Hypocrite's Isle (19 page)

Gavin spent his three weeks of grace confirming his theory on the link between Valdevan’s action and cell growth rate, and
verifying
that there was a concentration which would damage tumour cell membranes but leave healthy cells unaffected – although his satisfaction in doing this was countered by the fact that he couldn’t, as yet, think of a way of utilising it. The confirmation of the growth rate data, however, pleased Frank Simmons and left him feeling more confident about telling Max Ehrman when he arrived in
Edinburgh
on the Friday of that week. This was two days before the conference at Heriot Watt University was due to begin, but
Ehrman
had expressed the wish to Simmons that he wanted to see a bit of the city before registration on the Sunday. He had suggested that he come in to the department some time on Friday morning and Simmons had readily agreed, something that Graham Sutcliffe was clearly annoyed about when he found out. He entered Simmons’ office without knocking and said, ‘Liz has just told me that
Professor
Ehrman from Grumman Schalk will be in the department on Friday. Why wasn’t I informed?’

‘It’s not any kind of official visit, Graham. He’s coming a couple of days early to see the sights and we’re going to have a talk about Valdevan. It has no bearing on your grant application if that’s what you’re concerned about. He wants an update on what we’ve been doing and wants to meet Gavin.’

‘Can’t imagine why,’ said Sutcliffe
sotto voce
, something that
attracted
a cold stare from Simmons. ‘I still think I should have been informed. Professor Ehrman is a distinguished visitor, whatever the reason for his presence. Perhaps I could invite him to dinner after your meeting.’

‘We’ve already agreed on an informal meal to talk further about cell division.’

Sutcliffe didn’t try to hide his annoyance. He was determined not to be stymied. ‘I still feel the department should welcome him properly, particularly at a time when Grumman Schalk is set to play an important part in our future and that of the university. Perhaps it’s not too late to lay on a lunch up at Old College. I think I’ll see what Liz can do.’ Sutcliffe turned and left, totally preoccupied with the details of his proposed lunch. Simmons was left sitting at his desk, looking over his glasses at the departing figure who didn’t close the door. ‘Bonne chance, mon général,’ he murmured.

Max Ehrman called on Thursday afternoon to say he would be arriving in Edinburgh on the first shuttle up from Heathrow in the morning. He declined Simmons’ offer to pick him up at the airport, preferring instead to make his own way into the city, but said that he would call him from his hotel – the Balmoral in Princes Street – as soon as he got there. When he did, Simmons told him about Sutcliffe’s plan to lay on a special lunch for him at Old College.

Ehrman let out a sigh that spoke of frustration with well-meaning people. ‘That’s very kind of him, but frankly I would have been just as happy with coffee and a sandwich and a chat round the table with you and your student.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Simmons. ‘That was the way it was going to be until the powers-that-be found out about your visit. I’m afraid it’s now out of my hands. Our head of department insists on
honouring
you.’

‘You mean he hopes to help pave the way to a big block grant for his department,’ said Ehrman.

‘That too,’ agreed Simmons.

‘Do you think we’ll get a chance to talk at all today?’

‘It’s my guess that the great and the good will take up most of your afternoon, but I could book a table for dinner – just you, me and Gavin, if you haven’t had enough of Edinburgh academics by then.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’

‘Any requests about food?’

‘I suggest we let your student decide.’

‘Fine. We’ll pick you up at your hotel at eight.’

Gavin opted for Chinese so Simmons booked a table at the Orchid Lodge in Castle Street, thinking that it would be within walking distance for both the Balmoral Hotel and Gavin’s flat in Dundas Street. He, living out of town, would, as usual, have to drive and not drink, but he’d walk down to the Balmoral from the medical school and then back again after the meal to avoid parking problems in the centre of town.

 

Later that morning, Simmons met Max Ehrman for the first time, in a situation that both of them found slightly bizarre and
warranting
knowing smiles, as they were introduced to each other by Graham Sutcliffe who had hijacked Ehrman on his arrival and subjected him to a half-hour monologue on the strengths of the department before conducting him on a whistle-stop tour of the labs.

‘Hello, Frank,’ said Ehrman, extending his hand.

‘Nice to meet you, Max. Come and meet my students.’

‘Actually, Frank,’ interrupted Sutcliffe, looking at his watch with the exaggeration of a bad actor, ‘We’re rather pushed for time. Maybe later?’ His hand was already on the door handle.

‘As you wish,’ said Simmons coldly. ‘Mustn’t let the soup get cold.’

Sutcliffe shot Simmons a look of disapproval.

‘See you later, Frank,’ said Ehrman as he turned to leave, his
awareness
of tension in the room bordering on slight embarrassment.

Gavin was still in the lab at seven thirty so he and Simmons walked down town together, cutting along Chambers Street to join North Bridge – another connecting link between the Old and New Towns, which in turn led down to the Balmoral Hotel at the
junction
with Princes Street.

‘So, what’s the plan, how do we tell him?’ asked Gavin.

‘We tell Professor Ehrman that his company wasted twenty
million
dollars … with great tact and diplomacy, Gavin,’ said
Simmons
. ‘Rubbing his nose in it is a definite no-no. Can we agree on that at the outset?’

‘Sure.’

