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.”