groundless opinion comes to settle itself strongly upon their fancies is an illumination from the Spirit of God and presently of divine authority; and whatsoever odd action they find in themselves a strong inclination to do, that impulse is concluded to be a call or direction from heaven...”

Yvonne stopped, giggled, then said with embarrassment, "That's enough.”

"No, no!" Martin urged, "Go on, please! If you can.”

She said doubtfully, "You're making fun of me.”

"Not in any slightest way.”

"All right.”

She recited again.

“....enthusiasm, which, though founded neither on reason nor divine revelation, but rising from the conceits of a warmed or overweening brain... men being most forwardly obedient to the impulses they receive from themselves... For strong conceit, like a new principle, carries all easily with it, when got above common sense, and freed from all restraint of reason...”

Yvonne concluded the passage, then stopped, those blue, innocent-appearing eyes fixed on Martin, making clear she was still wondering about his reaction, doubtful of herself He said, his tone incredulous, "I do recall that quotation now. And I don't believe you got a single word wrong. How did you do it?" "Well... I remember things.”

"Anything? And always in such detail?" "I suppose SO.”

It reminded Martin that even when reporting trivial gossip, Yvonne always seemed to have the details right-names, dates, places, sources, background facts. He had noted that subconsciously, but without significance until now. He asked, "How many times do you have to read something until you've memorized it?" "Once, mostly. But with Locke it was twice.”

Yvonne still looked uncomfortable, as if Martin had uncovered a guilty secret. He said, "I want to try something.”

Going to another room, he found a book he was sure Yvonne had not seen before. It was Locke's The Conduct of the Understanding. Opening it to a page he had once marked, he told her, "Read this. From here to here.”

"Can I read it twice?" "Of course.”

She put her head down, her long blond hair tumbling forward while she frowned in concentration, then she lowered the book. Martin took it from her and instructed, "Now tell me what you read.”

He followed the words as she repeated them.

"There are fundamental truths that lie at the bottom, the basis upon which a great many others rest, and in which they have their consistency. These are teeming truths, rich in store, with which they furnish the mind, and, like the lights of heaven, are not only beautiful and entertaining in themselves, but give light and evidence to other things, that without them could not be seen or known. Such is that admirable discovery of Mr. Newton that all bodies gravitate...”

She went on for several paragraphs more, Martin finding each word exactly as printed in the book he held. At the end, Yvonne pronounced, "That piece is beautiful.”

"So are you," he told her.”And so is what you have. Do you know what it is?" Again that unease, the hesitation.”You tell me.”

"You've a photographic memory. It's something special and unique. Surely you must have known.”

"In a way. But I never wanted to be different. Not a circus freak.”

There was a break in Yvonne's voice. For the first time since he had known her, Martin sensed tears not far away. "Who, in God's name, ever said you were a freak?" "A teacher at school.”

Under Martin's tender questioning the story came out. She had written an examination and, because of that photographic memory, many of her answers were identical with material in textbooks. The woman teacher who marked the paper accused Yvonne of cheating. Later, Yvonne's denial was disbelieved. In desperation she had given an example of memorizing similar to the one Martin just witnessed. The teacher, angry at being proved wrong, had scoffed at Yvonne's ability, describing her as a "circus freak" and her kind of learning as "worthless.”

Martin interrupted.”It isn't worthless if you understand what you've learned.”

"Oh, I did understand.”

"I believe that," he assured her.”You've a good brain. I've seen it function.”

But after her clash with the teacher, Yvonne not only concealed her gift, she attempted to discard it. When studying, she consciously tried not to memorize sentences and phrases and, in part, succeeded. But doing so also lessened her understanding of what she was required to learn, with the result that she did poorly in examinations and failed the one that might have got her into veterinary college. "Teachers can do a lot that's good," Martin said.”But stupid ones can do great harm.”

Yvonne, looking sad as she remembered, said nothing, and a silence followed during which Martin concentrated, thinking. At length he said, "You've done so much for me. Maybe, for a change, I can do something for you. Would you still like to be a vet?" The question took her by surprise.”Is it possible?" "Many things are possible. The point is: do you want it?" "Of course. It's what I've always wanted.”

"Then let me make some inquiries," Martin said.”Let's see what I find out.”

It did not take long. Two days later, after dinner at home which Yvonne prepared, Martin said, "Let's sit and talk. I have things to tell you.”

In the small living room, he relaxed in his leather armchair while Yvonne curled up on the rug in front. Despite her good intentions, she still had not shed her surplus weight, though Martin made clear it didn't bother him; he liked the fullness of Yvonne's body and its curves, which he regarded fondly at this moment. He told her, "You can apply to veterinary college, and the chances are good that you'll get in. Also, some financial aid, which you'll need to live reasonably, is possible, even probable, with help from the institute. But if you don't get helped financially, I'm sure I could work something out.”

She said, "But I'd have to do other work first and pass exams.”

"Yes, and I've found out what you need. You'll have to pass three 'A' levels--one in chemistry, another in physics, a third in zoology, biology or botany. With your experience, zoology makes most sense. "Yes, it does.”

A note of doubt crept in.”Would it mean giving up my job?" "Not necessarily, while you're preparing for the 'A' levels. You can study during evenings and weekends, I'll help you. We'll work together.”

Yvonne said breathlessly, "I can hardly believe it.”

"You'll believe it when you find out how much there is to do.”

"Oh, I'll work hard. I promise. I really will.”

Martin smiled.”I know. And with that memorizing mind of yours, you'll sail through it all, and you'll pass the exams without trouble.”

He paused, considering.”One thing you'll have to learn is to change the textbook language so it isn't identical when you sit the exams. No sense in making examiners suspicious the way your teacher was. But you can practice that beforehand. And there are techniques to passing exams. I can show you those too.”

Yvonne jumped up and threw her arms around him, "Oh, my love, you're wonderful, and the idea is so exciting. This has to be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

"Well," he said, "since you mention it, I've been feeling the same way about you.”

At Felding-Roth, New Jersey, the mood of mild euphoria which developed soon after Celia's rejoining the company did not last long. The animal-raid news from Britain, reported by Martin PeatSmith, first shattered it. Then, closer to home, a sudden, dramatic tragedy cast an overhanging pall of gloom. It was an accident-at least, "accident" was how the Boonton police eventually classified it-and it happened on a workday, three weeks exactly after Celia's return. A few minutes before 9a.m, Celia's chauffeured company car brought her to the catwalk level of the Felding-Roth parking garage, near the entrance to the glassed-in ramp that led to the main office building. Celia's driver had pulled in close to the ramp, on the left, because-as he told it later-he had observed in his rear-view mirror, while at street level, Mr. Hawthorne's Rolls-Bentley a short distance behind. Knowing that the company president would be driving to his normal parking slot, which was against an outer wall and to the right of where Celia's car had stopped, the driver left access to it clear. Celia did not see Sam's car until she got out of her own, with the chauffeur holding the door open. At that time she saw first the distinctive hood cresting the top of the ramp from the parking floor below, then the rest of the car as it reached the catwalk level. Expecting to walk with Sam across to the executive elevator, as on other days, Celia paused while the handsome automobile-for many years Sam's pride and joy-moved forward at a safe, slow speed. Then it happened. With a sudden roar from the powerful Rolls-Royce engine, accompanied by a screech of tires, the heavy car shot forward, attaining high speed instantly as no lesser vehicle ever could. It passed Celia and her driver in a blur of silver-gray, went through the parking slot assigned to Sam, and without stopping smashed into the wall directly ahead. The shoulder-high wall, open at the top, was the only separation between the parking floor and the outside air, with the ground some fifty feet below. With a reverberating crash, the wall crumbled and the car went through it, disappearing. Immediately after, and for what seemed to Celia the longest time, there was a silence. Then from below, and out of sight, came a heavy thud, and a tortured rending of metal and a shattering of glass. The chauffeur raced to the ragged opening in the wall, and Celia's first impulse was to follow him. She curbed it. Instead, thinking quickly, she got back inside her car, which had a mobile telephone, and used it to call police emergency. She gave the address and asked for police officers, a fire truck, and an ambulance to be sent to the scene urgently. Then, making a second call to Felding-Roth's switchboard, she instructed that any medical doctors available-the company employed several-were to hurry to the west side ground level of the parking garage. Only after that did Celia go to the gaping hole through which Sam's car had crashed, and look downward. What she saw horrified her. The once-handsome automobile was upside down and totally wrecked. Clearly, it had fallen first on its front end which, from the force of impact after the fifty-foot fall, had been thrust back into the main body of the car. The concertinaed whole had then rolled over onto the roof, which collapsed too. Smoke was rising from the wreckage, though it had not caught fire. A twisted wheel was spinning crazily. Fortunately, where the car had fallen was part of a vacant lot. No one had been below. There was nothing to damage but some shrubs and grass. Several people were now running toward the demolished vehicle, and Celia could hear approaching sirens. It seemed impossible, however, that anyone inside what was left of the Rolls-Bentley could have survived. And that was how it was. It took more than an hour to pry Sam's body loose, a grisly task over which the fire department rescue squad did not hurry since a doctor, reaching inside, had confirmed the obvious-Sam was dead. Celia, taking charge, had telephoned Lilian, breaking the news as gently as she could, though urging Lilian not to go to the scene. "If you like," Celia volunteered, "I'll come over now.”

There was a silence, then Lilian said, "No. Let me stay here for a while. I need to be alone.”

Her voice sounded remote and disembodied, as if coming from another planet. She had suffered already and now would suffer more. What women have to bear, Celia thought. Lilian said, "After a while I'll go to Sam. You'll let me know where he's been taken, Celia?" "Yes. And I'll either come to get you or meet you there.”

"Thank you.”

Celia attempted to phone Juliet, then Juliet's husband, Dwight, but could not reach either. Next she summoned Julian Hammond, the public affairs vice president, to her office and instructed, "Issue a press statement immediately about Sam's death. Describe it as a tragic accident. I want the word 'accident' stressed, to head off other speculation. You might say something about the probability that his accelerator jammed, causing the car to go out of control.”

Hammond protested, "No one will believe that.”

Wanting to weep, controlling her emotions by a thread, Celia snapped, "Don't argue! Do it the way I say. And now.” The last service she would do for Sam, she thought as Hammond left, was-if she could-to save him the indignity of being labeled a suicide. But to those closest to him, suicide it plainly was. What seemed most likely was that Sam, finally overwhelmed by his burden of despair and guilt about Montayne, had seen the parking garage wall ahead, thought suddenly of a way to end his life, and floored the accelerator pedal, steering for the relatively fragile wall. It would be typical of Sam, his friends said privately, to have remembered the vacant lot below and therefore the absence of danger to anyone else. Celia had some questions and guilt feelings of her own. Had Sam, she wondered, contemplated on previous occasions doing what he did, but allowed sanity to prevail? Then, seeing Celia that day as his car topped the ramp--Celia confident and in control, wielding authority which would have remained his had circumstances not reversed their roles so drastically-had Sam then... ? She could not bring herself to complete the question, the answer to which she would never know. One other thought kept coming back to her: The occasion in Sam's office, the first day of Celia's return, when he had said, “.

...there's something else. Something you don't know.” And a moment later, "I'll never tell you.” What was Sam's other secret? Celia tried to guess, but failed. Whatever it was must have died with him. At the family's request, Sam's funeral was private. Celia was the only company representative. Andrew accompanied her. Seated on an uncomfortable folding chair in an undertaker's chapel, while an unctuous clergyman who had not known Sam intoned religious platitudes, Celia tried to blot out the present and recall the richer past. Twenty-two years ago-Sam hiring her as a detail woman... Sam at her wedding... Her selection of him as the one to follow on the company ladder... At the New York sales meeting, risking hisjob in her defense- "I'm standing up here to be counted. If we let Mrs. Jordan leave this way, we're all shortsighted fools"... Sam, overcoming opposition, placing her on the fast track... promoting her to 0-T-C, later to Latin-American Director.- "International is where the future is.”

....Sam, on his own promotion and his two secretaries.- "I think they dictate letters to each other.”

....Sam the Anglophile, who was farseeing about a British research institute: "Celia, I want you as my right hand.”

....Sam, who had paid for a judgmental error with his reputation, and now his life. She felt Andrew move beside her. He passed a folded handkerchief. Only then did Celia realize that tears were streaming down her face. Again at their request, only Lilian and Juliet accompanied the coffin to the graveside. Celia spoke to both briefly before leaving. Lilian was pale; there seemed little life left in her. Juliet's face and eyes were hard; she appeared not to have cried during the service. Dwight was conspicuously absent. In the days that followed, Celia persisted in her effort to have Sam's death officially declared an accident. She succeeded, mainly because-as she explained to Andrew-"No one seemed to have the heart to argue otherwise. Sam didn't carry life insurance, so financially it didn't matter.”

After a decent interval of two weeks, the Felding-Roth board of directors met to elect a new president. Within the company it was assumed this was a formality only, and that Celia would be appointed.

Seth Feingold came to tier office a few minutes after the directors' meeting ended. His expression was grim. "I've been deputed to tell you this," he said, "and I hate doing it. But you aren't going to be president.”

When Celia failed to react, he went on, "You may not believe this and, by God, it isn't fair, but there are still some men on the board who don't like the idea of a woman heading the company.”

"I believe it," Celia said.”Some women have spent their lives discovering it.”

"There was a long argument, heated at times," Seth said.”The board was split, and there were several who spoke out strongly in your favor. But the objectors wouldn't budge. In the end, we had to compromise.”

A president pro tempore had been appointed, Seth revealed. He was Preston O'Halloran, a retired bank president who for many years had been a member of the Felding-Roth board. He was seventy-eight and nowadays walked with the aid of a cane. While respected and a financial expert, the new president's knowledge of the pharmaceutical business was limited and largely confined to what he learned at board meetings. Celia had met O'Halloran several times, though without knowing him well. She asked, "What's with the pro tem?" "O'Halloran has agreed to serve for six months at the most. Sometime between then and now the board will make a permanent appointment.”

Seth grimaced.”I may as well tell you there's talk of looking for someone outside the company.”

"I see. 11 "I suppose I shouldn't say this. But frankly, Celia, if I were in your position I'd say, 'To hell with 'em all!' Then I'd walk out of here-right now.”

She shook her head negatively.”If I did, someone else would say, 'How like a woman!' Besides, I agreed to come back to do a cleanup job, and so I will. When it's finished, though... well, let's wait until then.”

The conversation reminded her of one she had had years before with Sam, when Celia had been made assistant director of Sales Training instead of director, because-as Sam expressed it at the time-"There are some in the company who can't swallow quite that much. Not yet.”

Plus qa change, plus cest la meme chose, she quoted silently to herself. The more things change, the more they remain the same.

"Do you feel terribly hurt?" Andrew asked at dinner. Celia thought before answering.”Yes, I suppose so. The injustice gets to me. Yet in another way, strangely, I find I don't care as much as I would have a few years ago.”

"That's what I thought. Would you like me to tell you why?' She laughed.”Please do, Doctor.”

"It's because you're a fulfilled woman, my love. Fulfilled in every way. You're the best wife any man could have, and a superb mother, and you're smart, responsible and competent at work, and can run rings around most men. You've proved a thousand times how good you are. So you don't, anymore, need the trappings and the titles because everybody who knows you knows your worth including those chauvinist boobs on the Felding-Roth board, not one of whom is worth your little finger. That's why what happened today shouldn't cause you a second's anguish, because those who made the decision are the losers, and sooner or later they'll find out.”

Andrew stopped.”Sorry. I didn't mean to make a speech. I just wanted to state some truths and maybe cheer you up.”

Celia got up from her chair and threw her arms around him. As she kissed him she said, "As, indeed, you have.”

Winnie's baby-a healthy son-was born the following day. The event delighted not only Winnie and Hank, but the entire Jordan family, Lisa phoning Winnie enthusiastically from California, Bruce from Pennsylvania. Winnie, as usual, took everything in stride.”Looks like I 'it the jackpot," she contended happily from her hospital bed.”Now p'raps 'Askan' me should try fer twins.”

Vincent Lord was a changed man. He radiated energy and happiness. After almost twenty years of scientific dedication to a single idea, of pursuing a dream which few other than himself believed in designing that drug to quench free radicals-the dream had at last come true. The decades of dedication were about to be rewarded. What was now feasible, needing only the completion of trials on animals and humans to satisfy the law's requirements, was a drug which would make other drugs, hitherto dangerous, beneficial and safe. Hexin W-Lord's provisional name for his creation had, so far, persisted-was being discussed avidly within the industry, although full details remained a Felding-Roth secret. Other pharmaceutical firms, which kept surveillance on patent filings and understood the implications of this one, were already letting their interest be known. As the head of a major competitive company expressed it in a telephone call to Celia, "Naturally we wish our own researchers had discovered what Dr. Lord appears to have done, but since they didn't, we want to be first in line when you people are ready to talk deals.”

Of equal interest was that the new drug would be usable in either of two ways. It could be included as an active ingredient when other drugs were formulated-that is, mixed in during manufacturing. Or it could be made up as a separate tablet, to be taken with other medication, Thus, Hexin W would be an "across-the-board" drug. Expressed another way, it was a drug-scientist's drug, to be used by developers of other pharmaceutical products, and marketed, not by one company, but by many. The other companies would operate under license, with royalties-presumably enormous-being paid to Felding-Roth. Among principal beneficiaries from Hexin W would be arthritis and cancer patients. Many strong potions for those conditions already existed, but were prescribed sparingly, or not at all, because of dangerous side effects. With Hexin W, those effects and dangers would be removed or markedly reduced. Vince Lord explained to Celia and several others during a sales planning session what would happen with arthritis. He used non-scientific language.

"Sufferers get inflammation in the joints which causes immobility and pain. It occurs when the disease condition generates free radicals which, in turn, attract leukocytes-white blood cells. The leukocytes. pile up, creating and worsening the inflammation. "But Hexin W.”

Lord continued, "stops free-radical production, so leukocytes are not attracted. Result-there is no inflammation, and pain disappears.”

The effect of Lord's statement was such that several of his listeners clapped their hands. He flushed with pleasure. Lesser ailments, he added, would also have new choices of treatment, because of Hexin W.

The big breakthrough with his research had come to Vince Lord some three months earlier. It marked a gloriously satisfying victory in a laborious, wearying process of trial and er-ror-a process frequently heartbreaking and strewn with repeated failures. The process itself was another measure of Lord's achievement because nowadays, by some, it was regarded as outdated. Expressed simply: the system developed new drugs from old drugs, making use of organic chemistry. Beginning with an existing active compound, the drug's chemistry was modified, then modified again... and again, and again, and again... if necessary to infinity. Always, the search was for a new effective drug, derived from the old, and with no, or low, toxicity. Looking back, Lord remembered how, two years ago, after trying nearly a thousand different compounds-all unsuccessful-he vowed he would never give up. A differing, newer approach-employed by Sir James Black, the distinguished developer of SmithKline's Tagamet-was to decide which biological disorder might be corrected pharmaceutically, then create a totally new drug. Martin Peat-Smith, at Harlow, was using genetic methods which were newer still. However, even the last two involved years of experimentation and could end in failure, though when they succeeded, revolutionary new drugs resulted. But Lord had decided the older method was more suited to his purpose and temperament and, by God!, he reminded himself, he had been right. What caused his more immediate happiness was the small army of specialists----chemists, biologists, physicians, clinical pharmacologists, physiologists, toxicologists, veterinarians, pathologists, and statisticians-who, at Felding-Roth, were working together, exercising their talents to bring Hexin W to its final form. Even so, because of a complex testing program in animals and humans, it would be another two years before an application for general use of Hexin W could be made to FDA. While not saying so aloud, Lord had been pleased to hear of the setback to Peat-Smith's Peptide 7 program. This, because a twoyear delay at Harlow meant Hexin W might now be on the market first. Lord's upbeat mood had even caused him to take an initiative in making peace with Celia. Soon after her return to the company, he went to her office. Offering congratulations on her new appointment, he told her, "I'm glad to see you back.”

