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.”