“An absurd idea!” he said, his voice expressionless. “Why on earth should he return here?”
“He ought to, God knows! Most of what he’s done since he left was based on what he got from you here. I suppose I thought, if he’s coming back to England, Brookbank would be where …” her voice dwindled away.
“To come back here, Harriet, he would need an invitation from me. And I haven’t issued one. Nor would I.”
“Now, I wonder why not?” Sir Daniel said softly. “Do you doubt the validity of his work?”
“Dear me, no,” Oscar said. “How could I? The Nobel Committee accept it, so I could hardly doubt it. No, there are other reasons why I could not—would not—ask Dr. Ross-Craigie to return to Brookbank.”
“Am I permitted to ask what they are? After all, I see myself as his future—er—employer. Grant me the privilege of asking a former employer for a reference. Is he a difficult man with whom to work? Or are there other facts about him I should know before going ahead with his contract?”
“I hardly feel that you need any reference from me. Surely his experience in the States is what concerns you. It was work that he—um—completed there that brought him his accolade.”
“Oh, Oscar, stop being so damned honorable!” Harriet said sharply. “People ought to know how Ross-Craigie treated you–treated the Establishment! It was outrageous!”
“Oh?” Sir Daniel said softly, and he looked from one to the other of them with his head to one side, birdlike and watchful. “What was outrageous?”
“Ross-Craigie was very much Professor Bell’s assistant, Sir Daniel—No, Oscar, I will say it! He took himself off to the States with a solid basis of work done largely by Professor Bell. His success derives at least as equally from another man’s work as from his own, yet he’s given no credit for it to either Professor Bell or the Establishment that gave him his start. I for one—well, all of us here are sick about it. Professor Bell has every right to be—”
“Really, Harriet, I see no point in this display of loyalty, much as I appreciate it. Ross-Craigie, is, frankly, no concern of mine, and I’ll waste no further time in considering him. What is more to the point now is Sir Daniel’s offer to you. I’m sure you wish now to discuss it with him.” He stood up. “You have the use of this office for as long as you need it.”
Harriet opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again, looking up at Oscar with a sense of bafflement. His anger seemed to have gone, and he was smiling at her, relaxed and affable.
“That really is most kind of you, Professor Bell,” Sir Daniel said, and stood up himself. “Perhaps we could meet again later and talk further? It really has been a privilege to have had so much of your time already this morning.”
Oscar moved toward the door, and Harriet said urgently, “No–please, Oscar, don’t go. I really don’t see that—”
“Harriet, my dear, I must! It would be most improper of me to stay when Sir Daniel wants to talk to you—and you must let me match his perfect propriety, after all! You know where you can find me later if you want to talk it over, but you really must talk first to Sir Daniel. I’ll send some coffee in to you.” And he went, leaving Harriet confused and oddly shy as Sir Daniel sat down and smiled across the room at her.
“What a very pleasant man your Professor Bell is! Clearly, you have an excellent working relationship here. One feels it as one comes into the place.” He sighed a little. “I wish I could say the same of the Echo staff. But, there, perhaps I lack Professor Bell’s gifts of administration. However, I’m learning. I’m always learning.” He smiled a little more widely. “But I mustn’t waste your valuable time, must I? We’re here for you to talk about my suggestion, and I mustn’t trespass on Professor Bell’s generosity. Well, Dr. Berry, how do you feel about the idea?”
She sat silent, biting her lower hp for a moment, and then frowned. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult to think very clearly. It’s come as rather a surprise, and really, I can’t see much point in talking to you about it at all, not until I’ve had a chance to think about it, and talk to Oscar, that is. I—” she floundered. “Look, I’m not one of these high-powered women who are good at this sort of thing. I do a job I like doing, and I can cope with that, but this other sort of stuff—it’s not my—not one of my skills. Damn it, I don’t even cope with balancing my working budget! I leave all that to Oscar. And to be asked to make a decision about such a thing, to consider breaking away on my own–I’ve been here at Brookbank for a very long time, Sir Daniel. More years than I care to remember, and I’ve never once considered the possibility of working anywhere else. All my friends, my home—I’m part of Brookbank.”