"For that matter," Celia said, "congratulations to you. I've just read the report on Hexin W.”

"I expect it to be recognized as one of the major discoveries of the century," Lord acknowledged matter-of-factly. Even a certain mellowing with the passage of years had not dimmed his appreciation of his own worth. In his conversation with 'Celia, Lord did not choose to admit she had been right about Montayne, and himself wrong. His reasoning was that she had merely made a lucky, unscientific guess; therefore she deserved no more intellectual credit than did the holder of a winning lottery ticket. Despite the tentative rapport with Celia, he was relieved when, after Sam Hawthorne's death, she did not become president. That would have been too much to live with. For once, he thought, the board of directors had shown some sense. As the world entered the new year of 1978, Hexin W continued to be a strong center of hope at Felding-Roth.

The appointment of Preston O'Halloran as Felding-Roth president pro tem made little difference, if any, to Celia's responsibilities and day-by-day routine. The day after the special board meeting, O'Halloran had been open and frank with her. They met-just the two of them-in the president's office suite. The sight of a new tenant in quarters which until so recently had been occupied by Sam was a poignant reminder to Celia of her grief at Sam's death, which she still had difficulty accepting. Speaking carefully with his well-bred New England accent, the elderly O'Halloran said, "I would like you to know, Mrs. Jordan, that I was not one of those adamantly opposed to your becoming president. I'll be equally honest in admitting I did not support your candidacy, but would have gone along with a majority in your favor, had that been possible. I even went so far as to inform the other board members of that.”

"I'm interested to know you regard that as 'going far,' " Celia acknowledged, with a touch of acidity she could not resist. "Touch0" The old man smiled and she thought: at least he has a sense of humor. "All right, Mr. O'Halloran," she continued briskly, "so both of us know where we stand, and I appreciate that. What I need from you, in addition, are instructions on how you wish me to operate, and our division of duties.”

"My close friends call me Snow.”

Again a wry smile.”The name originates from a misspent youth when I did a great deal of skiing. I'd be glad to have you use it, and perhaps I may call you Celia.”

"Okay-you Snow, me Celia," Celia said.”Now let's lay out how we work.”

She knew she was being bitchy, but didn't care. "That's easy. I would like you to carry on exactly as you have until now-and I am aware that is with great competence and resourcefulness.”

"And you, Snow? What will you be doing while I'm being competent and resourceful?" He chided her gently, "The president does not have to account to the executive vice president, Celia. It is the other way around. However, so there is no misunderstanding between us, let me concede that my knowledge of the pharmaceutical business is in no way comparable with yours, in fact far less. What I do know a great deal about-almost certainly more than you-is company finance. It is an area needing special attention at this time. Therefore reviewing money matters is how I shall spend most of the six months, or less, I will be occupying this chair.”

Celia admitted to herself that she had been dealt with courteously and with patience. She said, more pleasantly than earlier, "Thank you, Snow, I'll do my best to keep up my end of that arrangement.”

"I'm sure you will.”

The new president did not come into the office every day, but when he did he developed a financial master plan for Felding-Roth, covering the next five years, which Seth Feingold described to Celia as "a gem, a real contribution.”

The comptroller added, "The old codger may need a cane to walk, but not for his mind, which is still sharp as a razor blade.”

At the same time, Celia came to appreciate O'Halloran herself his support of everything she did, and his unfailing courtesy. He was truly, in an outmoded description she remembered, "a gentleman of the old school.”

Consequently she was sorry, in the last week of January, 1978, to learn of his confinement to bed with influenza, and genuinely sad a week later when Snow O'Halloran died of a massive coronary occlusion.

This time there was no two-week delay in appointing a successor. The matter was settled the day after O'Halloran's funeral. No viable outside candidate had appeared, even though the president pro tempore had served more than four of his agreed six months. There was only one possible choice and the board of directors made it, taking less than fifteen minutes to decide what should have been decided the previous September: Celia Jordan would become president and chief executive officer of Felding-Roth.

The raw idea had come to her on the flight back from Hawaii last August. A remark of Andrew's had triggered it. He had said to Celia, Lisa and Bruce: "I don't believe a drug should be taken for anything that is just uncomfortable or self-limiting.” The subject was pregnancy. The Montayne disaster, fresh in all their minds, had prompted the remark. Andrew had added, advising his own daughter, "When your time comes, don't you take anything... And if you want a sound, healthy baby-no liquor, wine, or smoking either.” Those words were the foundation of what Celia was now ready to propose as a fixed company policy. She had a name for what she planned: the Felding-Roth Doctrine. She had considered bringing the idea forward sooner, during her time as executive vice president, but decided against it for fear of being overruled. Even after her appointment as president she waited, biding her time, knowing that what she intended would require approval of the board of directors. Now, seven months later, in September, she was prepared to move. Bill Ingram, recently promoted to vice president of sales and marketing, had helped with the wording of the Felding-Roth Doctrine, of which the draft introduction read:

FELDING-ROTH PHARMACEUTICALS INCORPORATED solemnly pledges:

Article 1: This company will never research, manufacture, distribute, or market directly or indirectly, any pharmaceutical product intended for use by women during pregnancy and aimed at treating any natural, self-limiting condition, such as nausea and sickness, relating to a normal pregnancy.

Article 2: Felding-Roth will actively advocate, in all ways open to it, that no pregnant woman shall have prescribed for her, or shall obtain and use directly, during a normal pregnancy, any such product as described in Article 1 and originating elsewhere.

Article 3: Felding-Roth will advise pregnant women to avoid the use of all prescription and non-prescription drugs its owns and those of other companies-throughout their pregnancies, except those drugs prescribed by a physician for exceptional medical needs.

Article 4: Felding-Roth will further actively advocate that pregnant women abstain, throughout their pregnancies, from the use of alcoholic beverages, including wine, and from cigarette and other smoking, including the inhalation of smoke from other persons...

There was more. Another reference to physicians was included in part to uphold the advisory-trust relationship between doctor and patient; also as a sop to doctors who, as prescribers, were Felding-Roth's best customers. There were references to special conditions, such as medical emergencies, where the use of drugs might be essential or overriding. As Bill Ingram put it, "The whole thing makes more sense, Celia, than anything I've read in a long time. Someone in this business should have done it years ago.”

Ingram, who had voted against Celia and for Montayne at the critical meeting prior to her resignation, had been penitent and uneasy at the time of her return to Felding-Roth. Several weeks later he had admitted, "I've been wondering if, after all that happened, you want me working here at all.”

"The answer is yes," Celia told him.”I know how you work, also that I can trust and rely on you. As to what's past, you made a mistake in judgment, which all of us do at times. It was bad luck that it turned out to be a mistake with awful consequences, but you weren't alone, and I imagine you've learned from the experience.”

"Oh, have I learned! And suffered, too, wishing I'd had the intelligence and guts to stick with you.”

"Don't necessarily stick with me," she advised.”Not even now. There'll be times when I'll be wrong, and if you think I am, I want to hear about it.”

After Celia's elevation to the presidency, there was a restructuring of duties, along with several promotions. Bill Ingram's was among them. He was already doing well in his new senior post.

Celia, now a full-fledged member of the board of directors, prepared carefully for the meeting which would consider her proposed Felding-Roth Doctrine. Bearing in mind what Sam once told her about his problems with the board, and remembering the resistance there had been, years before, to Sam's controversial plan for a British research institute, Celia expected opposition. To her surprise, there was little, almost none. One member of the board-Adrian Caston, who was chairman of a financial trust group and a cautious thinker--did ask, "Is it wise or necessary to block ourselves off permanently from a field of medicine which, at some future time, might see new and safer developments of a highly profitable nature?" They were meeting in the boardroom at company headquarters, and Celia answered, looking down the long walnut table, "Mr. Caston, I believe that is exactly what we should do. We should do it because we will also be blocking ourselves, and others who succeed us here, from the temptation, the chance, and the risk of involving this company with another Montayne.”

There was an attentive silence as she continued.”Memories fade quickly. Many young women now at the age of motherhood do not remember Thalidomide, indeed have never heard of it. In a few more years, that will be equally true of Montayne, at which point pregnant women will again take anything their doctors prescribe. But if it happens, let us have no part of it, remembering that the entire history of influencing, by drugs, the normal course of pregnancy has been burdened with disaster. "Time and experience have demonstrated pregnancy as the single health condition which is best left to nature alone. At Felding-Roth we are living with a pregnancy-drug disaster, paying dearly for it now. For the future we will do better-morally and financially-to seek our profits elsewhere and urge others to do likewise.”

Clinton Etheridge, a veteran director and lawyer, from whom Celia had expected antagonism, then spoke in her support. “Speaking of profits, I like Mrs. Jordan's idea of turning our Montayne debacle into a commercial advantage. In case the rest of you haven't noticed, this so-called doctrine"-the director held it up-"is damned clever. It's a smart piece of merchandising promotion for the other drugs we sell. It will have a strong dollar value, as I think we'll find in time.”

Inwardly Celia winced, then reminded herself that support was worth having, even if for wrong reasons. She also wondered about Etheridge, whom she knew to be a friend and ally of Vincent Lord's, and who sometimes brought the research director's viewpoints to board meetings, as Sam had discovered long ago. Lord knew about the Felding-Roth Doctrine, was aware it would be considered today, and he and Etheridge would almost certainly have discussed it. So... was the support she was now receiving a remote way of Lord's acknowledging to Celia his regrets about Montayne? She supposed she would never know. There was more discussion by the board members, mostly questions about how the doctrine would be put into effect. But it was the TV-radio network czar Owen Norton who had the final word. Looking at Celia from the opposite end of the boardroom table, Norton, who a few days earlier had celebrated his eighty-second birthday, observed dryly, "You may have noticed, Mrs. Jordan, that we are finally getting around to respecting your womanly judgment. I can only say, for myself and others like me, I am sorry we took so long.”

"Sir," Celia said, and meant it, "you have just made my day.”

The vote that followed, establishing the doctrine as official company policy, was unanimous.

The impact of the Felding-Roth Doctrine was substantial, though, with the general public, not as great as Celia had hoped. Doctors, with a few exceptions, liked it. One obstetrician wrote:

Kindly send me some extra copies, one of which I shall have framed to hang on my office wall. I intend to point to it when pregnant patients suggest I am serving them less than adequately if I decline to write a prescription for some palliative which, in my opinion, they would be better off without. You have, by your highly ethical stand, strengthened the hands of some of us who do not believe there is a drug for every occasion. More power to you!

The extra copies were sent-to that doctor and many others who requested them. Physicians who objected did so on the grounds that they, and not a pharmaceutical company, should advise patients about which drugs to take, or not, and when. But judging by the volume of mail, they were a small minority. The Felding-Roth Doctrine was featured widely in the company's advertising, though this was confined to medical and scientific magazines. Celia at first favored advertising in newspapers and general publications, but was persuaded this would create antagonism from organized medicine which, along with FDA, frowned on direct approaches to consumers about prescription drugs. Perhaps because of this absence, newspapers gave only minor attention to the Felding-Roth Doctrine. The New York Times ran a short two-paragraph story amid its financial news, the Washington Post buried a similar report in a rear section of the paper. Elsewhere, in other newspapers, brief items appeared if there happened to be room. Television, despite public relations attempts to persuade producers otherwise, paid no attention at all. "If we market a drug that turns out to have harmful side effects we didn't expect," Bill Ingram complained to Celia, "those TV news types take our skins off. But when we do something positive like this, all we get is yawns.”

"That's because TV journalism is simplistic," she responded.”Its people are trained to look for strong, quick impact, so they avoid the thoughtful, the cerebral, which take too much air time. Don't worry, though. At times that policy can help us.”

Ingram said doubtfully, "Be sure to tell me when it does.”

Reaction to the Felding-Roth Doctrine from other drug firms was mixed. Those who marketed products for use by women during pregnancy were openly hostile.”A cheap shot, shoddy publicity, nothing more," was how a spokesman for one such company described the doctrine publicly. From others came suggestions that Felding-Roth had attempted to be "holier than thou," and might have harmed the industry, though in what way was not made clear. However, one or two competitors were openly admiring. "Frankly," Celia was told by a respected industry leader, "I wish we'd thought of it first.”

"None of which proves anything," she confided to Andrew, "except you can't please everyone.”

"Be patient," he urged.”You've done something good, and you've started ripples which are spreading. In time, you'll be surprised how far they go.” Other rings of ripples were resulting from Montayne. One had its origin on Washington's Capitol Hill. Aides to a congressional veteran, Senator Dennis Donahue, had spent a year, on and off, reviewing the Montayne matter and now declared it an ideal subject for their leader to focus on at a Senate investigative hearing. "Ideal," in this case, meant with wide public interest, generous exposure and, almost certainly, television coverage. As the senator was apt to remind those closest to him politically, "Let's never forget TV is where the masses and the votes are.”

Accordingly, it was announced that the Senate Subcommittee on Ethical Merchandising, of which Donahue was chairman, would begin hearings in Washington, D.C., early in December. Witnesses, the senator stated during an October news conference, were already being subpoenaed. Others with firsthand knowledge of the subject were invited to communicate with the committee's staff. When Celia heard the initial report, she telephoned Childers Quentin, the Washington lawyer. "That really is bad news," he affirmed.”I'm afraid that your company, and probably you as its chief spokesman, Mrs. Jordan, are in for a rough time. If you'll consider some advice, I urge you to begin preparing for the hearings now, with help from legal counsel. I know how these things work, and I assure you the senator's staff will dig up and place on view every unsavory fact and rumor they can find.”

If the word demagogue, or demagogues, had not been coined by the Ancient Greeks around the time of Cleon, it would have been invented, out of necessity, to define United States Senator Dennis Donahue. No more striking example of the breed existed. He was born to wealth and privilege but posed, and regularly described himself, as "a son of the common people, truly one of them, and 'of the earth, earthy.' " No description could have been more inaccurate but, like anything repeated often enough, it became accepted and believed by many. Another way the senator liked to be portrayed was as "a spokesman for the poor and suffering; a foe of their oppressors.”

Whether, inside his soul, he really cared about the poor and suffering, only Donahue himself knew. Either way, he made good use of them. I Anywhere in the nation, where there happened to be a newsworthy David vs. Goliath struggle, Donahue hastened to the scene, stridently siding with the Davids, even on occasions when-to thoughtful people-Goliath was clearly in the right.”There are always more Davids, and they're useful at election time," an aide once explained in a moment of unguarded frankness. Perhaps for the same reason, in any labor dispute Donahue unfailingly supported organized labor, never favoring business even if labor excesses were involved. The labor and unemployment scenes were fertile fields for an ambitious politician, he had discovered early. Which was why, at times of higher than normal unemployment, the senator sometimes joined lines of job-seekers outside employment offices, talking with them. Ostensibly this was to "see for himself, and find out how the unemployed felt"-an admirable aim to which no reasonable person could object. Interestingly, though, the media always learned of the senator's intentions, so that TV crews and press photographers awaited him. Thus his familiar face, wearing its most soulful expression as he discoursed with the unemployed, was on network news that night and in next day's newspapers. As to other "common man" matters, the senator had discovered a recent, fruitful one in his objections to first-class, tax-deductible air travel by businessmen. If people wanted that kind of special privilege, he argued, they should pay for it themselves, and not be subsidized by other taxpayers. He introduced a Senate bill to make first-class air travel non-deductible for tax purposes, though knowing full well the bill would die somewhere in the legislative process. Meanwhile, the amount of news coverage was remarkable. Keeping the idea afloat, Senator Donahue made a point of traveling tourist class himself, by air, informing the press before each journey. However, no first-class passenger ever had as much- attention lavished on him as Donahue, back in his tourist seat. One thing he failed to mention publicly was that the bulk of his air travel was in the luxury of private aircraft--either chartered through a family trust fund or made available by friends. In appearance, Donahue was stocky, and had a cherubic face which made him look younger than the forty-nine he was. He was overweight without being fat, and referred to himself as "comfortably upholstered.”

Most of the time, especially when on public view, he exuded friendliness, expressed through an easy grin. His dress and hairstyle had a studied untidiness, conforming with the "common man" image. While objective observers saw Donahue for the opportunist he was, he was genuinely liked by many people, not only members of his own party, but political opponents. One reason was that he had a sense of humor and could take a joke at his own expense. Another was that he was good company, always interesting to be with. The last made him attractive to some women, a situation Donahue had a reputation for taking advantage of, even though he had a secure marriage and was seen frequently in the company of his wife and teenage children. This was the Senator Donahue who, shortly after 10 A.M. on the first Tuesday of December, gaveled to order the Senate Subcommittee on Ethical Merchandising, and announced that proceedings would begin with a short statement of his own. The committee was meeting in Room SR-253 of the Old Senate Office Building, an impressive setting. The chairman and fellow senators sat behind an elevated U-shaped desk, facing witnesses and the public. Three large windows overlooked the Senate park and fountain. There was a marble fireplace. Beige curtains had printed on them the Great Seal of the United States. "All of us here," Dennis Donahue began, reading from a prepared paper, "are aware of the ghastly, worldwide tragedy involving children whose brainpower and other normal functions have allegedly been destroyed by a drug which, until recently, was prescribed and sold in this country. The name of that drug is Montayne.”

The senator was a strong, commanding speaker, and the hundred or so people in the room were attentively silent. TV cameras were focused on him. Besides Donahue, eight other senators were present-five from Donahue's own majority party, and three from the minority. To the chairman's left was Stanley Urbach, the committee's chief counsel, a former district attorney from Boston. Behind the senators were fifteen members of the committee staff, some seated, others standing. "What these hearings will investigate," Donahue continued, "is the responsibility for this series of events, and whether...”

Celia, who was scheduled to be the first witness, listened as the opening statement continued along predictable lines. She was seated at a green -baize-covered table and beside her was her counsel, Childers Quentin. She had persuaded the courtly Quentin to accept this extra responsibility because, as she told him, "There's no other lawyer who knows more than you do, now, about Montayne, and I have confidence in your advice.”

That advice, relating to today, had been specific and forthright.”Describe the full facts as honestly, clearly and briefly as possible," Quentin insisted, "and do not attempt to be smart, or to score off Dennis Donahue.”

The last admonition had been in response to Celia's wish to bring out in evidence the fact that, more than two years earlier when Montayne's U.S. introduction was being delayed at FDA-some thought unreasonably-Donahue had been among those protesting the delay, describing it then as "clearly ridiculous in the circumstances.” "Absolutely not!" Quentin had ruled.”For one thing, Donahue will have remembered that remark; if not, his staff will remind him, so he'll be ready to deal with it. He'd probably say he was one more victim of drug company propaganda, or something of the kind. And, for another, you'd arouse his antagonism, which is extremely unwise.”

The lawyer then outlined for Celia some Washington facts of life. "A United States senator has enormous power and influence, in some ways even more than a President because the exercise of power is less visible. There isn't a government department a senator can't reach into and have something done, providing it isn't outrageous or illegal. Important people inside and outside government will fall over themselves to do a senator a favor, even if that favor is harmful to someone else. It's a system of trades and, within that system, a senator's power-which can be used benevolently or to destroy-is the biggest trading chip of all. Which is why it's a foolish person indeed who chooses to make an enemy of a U.S. senator.”

Celia had taken the advice to heart and cautioned herself to remember it in any exchange with Dennis Donahue, whom she already detested. Also accompanying Celia was Vincent Lord, now seated on the other side of Quentin. While Celia would make a statement on behalf of Felding-Roth and then be cross-examined, the research director's role was solely to answer questions if required. Senator Donahue concluded his remarks, paused briefly, then announced, "Our. first witness is Mrs. Celia Jordan, president of Felding-Roth Pharmaceuticals of New Jersey. Mrs. Jordan, do you wish to introduce your associates?" "Yes, Senator.”

