‘We’ve found out why Valdevan didn’t work all these years ago,’ said Gavin.
Ehrman took a sip of his drink and snapped another cracker. ‘Oh, yes?’
‘It’s all to do with growth rate.’
Gavin’s enthusiasm took over and he gave Ehrman a comprehensive account of his work and the conclusions he’d reached.
‘Well, well, well,’ said Ehrman when he’d finished. ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It seems so obvious now.’
‘Were you involved in the original work on the drug, Max?’ asked Simmons.
‘It was a good bit before my time but still... for the company to be upstaged in this way... is a bit embarrassing to say the least.’
‘There was a big element of luck in it,’ said Gavin. ‘If I hadn’t been working out of term and the lab hadn’t run out of human serum there would have been no need for me to make up a new growth medium, and I would never have stumbled across the truth.’
Ehrman smiled wryly. ‘A familiar story. Be in the right place at the right time... and the prize will be yours.’
Simmons nodded. ‘I think Gavin’s being too modest. He’s a bright, dedicated student who chose to work through the Christmas break when others were out having a good time — including me, I have to say.’
‘Well, it’s all water under the bridge now,’ said Ehrman. ‘The company recovered from that painful episode to regain its place as a world leader and, with the latest initiative, we aim to be a major force in supporting medical research in European and American universities. As for you, Gavin, I’ve just been discussing with your head of department our continuing requirement for bright postdoctoral workers. I should think in time your credentials might prove... irresistible to us. What say you, Frank?’
They all laughed and Simmons was relieved that such a difficult bridge had been crossed. He was particularly pleased that Gavin had handled things so well. He had stuck to the science and the logic behind it in as cold and dispassionate a way as he could have hoped for. Ehrman, to his credit, had not made any attempt to dispute the results, accepting immediately that Gavin’s hypothesis was beyond argument. He could now enjoy his dinner. In fact, they all enjoyed their dinner, and had what they would remember as a very pleasant evening.
The three men parted company at the foot of the Mound. Gavin headed north to Dundas Street, Ehrman east to the Balmoral and Frank south, up over the Mound, to the medical school car park.
Gavin called Caroline as soon as he got in, as they had arranged.
‘Well, how did it go?’
‘Really well. I think Frank was a bit nervous, but the big bad wolf from the drug company just accepted it all as “water under the bridge”, to use his expression.’
‘I’m so glad.’
‘He more or less offered me a job when I’m through here.’
‘Brilliant. How do you feel about that?’
‘Not for me.’
Fourteen
On the following Monday, Gavin started out on the biochemistry of cells treated with Valdevan. He had little heart for it, but a deal was a deal.
The department was unusually quiet because of the conference at Heriot Watt, with staff sneaking out at intervals to cross the city and attend only lectures they were interested in, rather than register — and pay — for the whole conference programme. Frank Simmons had gone along to hear a talk on growth kinetics given by Professor Hans Lieberman from the Max Plank Institute in Berlin and Mary had joined him, leaving Gavin alone in the lab until Tom came back from a meeting that Sutcliffe had called for all senior postgrad students.
‘What was all that about?’ Gavin asked.
‘Grumman Schalk are on an early recruiting drive. They’re signing up postdoctoral workers for next year. Sutcliffe was asking if anyone was interested.’
‘Are you?’
‘I didn’t think I was until I heard the salary they were offering, then I was very interested. I’ve put my name down.’
‘Anyone else keen on what Mammon has to offer?’
‘Peter Morton-Brown and a couple of others said they’d give it some serious thought.’
‘You’re selling your soul,’ said Gavin.
‘If it turns out you don’t have one, that could be a pretty good deal,’ replied Tom. ‘Besides, there’s not much room on the moral high-ground for the likes of me, with you occupying it all the time.’
‘Ouch,’ said Gavin, but he smiled and asked, ‘How many are Grumman taking on?’
‘Sutcliffe seemed to think about twenty.’
‘Then you should have a good chance.’
Tom smiled and said conspiratorially, ‘Between you and me, Professor Ehrman told Sutcliffe that it’s pretty much in the bag. Good salary, new labs, nice working conditions, lots of fringe benefits. I can’t believe my luck.’
‘But can you really see yourself wearing a suit and driving a Mercedes, Tom?’ asked Gavin, tongue in cheek.
‘Damn right.’
The conference at Heriot Watt finished on Tuesday evening so the department filled up again on Wednesday and was positively crowded by the afternoon, when the BBC arrived to discuss details of their planned programme, along with the scientists from other universities and institutes who would be taking part and who had stayed on after the conference. The large meeting room with its table for thirty people had been pressed into use with Graham Sutcliffe at its head. For the BBC, the producer of the programme, two production assistants, two presenters and camera and lighting advisors were present. Sutcliffe had invited all his senior staff and they had been joined by Professors Gerald Montague from the University of Leicester, Rosie Kilbane from the Medical Research Council labs in Cambridge and Donald Freeman from the Cancer Research Campaign in London, along with Max Ehrman from Grumman Schalk. Three others were to join in by live video link: a consultant radiologist from the Radcliffe Infirmary in Oxford, an expert in chemotherapy, and a consultant in palliative care from one of the large UK hospices. Representatives from the Department of Health would be interviewed separately to give their views on current cancer care initiatives.
Sutcliffe got to his feet and formally introduced the scientists. The BBC producer, Steve Paxton, a short man in his late thirties with a high forehead, and wearing glasses with brown and white striped frames which Simmons felt were being worn to divert attention from his lack of height, did likewise for the programme makers before going on to give an outline of what he thought the programme might reflect. ‘We all know that great strides have been made in the field of cancer treatment in the past few years. What we would like you folks to do is spell out for the benefit of the man in the street just what they are and what their significance will be to cancer sufferers in the short, medium and long terms.’
‘A toughie,’ murmured Simmons to Jack Martin.
‘Pity the poor bugger who gets the short term,’ Martin whispered back.
‘Well, how long have you got?’ exclaimed Gerald Montague. ‘I think we could go on all night about the strides we’ve been making in terms of our understanding of the disease and the wide range of approaches we are pursuing. I’m sure the same applies to the clinicians and radiologists when it comes to treating the disease. Radiotherapy can now be given with pinpoint accuracy and new drugs which extend life expectancy are coming on to the market all the time...’
Frank Simmons, who had been prepared to sit through Montague’s ‘act’ in silence, adopting his usual neutral but polite expression, suddenly found that what he was hearing was pushing him over the edge. He conceded that it might have had something to do with the way he had been feeling about cancer research in general for the past few months, or maybe even Gavin’s less than complimentary views about the man in particular, but he found that he couldn’t take any more. He got to his feet and interrupted. ‘But they don’t cure the disease. They extend the course of it. They permit the patients to suffer for longer.’