“Of course I understand! And your honesty does you credit. Not that I’d have expected you to be any different, of course. I know enough about scientists to know how many of you find difficulty in—er—dealing with considerations that are marginal to the field of your endeavor. But may I make a few points, in the hope that they will give you a basis on which to think about your decision?”
He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling and again his voice took on its crisp businesslike note. “I am not for one moment suggesting that you should take on, with this new post, anything other than the pure science with which you are so very capable. I assure you that if I needed a scientific administrator, I would seek elsewhere. No, what I want to offer you is the opportunity to do your work in the best possible surroundings, with the best possible facilities, in conditions that far outstrip anything the Government can provide in an Establishment of this nature. At the same time, I want to offer to sick people the chance to receive the benefits of your work—now. Perhaps you’ll succeed, perhaps you’ll fail, though I doubt that, but for ill people that element of chance doesn’t matter. Their chances are already so heavily loaded against them that they can only gain from being experimental material for you. And there L another consideration.”
He looked at her for a moment, and then again began to talk at the ceiling.
“Money, in this very complicated world of ours, is a very important matter. Now, I don’t want to make any attempt to pry into your personal affairs, but let me just say that I would be very surprised to hear you were all that well provided for financially. I know you are a widow, that you depend entirely upon your own earning ability, and I know the sort of level at which Civil Service Establishments pay their staff. Our establishment proposes to pay salaries far in excess of anything the Government could possibly afford. We propose, just for a start, a salary for you of some ten thousand pounds per annum. But even that is open to negotiation. If you feel you need more, then more you shall have.”
She blinked. Ten thousand? It didn’t sound real. She thought quite suddenly of George, seeing him sitting at the breakfast table as he had been when she left that morning, mouthing his breakfast. Ten thousand!
“And, of course, you will have no problems about your working budget. There will be someone whose job it will be to control spending, but he will not be there to stop you from having what you need. Only to ensure that you get it as soon as you need it.”
“I—yes. I see,” was all she could manage to say.
“But, of course, knowing scientists as I do, I don’t imagine you will place as much weight on the matter of your own salary as would the rest of us. You find your satisfactions in so many other ways. Not least, of course, in the value to others—the noncommercial value—of what you do. Apropos of which, I would like to say one more thing, before leaving you to think the matter over, and of course to talk to Professor Bell about it.”
He stood up, and came across the room to lean against Oscar’s desk.
“Loyalty is a very estimable quality, and I for one admire it wholeheartedly. Your spirited comments on Dr. Ross-Craigie’s—er—actions warmed me, they did indeed.”
She looked away, embarrassment washing over her again.
“But there is more than one form of loyalty, of course, as I’m sure you reali
ze. And whatever loyalty you owe to your principal here, however close your friendship with him may be—”
She felt her cheeks redden. “Of course Oscar’s my friend! I told you, I’ve worked here for a great many years.”
“Of course! As I say, the loyalty due to friends is of great importance. But there is another that may be of even greater importance. The loyalty you owe to your own gifts. Yes, gifts. You are clearly a scientist of immense ability—however much you may denigrate your powers as a businesslike woman!—and ability of that order is a great burden. A tremendous burden. In my own humble way, I am very aware of that fact. My abilities, such as they are, lie in the field of public—er—education, public welfare. And there are many times when I must put my personal feelings to one side because I owe a greater debt of loyalty to the public I must serve with my small talents than I can ever give to even the dearest of friends and colleagues. You follow me?”
“I’m not sure that I do.”
“Simply, my dear Dr. Berry, you must consider in which way you can best use your talents to the greatest good. To remain here at Brookbank, under the aegis of the Government, even if that Government is represented by a great and good friend, would mean you are limited in the application of those talents. You would in effect be depriving the society to which we all owe so much loyalty the fruits of your efforts—fruits that only you can provide. My consortium can enable you to work to the best of your abilities. Brookbank cannot. I think you must, in all fairness, take this into account when you make your decision. Ah—coffee! How very agreeable. Thank you Miss—er?—Manton? Ah, yes. How d’you do. Well, now, Dr. Berry, will you allow me to pour a cup for you?”