In a few words, Celia introduced Quentin and Lord. Donahue nodded.”Mr. Quentin we know well. Dr. Lord, we are glad to have you with us. Mrs. Jordan, you have a statement, I believe. Please proceed.”

Celia remained seated at the witness table as she began, speaking into a microphone in front of her. "Mr. Chairman and members of the subcommittee: First and foremost my company wishes to express its great sorrow and sympathy for those families which have been part of what Senator Donahue, a few moments ago, described correctly as a worldwide tragedy. While the full scientific evidence is not yet in, and may take years to assemble, it now appears certain that the drug Montayne was responsible for damage to foetuses in wombs of pregnant women -in a very small section of the total population, and in circumstances impossible to foresee during the extensive testing of that drug, originally in France, later in other countries, and before its official approval by FDA for use in the United States.”

Celia's voice was clear, but low-keyed and deliberately not forceful. Her statement had been carefully drafted and worked on by several people, though principally by herself and Childers Quentin. She stayed with the text as she read, merely adding an occasional phrase where appropriate. "Something else my company wishes to point out is that it has, in all matters concerning Montayne-at every stage of testing, distribution, and reporting-complied with the law. Indeed, when serious doubts were raised about the drug, my company went beyond requirements of the law, and withdrew Montayne voluntarily, without waiting for a decision by the FDA.”

Celia continued, "I now wish to go back and review the origins of Montayne in France, where it was developed by Laboratoires Gironde-Chimie, a company of excellent reputation and with a long history of successful...”

As well as being precise, the report being delivered was impersonal. That, too, had been decided after discussions at Felding-Roth headquarters and at Childers Quentin's offices in Washington. Quentin had asked Celia, "How do you wish to handle the matter of your resignation over Montayne?" "Not at all," she had replied.”My resignation was personal, a matter of instinct and conscience. Now that I'm back, I'm representing the company, reporting what the company did.”

"And where is your conscience in all that?" "Still intact, still in place," she responded sharply.”If I'm asked about my resignation I'll answer honestly. It's simply that I don't propose to bring it up, simply to make myself look good.”

Celia had reminded Quentin, too, of the lack of any scientific grounds for her resignation-a weakness she had been aware of at the time, and her reason for not going public. She now informed the Senate subcommittee, "No doubts whatever about the safety of Montayne arose until a report from Australia in June 1976. Even then, there seemed no reason for concern because an Australian government investigation...”

Step by step she traced the Montayne story. The recital took forty minutes, at which point Celia concluded, "My company has complied with committee subpoenas by supplying documents confirming all that I have said. We remain ready to cooperate in any other way, and to respond to questions.”

The questions began at once, the first from the committee counsel, Stanley Urbach, long-faced and thin-lipped, who gave the impression of smiling only on rare occasions. "Mrs. Jordan, you referred to the first Australian report that raised possible doubts about Montayne. That would be seven to eight months before your company placed the drug on sale in the United States. Is that correct?" She calculated mentally.”Yes.”

"Mentioned in your statement were two other adverse reports, one from France, another from Spain, both also occurring before your company's U.S. marketing of Montayne. Again correct?" "Not entirely, Mr. Urbach. You called them adverse reports. What they were-at that point-were allegations which had been investigated by Laboratoires Gironde-Chimie and declared unsubstantiated.”

The lawyer made an impatient gesture.”If we are quibbling about words, let me ask you this: Were the reports favorable?" "No, and perhaps I can save us time. In the pharmaceutical business 'adverse reports' has a specific meaning. In that sense, those from France and Spain were not.”

Urbach sighed.”Would the witness settle for 'critical reports?” "I suppose so.”

Celia already sensed this was going to be difficult, and that she was in for a hard time. Senator Donahue cut in.”The point counsel is making is perfectly clear. Were you people-your company-aware of those three reports prior to Montayne's being placed on sale here?" "Yes, we were.”

"Yet you still went ahead and marketed the drug?" "Senator, with any new drug there are always negative opinions. All of them must be examined carefully and assessed...”

"Please, Mrs, Jordan. I am not asking for a lecture on the practices of the pharmaceutical industry. My question requires a simple 'yes' or 'no.' I repeat: Knowing about those reports, did your company go ahead and sell that drug to pregnant American women?" Celia hesitated. "We are waiting, Mrs. Jordan.”

"Yes, Senator, but...”

"The answer 'yes' will be sufficient.”

Donahue nodded to Urbach.”Carry on.”

"Would it not have been better and more prudent," the subcommittee counsel asked, "for Felding-Roth to have done more investigating of those reports and delayed the launching of Montayne?" Celia thought wryly: that had been her argument which, later, caused her to resign. Remembering her role here, she answered, "With hindsight, yes. Of course. But at the time, the company was proceeding on scientific advice.”

"Whose advice?" She considered before answering. It had, of course, been Lord's advice, but she wanted to be fair.”Our director of research, Dr. Lord, but he was acting on what seemed authentic data from Gironde-Chimic.”

"We will ask Dr. Lord about that later. Meanwhile....”

Urbach consulted notes. Did the decision to go ahead, and not to delay Montayne despite those adverse... excuse me, critical reports have any relation to anticipated profits?" "Well, profits are always a factor "Mrs. Jordan! Yes or no?" Inwardly, Celia sighed. K`hat was the good? Every question was a trap, a contrived progression toward a preconceived conclusion. She conceded, "Yes.”

"Were those profits critical to your company?" "It was believed so, yes.”

"What were those profits expected to be?" The remorseless, loaded questions continued. Yet, she found time to ask in a corner of her mind: Were they so unfairly loaded when touching so very close to truth? Wasn't there a time, not long ago, when she would have asked those same questions herself? And wasn't it ironic that she was appearing here in place of Sam Hawthorne who ought to have had these questions put to him, but was dead? For the first time since Hawaii, she was reminded of Andrew's cautioning words: "If you go back... the Montayne mess and responsibility will rub off on you.” As happened so often, Andrew had been right. Her ordeal was interrupted by a lunch recess, Senator Donahue informing her, "Mrs. Jordan, you may stand down, but please be available for more questions later.”

The senator then announced, "The next witness after lunch will be Dr. Vincent Lord.”

12

Quentin and Celia ate a sandwich lunch and drank coffee from a thermos in the rear of a limousine which had been waiting for them outside the Old Senate Office Building.”It's faster and more private than we'd get elsewhere," Quentin had said when announcing the arrangement. Now they were parked on Jefferson Drive, not far from the Smithsonian, with the uniformed chauffeur pacing to and fro outside. Vincent Lord had been invited for the limousine lunch, but declined, having made other arrangements. "You're being made to look bad, and I mean bad personally," Quentin said, after a while.”How do you feel about that?" Celia grimaced.”How would anyone feel? I don't like it.”

"What's happening is a tactic.”

The lawyer sipped his steaming coffee. "Any investigation of this type, which is a political exercise, requires a showcase villain. Representing your company, you happen to be the one available. But I could do something to change that.” "Do what?" "Let me explain some background first. Donahue and his staff know about your stand within the company against Montayne, and your resignation because of it. There's no way they wouldn't know; they're thorough people. They probably know, too, the terms you insisted on when coming back, and they're certainly aware of the Felding-Roth Doctrine, and that you were its author.”

"Then why...”

"Hear me out. Also, try to look at it their way.”

Quentin nodded to a group of passing tourists who had peered into the limousine, then he turned his attention back to Celia.”Why should Donahue's people concern themselves with bolstering your image? And if they did, who else could they focus on critically? Certainly not a dead man; he's beyond their reach.”

"I suppose I understand all that, and I know you said this is a political exercise," Celia admitted.”Just the same, isn't the truth important at all?" "If I were a lawyer on the other side," Quentin said, "I'd answer your question this way: Yes, truth is always important. But concerning Montayne, the truth lies in what the company-Felding-Roth-did, because it marketed Montayne and is responsible. As to you individually-yes, you did resign. But you also came back and, in doing so, accepted your share of responsibility for Montayne, even after the fact.”

Quentin smiled grimly. "Of course, I could argue the whole thing the other way and be equally convincing.”

"Lawyers!" Celia's laugh was hollow.”Do they ever believe in anything?" "One tries to. Though perpetual ambivalence is a hazard of the profession.”

"You said there was something you could do. Just what?" "On the subcommittee," Quentin pointed out, "are several minority members friendly to your industry. There's also a minority counsel. None of them have spoken up yet, and probably won't, because doing so might suggest they were in favor of Montaynean impossible position. But what one of them will do, if I request it as a favor, is have questions asked to bring out your personal record and make you look good instead of awful.”

"If that happened, would it help Felding-Roth?" "No. Probably the reverse.”

Celia said resignedly, "In that case, let's leave it alone.”

"If you insist," the lawyer said sadly.”It's your head, and your blood on it.”

Vincent Lord took over the microphone reserved for witnesses when the afternoon session began. Once more, Urbach led off the questioning, having Lord first describe his scientific background. The subcommittee counsel then proceeded through the early stages of Montayne, Lord responding to all questions in a confident, relaxed manner. After about fifteen minutes, Urbach asked, "When Montayne was close to being marketed in the United States, and those reports from Australia, France and Spain were known within your company, did you recommend a delay?" "No, I did not.”

"Why was that?" "A delay at that point would have been a management decision. As director of research, my involvement was solely scientific.”

"Please explain that.”

"Certainly. My responsibility was to provide a scientific evaluation of the information then available, and supplied by Laboratoires Gironde-Chimie. On that basis I had no reason to recommend delay.”

Urbach persisted.”You used the phrase 'scientific evaluation.' Apart from science, did you have any feeling, any instinct, about those three reports?" For the first time Lord hesitated before answering.”I might have had.”

"You might have had, or did have?" "Well, I was uneasy. But, again, there wasn't anything scientific.”

Celia, who had been relaxed while listening, suddenly paid closer attention. Urbach was continuing.”If I understand you correctly, Dr. Lord, you were in something of a dilemma?" "Well, yes.”

"A dilemma between science on the one hand and, on the other, your 'unease'.. I am using your word-as a human being?. Is that correct.”

"I guess you could say that.”

"It is not a matter of guessing, Dr. Lord, nor what I would say. It is what you would say.”

"Well... all right, I would say it.”

"Thank you.”

The subcommittee counsel glanced down at his notes.”And for the record, Doctor, after your reading of those reports we spoke of, did you advocate the marketing of Montayne?" "No, I did not.” The series of replies jolted Celia. Lord was lying. Not only had he supported going ahead with Montayne, he had voted for it at the meeting held by Sam, sneering at Celia's doubts and her plea for a postponement. Senator Donahue leaned in toward a microphone.”I'd like to ask the witness this question: If your responsibility had been a management one, Dr. Lord, and not just science, would you have recommended a delay?" Again Lord hesitated. Then he answered firmly, "Yes, Senator, I would.”

The bastard! Celia began scribbling a note to Quentin: That isn't true... Then she stopped. What difference did it make? Supposing she questioned Lord's honesty and a debate ensued, with accusations and denials flying-what would it change? At this hearing -nothing. Disgusted, she crumpled the paper on which she had begun to write. After a few more questions, Lord was thanked for his evidence and excused. He left the hearing room at once, without speaking with Celia or looking in her direction.

Dr. Maud Stavely was called as the next witness. The chairperson of Citizens for Safer Medicine strode confidently forward from the rear of the room and went to a microphone at the witness table, some distance from Celia and Quentin. She did not glance their way. Senator Donahue welcomed the witness cordially, after which Dr. Stavely read a prepared statement. It described her medical qualifications, the structure of the New York-based organization, CSM's negative views about drug firms, and the group's early opposition to Montayne. While Celia disliked the statement's emphasis and some allusions, she conceded mentally that Stavely sounded professional and impressive. As when the two of them had met two years earlier, the CSM leader was attractive and well groomed, and today was stylishly though simply dressed in a maroon tailored suit. About Montayne, Stavely declared, "Unfortunately our protests were handicapped by a lack of funds. CSM does not have the enormous resources-multimillions of dollars-which companies like Felding-Roth can pour into sales propaganda, deluding doctors and the public into believing that drugs such as Montayne are safe, yet knowing-as they did with Montayne-that indications argue otherwise.”

As Stavely paused, Dennis Donahue interjected, "I imagine, Doctor, that since your opinions about Montayne have been proved correct, contributions to your organization have increased.”

"Indeed they have, Senator. And we hope, after these hearings which we welcome, they will become greater still.”

Donahue smiled without replying, and Stavely continued. To Celia's distress, her own visit to CSM headquarters was referred to. It introduced a complication she had hoped would be avoided. The matter came up again during Stanley Urbach's cross-examination of Dr. Stavely. The subcommittee counsel asked, "What was the date of Mrs. Jordan's visit to Citizens for Safer Medicine?" Stavely consulted notes.”November twelfth, 1978.”

"Did Mrs. Jordan state her purpose in coming to see you at that time?" "She said she wanted to talk. One of the things we talked about was Montayne.”

"At that point, I believe, while Montayne had been approved by FDA, it had not yet gone on sale. Is that correct?" "Yes, it is.”

"Is it also correct that, at that time, Citizens for Safer Medicine was actively seeking to have the FDA approval canceled?" "Yes. We were strong about that, working hard at it.”

"Did that strength, those efforts you were making to stop Montayne, appear to worry Mrs. Jordan?" "Well, she certainly wasn't pleased. She argued for Montayne, saying it was safe. Of course, I disagreed.”

"Did she say why she believed the drug was safe?" "I remember very clearly-she did not. Of course she has no medical qualifications to make that kind of judgment-not that that stops sales-happy people like Jordan making them.”

Stavely's voice conveyed disdain, then she added, "Just the same, I was shocked at how little she did know.”

"Can you be specific as to why you were shocked?" "Yes. You remember, at the time, the Australian case against Montayne had already received wide attention?" Urbach smiled politely.”I'm supposed to be asking the questions, Doctor.”

Stavely smiled back.”Excuse me. The point I'm making is that Jordan had not even read the Australian trial transcript. She admitted it. I urged her to go away and do so.”

"Thank you, Doctor. Now, during your conversation, did you get the impression that Mrs. Jordan had come representing her company, Felding-Roth?" "Very definitely, yes.”

"And again referring to the effort by Citizens for Safer Medicine to have the FDA approval of Montayne withdrawn, did you also form an impression that Felding-Roth had become anxious about that, and therefore sent Mrs. Jordan to you with a plea to ease up?" "Well, it did occur to me, though I can't prove it. However, if that was the woman's purpose, she must have seen immediately that there was not the slightest chance of its happening.”

Listening and watching, Celia thought: Unlike Vince Lord, Stavely had not lied. But what a difference the selection of items, a tone of voice, and emphasis seasoned with opinion could make to a subsequent report of any conversation! Senator Donahue, holding a paper, spoke into his microphone.”Dr. Stavely, I have in my hand a document described as 'The Felding-Roth Doctrine.' If you have not seen it, I will have this copy handed to you.”

"I have seen it, Senator, and once is enough.”

Donahue smiled.”I take it you have an opinion. We would like to hear it.”

"I believe the so-called doctrine is a nauseating, shameless piece of sales promotion which capitalizes on a ghastly tragedy and is an insult to the children and families who have been victims of Montayne.”

Celia, hot with anger and ready to leap to her feet, felt Quentin's hand on her arm, restraining her. With an effort she stayed seated, her face flushed, seething. A minority member of the subcommittee, Senator Jaffee, observed mildly, "But surely, Dr. Stavely, if a company, in effect, admits an error and promises for the future . - .”

Stavely snapped, "I was asked my opinion and gave it. If a piece of hocus-pocus like that deceives you, sir, it doesn't me.”

Senator Donahue, with a half smile, put his paper down. After a few more questions, Dr. Stavely was thanked and excused. The first witness on the following day, it was announced, would be Dr. Gideon Mace from FDA.

That evening, in her suite at the Madison Hotel, Celia received a telephone call. The caller was Juliet Goodsmith who announced she was downstairs in the lobby. Celia invited her to come up, and when Juliet arrived embraced her affectionately. Sam's and Lilian's daughter looked older than her twenty-three years, Celia thought, though that was not surprising. She also appeared to have lost weight-too much of it, prompting Celia to suggest they have dinner together, but the offer was declined. "I only came," Juliet said, "because I'm in Washington, staying with a friend, and I read about those hearings. They're not being fair to you. You're the only one in the company who showed any decency about that filthy drug. All the others were greedy and rotten, and now you're being punished.”

They were seated facing each other, and Celia said gently, "It wasn't, and isn't, quite like that.”

She explained that as the company's senior representative, she was the immediate target for Senator Donahue and his aides; also that her personal actions had had no effiect on the marketing of Montayne. "The point is," Celia said, "Donahue is trying to make FeldingRoth took like a public enemy.”

"Then maybe he's right," Juliet said, "and the company is a public enemy.”

"No, I won't have that!" Celia said emphatically, "The company made a bad mistake over Montayne, but has done enormous good in the past and will do the same again.”

Even now she was thinking, with excited optimism, about Peptide 7 and Hexin W. "Also," Celia went on, "whatever mistake your father made which he paid for dearly-he wasn't either of those things you said: rotten' or 'greedy.' He was a good man who did what he saw as right at the time.”

"How can I believe that?" Juliet retorted.”He gave me those pills without telling me they weren't approved.”

"Try to forgive your father," she urged.”If you don't, now that he's dead, you'll achieve nothing and it will be harder on you.”

As Juliet shook her head, Celia added, "I hope you will, in time.”

She knew better than to inquire about Juliet's son, now almost two years old and in an institution for the helpless and incurable, where he would spend the remainder of his life. Instead, she asked, "How is Dwight?" "We're getting a divorce.”

"Oh, no!" The shock and concern were genuine. Celia remembered her conviction, at Juliet's and Dwight's wedding, that theirs would be a strong marriage which would last. "Everything was great until our baby was a few months old.”

Juliet's voice held the flatness of defeat.”Then, when we found out how he was, and why, nothing seemed to work anymore. Dwight was bitter at my father, even more than me. He wanted to sue Felding-Roth and Daddy personally, savaging them in court, handling the case himself. I could never have agreed to that.”

"No," Celia said.”It would have torn everyone apart.”

"After that we tried to put things together for a while.”

Juliet said sadly, "It didn't work. We weren't the same two people anymore. That's when we decided on divorce.”

There seemed little to say, but Celia thought, How much sadness and tragedy, beyond the obvious, Montayne had wrought! Of all the witnesses to appear before the Senate Subcommittee on Ethical Merchandising during its investigation of Montayne, Dr. Gideon Mace suffered the hardest time. At one dramatic point during the cross-examination of Mace, Senator Donahue pointed an accusing finger and thundered in a voice matching Jehovah's, "You were the one who, representing government and all the safeguards government has set, unleashed this scourge upon American womanhood and helpless unborn children. Therefore do not expect to leave this place unscathed, uncensured, or unburdened of a guilty conscience which should stay with you through all your days.”

What Mace had done a few minutes earlier, astounding all who heard, was admit that prior to recommending FDA approval of Montayne, he had had serious doubts about the drug, based on the earliest Australian report--doubts which never left him. Urbach, conducting the cross-examination, had almost shouted, "Then why did you approve it?" To which Mace answered, emotionally but lamely, "I... I just don't know.”

The answer-the worst he could have given-produced from spectators in the hearing room an audible shock wave of disbelief and horror, and Donahue's tirade a moment later. Until that point, Mace had appeared-while plainly nervous-to be in control and able to account for his actions as the FDA reviewer who had overseen the Montayne new drug application. He had begun with a short statement of his own, describing the enormous amount of data submitted-125,000 pages in 307 volumes followed by details of his various queries of that data, which resulted in delay. These queries, he stated, were eventually resolved to his satisfaction. He did not refer to the report from Australia; that only came out later, in response to questions. It was during questioning, when the Australian matter was reached, that Mace became emotionally disturbed, then seemed suddenly to go to pieces. The awful admission-"I just don't know" -had followed. Despite an awareness of Mace's weak position, Celia felt some sympathy for him, believing the load of blame on Mace was disproportionate. Later she spoke of it to Childers Quentin. 6611's at times like this," the lawyer commented, "that the British system of drug approvals is shown as clearly superior to ours.”

