"I'd like something of Locke's to read tonight," Celia said.”Can you get it for me?" Bentley made a note. ”It will be waiting for you at your hotel.”
It was not until late afternoon, during her second day at Harlow, that Celia was able to have her talk with Dr. Sastri. In between that and her session the previous day with Nigel Bentley, she talked with others at the institute who were consistently cheerful and optimistic in their views about the Harlow research scene. Yet still Celia had a sense of something being held back, an instinct that those she had met were being less than forthright with her. Rao Sastri proved to be a handsome, dark-skinned, articulate and fast-speaking young man, still in his twenties. Celia knew he had a Ph.D. And a brilliant scholastic record, and both Martin and Bentley had assured her the institute was fortunate in having him. Sastri and Celia met in an annex to the plant cafeteria, a small room normally used by senior staff for working lunches. After shaking hands with Sastri, and before they sat down, Celia closed the door for privacy. She said, "I believe you know who I am.”
"Indeed, Mrs. Jordan. My colleague Peat-Smith has spoken of you frequently, and kindly. At this time I am honored to meet you.”
Sastri's speech was cultured and precise, with a Pakistani lilt. He also smiled frequently, though at times switching off the smile with a trace of nervousness. "I am happy to meet you also," Celia said, "and wish to discuss with you the progress of research here.”
"It is wonderful! Truly marvelous! A jolly good show all around.”
"Yes," Celia acknowledged, "others have told me the same. But before we go on I would like to make clear that I am here on behalf of Mr. Hawthorne, the president of Felding-Roth, and exercising his authority.”
"Oh, dear! My goodness! I wonder what is coming now.”
"What is coming, Dr. Sastri, is that I am asking you--ordering you, in fact-to be totally frank with me, holding back nothing, including any doubts you have, and which so far you may have kept entirely to yourself.”
"All this is damned awkward," Sastri said.”Also not entirely fair, as I pointed out to Bentley when he informed me of this line you would be taking. I do, after all, have an obligation to Peat-Smith, who is a decent chap.”
"You have an even bigger obligation to Felding-Roth," Celia told him sharply, "because the company pays your salary-a good one -and is entitled to your honest professional opinions in return.”
"I say, Mrs. Jordan! You don't mess about, do you?" The young Pakistani's tone mixed shock and awe. "Messing about-as you eloquently put it, Dr. Sastri-takes time, which I don't have a lot of, since I'm returning to America tomorrow. So please tell me exactly where, in your opinion, our institute research is, and where it's going.”
Sastri raised both hands in a submissive gesture, and sighed.”Very well. The research is not very far along. And, in my humble opinion and that of others in this project, it is going nowhere.”
"Explain those opinions.”
"In more than two years, all that has been achieved is to confirm a theory that there are brain DNA changes during aging. Oh yes, it is an interesting accomplishment, but beyond it we are facing a damned blank wall which we do not have techniques to penetrate, may not have for many years, and even then the peptide Peat-Smith has postulated may not be behind the wall.”
Celia queried, "You do not accept that postulation?" "It is my colleague's theory, Mrs. Jordan. I admit I shared it.”
Sastri shook his head regretfully.”But, in my inmost heart, no longer.”
"Martin informed me," Celia said, "that you have proved the existence of a unique RNA and "Which is, by golly, true! But perhaps what you were not told is that the isolated material may be too large. The mRNA strand is long, and codes for many proteins, possibly forty altogether. It is therefore unusable-just 'nonsense' peptides.”
Celia reached into her scientific memory.”Can the material be cleaved? Each peptide isolated?" Sastri smiled; his voice assumed a superior edge.”There is the blank wall. There are no techniques to take us further. Possibly in ten years from now...”
He shrugged. For another twenty minutes they talked science, Celia learning that, of the group of scientists now working at Harlow on the mental aging project, only Martin remained a true believer that it would produce worthwhile results. At the end she said, "Thank you, Dr. Sastri. You've told me what I crossed the Atlantic to find out.”
The young man nodded sadly.”I have done my duty as you insisted. But I will not sleep well tonight.”
"I don't expect to either," Celia said.”But that's a price which people like you and me pay sometimes-for being where we are.”
5
At Martin's invitation, Celia went to his home for drinks during her second and last evening at Harlow, Afterward they would go on to dinner which she had arranged at the Churchgate Hotel where she was staying. Martin lived in a small semi-detached house about two miles from the Felding-Roth Institute. The house, while modern and functional, was similar to dozens of others nearby which appeared to Celia to have been assembled on a mass-production line. When she arrived, by taxi, Mar-tin escorted her to a tiny living room and, as on other occasions, she was aware of his admiring inspection. For the brief trip to Britain she had traveled lightly, wearing a tailored suit during daytimes, but tonight had on a Diane von Furstenberg wraparound dress in an attractive brown and white print, with a single strand of pearls. Her soft brown hair was stylish in the short, blunt cut of the day. On the way in from the front hall Celia stepped over or around five animals-a friendly Irish setter, a growling English bulldog, and three cats. Within the living room was a parrot on an open perch. She laughed.”You really are an animal lover.”
"I suppose I am," Martin smilingly agreed.”I enjoy having animals around and I'm a sucker for homeless cats.”
The cats seemed to know this and followed him slavishly. Celia knew that Martin lived alone, with a "daily" woman coming to clean. The living-room furniture was minimal, consisting mainly of a leather armchair with a reading light beside it, and three bookcases, crammed with scientific volumes. Some bottles, mixes and ice were set out on a small table. Martin waved her to the armchair and began mixing drinks. "I've the makings of a daiquiri, if that's what you'd like.”
"I'd like it," Celia said, "and I'm touched you should remember.”
She wondered if they would be as relaxed and friendly at the evening's end. As on earlier occasions, she was aware of Martin's physical attractiveness as a man, yet before coming here she had reminded herself of Sam Hawthorne's parting words: "No matter how much you like Martin... if you need to be tough and ruthless... do itl" "I'll be seeing Sam the day after tomorrow," Celia said.”I have to make a recommendation about the future of the Harlow institute, and I'd like to know what you think it should be.”
"That's easy.”
He handed her a daiquiri.”You should urge a continuance of our present research for another year, longer if necessary.” "There is opposition to continuing. You know that.”
"Yes.”
The confidence which Martin had shown ever since Celia's arrival was still in evidence.”But then, there are always short-sighted people, unable to see the big picture.”
"Is Dr. Sastri short-sighted?" "I'm sorry to say it-yes. How's the drink?" "Fine.”
"Rao came here an hour ago," Martin said.”He wanted to see me because he felt I should know everything he told you this afternoon. Rao has a strong sense of honor.”
"And?"