Strong Medicine (69 page)

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."

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"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."

8

At Felding-Roth, New Jersey, the mood of mild euphoria which developed

soon after Celia's rejoining the company did not last long.

Ile 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 9 A.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 rearview 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.

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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 FeldingRoth'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

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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."

There was a silence, then Lilian said, "No. Let me stay here for a while.

I need to be alone." Her voice sounded remote and disembodied, as if coming

from another planet. She had suffered already and now would suffer more.

What women have to bear, Celia thought.

Lilian said, "After a while I'll go to Sam. You'll let me know where he's

been taken, Celia?"

"Yes. And I'll either come to get you or meet you there."

"Thank you."

Celia attempted to phone Juliet, then Juliet's husband, Dwight, but could

not reach either.

Next she summoned Julian Hammond, the public affairs vice president, to her

office and instructed, "Issue a press statement immediately about Sam's

death. Describe it as a tragic accident. I want the word 'accident'

stressed, to head off other speculation. You might say something about the

probability that his accelerator jammed, causing the car to go out of

control."

Hammond protested, "No one will believe that."

Wanting to weep, controlling her emotions by a thread, Celia snapped,

"Don't argue! Do it the way I say. And now. "

The last service she would do for Sam, she thought as Hammond left, was-if

she could-to save him the indignity of being labeled a suicide.

But to those closest to him, suicide it plainly was.

What seemed most likely was that Sam, finally overwhelmed by

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his burden of despair and guilt about Montayne, had seen the parking

garage wall ahead, thought suddenly of a way to end his life, and floored

the accelerator pedal, steering for the relatively fragile wall. It would

be typical of Sam, his friends said privately, to have remembered the

vacant lot below and therefore the absence of danger to anyone else.

Celia had some questions and guilt feelings of her own. Had Sam, she

wondered, contemplated on previous occasions doing what he did, but

allowed sanity to prevail? Then, seeing Celia that day as his car topped

the ramp--Celia confident and in control, wielding authority which would

have remained his had circumstances not reversed their roles so

drastically-had Sam then . . . ? She could not bring herself to complete

the question, the answer to which she would never know.

One other thought kept coming back to her: The occasion in Sam's office,

the first day of Celia's return, when he had said, ". . . there's

something else. Something you don't know. " And a moment later, "I'll

never tell you. "

What was Sam's other secret? Celia tried to guess, but failed. Whatever

it was must have died with him.

At the family's request, Sam's funeral was private. Celia was the only

company representative. Andrew accompanied her.

Seated on an uncomfortable folding chair in an undeftaker's chapel, while

an unctuous clergyman who had not known Sam intoned religious platitudes,

Celia tried to blot out the present and recall the richer past.

Twenty-two years ago-Sam hiring her as a detail woman . . . Sam at her

wedding . . . Her selection of him as the one to follow on the company

ladder . . . At the New York sales meeting, risking hisjob in her

defense.- "I'm standing up here to be counted. If we let Mrs. Jordan

leave this way, we're all shortsighted fools" . . . Sam, overcoming

opposition, placing her on the fast track . . . promoting her to 0-T-C,

later to Latin-American Director.- "International is where the future

is." . . . Sam, on his own promotion and his two secretaries.- "I think

they dictate letters to each other." . . . Sam the Anglophile, who

wasfarseeing about a British research institute: "Celia, I want you as

my right hand." . . . Sam, who had paid far a judgmental error with his

reputation, and now his life.

She felt Andrew move beside her. He passed a folded handkerchief. Only

then did Celia realize that tears were strean-ting down her face.

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Again at their request, only Lilian and Juliet accompanied the coffin to

the graveside. Celia spoke to both briefly before leaving. Lilian was

pale; there seemed little life left in her. Juliet's face and eyes were

hard; she appeared not to have cried during the service. Dwight was

conspicuously absent.