Despite the research director's earlier aversion to Celia, he had come to accept her as a fixture in the company, and influential; therefore continued antagonism would be pointless. The two had even progressed to using first names-at first a touch awkwardly, but by now with ease. Sam took the letters from Lord, glanced through them and read aloud, "Dr. Martin Peat-Smith.”
Passing them to Celia, he asked Lord, "Do you recommend a grant?" The research director shrugged.”It's a long shot. Alzheimer's has baffled scientists since 1906 when it was first diagnosed. What Peat-Smith is doing is studying the aging process of the brain, hoping to find a cause of Alzheimer's while he does.”
"What are his chances?" "Slim.”
"We might put up some money," Sam said.”If we have time, I'll talk with him. But other things come first.”
Celia, who had been studying the letters, asked, "Is Dr. PeatSmith a possible candidate for institute director?" Lord looked surprised, then answered, "No.”
"Why not?" "For one thing, he's too young.”
Celia looked down at what she had been reading.”He's thirty-two.”
She smiled.”Weren't you about that age, Vince, when you came here?" He replied tautly, some of his normal irritation surfacing.”The circumstances were different.”
"Let's talk about these other people," Sam said. He had gone back to the original list.”Vince, brief me on them.”
June 1972. London was a blaze of pageantry and color. Celia reveled in it. In public parks and gardens a multitude of flowers-roses, lilacs, azaleas, irises--filled the air with fragrance. Tourists and Londoners basked in warm sunshine. Trooping the Color-tke military celebration of the Queen's birthday-was a vivid, dazzling performance to the music of massed bands. In Hyde Park, elegantly attired riders cantered on Rotten Row. Nearby, along the Serpentine, children happily fed ducks which competed for water space with splashing bathers. At Epsom the Derby had been run against a background of tradition, style and hoopla, victory going to the colt Roberto and jockey Lester Piggott, riding to his sixth Derby win. "Being here at this time doesn't feel like work," Celia told Sam one day. "I feel as if I should pay the company for the privilege.”
She was staying at the Berkeley in Knightsbridge from where, for the past several weeks, she had traveled to more than a dozen possible locations. for the Felding-Roth research institute. Celia was alone, since Andrew had not been able to leave his practice to come with her. Sam and Lilian Hawthorne were at Claridge's. It was to Claridge's, the Hawthornes' suite, that Celia brought her news and an opinion during June's third week. "I've traveled all over the country, as you know," she told Sam, "and I believe the best place for us to set up shop is at Harlow, Essex.” Lilian said, "I've never heard of it.”
"That's because Harlow was a little village," Celia explained.”Now it's something called a 'new town,' one of thirty-odd established by the British Government, which is trying to get people and industry out of big cities.”
She went on, "The location fits all our requirements. It's near London, has fast rail service, good roads, and an airport close by. There's housing and schools, with open countryside around-a wonderful place for staff to live.”
Sam asked, "How about a building?" "I've some news about that too.”
Celia consulted notes.”A company called Comthrust, which makes small communications equipment-intercom systems, burglar alarms, that kind of thing-built a plant at Harlow but ran into money problems. So now they can't afford the plant, which has roughly the square footage we want. It's never been occupied, and Comthrust is looking for a quick cash sale.” "Could the building be converted to labs?" "Easily.”
Celia unfolded several blueprints.”I've brought the plans. I've also talked with a contractor.”
"While you co-workers are poring over that dull stuff," Lilian announced, "I'm going shopping at Harrods.”
Two days later Sam and Celia drove together to Harlow. As Sam threaded a rented Jaguar through early morning traffic out of London, heading north, Celia read that day's International Herald Tribune. Vietnam peace talks, which had been stalled, would soon resume in Paris, a'front-page report predicted. In a Maryland hospital, a bullet had been removed successfully from the spine of Governor George Wallace of Alabama, shot a month before by a would-be assassin. President Nixon, offering his own assessment of the Vietnam war, assured Americans, "Hanoi is losing its desperate gamble.”
One item, from Washington, D.C., which appeared to receive unusual attention, described a burglary-a break-in at Democratic Party national headquarters at a place called Watergate. It seemed a minor matter. Celia, uninterested, put the newspaper away. She asked Sam, "How have your latest interviews been going?" He grimaced.”Not well. You've made better progress than L" "Places and buildings are easier than people," she reminded him. Sam had been working his way through Vincent Lord's list of potential candidates to head the research institute.”Most of them I've seen so far," he confided to Celia, "are a little too much like Vince-set in their ways, status-conscious, with their best research years probably behind them. What I'm looking for is someone with exciting ideas, highly qualified of course, and possibly young.”
"How will you know when you've found someone like that?" 'I'll know," Sam said. He smiled.”Maybe it's like falling in love. You're not sure why. When it happens, you just know.”
The twenty-three miles between London and Harlow were amid increasing traffic. Then, leaving the A414 main road, they entered an area of wide grass boulevards with pleasant homes, separated in many cases by open fields. The industrial areas were discreetly apart, concealed from residential and recreational portions of the town. Some old structures had been preserved. As they passed an eleventh-century church, Sam stopped the car and said, "Let's get out and walk around.”
"This is ancient ground," Celia told him as they strolled, surveying the combined rural-modem scene.”Old Stone Age relics have been found from two hundred thousand years ago. The Saxons were here; the name Harlow is from Saxon words meaning 'the hill of the army.' And in the first century A.D., the Romans had a settlement and built a temple.”
"We'll try to add some history ourselves," Sam said.”Now, where's that plant we've come to see?" Celia pointed to the west.”Over there, behind those trees. It's in an industrial park called Pinnacles.”
"Okay, let's go.”
By now it was midmorning. Sam surveyed the silent, unoccupied building as he halted the Jaguar outside. A portion of it, intended as showroom and offices, was of concrete and glass, divided into two floors. The remainder, a metal-clad steel frame, was on one level and designed as a spacious workshop. Even from the outside, Sam could see that what Celia had reported was true-the whole could be readily converted to research laboratories. A short distance ahead of them another car was parked. Now a door opened and a pudgy middle-aged man got out and approached the Jaguar. Celia introduced him as Mr. LaMarre, a real estate company representative she had arranged to have meet them. After shaking hands, LaMarre produced a bunch of keys and jangled them. "No sense in buying the barn without looking at the hay," he said amiably. They moved to the main doorway and went in. A half hour later Sam took Celia aside and told her quietly, "It'll do very well. You can let this man know we're interested, then instruct our lawyers to get started with negotiations. Tell them to wind up everything as quickly as possible.”
While Celia went back to talk with LaMarre, Sam returned to the Jaguar. A few minutes later, when she rejoined him, he said, "I forgot to tell you that we're going on to Cambridge. Because Harlow is halfway there, I arranged to meet Dr. Peat-Smith-he's the one doing research on brain aging and Alzheimer's disease, who has asked for a grant.”