When Celia asked why, Quentin explained. "In Britain a Committee on the Safety of Medicines advises the Minister of Health, and it's the minister who grants a new drug license. Civil servants are among those counseling the minister, Of course, but the minister has responsibility, so if anything goes wrong he, and he alone, must face Parliament and take the blame. "A minister in the British government would not do anything as cowardly as we let happen here--allow a civil servant like Mace to carry the can and go to Capitol Hill, accepting blame. If we had the same strong moral system, the Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare would be up there, facing Donahue. But where is the Secretary now? Probably skulking in his office or conveniently out of town.”

There was another weakness in the United States system, Quentin believed. "One effect of what you see happening is that FDA's people become ultra-cautious, not wanting to be dragged before a congressional committee and maybe crucified. So instead of approving drugs which ought to be available, they sit on them and wait, sometimes far too long. Obviously some caution-a lot of cautionabout new drugs is needed, but too much can be bad, delaying progress in medicine, depriving doctors, hospitals and patients of cures and other aid they ought to have.”

When Mace's ordeal was finally over and a recess ordered, Celia was relieved. At the same time, because of her earlier sympathy, she got up and walked across to him. "Dr. Mace, I'm Celia Jordan of Felding-Roth. I just wanted to say...”

She stopped, confounded and dismayed. At the mention of Felding-Roth, Mace's features contorted into a look of blazing, savage hatred such as she had never seen before. Now, eyes glaring, teeth clenched, he hissed, "Stay away from me! Do you hear! Don't ever, ever, come near me again!" Before Celia could collect her thoughts and answer, Mace turned his back and walked away. Quentin, close behind, asked curiously, "What was all that about?" Shaken, she answered, "I don't know. It happened when I used the company name. He seemed to go berserk.”

"So?" The lawyer shrugged.”Dr. Mace doesn't like the manufacturer of Montayne. It's understandable.”

"No. It's something more than that. I'm sure.”

"I wouldn't worry about it.”

Yet that expression of hatred stayed with Celia, troubling and puzzling her, for the remainder of the day. Vincent Lord had stayed on in Washington for an extra day and Celia had a showdown with him about his testimony the previous afternoon. It took place in her hotel suite where she accused him bluntly of lying, and asked, "Why?" To her surprise, the research director did not dispute the accusation and said contritely, "Yes, you're right. I'm sorry. I was nervous.”

"You didn't appear to be nervous.”

"It doesn't have to show. All those questions were getting to me. I wondered what that guy, Urbach, knew.”

"What could he know?" Lord hesitated, groping for an answer.”Nothing more than we all do, I guess. Anyway, I figured that how I answered was the quickest way to end the questions and get out.”

Celia was unconvinced.”Why should you, more than anyone else, have to get out quickly? Okay, what's happening is unpleasant for everyone, including me, and we all have consciences to answer. But nothing illegal was ever done about Montayne.”

She stopped, a sudden thought striking her.”Or was it?" "No! Of course not.”

But the response was a second late and a shade too strong. Some words of Sam's, as they had once before, came back to Celia: "There's... something you don't know.” She regarded Lord quizzically.”Vince, is there anything, anything at all, about Montayne and Felding-Roth that I've not been told?" "I swear to you-nothing. What could there be?" He was lying again. She knew it. She also knew that Sam's secret, whatever it might be, had not died with him-that Lord had shared it. But at the moment, she could go no further.

The subcommittee hearings lasted four days. There were other witnesses, among them two doctors-neurologists who had examined babies damaged by Montayne. One of the doctors had been to Europe to study cases there and showed slides of children he had seen. Outwardly, there was nothing to suggest that the photographed children were other than normal. But most were lying down and, as the specialist explained, "Any but the smallest movement will always have to be made for them. Additionally, all these infants suffered serious brain damage during their embryonic stage.”

Some of the children's faces were beautiful. One-older than the others-was a two-year-old boy. Supported by an unseen hand behind him, he was looking into the camera with what seemed soulful eyes. His expression was blank. "This child," the neurologist informed his silent audience, "will never think like you or me, and almost certainly will have no awareness of what is going on around him.”

The young face reminded Celia sharply of Bruce at the same age, sixteen years ago. Bruce, who had written only a few days before from Williams College, which he was now attending.

Dear Mom and Dad: College is great! I love it here. What I like most is, they want you to think, think, think... Celia was glad the lights had been lowered for the slides, then realized she was not alone in using a handkerchief to wipe her eyes. Senator Donahue, when the doctor had finished, seemed to be having trouble with his voice. Yes, Celia thought, despite all his grandstanding and politics, he cares too.

Whatever softness there had been in Donahue had clearly vanished when, on the afternoon of the hearing's fourth and final day, Celia was recalled as a witness. Even in exchanges with his own staff, the senator seemed impatient and irritable. Before Celia was called, Quentin whispered to her, "Be careful. The great man sounds as if he ate something during lunch which disagreed with him.”

Celia was questioned by subcommittee counsel Urbach concerning other testimony as it related to her own, earlier. When queried about Vincent Lord's assertion that he would have delayed Montayne had the responsibility been his, she replied, "We have since discussed that. My own recollection differs from Dr. Lord's, but I see no point in disputing his statement, so let it stand.”

As to her visit to the headquarters of Citizens for Safer Medicine, Celia said, "There are differences in interpretation. I went to see Dr. Stavely on impulse and with friendly intentions, thinking we might learn something from each other. It did not turn out that way.”

Urbach asked, "Did you go there intending to talk about Montayne?" "Not specifically.”

"But you did discuss Montayne?" "Yes.”

"Did you hope to persuade Dr. Stavely and Citizens for Safer Medicine to cease, or moderate, their campaign to have the FDA's approval of Montayne withdrawn?" "I did not. The thought never occurred to me.”

"Was your visit an official one, on behalf of your company?" "No. In fact, no one else at Felding-Roth knew of my intention to call on Dr. Stavely.”

In his seat beside Urbach, Donahue seemed displeased. He asked, "Are all those truthful answers, Mrs. Jordan?" "All my answers have been truthful.”

Anger seized her as she added, "Would you like me to take a polygraph test?" Donahue scowled.”You are not on trial here.”

"Excuse me, Senator. I hadn't noticed.”

Glowering, Donahue motioned for Urbach to continue. The questioning moved on to the Felding-Roth Doctrine. "You have heard Dr. Stavely describe the document as a 'shameless piece of sales promotion,' " Urbach said.”Do you agree with that assessment?" "Of course not. The doctrine has no objective other than the declared, straightforward one of charting future company policy.”

"Oh, really. Are you convinced, then, it will have no sales promotion value at all?" Celia sensed a trap being sprung. She decided to be wary. "I didn't say that. But if-as an honest declaration-it eventually has that kind of value, it was not the original intention.”

Donahue was fidgeting. Urbach turned to him inquiringly.”Senator?" The chairman seemed uncertain whether to intervene or not. Then he said dourly, "It all comes down to interpretation, doesn't it? Whether we should believe a selfless, dedicated persop like Dr. Stavely, or a spokeswoman for an industry which is so obsessed with profit that it regularly kills people or mutilates them, using drugs it knows in advance to be unsafe?" There were gasps from spectators. Even Donahue's aides looked uneasy, sensing he had gone too far. Ignoring all else, Celia asked acidly, "Is that a question directed at me, Senator? Or is it what it appears to be: a totally biased, unsupported statement, revealing this hearing as a charade which reached its verdict before any of us arrived?" Donahue pointed to Celia, as he had to Mace.”Let me warn the witness: there is an offense in this place called contempt of Congress.”

Not caring anymore, she shot back, "Don't tempt me!" The senator thundered, "I order you to explain that remark!" Celia had progressed beyond all caution. Scarcely hearing a whispered plea from Quentin, and shaking off his hand, she leaped to her feet. "I explain it by pointing out that you, who sit here in judgment of Montayne and Felding-Roth and FDA, are the same person who, two years ago, complained about a delay in approving Montayne, and described it as ridiculous.”

"That is a lie! Now you are in contempt, madam. I made no such statement. " Celia felt a wondrous glow of satisfaction. Donahue had forgotten. It was hardly surprising-he made so many statements on so many subjects. And his aides, if they knew of what was said earlier, had failed to brief him. On both counts, Quentin had been wrong. There was a folder in front of her which she had not opened until now. She had brought it, just in case. From it Celia produced a batch of press clippings stapled together. She chose the one on top. "This is from the Washington Post of September 17, 1976.”

She was still standing as she read:

"Referring to the drug Montayne, now under review at FDA and intended for women during pregnancy, Senator Den- nis Donahue today described the FDA's lack of a decision as 'clearly ridiculous in the circumstances.' "

She added, "The same report was in other newspapers.”

Celia stopped.”And there is something else, Senator.”

She selected another paper from her folder. Donahue, who had flushed a deep brick red, reached for his gavel. As he did, Senator Jaffee on the minority side called out, "No, no! Let the lady finish. I want to hear.”

"You accused our industry of killing people," Celia said, addressing Donahue.”I have here your voting record on tobacco subsidies ever since you entered Congress eighteen years ago. Every one of those years you voted 'yes' for subsidies. And with those votes, Senator, you have helped kill more people from lung cancer than the pharmaceutical industry has killed in most of its history.”

The last few words were lost in a tumult of confused shouting, some of it Donahue's as he banged his gavel, declaring, "This hearing is adjourned.”

What started, for Celia, as a dismal experience ended-or so it seemed-as a personal triumph. The same evening as her explosive clash with Senator Donahue, the television networks-ABC, CBS and NBC--carried almost the entire dramatic scene on their evening newscasts. As a critic subsequently wrote, "It was great theater, and TV at its immediate best.”

Newspapers, next day, accorded the story similar prominence.

The New York Times headed its report: A Spunky Lady Bests a Senator.

The Chicago Tribune had it: Sen. Donahue Crosses Jordan Afterward Wishes He Hadn't.

There was other emphasis. In this instance, it emerged, reporters-both for television and the press-had done their homework and some digging. As one explained it to Julian Hammond, who passed the information on to Celia, "Most of us found out about Mrs. Jordan's resignation over Montayne, also her insistence when she came back that the drug be withdrawn without waiting for the FDA. What no one seemed sure of was how to use that bit of background, so we saved it. As it turned out, holding it proved more effective in the end.”

Thus, most reports after the showdown had Celia standing tall in two ways. First, both her departure from Felding-Roth and her return-now recorded publicly-revealed her as a person of strong moral principle. Second, her refusal to make herself look good at the Senate hearings at the expense of her employer demonstrated a noteworthy loyalty. The Wall Street Journal began an editorial: There is usually more honor in business than business receives credit for. How pleasant it is, then, to have some honor not only plainly shown but widely acknowledged.

A few days after her return from Washington, Celia and Julian Hammond were together in her office. The public affairs vice president had brought in, happily, a newly received batch of press clippings which he spread over Celia's desk. Moments later, the arrival of Childers Quentin was announced. Celia had not seen the Washington lawyer since their final day on Capitol Hill. His visit now was to review, with her, some more proposed settlements of Montayne lawsuits. She told her secretary to send him in. He looked tired and sounded moody, she thought as they greeted each other and she asked him to be seated. Hammond said, "I was just leaving, Mr. Quentin.”

He pointed to the news clippings.”We were savoring the spoils of victory.”

Quentin appeared unimpressed.”Is that what you call them?" "Certainly.”

The public affairs chief seemed surprised.”Wouldn't you?" The answer came grouchily.”If you think that, then you're both short-sighted.”

There was a silence, after which Celia said, "All right, counselor. You've something on your mind. Tell us.”

"All of that," Quentin motioned to the clippings, "as well as the TV coverage you've had, is heady stuff. But in a few weeks, most will be forgotten. The publicity will count for nothing.”

It was Hammond who asked, "What will count?" "What will count is that this company-and you personally, Celia-have acquired a formidable enemy. I know Donahue. You made him look a fool. Worse, you did it on his own home ground, the Senate, and-as it turned out-with millions watching. He'll never forgive that. Never. If, any time in the future, he can do harm to Felding-Roth or to you, Celia, he'll do it and enjoy it. He may even look for ways, and a United States senator-as I told you once -has levers of power he can pull.”

It was, Celia thought, as if she had suddenly taken an icy shower. And she knew that Quentin was right. She asked, "So what do you suggest?" The lawyer shrugged.”For the moment, nothing. For the future, as best you can, be cautious. Don't put yourself-or Felding-Roth -in any situation where Senator Donahue can do you harm.”

"What's Mrs. Jordan like?" Yvonne asked Martin. He thought before answering.”Attractive. Strong. Intelligent. Extremely good at her job. Direct and honest, so that when you deal with her, you always know where you stand.”

"I'm already nervous about our meeting.”

He laughed.”No need to be. I predict you'll like each other.”

It was a Friday evening in July and the two of them were in Martin's house at Harlow, into which Yvonne had moved completely almost a year before. She abandoned her small apartment because it seemed a needless expense. In the living room at this moment, books and papers were spread around-a clutter from Yvonne's studies for "A" level exams, now six months away. A year and a half had passed since, at Martin's urging, she had taken on the heavy work load which eventually, they hoped, would launch her into veterinary medicine. The studying had gone well. Yvonne, loving what she was doing, had never been happier. Her joy pervaded the household and was shared by Martin. As well as continuing to work at the Felding-Roth Research institute by day, she was having outside tutoring during some evenings and weekends. Martin-as he had promised -helped Yvonne, supplementing her learning with his practical experience. Another reason for pleasure was progress at the institute. Since the devastating "animal-rights" raid, the reassembly of data had gone far faster than expected. Now, not only was all of it recovered, but development of Peptide 7 had advanced to the point of being ready for a management product review. Celia, along with several others from New Jersey, would arrive at Harlow for that purpose on Wednesday of the next week. At this moment, however, thoughts of Celia were a digression. Martin continued to frown, as he had for several minutes, over a textbook-Murray's Principles of Organic Chemistry. "They've rewritten this since I studied it for my degree. Some of the new stuff is unrealistic. You'll learn it, then ignore it afterward.”

Yvonne asked, "You're talking about those systematic chemical names?" "Of course.”

The Geneva system for chemicals had been devised by the Inter national Union of Pure and Applied Chemistry, abbreviated to IUPAC and pronounced "U-pak.”

The idea was that the name of any chemical compound should also indicate its structure. Thus, iso-octane became 2,2,4-trimethylpentane, acetic acid --- common vinegar-was ethanoic acid, and ordinary glycerin, propane-1,2,3 triol. Unfortunately, chemists who were supposed to use the IUPAC names seldom did, though examiners required them. Thus Yvonne was learning the new names for the exams, the old for future lab work. She asked, "Don't you use IUPAC names in the lab?" "Not often. Most of us can't remember them; also they're unwieldy. Anyway, let me test you on both.”

"Go ahead.”

Successively, Martin called off twenty chemicals, sometimes using the old name, with others the newer code. Each time, without hesitating, Yvonne recited the alternate. Martin closed the book, shaking his head.”That memory of yours still amazes me. I wish I had one like it.”

"Is my memory why you won't let me take Peptide 7?" "That's part of it. Mostly, though, I don't want you running any risks.”

A month ago, Martin had posted a notice at the institute. It was headed: Volunteers Wanted. The notice requested that any staffers who were willing to have Peptide 7 injected into them, for the first series of tests on healthy humans, should sign their names below. The objectives and potential risk were carefully spelled out. Before posting the notice, Martin signed himself. Rao Sastri signed immediately after. Within a few days there were fourteen more signatures, including Yvonne's. From the final list, Martin chose a total of ten volunteers. Yvonne was not among them. When she inquired about her omission, he put her off with, "Perhaps later. Not yet.”

The purpose of the early human testing was not to study positive results from Peptide 7, but to look for any harmful side effects. As Martin explained to Celia by telephone at the time, "We're allowed to do this kind of testing in Britain on our own, though in America you'd need approval from the FDA.”

So far, after twenty days' monitoring of the volunteers, who continued to receive daily doses of Peptide 7, there had been no visible side effects whatever. Martin was delighted, though knowing that much more human testing needed to be done. Yvonne sighed, "I'd like to have some Peptide 7 soon. It's probably the only way I'll ever take my extra weight off. By the way, I bought us kippers for tomorrow.”

Martin beamed and told her, "You're an angel.”

Kippers were his favorite breakfast on weekends, when he could take time to enjoy them. His voice became more serious.”I'm going to see my mother tomorrow. I talked to my father today and he told me the doctors say she hasn't long.”

While the deterioration of Martin's mother had been slow, the progression of her Alzheimer's disease had been relentless. A few months earlier, Martin had had her moved into a Cambridge nursing home where she now floated dimly on the outer edge of life. Martin's father continued to live in a small but pleasant flat that Martin had rented for his parents soon after joining Felding-Roth. "I'm sorry.”

Yvonne reached out, touching his hand in sympathy.”Yes, I'll come. If you don't mind my studying in the car.”

They arranged to leave immediately after breakfast. Martin wanted to stop at his office, briefly, on the way.

Next morning at the institute, while Martin glanced through mail and read a computer printout from the day before, Yvonne wandered into the animal room. He found her there later. She had paused in front of a cage containing several rats and Martin heard her exclaim, "You horny old devil!" He asked, amused, "Who is?" Yvonne turned, then pointed to the cage.”This bunch are some of the homiest little beasts I've ever seen. Just lately, they can't seem to get enough of each other. They'd sooner have sex than eat.” While Martin watched, the rat over whom Yvonne had exclaimed continued copulating with a submissive female, while another pair in an adjoining cage amused themselves likewise. He glanced at typed descriptions on both cages. All the rats, he noted, were receiving the most recent, refined batch of Peptide 7. "You said they were horny 'just lately.' What does that mean?" Yvonne hesitated, then looked sharply at Martin.”I suppose... since they've been getting their injections.”

"And they're not young rats?" "If they were human, they'd draw old-age pensions.”

He laughed and said, "It's probably coincidence.”

Then he wondered, was it? As if reading his mind, Yvonne asked, "What will you do?" "On Monday, I'd like you to check the breeding rate of rats which have had Peptide 7. Let me know if it's average, or above.”

"I don't have to wait until Monday. I can tell you now, it's way above normal. Up to this moment, though, I didn't connect-" Martin said sharply, "Don't connect! Assumptions can lead down false alleys. Just send me what figures you have.”

She said submissively, "All right.”

"After that, set up two new groups of male and female older rats. Keep the groups separate, but let each group cohabit. One group will receive Peptide 7, the other won't. I want a computerized study of the mating habits of both.”

Yvonne giggled.”A computer won't tell you how many times

"I suppose not. But it will keep track of litters. We'll settle for that. " She nodded, and Martin sensed that her mind was on something else. He asked, "What is it?" "I was thinking about a funny thing that happened yesterday. While I was buying those kippers. Mickey Yates is one of your volunteers, isn't he?" "Yes.”

Yates, a lab technician, was the oldest of the Peptide 7 volunteers. He had gone out of his way to be helpful to Martin ever since the incident, several years earlier, involving Celia and the guillotined rat. Being in the testing program was Yates's latest contribution. "Well, I saw his wife in the market and she said how good it was that Mickey's work was making him feel young again.”

"Meaning what?" "I asked her. So she went red and said nowadays Mickey was feeling so 'bouncy and energetic'-those were her words-he was keeping her busy in bed.”

"Did she mean just recently?" "I'm sure of it.”

"And he hadn't before?" "According to her, hardly ever.”

"I'm amazed she'd talk about it.”

