entertainer who had recently been all over the national media. Even so, they were able to fit in a prominent notice to look out for an important development the following week.
For that they had thought up no improvement on their first idea of a headline. Then, beneath an over-magnified long shot of the Serenethica buildings, came “Within these innocent-looking precincts, who knows what fearful developments are taking place?” and a good deal more in similarly vague but suggestive vein, although Fred had blue-pencilled references to “patrols by ferocious guard dogs” as too many people knew there weren’t any; “Don’t let your imagination run away with you,” he warned. It finished with a promise to reveal in the following issue all that their intrepid investigators had been able to find.
After a slightly anxious fortnight, Norstein was pleased to see that the bait had been taken and looked forward to whatever the paper would make of it the following week. He was not disappointed; the headline “DEFEATING THE BURQA” was followed by a brief account of the supposed research programme and how the prospect of reading the mind through visible effects in the eye might transform airport security, for example, but on the other hand lead to anyone’s most intimate secrets being laid bare, probably without their knowledge. Inside was an editorial going to town on the possible implications and pontificating on the ethical aspects.
Delighted, Norstein faxed the relevant bits to his old friend Jimmy Robertson, who had been forewarned in a note primarily of thanks for pointing out the howler in the intended publication, and was to submit a comprehensive rebuttal in a letter to the editor.
The next editorial conference was rather fraught. Fred had consulted the head of biology at his son’s school and been convinced that the letter was genuine and accurate. Harry could hardly be denied his “Told you so” moment, but refrained from milking it, and Fred grimly got down to business. Bernard thought they might bluff it out since publication of letters was entirely at the editor’s discretion, but Fred was sure that an attempt to suppress it would be futile and only make matters worse, while in any case the others were against hiding behind a dodgy technicality. “Let’s face it,” Harry said. “We’ve been well and truly hoaxed, and the only way to save any sort of face is to take it as a joke that has come off brilliantly, and congratulate whoever is responsible.”
“With thanks to the writer of that letter for putting us right,” suggested Stan, to rather reluctant assent.
“But tucked well away inside,” grumbled Bernard.
“No, you’ve missed the point. Give it extra prominence to show that we’re taking it with a good grace,” insisted Harry. “Make the hoax the main feature – after all, we’ve nothing more interesting to report this week – with a ‘See letter on page…’ whatever it is. Fairly near the front.”
So it was done, with a rather sanctimonious editorial on the importance of honesty in journalism, the wisdom of accepting justified correction and in praise of British humour. Stan thought it decidedly overdone, though better that way than the other, and after all, subtlety wasn’t expected.
He realised that the duff information had been fed to him deliberately, but whether Doris knew it was so was another matter. In any case he was in no position to complain, but the next time he met Bill Edwards, her husband, he did mention the debacle without getting any significant response, so however deeply or otherwise Doris was involved he was probably unaware of it.
Doris herself was having sleepless nights over the tangle she had got herself into, particularly the threat of disciplinary action that might still be hanging over her, so she made a point of arriving early until she managed to catch Norstein on his own and tackle him about it.
“Good Lord, are you still worrying about that? My fault, I should have made it clear long ago that I’d dropped the idea. Is that all that’s bothering you?”
“Well, not quite, sir. That reporter gave me a fair amount of money; do you think I ought to give it back?”
“I don’t see why. You weren’t to know I was having him on, so as far as you and he were concerned it was an honest transaction. Has he said anything about it?”
“Not so far.”
“If he does, let me know.”
On reflection, the paper had reacted better than he had expected to the trick played on it. If there really was public concern about what was being done at the laboratory, it would be no bad thing to have it on his side, so he dropped a note to the editor to the effect that in due course he might like to have the real story, as far as it could be released and might be generally understood. It was gratefully acknowledged and there the matter rested for the time being.
Some of this came to the attention of the Serenethica board of management, and Norstein had a little difficulty in explaining to the CEO how the project had come to gain so much unwelcome publicity. It was also pointed out to him that while pure scientific research was up to a point good for the organisation’s image, his main task was to find practical treatments. Moreover, considered merely as an exercise in demonstrating that the pharmaceutical industry was not concerned solely with profits, expenditure on it had been greater than could be justified and his budget would thenceforward be more closely scrutinised.
The argument that it was better to treat causes than symptoms (one so inappropriate that he hadn’t thought of using it, but that didn’t stop the CEO) was perfectly correct in principle but irrelevant in this case, since there was no need to look very far or dig very deeply to find plentiful causes of anxiety and as a rule there was little that could be done about them. He had shown how to optimise one particular palliative: fine as far as it went, but it was on a single individual, and there was nothing to show how far it would apply to others, if at all. He could have six months to investigate that, and unless it gave results manifestly worth further pursuit, the project would be closed. As no others were showing much promise, it would then be necessary to think very seriously about the future of the laboratory.
Given this ultimatum, Norstein had to work fast, but before putting out a general advertisement for volunteer guinea-pigs he decided to try a few tests on someone already available; if they proved negative it would be hard to justify proceeding further. Doris was about as ordinary a person as he was likely to meet, already in a state of some anxiety despite his attempts to calm her, and she needed the extra money that as an existing employee she could fairly claim for extra hours’ work however undemanding it might be. Fortunately the tests would not need the elaborate set-up prepared for Sandra, just a means of recording her “better” or “worse” judgements of variants on the Juliana picture, rather as in an optician’s procedure for establishing a spectacle prescription.
First of all he had to find whether she was affected at all by the picture, so he waited for her one evening and asked if she would help with a little experiment.
“What sort of experiment, sir?”
“I just want you to look through a set of pictures and tell me – ”
“Oh, sir, I never …”
“Not that sort of picture! You could safely send these to your maiden aunt.”
He didn’t know that that lady had been a hostess in a strip club, and Doris saw no need to tell him. He produced a set of soothing images with Juliana among them, told her to go through them taking her time, and noted that she lingered on that one with a slight smile. Then he shuffled them and again Doris favoured Juliana. He asked why.
“I dunno. It just made me feel – sort of – peaceful.”
“Right, thank you, Doris, that’s all I wanted to know. It means you’re suitable for some work we’re going to do here. It wouldn’t be difficult. Would you be willing to come in during the day some times? You’d be paid for it, of course.”
“Well, I couldn’t do it regular …”
“As it suits you.”
“Well, thank you, then.”
“Very good. I’ll work out a schedule with you.”
“Oh, good Lord, look at the time! I’ll never
get through my round before I have to go …”
“Don’t worry. It’ll do no harm to give it a miss for once. If anyone complains I’ll explain why. You’ll get your full pay.”
Doris’s husband was surprised by her getting home slightly earlier than usual, and a few days later intrigued by what she had since been required to do. Inevitably he commented on it to Stan when they next met in the pub. With what he had learned earlier, Stan deduced that the programme was something to do with mood adjustment. From other sources he had heard rumours of impending closure of the laboratory. With these in mind he went off to see an old friend in London. A month later he telephoned Norstein and asked for a meeting.
“I can’t tell you any more just yet, I’m afraid.”
“That’s not what I’m after. It’s the other way round, if anything. Could we have a confidential discussion?”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of this.”
“It’s no sort of blackmail, if that’s what’s worrying you. A possibly helpful suggestion.”
“In that case, I don’t see why not.”
Stan explained about the rumours he had heard – no, he didn’t expect either confirmation or denial – and what he had been able to gather from the technical information he already had. It greatly interested a friend of his in the business of interactive games. The idea of
A Window on the Soul Page 5