“I can’t understand him, Theo! I’m tired, and confused, and I don’t understand him. It’s a total volte-face! He was furious when we started to talk to this Sefton man. Fit to be tied. And then quite suddenly, he changed. I tried to talk to him about this offer, and all he’d say is, ‘It’s up to you. I can’t influence you. You’ve got to decide for yourself,’ over and over again.”
She prowled restlessly from one side of the small room to the other, and he sat there, his green theater cap pushed back so that the grizzled hairline showed, his mask dangling beneath his chin, and watched her.
“Frankly, I thought when Sefton said Ross-Craigie was going to work for him that Oscar would really explode—but no! He just went off the boil, and if you can understand it, I’m damned if I can. And now this other thing—what about this? What would you have expected him to say?”
“I’d have expected him to say, ‘Do as you think best, Harriet. I have no objections.’ Precisely what did he say, in fact?”
“What?” she stopped her pacing, and stared at him. “You expected—oh, Theo, for Christ’s sake! Am I totally idiotic? Totally out of touch? I’ve known this man for half a lifetime, and I expected him to clamp down at the merest hint of a television program! He’s always refused to join in these discussion things himself. So why the hell does he want me to do it now? Why aren’t you surprised? Why don’t I understand what’s going on in his mind?”
“Because you are my dear undevious Hattie, and because I have an evil twisted mind of my own that makes Oscar’s virtually an open book to my reading. Do think, dear heart! When did Oscar go off the boil, as you so elegantly phrased it? When Sefton announced he was taking on Ross-Craigie, and you launched into a great statement about the appalling behavior toward Oscar the man had displayed. Who is going to be on this program at the weekend? Little Willy Ross-Craigie! And who can be trusted to tell the world in no uncertain terms of the underhanded way said little Willy behaved toward her dear Oscar? Think it out for yourself, dear heart, think it out for yourself!”
“Oh! Oh, I see. At least, I think”—she stopped and rubbed her face wearily. “Oh, Theo, isn’t it all bloody complicated? I wish I’d gone into research on flatworms or something. I just never saw anything like all this could happen.”
“Well, you should have. I’ve been telling you for years that Oscar uses you, but you never listen. I don’t suppose you’re really listening now. Are you?”
“What?”
“Really thinking about what Oscar’s doing? Of course you aren’t! You’ve agreed to go onto the program, haven’t you? Why?”
“Why? Because—oh, I don’t know! it’s easier than saying no, I suppose, and as long as Oscar doesn’t object, there’s no real reason why I shouldn’t, is there? Theo, tell me what to do! I’m so sick of floundering in all this—I need someone to tell me what to do.”
“Do what’s best for you,” Theo said vigorously. “Think of Hattie, first, middle and last. Not what you want to do, because what you most want is to crawl back into a cozy past where you enjoy your work, and Oscar’s happy, and everything in the garden’s lovely. Well that you can’t do, so opt for what will be of the greatest personal benefit to you. It’s really as simple as that.”
“Take this job, you mean? Certainly it’ll give me a lot of money, and that’d be very nice, but I’m not sure …”
“I’m not either. You’ve never cared much about money per se, and it could be more of an embarrassment to you than a pleasure. Take it into account, by all means, but not first. No, there are other forms of benefit. Would you be happier in your work away from Brookbank? Get more satisfaction from it? Find your relationships easier to deal with? I can’t tell you the answers, though I daresay I could make a pretty shrewd guess—”
“Then make it.”