Yvonne smiled.”You don't know women very well.”

Martin was thoughtful, then he said, "Let's get in the car. We'll talk on the way to Cambridge.”

At first, while driving, they listened to the news on the radio, which was mostly of politics. It was an exciting, optimistic time in Britain. Two months earlier, a general election had brought to power the first woman prime minister in British history. Now, Margaret Thatcher and her government were injecting new enterprise into a nation which had suffered from too little of it since World War II. At the end of the news, Martin switched off the radio and returned to closer concerns. "I'm worried," he said, "and I don't want any general talk about what we've discussed this morning. You're to keep to yourself what you told me about those rats breeding. Also, don't tell anyone else about the new study. We have to do it, even though I don't like the idea, but keep the results locked up until you give them to me. And no more stories about Mickey Yates and his wife.”

"I'll do all of that," Yvonne said.”But I don't understand why you're worried.”

"Then I'll tell you. It's because we've produced a drug which I hope will be significant, be taken seriously, and become an important disease fighter. But if word gets around that it's some kind of aphrodisiac-as well as inducing weight loss, which may or may not be good after all-it could be the worst thing to happen. It would throw everything we've done into disrepute, could make us look as if we reinvented snake oil.” "I think I understand," Yvonne said.”And now you've explained it, I won't talk. But it'll be hard to stop others.”

Martin said grimly, "That's what I'm afraid of

It was midmorning when they reached Cambridge. Martin drove directly to the nursing home where his mother was being cared for. She was in bed, which was where she spent most of her time, having to be lifted out when necessary. She remembered nothing, not even the simplest things, and-as had been the case for many years gave no flicker of recognition when Martin came close. His mother, Martin thought as he stood with Yvonne beside him, seemed visibly to be wasting away day by day. Her body was emaciated, cheeks gaunt, hair thinning. Even in the earlier declining years-around the time when Celia had visited the old house in the Kite-some vestige of a younger beauty still remained. But now that, too, was gone. It was as if the Alzheimer's, which had eaten away his mother's brain, was devouring her body too. "It's been my dream," Martin said softly to Yvonne, "to help find something to prevent most, or some, of this. It will be years, of course, before we know if we've succeeded. But it's because our research into aging has been so important that I don't want anything to cheapen what we've found.”

Yvonne said, "I do understand. Especially now.”

On previous occasions when Martin had brought Yvonne to see his mother, Yvonne had taken the older woman's hands and sat holding them, saying nothing. Though no one could be sure, Martin had had an impression it gave his mother comfort. Today Yvonne did the game thing, but even that thin communication seemed no longer there.

From the nursing home, they drove to see Martin's father. The flat rented by Martin was northwest of the city, not far from Girton College, and they found Peat-Smith, Senior, in a tiny work area behind the building. The tools of his old trade were spread around, and he was chipping experimentally at a small piece of marble, using a chisel and a mallet. "I think you know," Martin said to Yvonne, "that my father used to be a stonemason.”

"Yes. But I didn't know you were still working at it, Mr. Peat-Smith.” "Ain't," the old man said.”Fingers get too damn stiff. Thought, though, I'd make an 'eadstone for your ma's grave, son. About the only thing left to do for 'er.”

He looked at Martin inquiringly.”Is that all right, seem' she ain't dead yet?" Martin put his arm around his father's shoulders.”Yes, it is, Dad. Is there anything you need?" "I need an 'unk of marble. Costs a bit, though.”

"Don't worry about that. Just order what you want, and get them to send the bill to me.”

When Martin looked at Yvonne, he saw that she was crying.

16

"I agree with you totally about the sex stimulant effect," Celia told Martin.”If Peptide 7 became thought of as some kind of aphrodisiac, it would fall into disrepute as a serious product.”

"I think the chances are fair that we can keep it to ourselves," Martin said. "I'm less sure," Celia acknowledged, "though I hope you're right.” It was the second day of her visit to the Harlow institute, and she was having a private meeting with Martin in his office. Earlier, he had advised her formally, "I can report that we have what appears to be a beneficial medication to retard mental aging and aid acuity, the two things going together. All signs look good.”

It seemed, Celia thought, a long way from the time when, on Sam's instructions, she had visited Harlow to consider closing the institute, and even longer-it was seven years-since the memorable first meeting at Cambridge between Sam, herself and Martin. She said, "There doesn't seem much doubt that you've achieved something great.”

They were relaxed and comfortable with each other. If either, from time to time, remembered the intimacies of their night as lovers, it was never mentioned. Clearly that was a moment, an interlude, belonging solely to the past. While Celia was having her talk with Martin, a half-dozen other executives who had accompanied her from Felding-Roth headquarters were having separate, specialized discussions about the future of Peptide 7. These covered a range of subjects-manufacturing, quality control, materials and sources, costs, packaging, product management-all facets of what would become a master plan determining how the drug would be introduced and marketed worldwide. Rao Sastri, Nigel Bentley, and other Harlow staff were responding to questions from the U.S. team. Although more than a year of clinical trials still lay ahead and, after that, approval for Peptide Ts use had to be obtained from governments, many decisions about the future had to be made now. A major one was the extent of Felding-Roth's investment in a new manufacturing plant, which would be either a costly, unprofitable gamble or a shrewd, successful act of faith. The way in which the drug would be ingested by those who used it was also important. Martin told Celia, "We've researched this exhaustively, and recommend delivery by nasal spray. This is the modem, coming system. There'll be more and more medicines taken that way in future.” "Yes, I know. It's being talked about for insulin. Anyway, I'm thankful you've not produced an injectable.”

As both knew, it was a pharmaceutical fact of life that any drug delivered by injection never sold as well as one which could be taken easily by patients at home. "To be used as a nasal spray," Martin explained, "Peptide 7 will be in an inert saline solution mixed with a detergent. The detergent assures the best absorption rate.”

Several detergents had been experimented with, he disclosed. The best nontoxic one, creating no irritation of nasal membranes, had been found to be a new Felding-Roth product recently available in the United States. Celia was delighted.”You mean we can keep it all in-house?" "Exactly.”

Martin smiled.”I thought you'd be pleased.”

A normal dosage, he continued, would be twice daily. Two medical doctors, recently added to the Harlow staff, would coordinate clinical trials in Britain, beginning at once.”We shall concentrate on the age ranges of forty to sixty, though in special circumstances that can be varied either way. We'll also try the drug on patients in the early stages of Alzheimer's. It will not reverse the disease there's no hope of doing that-but may retard it.”

Celia, in turn, reported plans for North American testing.”We want to begin as soon as possible. Because of preliminaries and the need for FDA permission, we'll be a little behind you. But not much.”

They continued with their hopeful, exciting plans.

Out of the Harlow talks came a conclusion that a small plastic bottle with a push top would be the best container for Peptide 7. A suitable dose could result from the throw of a finger pump. Such a container system opened up possibilities for attractive, interesting packaging. It seemed likely that Felding-Roth would not manufacture the containers, but would contract them out to a specialist supplier. A decision, though, would be made in New Jersey.

While Celia was at Harlow, Martin arranged dinner for her with himself and Yvonne. Showing his sensitivity, Celia thought, he did not take them to the Churchgate, but to the dining room of a newer hotel, the Saxon Inn. At first the two women inspected each other curiously, but after a short while, and despite the difference in ages-Celia was forty-eight, Yvonne twenty-seven-they seemed to slip into an easy friendship, perhaps because of their affinity with Martin. Celia was admiring of Yvonne's decision to apply to veterinary college. When Yvonne pointed out that if accepted, she would be older than most students, Celia advised, "You'll do better because of that.”

And she told Martin, "We've a fund at Felding-Roth, set up to help employees who want to improve their education. I think we can bend the rules sufficiently to give Yvonne some financial aid.”

Martin raised his eyebrows.”Yvonne, it looks as if your cost of living just got paid.”

When she expressed gratitude, Celia waved it away and said, smiling, "From what I've been told, you contributed a lot to getting Peptide 7 where it is.”

Later, when Yvonne had left the table briefly, Celia said, "She's special and delightful. It's none of my business, Martin, and you can tell me so if you like-but are you going to marry her?" The question startled him.”That's highly unlikely. In fact, I'm sure neither of us has thought about it.”

"Yvonne has.”

He disagreed.”Why should she? She has a whole career ahead of her-a good one. It will take her to different places where she'll meet other men, closer to her own age. I'm twelve years older.”

"Twelve years means nothing.”

Martin said obstinately, "Nowadays it does. It's a whole generation gap. Besides, Yvonne needs to be free, and so do 1. At the moment we've an arrangement which suits us, but that can change.”

"Men!" Celia said.”Some of you certainly get the best of your ,arrangements.' But you can be blind too.”

The discussion was ended by Yvonne's return. It was not resumed before Celia and her group went back to New Jersey a few days later.

On the day that Celia left, Martin's mother died. She slipped away from life quietly, without warning or fuss. As a doctor at the nursing home expressed it to Martin later, "She went like a small boat that drifts off into the night on a calm sea.”

The calmness, Martin thought, with feelings of mixed sadness and relief, had been present for his mother far too long. It was mental turbulence, not calm seas, that gave life its zest. Alzheimer's had deprived his mother of that zest, and the thought revived, once more, his hopes for the future of Peptide 7. Only Martin, his father and Yvonne attended the simple funeral, and afterward Peat-Smith, Senior, went back to chipping at the block of marble he had ordered and which had been delivered several days before. Martin and Yvonne drove back to Harlow in companionable silence.

In the several months that followed, important decisions were taken at Felding-Roth, New Jersey, punctuated by many transatlantic journeys by headquarters staff. The active ingredient of Peptide 7, which would appear as a white crystalline powder, was to be manufactured in the Republic of Ireland at a new plant for which a site had been chosen and architects' plans were being rushed to completion. The plant would be the first of Felding-Roth's to specialize in molecular biology. Space would be allowed on the site for later manufacturing of the chemical base for Hexin W. - Final production of Peptide 7, in its liquid form and ready for insertion in containers, would be in an existing plant in Puerto Rico. The containers, manufactured as expected by another company, would be shipped there. The overseas arrangements had substantial tax advantages compared with manufacturing in the United States. The overall plan involved an enormous investment which, after doubts and discussions, was approved by the board of directors. At dinner one night Celia explained the doubts to Andrew.”It's money we don't have. Everything's going to be borrowed, and if it goes down the drain, so does Felding-Roth. But we've agreed we have to do it. We've bet the company, and we're in a now-or-never mood.”

There were other decisions, of smaller dimension but important. One concerned a product name for Peptide 7. Felding-Roth's advertising agency-still Quadrille-Brown of New York-began a costly, exhaustive study during which existing brand names were examined and new, suggested ones brooded over, with many being rejected. Finally, after several months of work, a top-level review session took place at Felding-Roth headquarters. On the company side it was attended by Celia, Bill Ingram and a half-dozen others. A small agency contingent was headed by Howard Bladen, now president of Quadrille- Brown, who attended, as he expressed it, "a lot for old time's sake.”

Before the proceedings, Celia, Ingram and Bladen reminisced about the session sixteen years before, when they had all met, and which resulted in the "happy-momma plan" for New Healthotherm, still a steady O-T-C seller and revenue producer. Storyboards and easels were set up in the boardroom to display eight suggested names, each presented in succession, in several type styles. "Among possibilities we've narrowed down," an agency account executive announced, "are names which relate to the brain or human understanding.”

These followed and were: Appercep, Compre, Percip, and Braino. The first three, it was pointed out were derived from "apperception," "comprehension," and "percipience.”

The fourth name was speedily withdrawn when Bill Ingram commented on its similarity to a household product-Drano.

"I'm embarrassed," Bladen said, "and how we all missed that, I'll never know. But no excuses. I apologize.”

Then there were names which, the account exec said, "suggest something brigbt-shining with high intelligence.”

Those were: Argent and Nitid. Two others were: Genus and Compen. The second, it was said, implied that the drug would "compensate" for what might otherwise be missing. An hour's discussion ensued. Bill Ingram liked Appercep, disliked Nitid, was lukewarm about the others. Three people on the company side favored Argent. Bladen expressed himself a supporter of Compen. Celia held back, listening to the others, letting the arguments flow, reflecting at one point on the thousands of dollars all this was costing. It was Bladen who eventually asked, "What's your opinion, Mrs. Jordan? You're one who's had some splendid ideas in the past.”

"Well," Celia said, "I've been wondering why we don't call our new drug Peptide 7.”

Only Ingram had the seniority, and knew Celia well enough, to laugh aloud. Bladen hesitated, then a slow grin crossed his face.”Mrs. Jordan, I think what you've suggested is nothing short of brilliant.”

Celia said tartly, "Just because I'm the client doesn't make it brilliant. It's simply sensible.”

After the briefest further discussion, it was agreed that the product name of Peptide 7 would be Peptide 7.

A year flew by. Clinical trials of Peptide 7, moving much faster than anyone expected, had proved outstandingly successful in Britain and the United States. Older patients responded positively to the drug. No adverse side effects appeared. Now, all accumulated data had been sent to the Committee on the Safety of Medicines in London, and to the FDA in Washington. After careful discussions both at Harlow and in Boonton, involving Martin Peat-Smith, Vincent Lord, Celia and others, it was decided not to seek an official "indication" of the antiobesity effect of Peptide 7. This meant that while the known weight-reducing effect of the drug would be disclosed in information given to physicians, Peptide 7 would not be recommended for that use. Some doctors, it was realized, might prescribe it for that purpose. However, if they did it would be the doctors' own responsibility, not Felding-Roth's. As to a sexual stimulant effect, while repeated tests on animals showed that such an effect existed, it had not been sought during human testing, and was listed as inconspicuously as possible in all submitted data. In both cases the thinking continued to be: Peptide 7 was a serious drug, intended to retard mental aging. Any "frivolous" uses would detract from this important role and diminish the drug's reputation. In view of the flawless results from clinical testing, and the fact that extra indications were not sought, it appeared unlikely that official approval of Peptide 7 would be long delayed. Meanwhile, work on the Irish plant and changes at Puerto Rico were near completion. At Harlow, Martin, while keenly interested in the outcome of clinical trials, had left the details to the medical staff. He was working on modifying Peptide 7, exploring the possibilities of making other brain peptides, a spectrum which the earlier success had opened. Martin and Yvonne were still living together. In January 1980, Yvonne had taken her A level examinations and, to her own and Martin's great joy, passed with A's in all subjects. She had also taken, and passed, the Cambridge Colleges' Examination, this because she had applied to Lucy Cavendish College in that university, and been accepted, subject to exam results. The admissions prospectus had pleased Yvonne with its reference to a "society for women, with a particular concern for those whose studies have been postponed or interrupted.”

In September, having resigned from Felding-Roth, she began attending Lucy Cavendish where she would read Veterinary Medicine. It was now October and she had become accustomed to driving daily to and from her Cambridge classes, an hour's journey. Apart from her studies, a source of pleasure to Yvonne was the blossoming royal romance between the Prince of Wales and "Lady Di," as all of Britain now called her. Yvonne tirelessly discussed the subject with Martin.”I said all along that if he waited, he'd find an English rose," she declared.”And so he has.”

Martin continued to listen to Yvonne's gossipy news, which now included the Cambridge University scene, with affectionate amusement.

During January of the following year, as President Reagan was inaugurated four thousand miles away, a license to market Peptide 7 in Britain was granted by the Minister of Health. Two months later, approval for United States use of the drug was announced by FDA. Canada, as it often did, followed the FDA lead. In Britain, the drug was scheduled to go on sale in April, in the United States and Canada in June. But in March--before its marketing anywhere-an event occurred that confirmed earlier fears and placed in jeopardy, it seemed, the entire future of Peptide 7. It began with a telephone call to Felding-Roth's Harlow institute from a London newspaper, the Daily Mail. A reporter making the call sought to speak with Dr. Peat-Smith or Dr. Sastri. When informed that neither was available that morning, he left a message which a secretary typed out and placed on Martin's desk. It read:

The Mail has learned you are about to unveil a miracle drug which will rejuvenate people sexually, cause them to lose weight, and make the middle-aged and old feel young again. We will have a story in tomorrow's paper and would like a statement from your company as soon as possible today.

When Martin read the message it was a half hour before noon, and he reacted with shock and fear. Was some damn newspaper, concerned only with printing a sensational one-day story, about to lay in ruins all his work and dreams? His immediate impulse was to telephone Celia, and he did-at home. In Morristown it was 6:30 A.m., and she was in the shower. Martin waited impatiently while she dried and put on a robe. At the sound of Celia's voice, he relayed what had happened and read out the reporter's message. His tone conveyed his anguish. Celia was concerned and sympathetic, but also practical. "So the Peptide 7 sex thing is out in the open. I always thought it would happen.”

"Can we do anything to stop it?"

"Obviously not. The report has a basis of truth, so we can't deny it totally. Besides, no newspaper will give up that kind of story, once they have it.”

Martin, sounding unusually helpless, asked, "So what shall I do here?" She told him, "Call the reporter back and answer questions honestly, though be as brief as possible. Be sure to emphasize that the sexual results have been observed in animals only, which is a reason we are not recommending the drug for sexual use by humans. The same applies to use for weight loss.”

Celia added, "Maybe, that way, they'll run a short item which won't get much notice anywhere else.”

Martin said gloomily, "I doubt it.”

"So do 1. But try.”

Three days after Martin's call, Julian Hammond reported to Celia with a summary of media attention to Peptide 7. The public affairs vice president began, "It's as if that first British news story opened a floodgate.”

The Daily Mail had headed its report:

SCIENTIFIC BREAKTHROUGH Soon!-A New Miracle Medicine To Make You Sexy, Younger and Slim

What followed played up the acknowledged sexual effect of Peptide 7, but glossed over the fact that, so far, it had been officially recorded in animals only. The word "aphrodisiac," which Martin and others at Felding-Roth had dreaded, was used several times. Even worse, from the company's point of view, the newspaper had somehow learned about Mickey Yates and interviewed him. A photograph headed, "Thank you, Peptide 7!" showed the elderly Yates beaming after boasting of his revived sexual powers. Beside him, his wife, smiling demurely, had confirmed her husband's claim. Something else in the news report, not known previously by Felding-Roth officials,-was that several others among the Harlow Peptide 7 volunteers had experienced unusual sexual stimulus. They, too, were named and quoted. Celia's dim hope that the story might be confined to one newspaper proved merely a hope, and nothing more. Not only was the Mail's story picked up by the remainder of the British press and television, all wire news services flashed it overseas. In the United States, instant interest was aroused, with Peptide Ts sexual and anti-obesity effects being mentioned in most newspapers and discussed on TV.

From the moment the story broke in the United States, Felding-Roth's switchboard was swamped with calls from press, radio and TV seeking details about Peptide Ts release. Though reluctant to respond to what was felt to be a wave of harmful sensationalism, the information was given. There was no alternative. Few callers inquired about the true, anti-mental-aging purpose of the drug. Following the tide of media calls came a second one: questions from the public. Most concerned only the drug's sexual or weight loss properties, and callers were read a short statement to the effect that Peptide 7 was not recommended for such uses. Phone operators reported that the answer did not appear to satisfy. Some calls were obviously from cranks. Other callers were sexually explicit or obscene. As Bill Ingram commented, "Suddenly, everything we so carefully planned has been turned into a sideshow.” It was this circus effect that most worried Celia. Would doctors, she wondered, not wanting to be associated with something which already appeared disreputable, decide not to prescribe Peptide 7 at all? She consulted Andrew, who confirmed her fears.”I'm sorry to have to say this, but quite a few physicians will feel that way. Unfortunately, all the publicity suggests that Peptide 7 is in the same league with laetrile, ouzo and Spanish fly.”

Celia said unhappily, "You make me wish I hadn't asked.”

Thus, less than a month before what had been foreseen as a strong but dignified introduction of Peptide 7, Celia was weary, dismayed and apprehensive. In Britain, Martin was in deep despair.

