As he continued to look at her, still unmoving, she came close and whispered, "You want this too, don't you?"
His body heaved with a groaning, gasping sigh.”Oh my God, yes”,
While they held each other, she comforted him as she would a child. But not for long. She felt Martin's passion rise, and her own accompanied it. Just as Martin had wanted this moment, Celia knew that she had sought it too. In a way, it had been inevitable, ever since their first meeting at Cambridge when something far stronger than instant, mutual liking had flashed between them. From then on, Celia realized, the question had never been "if", but merely "when?" The choice of consummation here and now had, in one sense, been accidental. It had happened because of Martin's sudden breakdown and despair, his obvious, urgent need to draw on outside strength and solace. Yet, if what was occurring now had not occurred tonight, some other time would have seen the same conclusion, with each of their meetings bringing the fateful moment closer. As Martin kissed her ardently, and she responded, feeling his rigid masculinity against her, she knew in a crevice of her mind that sooner or later moral issues must be faced and consequences weighed. But not now! There was no strength left in Celia for anything but the fulfillment of desire. Her own desire, all-encompassing, burning, blissful, overwhelming, coalesced with Martin's. Moments later they cried out to each other, lovingly, and with exquisite joy. Afterward they slept, Martin-it seemed to Celia--deeply, and no longer troubled. In the early morning hours they awakened and, this time more tenderly but with equal pleasure, made love again. When next Celia awoke, daylight was streaming in through the old-fashioned windows. Martin had gone. She found the note soon after.
Dearest: You have been, and are, an inspiration. Early this morning while you were sleeping--oh, so beautiful yet-an idea, a "perhaps" solution to our research impasse, came to me. I am going to the lab, even though I know I don't have long, to see if it has promise. Either way I shall keep the faith, carrying on until the eviction order comes. What happened between us will be safely secret and a lovely memory. Don't worry about anything. I know that Paradise Found only happens once. I suggest you do not preserve this note.
Yours always,
Martin
Celia showered, ordered breakfast, and began packing for the journey home.
On the British Airways Concorde, after luncheon had been served, Celia closed her eyes and marshaled her thoughts. Personal things first. During the eighteen years of her marriage to Andrew, never until last night-had she had sexual relations with another man. It was not that opportunities had not arisen; they often had. She had even been tempted occasionally to avail herself of proffered sex, but always thrust the notion away, either out of loyalty to Andrew or because, in business terms, it seemed unwise. Sometimes her reasoning was a combination of the two. Sam Hawthorne had indicated, more than once, that he would enjoy an affair with Celia. But she had decided long ago that it would be the worst thing for them both, and discouraged Sam's rare overtures with politeness, but firmly. Martin had been different. From the beginning, Celia admired him, and also-she now admitted to herself-had wanted him physically. Well, that wish had been fulfilled, and the result was as good as any lover could have hoped for. There could also be, Celia knew-if their circumstances were different-a good deal more between herself and Martin. But Martin had wisely recognized that there was no future in their loving, and Celia saw that too. That is, unless she was prepared to abandon Andrew and risk estrangement with her children, which she wasn't, and never would be. Besides, she loved Andrew dearly. They had been through so much together, and Andrew had rich qualities of wisdom, tenderness and strength that no one else Celia knew-not even Martin-could ever come close to. Therefore Martin, sounding more like a poet than a scientist, had said it all that morning.”What happened between us will be safely secret and a lovely memory... I know that Paradise Found only happens once.” She supposed there were people who would believe she ought to feel guilty about what happened last night. Well, she didn't-quite the reverse!-and that was that. Her thoughts moved from herself to Andrew. Had Andrew, she wondered, ever indulged in extramarital sex? Probably yes. He, too, would have had opportunities, and he was a man whom women found attractive. Then how, Celia asked herself, did she feel about that? Not happy, of course, assuming it had happened, because it was difficult, if not impossible, to be logical in such matters. On the other hand, she would never let herself become concerned over something that she didn't know about. Celia had once heard someone say cynically at a Morristown cocktail party, "Any normal man who has been married twenty years and claims not to have had some sex on the side is either a liar or a nebbish.”
It wasn't true, of course. For plenty of men such opportunities never arose, while others stayed monogamous from choice. Nonetheless, statements like the one she remembered held a core of truth. Celia knew from gossip, and sometimes public indiscretions, that there was plenty of sleeping around in the medical circles where she and Andrew moved, and in the pharmaceutical business too. Which led to a further question: Did occasional sexual side excursions matter in a solid marriage? She didn't think so-providing they were neither intensely serious nor became lasting affairs. In fact, Celia believed, many marriages broke up needlessly because spouses were prudish or jealous, or both, about what was often no more than some harmless sexual fun. Finally, about Andrew, she thought that whatever he had or hadn't done outside their marriage, he would always be considerate and discreet. Celia intended to be equally discreet, which was why she accepted the fait accompli of no more clandestine meetings between herself and Martin. End of personal lucubration. Now about Harlow. What, Celia asked herself, should her recommendation be, the recommendation she would make to Sam tomorrow? Obviously there was only one line for her to take: Close the institute. Admit that opening it had been a mistake. Cut losses quickly. Accept that Martin's mental aging project had been a disappointing failure. Or was it the only course? Or even the best one? Even now, despite all that she had seen and heard at Harlow, Celia was unsure. One thing in particular kept coming back to her: It was something Martin had said in his distress last night, moments before they left the Churchgate Hotel dining room. Since this morning, beginning while she was being driven by limousine to London Airport, Celia had repeatedly played Martin's words over in her mind as if they were recorded on tape.”"at we've looked for will be found... it will happen, must happen... but somewhere else.” When the words were spoken, she had taken little heed of them. But somehow, now, their significance seemed greater. Could Martin still be right and everyone else wrong? And where was "somewhere else"? Another country? Another pharmaceutical firm? Was it possible that if Felding-Roth abandoned Martin's mental aging research, some other company-a competitor-might pick it up and see it through to a successful conclusion, "successful" implying production of an important, profitable new drug? There was also the question of research, on the same subject, being done in other countries. Two years ago Martin had mentioned scientists working on projects in Germany, France, New Zealand. Celia knew from her inquiries that research in those other countries was continuing-though apparently with no more success than at Harlow. But supposing, after Harlow was discontinued, one of those other scientists had a sudden breakthrough, a breathtaking discovery which might have happened at Harlow had they carried on. If it turned out that way, how would Felding-Roth feel? And how would Celia feel-and appear to others in the company-if she recommended closing Harlow now? Therefore, for an array of reasons, there was a temptation for her to do nothing--"nothing," in this case, meaning: recommend carrying on at Harlow in the hope that something might develop. Yet, Celia reasoned, didn't that kind of decision-or, rather, in- decision-represent merely the safest way to go? Yes! It was a take- no-action-now, but wait-and-see philosophy which she had heard both Sam Hawthorne and Vincent Lord describe caustically as prevailing at FDA in Washington. All of which brought her full circle to Sam's pre-departure instruction: "If you need to be tough and ruthless... do it! " Celia sighed. It was no good wishing she did not have this difficult choice to make. The fact was, she did. Equally to the point: tough decisions were part of top-management responsibility, which she had once coveted, and now had. But when the Concorde landed at New York, she was still not positive about which way her advocacy should go.