“No. No, my dear. Of course I could tell you what to do. Nothing would be easier. But it wouldn’t help, because even though you’re asking for direction, you don’t really want it. No—don’t look at me like that. You don’t, however much you think you do. Whatever I or anyone else says, you go your own way. Damn it all, Hattie, how long have I been telling you to do something about George? How long has Gordon been telling you? You know we’re right, but still you go your way, even though I suspect that at heart you’d like to do as we say. But you can’t because we’ve told you to. You’re not devious, Hattie, but you’re a woman, and that means by definition that in some ways you’re totally absurd in your reactions—from a man’s point of view, that is. So I’m not about to confuse the issue by giving you instructions to follow. It would only tire and bewilder you further. But poor dear Hattie, I do feel for you! Believe me, my own life would be a great deal less complicated if I didn’t. You’re the only woman I’ve ever known who’s made me regret that I am as I am. I’ve even found myself fantasizing, wondering if I could marry you. God knows you need marrying! But there, love you I do, but—”
He shook his head and sat and looked at her, his face filled with affection for her, and for a moment she wanted to weep, wanted to go to him and touch him and say, “Yes—marry me. It would be all right—we could be happy, and sex wouldn’t matter—” but even as the thought came to her she knew she was wrong. The desire to touch him proved that, with its reminder of that pool of need that lay so deeply inside her, yet was so alarmingly easy to tap.
“Dear Theo,” she said. “I love you too. I can’t imagine what I’d do if I couldn’t find you when I needed to.”
They sat in silence for a while, and then Theo moved and said briskly, “Hattie, go away. I really must write up my notes, and let Sister clear the theaters, and she won’t do a thing while I’m still hanging about. Her protocol forbids it, silly bitch. So go away. And I’ll take you down to London on Friday for this wretched ‘Probe’ program. I’ve no list tomorrow, and Geoffrey can deal with the ward rounds himself, for a change. Do the lazy object good. I’ll pick you up at the cottage at nine, so be ready. And wear that green dress—the one with the leather. It should look good even in BBC color.”
Curiously enough, she was enjoying herself. The drive down had been delightful, through the smokiness of a flaming late October, with trees gleaming gold across the heavy rich brownness of plowed fields, and the stop in Cambridge had had a timeless quality about it, a peaceful
ness that still lingered inside her. They had lunched at a hotel so laden with wooden beams, open log fires and polished brass that Theo swore it had been built the week before by a film company and staffed with extras; the waiter who served them with their pea soup and saddle of lamb was so exceedingly bent, so absurdly snowy-haired, and produced such a great deal of chat in a heavy East Anglican accent that he sounded as though he had been written by Surtees on an off day. They had giggled over blackberry pie and thick cream and coffee at the brace of horsey women at the next table, discussing at the top of their not inconsiderable voices a mare they had taken to stud that morning, and had been enchanted by the luscious barmaid who rested her splendid bust on the counter and shared equally loud confidences with a very burly red-faced farmer (“who, of course, probably isn’t a farmer at all, but a shop assistant or a ladies’ hairdresser,” Theo had hissed).
And then, driving on through the dwindling winter afternoon, until they swept into London, through Edgeware and Hendon’s tidy suburban strings of lights, and shopping centers filled with pram-pushers and uniformed schoolchildren, she had felt comfortable and at peace with herself. For good or ill, she was going to do this television program, so she might as well enjoy it and worry about the consequences when they happened.
And the decision to enjoy it seemed to have been enough to ensure that she did. They had been greeted at the reception desk with flattering respect, flurried about with offers of drinks and sandwiches and dressing rooms in a most agreeable manner, and when they had come to take her away to be made up, Theo had been asked by the very young and handsome but studiedly casual studio director if he would care to sit in; they could certainly find him a seat in the audience, and “if you find yourself filled with an urge to join in discussion later, please don’t control it—”
Sitting now perched in the high chair with a plastic cape about her neck, she smiled at the thought of Theo being instructed not to control his urges, and the girl beside her said, “Could you just keep quite still—eyes closed, eyebrows raised—that’s it. Fine—now the other one. Yes. Would you like me to do your hair for you? I have heated rollers here, so it won’t be too difficult—”
A Time to Heal Page 10