"As it turned out," Celia was apt to reminisce much later, "we really did have problems----extremely serious ones--during the early months after Peptide Ts introduction. Among all of us in charge at Felding-Roth there were plenty of tense, anxious hours, biting of fingernails, and sleepless nights. Yet the strange thing was, the problems that happened were not the ones we expected.”

Then she would laugh and add, "What it all showed is that you can never be certain how people will react to anything.” The problems Celia referred to concerned supply. From the moment Peptide 7 was available-obtainable, with a doctor's prescription, from druggists-for months there was never enough to meet the amazing, unprecedented demand. Long lines formed in front of pharmacy counters, and when customers were turned away because supplies ran out, they would go to other drugstores and stand in lines there. A reason that was revealed later-this time quoting Bill Ingram -was that "the damn doctors and druggists were using the stuff themselves and cornering some of the rest for friends.”

The shortage, which for a while was desperate, occurred in Britain as well as the United States. Long-timers in the company had never known anything like it. It resulted in frantic phone calls between New Jersey, Ireland, Harlow, Puerto Rico, Chicago and Manchester-the last two where plastic containers were being made and finger pumps assembled. Puerto Rico in particular, said a Felding-Roth purchasing agent, was "always screaming for containers, which they filled and shipped as fast as they came in.”

Both the Irish and Puerto Rican plants were working around the clock, with extra shifts. At the same time, chartered jet aircraft flew on several occasions from Ireland to Puerto Rico, carrying the precious active Peptide 7 ingredient. It was Ingram who bore the brunt of that difficult time, overseeing all arrangements while, in his words, "We lived from hand to mouth, juggling what supplies we had, trying to keep the multitudes who demanded Peptide 7 as happy as we could.”

Then, looking back on those frantic days, he too would laugh, the anxiety long behind him, and say, "Bless everybody, though! All of our people pitched in, doing everything they could. Even those doctors and druggists, playing favorites, helped Peptide 7 become the golden success it is.”

The word golden was appropriate. As Fortune magazine headlined a feature article a year after the new drug swept, like a tornado, upon the pharmaceutical scene:

FELDING-ROTH FINDS RICH IS BETTER

Fortune estimated that the first year of Peptide 7 sales would bring in revenues of six hundred million dollars. That and earlier estimates caused Felding-Roth shares, traded on the New York Stock Exchange, to go, in one broker's words, "through the roof into the stratosphere.”

Immediately after the drug's introduction the share price tripled in a month, doubled again within a year, and redoubled during the eight months following. After that, directors voted for a five-to-one split to keep the share price within a reasonable trading range. Even so, when accountants finished their arithmetic, the Fortune estimate proved low by a hundred million dollars. Something else Fortune said was, "Not since SmithKline's remarkable ulcer drug, Tagamet, was introduced in 1976 has there been any industrial product comparable with the phenomenon of Peptide 7.”

The success was not confined to money. Thousands upon thousands of middle-aged and elderly men and women were taking the drug, spraying it into nasal passages twice daily and proclaiming that they felt better, their memories were sharper, their general vigor enhanced. When asked if "vigor" included sexual energy, some replied frankly, yes, while others smiled, declaring that to be a private matter. The enhanced memory factor was regarded by medical experts as the most important. People taking Peptide 7 who once suffered from forgetfulness now remembered things. Many who previously had difficulty in recalling other people's names found that problem disappearing. Telephone numbers were recollected without effort. Husbands who formerly forgot them began remembering their wives' birthdays and wedding anniversaries. One elderly gentleman claimed to have memorized, without even trying, an entire local bus schedule. When put to the test by friends, he proved it true. Psychologists who devised "before and after" memory checks confirmed to their satisfaction that Peptide 7 worked. Though considered secondary to memory, the drug's anti-obesity effect quickly became indisputable and advantageous. Fat people, including those in lower age groups, lost unwanted weight and gained in general health. The effect was soon so widely accepted medically that Felding-Roth applied, in the United States, Britain and Canada, for an official weight-loss "indication" to be added to Peptide Ts authorized use. There seemed little doubt the applications would be approved. Throughout the world, other countries were rushing to approve Peptide 7 and obtain supplies. It was too early yet to know whether the drug would reduce the incidence of Alzheimer's disease. Such knowledge was several years away, but many lived in hope. One critical question was being asked. Was Peptide 7 being over- prescribed, as had happened with other medications in the past? The answer: almost certainly, yes. Yet what made Peptide 7 different from those others was that even when not needed, it did no harm. It was not addicting. Incredibly, adverse reports about its effects were almost nil. One woman wrote from Texas, complaining that each time she took a dose, and afterward had sexual intercourse, she ended with a headache. The report was passed routinely by Felding-Roth to the FDA, and also investigated. The matter was dropped when it was discovered the woman's age was eighty-two. A California man went to Small Claims Court, demanding that Felding-Roth be made to pay for a new wardrobe since his previous clothes were no longer usable after Peptide 7 caused him to lose thirty pounds of weight. The claim was contested and dismissed. Nothing more serious was reported. As for doctors, their enthusiasm seemed to have no limits. They recommended Peptide 7 to patients as being beneficial, safe, and one of history's great medical advances. Hospitals were using it. Doctors who enjoyed active social lives rarely went out to dinner or to a cocktail party without a prescription pad in pocket, knowing they would be asked for Peptide 7, and that obliging a host or hostess, or their friends, could lead to other invitations. On the subject of doctors, Celia said to Andrew, "For once you were wrong. Doctors weren't put off by all that publicity. In fact, it seems to have helped.”

"Yes, I was wrong," her husband admitted, "and you'll probably remind me of it for the rest of my life. But I'm happy to be wrong, and happiest of all for you, my love. You-and Martin, of coursedeserve everything that's come about.”

The publicity seemed to continue unabated, perhaps, Celia thought, because Peptide 7 was causing so much renewal of human happiness. In newspapers there were frequent references to the drug's effects, and on television it was talked about often. Bill Ingram reminded Celia, "You once told me the nature of TV would help us one day. It certainly has.”

Ingram, who had been promoted a year earlier to executive vice president, was carrying much of the load that Celia formerly had. Celia's main preoccupation nowadays was what to do with the money that was pouring in and, presumably, would continue to accumulate for years to come. Seth Feingold, now retired, had been retained as a consultant and appeared occasionally. During one meeting with Celia, a year and a half after Peptide Ts U.S. introduction, Seth cautioned, "You have to speed up decisions about how to spend some of that cash. If you don't, too much will be swallowed by taxes.”

One way of using cash was to acquire other companies. On Celia's urging, the board approved purchasing the Chicago firm which was making Peptide Ts containers. That was followed by acquisition of an Arizona concern specializing in new drug delivery systems. Negotiations to buy an optical company were under way. Many more millions would be spent on a new genetic engineering research center. There would be expansions overseas. A new company headquarters was planned, since the existing Boonton building had run out of space and some departments were housed in distant, rented quarters. The new structure would be in Morristown, with a hotel as part of a Felding-Roth high-rise complex. One purchase was a jet airplane-a Gulfstream 111. Celia and Ingram used it on their North American journeyings, more frequent now because of the company's widening activities. During Celia's meeting with Seth, he also said quietly, "One thing that's good about all this money coming in is that some of it can be used to settle claims about those poor Montayne-deformed children.”

"I'm glad of that too," Celia said. She had been aware for some time that the existing reserve fund being used by Childers Quentin for Montayne settlements was almost exhausted. Seth said sadly, "I'll never feel free from my guilt about Montayne. Never.”

Sharing the sober, reflective moment, Celia thought: Amid an enormous therapeutic and financial success, it was necessary and chastening to be reminded that grim failures were also part of pharmaceutical history.

Through all of Peptide Ts bountiful triumph, Martin Peat-Smith was, as the clicW went, in seventh heaven. Not even in the most optimistic moments had he ever imagined so much would be accomplished by his research into aging. Martin's name was now widely known, his person admired, respected and in demand. Praise and accolades poured in. He had been elected a member of the Royal Society, Britain's oldest scientific body. Other learned societies sought him as a speaker. There was talk of a future Nobel. A knighthood was rumored. Amid the attention, Martin managed to retain some privacy. His home telephone number was changed and unlisted. At the institute, Nigel Bentley arranged for Martin to be shielded from all but the most important calls and visitors. Even so, it was clear that Martin's earlier, inconspicuous life would never be the same again. Something else changed too. Yvonne decided to cease living with Martin, and to move into a flat in Cambridge. There was no quarrel or difficulty between them. It was simply that she resolved, quietly and calmly, to go her separate way. Recently Martin had been away from Harlow a good deal, leaving her alone, and at such times it seemed pointless to make the daily two-way Harlow-Cambridge journey. When Yvonne explained her reasoning, Martin accepted it uncritically, with understanding. She had expected him to put up at least a token argument, but when he failed to do so, she did not show her disappointment. They agreed they would see each other occasionally and remain good friends. Only Yvonne, when the moment came to leave, knew how sad, how torn she was inside. She reminded herself how happy she was with her veterinary studies; her third year had just begun. Immediately following the separation, Martin was away for a week. When he returned, it was to a darkened, empty house. It was more than five years since it had been that way, and he didn't like it. He liked it even less as another week passed. He found that he was lonely and missed the sight and cheerful chatter of Yvonne. It was, he thought on going to bed one night, as if a light in his life had abruptly gone out. Next day, Celia telephoned from New Jersey on a business matter and, near the end of their conversation, observed, "Martin, you sound depressed. Is anything wrong.”

It was then, in a burst of confidence, that he told her about missing Yvonne. "I don't understand this," Celia said.”Why did you let her go?" "It wasn't a question of letting her. She's free, and she decided.”

"Did you try to talk her out of it?"

"No.” "Why not?" "It didn't seem fair," Martin said.”She has her own life to live.”

Celia agreed, -Yes, she does. And she undoubtedly wants more out of it than you were giving her. Did you consider offering her something more-like asking her to marry you?" "As a matter of fact, I did consider it. The day Yvonne left. But I didn't, because it seemed...”

"Oh, God help us!" Celia's voice rose.”Martin Peat-Smith, if I were over there I'd shake you. How can anyone bright enough to find Peptide 7 be so dumb? You fool! She loves you.”

Martin said doubtfully, "How do you know?" "Because I'm a woman. Because I hadn't been five minutes in her company before it was as plain to me as it's plain now that you are being obtuse.”

There was a silence, then Celia asked, "What are you going to do?" "If it isn't too late... I will ask her to marry me.”

"How will you do it?" He hesitated.”Well, I suppose I could phone.”

"Martin," Celia said, "I am your superior officer in this company, and I am ordering you to leave that office you are in, right now, and get in your car, and drive to find Yvonne wherever she is. What you do after that is your affair, but I'd advise you to get down on your knees, if necessary, and tell her you love her. The reason I'm telling you this is that I doubt whether, in all your future life, you'll find anyone whose better for you, or who'll love you more. And, oh yes, you might consider stopping on the way to buy some flowers. At least you know about flowers; I remember you sent some once to me.”

Moments later, several employees in the Harlow institute were startled to see the director, Dr. Peat-Smith, running full tilt down a corridor, racing through the outer lobby, then jumping in his car and speeding away. The wedding present from Celia and Andrew to Martin and Yvonne was an engraved silver tray on which Celia had included lines from To a Bride by the Essex-born seventeenth-century poet Francis Quarles:

Let all thy joys be as the month of May, And all thy days be as a marriage day. Let sorrow, sickness and a troubled mind Be stranger to thee.

And then there was Hexin W. It was due to appear on the market in a year.

The clinical trials of Hexin W produced a few side effects in patients who had taken the drug in conjunction with other chosen drugs-such combinations being the route to effective medication via the quenching of free radicals. There were scattered reports of nausea and vomiting, and separate occurrences of diarrhea, dizziness or elevated blood pressure. None of this was unusual or a cause for alarm. The incidents were not severe, nor did they appear in more than a tiny percentage of patients. It was rare for any drug to be free from occasional side effects. Peptide 7 had been a notable exception. The Hexin W trials, which occupied two and a half years, were overseen personally by Dr. Vincent Lord. In doing so he handed over other responsibilities to subordinates, leaving himself free for what had become a task of total dedication. At this vital, near-final stage he wanted nothing to go wrong with the launching of his brainchild. Nothing which, through someone else's neglect or inefficiency, might diminish his scientific glory. Lord had watched with mixed feelings the enormous, continuing success of Peptide 7. On the one hand he experienced some jealousy of Martin Peat-Smith. But on the other, Felding-Roth was now a stronger company because of Peptide 7, and thus better equipped to handle another product that looked as if it could be equally, or even more, successful. Results from the Hexin W trials had delighted Lord. No major adverse side effect appeared. Those minor ones which did were either controllable, or unimportant in relation to the drug's positive, excellent uses. In what was known as Phase III testing, where the medication was given to patients who were ill, under conditions similar to those foreseen for later use, the outcome had been uniformly good. The drug had been taken, over substantial periods of time, by more than six thousand persons, many in hospitals under controlled conditions-an ideal setup for test purposes. Six thousand was a larger number than in most Phase 111's, but was decided on because of the need to study Hexin W's effects when taken with various other drugs, hitherto unsafe. Arthritis patients, as had been hoped, responded particularly well. They were able to take Hexin W not only alone, but with other strong anti-inflammatory drugs that formerly had been denied them. Coordinating the testing, in several widely separated locations, had been a mammoth task for which extra help had been recruited, both inside the company and out. But now it was done. Enormous amounts of data were assembled at Felding-Roth headquarters and, before submitting it to the FDA in the form of a new drug application, Lord was reviewing as much of the material as he could. Because of his personal interest, he found the process mostly a pleasure. Yet, suddenly, it ceased to be when he encountered one set of case reports. What Vince Lord read, then reread more carefully, at first caused him concern, after that perplexity, and eventually blazing anger. The reports in question were from a Dr. Yaminer who practiced medicine in Phoenix, Arizona. Lord did not know Yaminer personally, though he was familiar with the name and knew a little about the doctor's background. Yaminer was an internist. He had a substantial private practice and held staff appointments at two hospitals. Like many other doctors involved in the Hexin W testing program, he had been employed by Felding-Roth to study the effect of the drug on a group of patients-in his case one hundred. Before such studies began, the patients' permission had to be obtained, but this was seldom difficult. The arrangement was a normal one, used routinely by pharmaceutical companies wishing to field-test new drugs. Yaminer had done work for Felding-Roth before, and for other drug firms too. Doctors who contracted to do such work liked the arrangement for one of two reasons, sometimes both. Some were genuinely interested in research. All enjoyed the substantial money it brought in. For a little extra labor, spread over several months, a doctor would receive between five hundred and a thousand dollars per patient, the amount varying with the drug company involved and the importance of the medication. For his Hexin W case studies, Yaminer had received eighty-five thousand dollars. A doctor's own costs for such work were small, therefore most of the money was profit. But the system had a weakness. Because the work was so lucrative, a few doctors were tempted to take on more of it than they could property handle. This led to comer cutting and-with surprising frequency-falsification of data. In a word: fraud. Dr. Yaminer, Lord was certain, had perpetrated fraud in sending in reports about the effects of Hexin W. There were two possibilities as to what had happened. Either Yaminer had failed to do the studies he was supposed to on the patients he had named, or some, perhaps most, of the hundred listed patients did not exist, except in the doctor's imagination. He had made them up, invented them, as well as their test "results.”

Making a guess based on experience, Lord believed the second to be true. Either way, how did he know? One reason-Yaminer had done his fake reporting in a hurry and been careless. What had caught Lord's eye to begin was a close similarity between the handwriting on patient report forms on different dates. Usually such entries varied, and not only the handwriting, but the writing instrument. Even if a doctor used the same ball-point pen every day, it seldom performed with exact consistency. That in itself was not conclusive. Yaminer could have made earlier notes, then transformed them patiently into neater, finished reports. But for a busy doctor it was unlikely. Which prompted Lord to look for more. He found it. Among tests performed on patients receiving experimental drugs was one to measure urine pH-acidity or alkalinity. For an average person the result would be expressed in the range 5 to 8. But each measurement, on separate days, was an "independent event" and usually varied, meaning that a reading of 4 on Tuesday did not make likely another 4 in the same person on Wednesday. Expressed a different way: over five successive days, the likelihood of pH measurements being identical was only one in four. Long odds. Yet, repeatedly, Dr. Yammer's reports on patients showed identical pH readings day after day. Highly unlikely, even with one individual. Impossible in the case of fifteen patients-the number reviewed by Lord from the Yammer study. To be absolutely sure, Lord selected fifteen other patient names and made a similar review of blood studies. Again identical figures repeated with unnatural frequency. There was no need to go further. Any medical investigator would accept the pattern already uncovered as evidence of falsification in this instance, criminal fraud. With silent, seething anger, Lord cursed Dr. Yammer. The overall report presented by Yaminer made Hexin W look extremely good. But it was unnecessary. The drug would have looked good anyway, as was demonstrated by every other report which Lord had read. Lord knew what he ought to do. He should immediately inform the FDA, laying everything before them. After which Dr. Yammer would be officially investigated and almost certainly prosecuted. It had happened to other doctors before, and some had gone to prison. If Yaminer was found guilty he could go there too and also, perhaps, lose his license to practice medicine. But there was something else which Lord knew. If the FDA became involved, with Yaminer's work thrown out, all of it would have to be done again. And allowing for new arrangements that would have to be made, it would take a year and would delay Hexin W's introduction by the same amount of time. Again Lord cursed Yaminer for his stupidity and the dilemma now created. What to do? If it had happened in connection with a drug about which there were doubts, Lord told himself, he wouldn't have hesitated. He would have thrown Yammer to the FDA wolves and offered to give evidence at Yaminer's trial. But there wasn't any doubt about Hexin W. With or without the false report, it was going to be a beneficial, successful medication. So why not let the fake study go in with the other genuine ones? It was a safe bet that no one at FDA would notice; the sheer volume of an NDA made that unlikely. And if Yaminer's papers were looked over by an FDA examiner, there was no reason to suppose the deception would be seen. Not everyone was as quick to notice things as Vincent Lord. Lord would have preferred to omit the study altogether, but knew he couldn't. Yaminer's name was listed in other material already sent to FDA. He also hated the idea of letting Yaminer get away with what he had done, but there seemed no other way. So... all right. Let it go. Lord initialed the Yaminer study and placed it on a pile of others previously reviewed. He would make sure though, Lord vowed, that the bastard never worked for Felding-Roth again. There was a departmental file for Yaminer. Lord found it and stuffed his own rough work sheets in, the pages he had used to figure out the fakery. If he ever needed them, he would know exactly where they were.

Lord's assessment of the situation proved to be correct. The NDA was submitted and, in a satisfyingly short time, approved. Only one thing briefly troubled Vincent Lord, making him nervous. In FDA's National Center for Drugs and Biologies at Washington, D.C.-formerly the Bureau of Drugs-Dr. Gideon Mace was now a deputy director. Compared with earlier days, Mace was a changed and better person, a strict tee-totaler, at last with a good marriage, and respected at his work. His bad experience at the Senate hearing appeared to have done him no harm. In fact, soon afterward he had been promoted. Word reached Lord that Mace, while not directly involved with the Hexin W application, had taken an interest in it, as apparently he did with anything coming into the agency from Felding-Roth. Almost certainly, Mace still bore the company a grudge and hoped one day to get even But nothing happened as a result of Mace's interest, and when FDA approval to market Hexin W was given, Lord's nervousness evaporated.

As with Peptide 7, it was decided that the developmental name of Hexin W would he its product name also. "It comes easily off the tongue and will look good on packaging," Celia declared when it was time for the matter to be decided. Bill Ingram agreed, adding, "Let's hope it brings us the same kind of luck we had before.”