The doorman at the Balmoral, wearing some marketing man’s idea of traditional Scottish dress, opened the door for them, but gave Gavin the once-over as he passed by, his carefully honed
powers
of observation taking in that Gavin’s denims were more
functional
than trendy.

Ehrman was waiting for them in the lobby. His jeans
were
trendy, a fact the designer label endorsed, and his soft leather blouson had
expensive
written all over it. ‘You must be Gavin,’ he said with a smile. ‘Good to meet you.’ He turned to Simmons. ‘Hello, Frank, finally we get to talk, huh?’

‘How was your day?’ asked Simmons.

‘I’ve had worse. I kind of liked Old College. It carries the weight of its history well and the Playfair Library – well, that was
something
else. Where are we off to?’

‘Gavin decided on Chinese. It’s a ten-minute walk to the restaurant.’

They walked west along Princes Street with Ehrman cooing
appreciatively
about the views of the castle and asking about the Scott Monument, built to commemorate Sir Walter Scott.

‘One of Scotland’s literary greats, but not as well known as
Robert
Burns,’ said Simmons.

‘Now, I’ve heard of
him
,’ said Ehrman. ‘Can’t say the same about Scott though.’

‘At least Scott’s intelligible,’ said Gavin. ‘Burns could be writing in Serbo-Croat as far as I’m concerned.’

‘Gavin is English,’ Simmons explained in a stage whisper.

‘Ah, the English and the Scots …’

 

Frank joined Ehrman in a gin and tonic, his rationale being that the measures served in Scottish hotels and restaurants wouldn’t push a gnat over the limit when it came to breath tests, but he would still have only the one. Gavin had a bottle of German beer.

‘So how have you been getting on with your Valdevan
experiments
?’ Ehrman asked Gavin as he snapped a piece off a prawn cracker.

Gavin stole a quick glance at Simmons who gave him a nod of encouragement. ‘Okay. In fact, we’ve got some news for you.’

‘Really?’

Simmons had a mental image of someone lighting a fuse.

‘We’ve found out why Valdevan didn’t work all these years ago,’ said Gavin.

Ehrman took a sip of his drink and snapped another cracker. ‘Oh, yes?’

‘It’s all to do with growth rate.’

Gavin’s enthusiasm took over and he gave Ehrman a
comprehensive
account of his work and the conclusions he’d reached.

‘Well, well, well,’ said Ehrman when he’d finished. ‘I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It seems so obvious now.’

‘Were you involved in the original work on the drug, Max?’ asked Simmons.

‘It was a good bit before my time but still … for the company to be upstaged in this way … is a bit embarrassing to say the least.’

‘There was a big element of luck in it,’ said Gavin. ‘If I hadn’t been working out of term and the lab hadn’t run out of human serum there would have been no need for me to make up a new growth medium, and I would never have stumbled across the truth.’

Ehrman smiled wryly. ‘A familiar story. Be in the right place at the right time … and the prize will be yours.’

Simmons nodded. ‘I think Gavin’s being too modest. He’s a bright, dedicated student who chose to work through the
Christmas
break when others were out having a good time – including me, I have to say.’

‘Well, it’s all water under the bridge now,’ said Ehrman. ‘The company recovered from that painful episode to regain its place as a world leader and, with the latest initiative, we aim to be a major force in supporting medical research in European and American universities. As for you, Gavin, I’ve just been discussing with your head of department our continuing requirement for bright
postdoctoral
workers. I should think in time your credentials might prove … irresistible to us. What say you, Frank?’

They all laughed and Simmons was relieved that such a difficult bridge had been crossed. He was particularly pleased that Gavin had handled things so well. He had stuck to the science and the logic behind it in as cold and dispassionate a way as he could have hoped for. Ehrman, to his credit, had not made any attempt to dispute the results, accepting immediately that Gavin’s hypothesis was beyond argument. He could now enjoy his dinner. In fact, they all enjoyed their dinner, and had what they would remember as a very pleasant evening.

The three men parted company at the foot of the Mound. Gavin headed north to Dundas Street, Ehrman east to the Balmoral and Frank south, up over the Mound, to the medical school car park.

Gavin called Caroline as soon as he got in, as they had arranged.

‘Well, how did it go?’

‘Really well. I think Frank was a bit nervous, but the big bad wolf from the drug company just accepted it all as “water under the bridge”, to use his expression.’

‘I’m so glad.’

‘He more or less offered me a job when I’m through here.’

‘Brilliant. How do you feel about that?’

‘Not for me.’

On the following Monday, Gavin started out on the biochemistry of cells treated with Valdevan. He had little heart for it, but a deal was a deal.

The department was unusually quiet because of the conference at Heriot Watt, with staff sneaking out at intervals to cross the city and attend only lectures they were interested in, rather than register – and pay – for the whole conference programme. Frank Simmons had gone along to hear a talk on growth kinetics given by Professor Hans Lieberman from the Max Plank Institute in Berlin and Mary had joined him, leaving Gavin alone in the lab until Tom came back from a meeting that Sutcliffe had called for all senior postgrad students.

‘What was all that about?’ Gavin asked.

‘Grumman Schalk are on an early recruiting drive. They’re
signing
up postdoctoral workers for next year. Sutcliffe was asking if anyone was interested.’

‘Are you?’

‘I didn’t think I was until I heard the salary they were offering, then I was very interested. I’ve put my name down.’

‘Anyone else keen on what Mammon has to offer?’