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.”