Whether luck helped or not, Hexin W was an immediate success. Physicians, including some in prestigious teaching hospitals, hailed it as an important medical advance which opened up new therapies for treating seriously ill patients. Medical journals praised both the drug and Vincent Lord. Many doctors in private practice began prescribing Hexin W, including Andrew, who reported to Celia, "It looks as if you have a live one there. It's as much a breakthrough, I think, as Lotromycin in its time.”

As more and more doctors discussed the drug with each other, and patients expressed gratitude for the relief it brought them, Hexin W's use expanded and sales zoomed. Other pharmaceutical companies, some of which had been wary at first, began using Hexin W under license, incorporating it in their own products to improve their safety. A few drugs that had been developed years before but were never marketed because of high toxicity were brought down from the shelf and subjected to experiments with Hexin W added. One such was an anti-arthritic drug named Arthrigo. The patent owner was Exeter & Stowe Laboratories of Cleveland, whose president, Alexander W. Stowe, was well known to Celia. A former research chemist, Stowe and a partner had formed their company a decade earlier. Since then, while the firm remained small, it had achieved a merited reputation for high-quality prescription products. After a licensing deal was negotiated, Stowe came personally to Felding-Roth headquarters. In his fifties, he was a genial figure who wore rumpled suits, had shaggy hair, and looked absentminded, which he wasn't. During a meeting with Celia and Vincent Lord he told them, "Our company has FDA permission to use a combination of Arthrigo and Hexin W experimentally. Since both drugs have anti-arthritic properties, we've high hopes for the outcome. Of course, we'll keep you informed as results come in.”

That was six months after Hexin W's introduction. A few weeks later, Celia and Andrew gave a Saturday evening party at their Morristown house in honor of Vincent Lord. Lisa and Bruce came home for the occasion. It was high time, Celia reasoned, that she did something personal for Lord, if only to make clear her recognition of his outstanding contribution to the company and to signal that any antagonism between them was now over, or should be. The party was a success, Lord more relaxed and happy than Celia had ever seen him. His thin, scholarly face became flushed with pleasure as compliments were heaped upon him. He smiled continuously and mingled easily with the guests who included Felding-Roth executives, prominent citizens of Morristown, others who had come especially from New York, and Martin Peat-Smith whom Celia had asked to fly from Britain for the occasion. The last gesture especially pleased Lord, as did Martin's toast, proposed at Celia's request. "The life of a research scientist," Martin declared while the other guests fell silent, "offers challenges and excitement. But also there are wearying years of failure, long hours of despair, and often loneliness. Only someone who has known those black occasions can understand what Vincent endured during his quest for Hexin W. Yet, his genius and dedication rose above them, leading to this celebration in which I humbly join, saluting-with you-a major scientific achievement of our time.”

"Very gracious," Lisa commented later, when guests had gone and the Jordan family was alone.”And if all tonight's company success talk gets out, it should send Felding-Roth stock up another point or two.”

Lisa, nearing her twenty-sixth birthday and four years out of Stanford, was a financial analyst, working for a Wall Street investment banking firm. In the fall, though, she would leave the money milieu to enter Wharton School of Business and study for an M.B.A. degree. "What you should do," Bruce advised his sister, "is on Monday suggest your clients buy Felding-Roth, then on Tuesday leak to the wire services that Dr. Peat-Smith, inventor of Peptide 7, is bullish on Hexin W.”

She retorted, "It would be unethical. Or don't publishers worry about such things?" Bruce, for the past two years since graduation from Williams, had been working for a New York textbook publisher where he was an editor in the history department. He, too, had plans for the future, which involved a move to Paris and studies at the Sorborme. "We're concerned with ethics all the time," he said.”Which is why publishers make less money than investment bankers.”

"It's nice to have you both home," Celia said, "and to know that nothing's changed.”

Being president of a highly successful, wealthy company, Celia found, did not eliminate top management problems. Compared with when the company had been poor, there were just as many, sometimes more. However, their nature differed. Also, nowadays there was exhilaration, a heady excitement lacking in the older times, on which Celia thrived. Immediately following the social tribute to Vincent Lord, she was exceptionally busy with financial and organizational matters, all requiring travel. Consequently, nearly three months went by before she spoke to Lord again concerning the Hexin W licensing contract with Exeter & Stowe. He had come to her office about something else and she inquired, "What word is there from Alex Stowe on their Arthrigo and Hexin WT' He answered, "Their clinical trials seem to be working well. Everything looks positive.”

"How about adverse reports on Hexin W generally? I haven't seen any cross my desk.”

"I haven't sent you any," Lord said, "because there's been nothing of importance. Nothing, that is, that concerns Hexin W directly.”

Celia's mind, so accustomed nowadays to a diet of good news, had already moved on quickly to something else; therefore the wriggling proviso in Lord's last remark escaped her. Later, she would remember it with regret, and blame herself for missing it. For Lord, as had been his way for many years, going back to a time long before Celia had known him, had not delivered all the truth.

The news, when it broke, came quietly. Deceptively casual, even then it did not reveal itself entirely, and afterward it seemed to Celia as if fate had tiptoed in, at first unheeded and wearing a prosaic scabbard from which, later, emerged a fiery sword. It began with a telephone call when Celia was away from her office. When she returned, a message-one of several-informed her that Mr. Alexander Stowe, of Exeter & Stowe Laboratories, had phoned and would like her to call him. There was nothing to indicate the request was urgent, and she dealt with several other matters first. An hour or so later, Celia asked for a call to be placed to Stowe, and soon after was informed by a secretary that he was on the line. She pressed a button and said into a speakerphone, "Hello, Alex. I was thinking about you this morning, wondering how your Arthrigo-Hexin W program is going.”

There was a moment's silence, then a surprised voice, "We canceled our contract with you four days ago, Celia. Didn't you know?" Now the surprise was hers.”No, I didn't. If you told someone at your place to cancel, are you sure they followed through?" "I handled it myself," Stowe said, obviously still puzzled.”I talked directly with Vince Lord. Then today, realizing I hadn't spoken with you, thought I should, as a courtesy. It's why I called.”

Annoyed at being told something she should have known sooner, Celia answered, "I'll have something to say to Vince.”

She stopped.”What was your reason for canceling?" "Well... frankly, we're worried about those deaths from infections. We've had two ourselves in patients we were monitoring, and while it doesn't look as if either drug-Arthrigo or Hexin W was directly responsible, there are still unanswered questions. We're uneasy about them, so we decided not to go on, particularly in view of those other deaths elsewhere.”

Celia was startled. For the first time since the conversation began, a shiver of chill ran through her. She had a sudden premonition there was more to come and she would not like hearing it. "What other deaths?" This time the silence was longer.”You mean you don't know about those either?" She said impatiently, "If I did, Alex, I wouldn't be asking.”

"There are four we actually know about here, though without details, except that all the deceased were taking Hexin W and died from differing types of infection.”

Stowe stopped, and when he resumed his voice was measured and serious.”Celia, I'm going to make a suggestion, and please don't think this presumptuous since it concerns your own company. But I think you need to have a talk with Dr. Lord.”

"Yes," Celia agreed.”So do P' "Vince knows about the deaths-the other ones and ours-because we discussed them. Also, he'll have had details, so as to inform the FDA.”

Another hesitation.”I truly hope, for everyone's sake in your shop, that FDA has been informed.”

"Alex," Celia said, "there appear to be some gaps in my knowledge and I intend to fill them right away. I'm obliged to you for what you've told me. Meanwhile, there doesn't seem much point in our continuing this conversation.”

"I agree with you," Stowe said.”But do please call me if there's any other information you need, or any way I can be of service. Oh, and the real purpose of my calling was to say I'm genuinely sorry we had to cancel. I hope, some other time, we can work together.”

Celia answered automatically, her mind already on what must be done next. "Thank you, Alex. I hope so too.”

She terminated the call by touching a button. She was about to press another which would have connected her with Vincent Lord, then changed her mind. She would go to see him personally. Now.

The first report of death where a patient had been taking Hexin W arrived at Felding-Roth headquarters two months after the drug's introduction. It had come, as was usual, to Dr. Lord. Moments after reading it, he dismissed it entirely. The report was from a physician in Tampa, Florida. It revealed that while the deceased had been taking Hexin W in conjunction with another drug, the cause of death was a fever and infection. Lord reasoned that the death could have had no relation to Hexin W, therefore he tossed the report aside. However, later that day, instead of sending it for routine filing, he placed the report in a folder in a locked drawer of his desk. The second report came two weeks later. It was from a Felding-Roth detail man and was mailed after a conversation with a doctor in Southfield, Michigan. The salesman had been conscientious in recording all the information he could find. Reports about side effects of drugs, including adverse effects, came to pharmaceutical companies from several sources. Sometimes physicians wrote directly. At other times, hospitals did so as routine procedure. Responsible pharmacists passed on what they learned. Occasionally, word came from patients themselves. As well, the companies' detail men and women had instructions to report anything they were told about a product's effect, no matter how trivial it seemed. Within any pharmaceutical company, reports of side effects of drugs were accumulated and, in quarterly reports, passed to the FDA. That was required by law. Also required by law was that any serious reaction, particularly with a new drug, must be passed to FDA, and flagged as "urgent," within fifteen days of the company's learning of it. The rule applied whether the company believed its drug to be responsible or not. The detail man's report from Southfield, again read by Lord, revealed that the patient, while taking Hexin W and another anti-arthritic drug, died from a massive liver infection. This was confined at autopsy. Again, Lord decided that Hexin W could not possibly have been the cause of death. He put the report in the folder with the first. A month went by, then two reports came in, separately but at the same time. They recorded deaths of a man and a woman. In both cases they had been taking Hexin W with another drug. The woman, elderly, developed a serious bacterial infection of a foot after it was cut in a home accident. As an emergency measure the foot was amputated, but the infection spread quickly, causing death. The man, who had been in poor health, died from an over- whelming infection of the brain. Lord's reaction was one of annoyance with the two dead people. Why had their damned diseases, from which they would have expired anyway, had to involve Hexin W, even though the drug was clearly not responsible in either case? Just the same, the accumulating reports were becoming an embarrassment. Also a worry. By this time Lord was aware of his failure to comply with federal law by not reporting the earlier incidents immediately to FDA. Now, he was in an impossible position. If he sent the latest reports to FDA, he could not omit the earlier ones. Yet those were long overdue under the fifteen-day reporting rule, and if he sent them, both Felding-Roth and he personally would be shown as guilty of a law violation. Anything could happen. He was uncomfortably conscious of Dr. Gideon Mace probably waiting at FDA to pounce on such an opportunity. Lord put the two latest reports in his folder with the others. After all, he reminded himself, he was the only one with knowledge of the total number. Each bad arrived separately. None of the individuals making a report was aware of the others. By the time Alexander Stowe telephoned, canceling Exeter & Stowe's contract for the use of Hexin W, Lord had accumulated twelve reports and was living in fear. He also learned-increasing his anxiety-that Stowe had somehow heard about four of those Hexin-W-related deaths. Lord did not tell Stowe that the actual number was twelve, plus the two Stowe knew about directly, which Lord 11-amed of for the first time. Since, legally, Lord could not ignore what Stowe had told him, the total of known deaths was now fourteen. A fifteenth report came in on the day that Stowe telephoned Celia. By then, reluctantly but unable to avoid the scientific truth, Lord had gained an idea of what was causing the deaths--most of them, if not all. Several months earlier in Celia's office, during that sales planning meeting where afterward his words had been applauded, he had described the effect of Hexin W.”... stops free-radical production, so that leukocytes-white blood cells-are not attracted to a disease site... Result-no inflammation... pain disappears. All of that was true. What was also becoming clear, by deduction and some hasty new experiments, was that banishment of leukocytes opened up a weakness, a vulnerability. In the ordinary way, leukocytes at a disease site killed off foreign material-bacteria. Thus leukocytes, though causing pain, were also a protection. But in their absence-an absence caused by the quenching of free radicals-bacteria and other organisms flourished, creating massive infections in various body locales. And death. Though it had yet to be proved, Vincent Lord was sure that Hexin W was, after all, the cause of at least a dozen deaths, perhaps more. He also realized, too late to be of use, that there had been a weakness in the Hexin W clinical testing program. Most of the patients observed had been in hospitals under controlled conditions where infections were less apt to flourish. All of the deaths recorded in his folder had occurred away from hospitals, in homes or other non-controlled environments where bacteria could live and breed... Lord reached the conclusion-acknowledging his failure, shattering his dreams, reinforcing his present, desperate fears-only a few minutes before Celia arrived. He knew now that Hexin W would have to be withdrawn. He knew, with despair, that he was guilty of concealment-a concealment causing deaths that could have been prevented, As a result he faced disgrace, prosecution, and perhaps imprisonment. Strangely, his mind went back to twenty-seven years before... Champaign-Urbana, the University of Illinois, and the day in the dean's office when he had asked for accelerated promotion, which had been refused. He had sensed then that the dean believed he, Vincent Lord, was flawed by some defect of character. Now, for the first time, peeling the layers from his soul, Lord asked himself. Had the dean been right?

Walking unannounced into Lord's office, closing the door behind her, Celia wasted no time. "Why was I not told that Exeter & Stowe canceled their contract four days ago?" Lord, startled by the sudden entry, said awkwardly, "I was going to tell you. I hadn't got around to it.”

"How long would you have taken if I hadn't asked?" Then, without waiting for an answer, "I had to learn from outside that there have been adverse reports about Hexin W. Why haven't I heard of those either?" Lord said lamely, "I've been studying... collating them.”

She ordered, "Let me see them. Every one. Now.”

Knowing that, at this point, nothing could be held back, Lord produced keys and opened a locked drawer of his desk. Watching him, Celia remembered the occasion seven years ago when she had come here, wanting to see those early, dubious reports about Montayne. At that time, Lord had been reluctant to show them, but when she insisted, he had gone through the same procedure with the same locked drawer. She had been surprised even then to discover that the reports were not in the general office filing system where they would have been accessible to others. The same process of concealment. Celia thought bitterly, the earlier experience should have taught her something. Because it hadn't, an organizational weakness had persisted in the company, a weakness for which, as president, she was responsible. Doubly responsible-because she had known of Vincent Lord's penchant for hiding bad news, concealing what he didn't like, and she had done nothing to guard against it. Lord handed her a bulging folder. Celia's first impression was shock at how much it contained. Her second, as she turned pages and read while Lord watched silently, was horror. She counted groups of pages. Fifteen deaths. And all those who died had been taking Hexin W. At the end, she asked the inevitable question, though knowing the answer in advance. "Have we informed the FDA of any or all of these reports?" Lord's face muscles twitched as he answered, "No.”

"You're aware, of course, of the law and the fifteen-day rule?" Lord nodded slowly, without speaking. "I asked you some time ago," Celia said, "if there had been adverse reports on Hexin W. You told me there were none.”

Desperately trying to salvage something, Lord replied, "I didn't say there were none. What I said was-there was nothing that concerned Hexin W directly.”

Startled, Celia remembered. That was exactly what he had said. It had been a weasely answer, typical of Lord, whose ways she had known for twenty-seven years. Armed with that knowledge, she should have recognized the answer for what it was-evasive---and persisted in her questioning. If she had, the adverse reports would have been out in the open months ago. And there would have been fewer of them than now fewer deaths-because the FDA would have taken action, warnings would have issued... But no! Instead, she had been caught up in euphoria, enamored of a second huge success... Peptide 7, then Hexin W... She had thought that nothing could go wrong. But it had, and now, while Vincent Lord's world was crashing down about him, so was hers. Not expecting any reasonable reply, she asked, "Why did you do it?" Lord began, "I believed in Hexin W” She waved away the answer.”Never mind.”

Returning the papers to the folder, Celia said, "I'm taking these. Copies will be sent to Washington-the FDA-today, marked urgent, and by special messenger. I intend to telephone the commissioner to ensure they have proper attention.”

She added grimly, mostly to herself, "I imagine we'll hear something back quite soon.”

The FDA reacted quickly, almost certainly because of Celia's decision to involve the commissioner directly. An order for temporary withdrawal of Hexin W was issued, the "temporary" leaving open a possibility that the drug might be reintroduced later with more restrictive labeling. But even if that happened, it was clear: The high-flying days of Hexin W were over. "Which is a damn shame," Alex Stowe said in a conversation with Celia soon afterward.”It's still a fine drug, and a scientific achievement quite apart from the way Vince messed up personally.”

He added dourly, "The trouble in our society is that everyone wants drugs that are free from risk and, as you and I both know, they don't exist and never will.”

Since their recent joint experience Celia had fallen into a habit of talking regularly with Stowe, who was proving a wise friend and confidante. "You will see Hexin W back," he insisted, "maybe with greater safeguards, or after more development. There's a need for the quenching of free radicals, even at some risk, and it's a technique that's spreading medically. In the next few years we'll be reading more and more about it. When that happens, Celia, you can take heart that Felding-Roth was in there, pioneering.”

"Thank you, Alex," she said.”Around here, right now, any cheerful thought is welcome.”

Despite the melancholy surrounding Hexin W's withdrawal, the process itself went smoothly. Celia, anticipating it, had ordered preparations made in advance of the FDA order. Thus, when it came, a "Dear Doctor" letter immediately went out to all physicians advising them that the drug should no longer be prescribed. Within two weeks following that, the product was off drugstore shelves. Celia had attempted to have the Hexin W removal listed as voluntary, but the FDA demurred, choosing to exercise its authority. Because of the overhanging problem of the late reporting, Celia was advised by lawyers not to argue. As to that problem, nothing was heard immediately, but a few weeks later the "Pink Sheet"-a weekly review of pharmaceutical affairs, published in Washington-stated:

In the matter of Felding-Roth and Hexin W, the FDA has referred its investigation of alleged adverse report violations to the Justice Department, though it is understood no recommendation has been made as to whether a grand jury should be empanelled. "The way I hear it, confidentially," Childers Quentin told Celia during a telephone conference call which included Bill Ingram and an in-house company lawyer, "is that you're between two factions pulling different ways inside the FDA.”

At Celia's request, Quentin, through his many contacts in the capital, had put out feelers to discover what was happening. Periodically the Washington lawyer relayed what he learned, and the Pink Sheet's comment had prompted his latest call. Quentin continued, "One faction includes the commissioner and some others who are inclined to go slow, knowing that grand juries and indictments are tricky and can bounce back on the FDA's own people if their involvement was neglectful too. Another thing-the commissioner was impressed, Celia, when you were honest with him about those delayed reports.”

Quentin paused.”However, there's a second FDA contingent led by an associate commissioner; he has power, is a permanent bureaucrat, and will be around long after the commissioner has gone. The associate commissioner is in the corner of an FDA doctor named Gideon Mace, and it's Mace who's screaming for strong action. You may remember him. We were all on Capitol Hill together.”

"I do remember," Celia said.”Dr. Mace seems to hold a grudge against Felding-Roth, though I've no idea why.”

Bill Ingram asked, "Is there anything we can do about what's happening, or might happen, over at Justice?" "Yes," Quentin said.”Just sit, wait, and hope. There are things you can meddle with in Washington and sometimes get away with doing it, but a grand jury proceeding-if it comes to that-isn't one of them.”

So that was how they left it, and the waiting was unnerving. Even more unnerving was the appearance of federal marshals at Felding-Roth headquarters with a search warrant. The warrant had been issued by the U.S. Federal Court at Newark, the nearest federal court to Boonton. Hexin W had been withdrawn during early October. In mid November, the U.S. Attorney for the District of New Jersey, acting on instructions from the Justice Department, sought permission before a federal magistrate to "search for and seize all memoranda, correspondence and other documents relating to the pharmaceutical product known as Hexin W.”

It was an ex parte proceeding of which Felding-Roth had no advance knowledge; therefore the company was unrepresented when the search warrant was applied for and issued. The search-and-seizure move was a shock to Celia and others, as was the presence of the marshals who remained for several days, finally taking away a dozen cartons of papers in a truck. Among them were contents of filing cabinets in the research department, including one in Vincent Lord's office. Lord tried to protest the intrusion into his office, but was shown the search warrant and ordered to stand aside. Since the day when, in Lord's office, Celia had discovered the illegally withheld adverse reports, the research director had avoided, as much as possible, contact with other senior people in the company, especially Celia. It was clear to all concerned that Lord's days at Felding-Roth were numbered. Equally clear was that until the Hexin W adverse reports matter was resolved, the company, which included Lord, had no choice but to present a united front. The seizure of papers made this even clearer, therefore an uneasy truce prevailed. While Lord was keeping his distance, Celia was formulating a plan to restructure the research organization, with a divisional president in overall charge and, reporting to him, vice presidents who would head specialist sections, including the new genetic engineering facility. She had some ideas about who the head of genetics might be. After the mid-November activity, nothing more was heard on that subject through the remainder of the year. Shortly before Christmas, Childers Quentin reported, "Officially there's still an investigation in progress, but they've a lot of other things going on at Justice, and Hexin W isn't on their front burner.”

Bill Ingram, who again listened to the report with Celia, said, "I suppose the longer that action is delayed, the less chance there is of anything serious happening.”

"It's been known to work out that way," Quentin said.”Just the same, don't count on it.”

The first day of the new year brought an item of happy news. The rumored knighthood for Martin Peat-Smith became reality with the appearance of Martin's name on the Queen's Honors List. The Times of London reported that the award was for "outstanding service to humanity and science.”

The official investiture of Sir Martin Peat-Smith by Her Majesty would be at Buckingham Palace in the first week of February. Celia, learning of this during a congratulatory telephone call to Martin, said, "Andrew and I will come over the week before, and after you've been to the Palace we'll have a party for you and Yvonne.”

Thus, near the end of January, Celia and Andrew were in London, accompanied by Lilian Hawthorne whom Celia had persuaded to join them. In the seven and a half years since Sam's death, Lilian had grown accustomed to living alone and seldom traveled. But Celia pointed out that the occasion was, in a way, a memorial to Sam since the Harlow institute had been his idea, and Martin, Sam's choice to head it. Celia, Andrew and Lilian were staying at the latest "in" place for affluent travellers- Forty-seven Park Street in Mayfair, where hotel convenience was combined with private luxury apartments. Lilian, who would be sixty at her next birthday, was still a strikingly handsome woman, and during a visit by the trio to the Harlow institute Rao Sastri was obviously attracted to her, despite the twenty-year difference in their ages. Sastri conducted a special tour of the labs for Lilian and afterward the two of them took off for lunch. Celia was amused to learn that they had arranged an evening in London--dinner and a theater-for the following week. On Monday, two days before the investiture, Celia received a transatlantic call from Bill Ingram.”I'm sorry to burden you with bad news," the executive vice president began, "but Childers Quentin just called. It seems that in Washington all hell just broke loose.”

The news, he explained, concerned the FDA, Dr. Gideon Mace, the Department of Justice, Senator Dennis Donahue and Hexin W. "The way Quentin tells it," Ingram said, "is that Mace got tired of what he saw as inaction at the Justice Department. So on his own, unofficially, he took all the Hexin W papers over to Capitol Hill to one of Donahue's aides. The aide showed them to Donahue, who grabbed the whole schmear as if it were a Christmas present. According to Quentin's informant, the senator's words were, 'I've been waiting for something like this.' "Yes," Celia said, "I can imagine.”

"The next thing," Ingram continued, "is that Donahue called the Attorney General and demanded action. Since then--again as Quentin tells it-Donahue's been calling the A.G. every hour on the hour.”

Celia sighed.”That's a lot of bad news at once. Is there anything else?" "Unfortunately, quite a bit more. First, it's now definite that a grand jury will be empanelled to look into the Hexin W delayed reports, plus something else that's come out. And the Attorney General, who's taking a personal interest because of Donahue, is sure he can get indictments.”

"Against whom?" "Vince Lord, of course. But also, I'm sorry to tell you, Celia, against you. They're going to argue that you were responsible--and that's on Donahue's urging. According to Quentin, Donahue wants your scalp.”

Celia knew why. She remembered the Washington lawyer's warning after the Senate hearings.”You made him look a fool... 1f any time in the future, he can do harm to Felding-Roth or to you... he'll do it and enjoy it.”

Then she recalled some words of Ingram's spoken moments earlier and asked, "Bill, you said there was 'something else that's come out.' What?" This time Ingram sighed. Then he said, "This gets complicated, though I'll try to put it simply. "When the clinical testing data on Hexin W was submitted to Washington with our NDA, it contained the usual gamut of medical studies, including one by a Dr. Yaminer of Phoenix. It now turns out that Yammer's study was a fake. He listed patients he didn't have. Much of his data was fraudulent.”

"I'm sorry to hear that," Celia said, "though it happens occasionally. Other companies have had the same problem. But when you find out about the faking-if you do-you tell the FDA and they go after the doctor.”

"Right," Ingram agreed.”What you're not supposed to do, though, is include the data in an NDA after discovering it to be false.”

"Of course not.”

"Vince did. He initialed Yammer's report and let it go.”

Celia asked, "But how does anyone know that Vince was aware

"I'm coming to that.”

She said wearily, "Go on.”

"When those federal marshals were with us, doing their search and seizure, they took away files from Vince's department. Among them was one for Dr. Yaminer. In that file were some rough notes in Vince's handwriting, showing he'd discovered Yaminer's report to be false before he let it go to FDA. The Justice Department now has the original report and Vince's notes.”

Celia was silent. What was there to say? She wondered: was there any end to infamy? "And I guess, that's all," Ingram said.”Except "Except what?" "Well... it's about Dr. Mace, and the way he seems antagonistic to us. I remember you saying once that you had no idea why.”

-I still haven't.”

"I think Vince knows why," Ingram said.”I have an instinct. I've watched Vince too. He seems scared stiff any time Mace's name comes up.”

Celia weighed what she had just heard. Then suddenly, in her mind, Ingram's words linked up with a conversation she had had with Lord at the time of the Senate hearings. She had accused him then of lying on the witness stand and... Making a fast decision, she said, "I want to see him. Over here.”

"Vince?" "Yes. Tell him it's an order. He's to get on the first available plane and report to me as soon as he arrives.”

Now they faced each other. Celia and Vincent Lord. They were in the living room of the Jordans' Mayfair apartment. Lord looked tired, older than his sixty-one years, and under strain. He had lost weight so that his face was even thinner than before. His face muscles, which earlier had twitched occasionally, were doing it more often. Celia remembered an incident from her early days as assistant director of sales training, when she had often gone to Lord for technical advice. In attempting to be friendly she had suggested that they use first names, and Lord had replied unpleasantly, "It would be better for both of us, Mrs. Jordan, to remember at all times the difference in our status.” Well, Celia thought, for this occasion she would take his advice. She said coldly, "I will not discuss the disgraceful Yaminer affair, Dr. Lord, except to say that it gives the company an opportunity to dissociate itself from you, and leave you to defend yourself about everything-at your own expense.”

With a glint of triumph in his eyes, Lord said, "You can't do that because you're going to be indicted too.”

"If I choose to do it, I can. And any defense arrangements I make for myself are my concern, not yours.”

“If you choose...?" He seemed puzzled. 'I will not make any commitment. Understand that. But if the company is to help with your defense, I insist on knowing everything.”

“Everything?" 'There's something in the past," Celia said.”Something that you know and I don't. I believe it has to do with Dr. Mace.”

They had been standing. Lord motioned to a chair.”May I?” “Yes.”

Celia sat down too. 'All right," Lord said, "there is something. But you won't like hearing it. And after you know, you'll be sorry that you do.”

"I'm waiting. Get on with it.”

He told her. Told everything, going back to the first problems with Gideon Mace at the FDA, Mace's pettiness, the insults, the long, unreasonable delays in approving Staidpace-in the end, a good, lifesaving drug... Later the attempt to discover something harmful about Mace, resulting in Lord's Georgetown meeting in a homosexual bar with Tony Redmond, an FDA technician... Lord's purchase from Redmond of documents incriminating Mace. The cost: two thousand dollars--an expenditure approved by Sam, who later agreed not to disclose the information to a law enforcement agency but to hold the papers secretly, thus making Sam and Lord accessories to a crime... Two years later, when Mace was delaying FDA approval of Montayne, the decision, shared by Sam, to blackmail Mace... The blackmail succeeding, despite Dr. Mace's unease about the Australian report on Montayne and his honest doubts about the drug... Then it was done. Now Celia knew it all and, as Lord had predicted, wished that she did not. Yet she had had to know because it affected future judgments she would make as president of Felding-Roth. At the same time so much became clearer: Sam's despair and guilt, the real and deeper reason for his suicide... Dr. Mace's breakdown at the Senate hearings and, when asked why he had approved Montayne, his pathetic answer, "Ijust don't know. Mace's anger at Felding-Roth and all its works. Celia thought: If I were Mace I would hate us too. And now that Celia knew the sorry, dismal story, what came next? Her conscience told her there was only one thing she ought to do. Inform the authorities. Go public. Tell the truth. Let all concerned take their chances-Vincent Lord, Gideon Mace, Felding-Roth, herself. But what if she did? Where would it leave everybody? Lord and Mace would be destroyed of course-a thought which left her unconcerned. What did concern her was the realization that the company would be disgraced and dragged down too, and not just the company as a paper entity, but its people: employees, executives, stockholders, the other scientists apart from Vincent Lord. Only she herself might look good, but that was least important. Equally to the point was the question: If she went public what would be achieved? The answer: After this length of time-nothing. So she would not do the "conscience thing.”

She would not go public. She knew, without having to think about it anymore, that she too would remain silent, would join the others in corruption. She had no choice. Lord knew it also. Around his thin lips there was the ghost of a smile. She despised him. Hated him more than anyone else in all her life. He had corrupted himself, corrupted Mace, corrupted Sam. Now he had corrupted Celia. She stood up, emotionally, almost incoherently, she shouted, "Get out of my sight! God" He went.

Andrew, who had been visiting a London hospital, returned an hour later. She told him, "Something's happened. I'll have to go back right after Martin and Yvonne's party. That means a flight the day after tomorrow. If you want to stay a few days more-" "We'll go together," Andrew said. He added quietly, "Let me handle the arrangements. I can tell you've a lot on your mind.”

Soon afterward, he reported back. Thursday's Concorde to New York was fully booked. He had secured two first-class seats on a British Airways 747. They would be in New York, then Morristown, on Thursday afternoon.

Yvonne could scarcely believe it. Was she really inside Buckingham Palace? Was it truly herself in the State Ballroom, seated with others whose spouses or parents were about to receive honors, all of them waiting with varying degrees of excitement or expectancy for the Queen's arrival? Or was it all a dream? If a dream, it was delightful. And set to music by the regimental band of the Coldstream Guards in the minstrels' gallery above. They were playing Early One Morning, that happy, bouncy tune. But no, it was no dream. Because she had come here to the Palace with her own dear Martin, who was now waiting in an anteroom, ready to be escorted in when the ceremony began. Already Martin had gone through a brief rehearsal, guided by the Comptroller of the Household, a colonel in dress uniform. Suddenly a pause, a stir. The band stopped, its music ceasing in mid-flow. All other activity halted. In the gallery, the bandmaster, his baton poised, stood waiting for a signal. It came. As liveried footmen swung double doors open, the Queen appeared. The uniformed were at attention. All guests had stood. The baton swooped. The national anthem, sweet yet strong, swelled out. The Queen, in a turquoise silk dress, was smiling. She moved to the center of the ballroom. Dutifully following were the Lord Chamberlain and the Home Secretary, each in morning dress. The presentation of honors began. The band played a Strauss waltz softly. All was dignified, fast-moving and efficient. No wasted time, but not an occasion that those involved were likely to forget. Yvonne was storing every detail in her memory. Martin's turn came soon, immediately following a Knight Commander of St. Michael and St. George who took precedence in rank. Following instructions, Martin entered, advanced three paces, bowed... forward to a kneeling box... right knee on the box, left foot to the floor... As Martin knelt, the Queen accepted a sword from an equerry and with it touched Martin lightly on both shoulders. He rose... a half pace to the right, one pace forward... With Martin standing, his head bowed slightly, the Queen placed around his neck a gold medallion on a red-and-gold ribbon. The Queen had spoken briefly with each person being honored. With Martin, Yvonne thought, more time was spent. Then, with three backward paces and a bow, Martin was gone. He joined Yvonne quietly a few minutes later, slipping into a seat beside her. She whispered, "What did the Queen say?" Smiling, he whispered back, "The Queen is a well-informed lady.”

Yvonne knew that later she would find out exactly what the Queen had said. Yvonne's only disappointment was that she hadn't seen or met the Prince and Princess of Wales. She had been told in advance that it wasn't likely they would even be in the palace, but had hoped. One day, though, it might happen. Now that she was married to Martin, anything could happen. The only thing she was having trouble getting used to since the announcement of Martin's knighthood was being addressed as "my lady" by Harlow and Cambridge people, including the head porter at Lucy Cavendish. She'd asked him not to, but he insisted. Well, in time she supposed she'd adjust to that and other things. After all, Yvonne thought whimsically, quite soon there would be farmers calling for Lady Peat-Smith, veterinary surgeon, to take care of their pigs and cows.

Celia and Andrew's reception and party at the Dorchester Hotel in honor of Sir Martin and Lady Peat-Smith was a great success. It began at teatime, went on until early evening, and during that time nearly a hundred people came, including most of the Harlow institute's senior staff. Rao Sastri was there; be was escorting Lilian, and they seemed to be having fun. Twice, however, Celia saw them with their heads together, apparently engaged in serious talk. Rao, Celia knew, was unattached; according to Martin, he had never married. Yvonne was looking lovely and radiant. She had lost weight and confided to Celia that Martin had at last allowed her to take Peptide 7. For Yvonne, as for others, the drug's anti--obesity factor worked. During the party Celia told Martin quietly, "Andrew and I are leaving tomorrow, early. When this is over, I'd like the four of us to have a few minutes by ourselves.”

At last the celebration ended. With happy leave-takings, the guests dispersed.

It was already dark when Celia, Andrew, Martin and Yvonne walked the short distance from the Dorchester to Forty-seven Park. The February day had been cold, but clear and invigorating. The clearness was persisting into night. Now they were relaxed in the pleasant living room of the Jordans' apartment.

”Martin," Celia said, "I'll come to the point because it's been a day and I think we're all a little tired. As you know, Felding-Roth is building a genetic engineering facility. It will be in New Jersey, not far from what will be our new Morristown headquarters, and we're taking care that the labs will have everything in them to gladden a genetic scientist's heart.”

"I'd heard some of that," Martin said.”The quality of what you're doing is already being talked about.”

"What I'm leading up to," Celia continued, "is a question. Will you and Yvonne come to live in the United States, and will you head our genetic research as vice president and director of the new labs? I'd promise you a free hand to follow whatever scientific direction you believe we should.”

There was a silence. Then Martin said, "It's a fine offer, Celia, and I'm truly grateful. But the answer is no.”

She urged, "You don't have to give an answer now. Why not take time to think about it, and talk it over with Yvonne?" "I'm afraid the answer's definite," Martin said.”It has to be because I need to tell you something else. I wish I could have picked another time, but here it is. I'm resigning from Felding-Roth.”

The news shocked Celia.”Oh, no! That can't be true.”

Then she looked at him sharply.”Are you going to another pharmaceutical company? Has someone made a better offer? Because, if so-" He shook his head.”I wouldn't do that to you. At least, not without discussing it first. What I'm doing is returning to an old love.”

"He means Cambridge, not another woman," Yvonne said.”We're going to live there. The university is where his heart is.”

And where I plucked him from before you knew him, Celia thought. She had been unprepared for the news, but instinct told her there would be no dissuading Martin, so she wouldn't try. Cambridge had called; he had responded like a homing pigeon. Well, on a sunlit Sunday thirteen years earlier, she had won a victory against the university. It had proved a worthwhile victory all around. But time's wheel had spun; now it was Cambridge's turn, and Celia and Felding-Roth had lost. Andrew spoke, addressing Martin.”I always thought that academia might call you back one day. Will you be master of a college? I read somewhere that there are vacancies.”

"There are," Martin answered, "but not for me. At forty-six I'm still young for a mastership. Maybe when I'm older, grayer, more illustrious...”

"Goodness!" Celia exclaimed.”How illustrious do you have to be? You've had a major scientific breakthrough, accolades worldwide, a knighthood.”

Martin smiled.”Cambridge has seen all those things many times. The university is not easily impressed. No, I'm going in under something called the 'New Blood Scheme.'" It was a government-sponsored program, he explained, through which he would become an assistant director of research in one of several new, frontier areas of science. The salary in the new post, as was so often the case in academia, would not be large-to begin, less than ten thousand pounds a year. However, the Peat-Smiths would be comfortable because of Martin's substantial Peptide 7 income, and he would undoubtedly use some of it, he said, to supplement his department's research funds. Several months earlier a settlement for Martin had been worked out by Felding-Roth's financial officers and lawyers in New Jersey. The arrangement had received Celia's approval and, later, the board's. Under British law-the Patents Act of 1977-Martin could have applied for a court award of compensation for his Peptide 7 discovery. But he hadn't wanted to go to court, even amicably, nor had Felding-Roth. Therefore, by agreement, an offshore trust fund of two million pounds had been set up in the Bahamas from where money would flow to Martin regularly. The fund was hedged around with legal moats and barriers so that Britain's confiscatory taxation system would not, as Celia expressed it, "rob Martin of his just reward.”

That just reward, she now thought ruefully, had helped open the way back to Cambridge. She suspected, though, that Martin would have made the same decision whether the Peptide 7 money were available or not. Before Martin and Yvonne left to drive home, Celia said, "Felding-Roth will miss you both, but I hope the four of us will always stay close friends.”

They agreed they would.

Prior to Celia and Andrew's departure from Britain, one final matter was arranged. Several hours after Martin and Yvonne had gone, and close to the Jordans' bedtime, there was a knock at the apartment door. It was Lilian Hawthorne. Sensing that Lilian wanted to be alone with Celia, Andrew discreetly disappeared. "I'm glad you talked me into coming to England," Lilian said.”You may have noticed that I've had a good time.”

"Yes, I have," Celia said. She smiled.”I was pleased to see Rao enjoy himself too.”

"Rao and I have discovered that we like each other-and it may be even more than that.”

The older woman hesitated.”I suppose you'll think, because all of it has happened so quickly, and at my age, I'm being foolish...”

"I think nothing of the sort. What I do think is that it's time you had fun again, Lilian, that you should enjoy life any way you want, and if that includes Rao Sastri-fine!" "I'm pleased you feel that way because it's about that I came to see you. I want to ask a favor.”

"If I can do it," Celia said, "I will.”

"Well, Rao would like to come to America. He says he's wanted to for a long time. I'd like it too, and if it were possible for him to work at Felding-Roth...”

The sentence was left unfinished- Celia completed it.”It would be convenient for you both.”

Lilian smiled.”Something like that.”

"I'm certain," Celia said, "that a place can be found in the new genetic labs. In fact you can tell Rao I guarantee it.”

Lilian's face lit up.”Thank you, Celia. He'll be delighted. He was hoping for that. He knows he doesn't have the leadership qualities of someone like Martin; he told me so. But he's a good support scientist-" "I'm aware of that, which makes it easier," Celia said.”But even if he'd been less than he is, I'd still have done it. You did me a big favor many years ago, Lilian, my dear. This is a small one in return," The older woman laughed.”You're talking about that first morning we met? When you came to the house-so young, so brash, hoping I'd help you become a detail woman, by influencing Sam?" Then she stopped, a catch in her voice as, for both of them, so many memories flooded back.

Early the following morning a chauffeured limousine conveyed Andrew and Celia to Heathrow airport.