2

Normally on Saturday mornings Andrew saw patients in his office from 10 A.M., then dropped into the hospital around midday. Today he reversed the procedure and was at St. Bede’s by 9 A.M.

Last night’s storm and rain had been replaced by a fresh, clear morning, cold but sunny.

Andrew was ascending the hospital front steps when, ahead of him, the main door slammed open and Dr. Overton, the resident, appeared to hurl himself out. Overton seemed agitated. His hair was disordered as if he had gotten out of bed in a hurry and forgotten about it. His voice was breathless. He grabbed Andrew’s arm.

“Tried to call you. You’d already left. Janitor at your apartment said you were coming. I just had to catch you first.”

Andrew pulled his arm away. “What is this?”

The resident swallowed hard. “Never mind. Just come on.”

Overton, hurrying, preceded Andrew down a corridor and into an elevator. He refused to speak or even look Andrew in the eye as they rode to the fourth floor. The resident hastened from the elevator, Andrew following.

They stopped outside the hospital room where, last night, Andrew had left the unconscious Mary Rowe, her husband, the nurse and the resident.

“In!” Overton motioned impatiently. “Go on in!”

Andrew entered. And stopped. Staring.

From behind him the resident said, “Should’ve taken my bet, Dr. Jordan.” He added, “If I hadn’t seen, I wouldn’t have believed.”

Andrew said softly, “I’m not sure I believe it either.”

Mary Rowe, fully conscious, propped up in bed and wearing a blue lacy nightgown, smiled at him. Though the smile was weak, and clearly so was Mary Rowe, her condition was so much in contrast to the deep coma of last night, it seemed a miracle. She had been sipping water; a plastic cup was in her hand. The yellow skin tone, which had deepened yesterday, was noticeably lighter. As Andrew came in her husband stood up, smiling broadly, his hands outstretched.

“Thank you, Doctor! Oh, thank you!” That Adam’s apple of John Rowe’s bobbed up and down as Andrew took his hand.

From the bed Mary Rowe added a soft but fervent, “Bless you, Doctor!”

It was the resident’s turn. Overton pumped Andrew’s hand. “Congratulations!” He added, uncharacteristically, “sir.” Andrew was surprised to see tears brimming in the burly Texan’s eyes.

The head floor nurse, Mrs. Ludlow, bustled in. Normally preoccupied and serious, she was beaming. “It’s all around the hospital, Dr. Jordan. Everybody’s talking about you.”

“Look,” Andrew said, “there was an experimental drug, Lotromycin. It was brought to me. I didn’t—”

“Around here,” the nurse said, “you’re a hero. If I were you I wouldn’t fight it.”

“I ordered a blood test, stat,” the resident reported. “It showed ammonia below toxic level. Also, the bilirubin isn’t rising, so the rest of the cure will be routine.” He added to himself, “Unbelievable!”

Andrew told his patient, “I’m happy for you, Mary.” A thought occurred to him. “Has anyone seen that girl from Felding-Roth? Miss de Grey.”

“She was around here earlier,” Nurse Ludlow said. “She may be at the nursing station.”

“Excuse me,” Andrew said, and went outside.

Celia de Grey was waiting in the corridor. She had changed her clothes from last night. A soft smile played around her face.

As they regarded each other, Andrew was conscious of a constraint between them.

“You look a lot better with your hair dry,” he said.

“And you’re not as stern and fierce as yesterday.”

There was a pause before he said, “You heard?”

“Yes.”

“In there …” Andrew motioned toward the hospital room. “In there they’ve been thanking me. But the one we should all thank is you.”

She said, smiling, “You’re the doctor.”

Then suddenly, all barriers down, they were laughing and crying together. A moment later, to his own surprise, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

Over coffee and a shared Danish in the hospital cafeteria Celia de Grey removed her glasses and said, “I telephoned our company medical director and told him what happened. He’s talked with some of our research people. They’re all happy.”

“They have a right to be,” Andrew said. “They made a good drug.”

“I was also told to ask: Will you write up a case report, including your use of Lotromycin, for publication in a medical journal?”

He answered, “Gladly.”

“Naturally, it would be good for Felding-Roth.” The saleswoman’s tone was businesslike. “That’s because we expect Lotromycin to be an important drug and a big seller. But it won’t do you any harm either.”

Andrew acknowledged with a smile, “Probably not.”

He was thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. He knew that through mere chance, a fluke engineered by what he now saw as this remarkable and delightful young woman seated opposite, he had participated in a piece of medical history. Few physicians ever had that opportunity.

“Look,” Andrew said, “there’s something I want to say. Yesterday, Celia, you told me I had bad manners and you were right. I was rude to you. I apologize.”

“Not necessary,” she told him briskly. “I liked the way you were. You were worried about your patient and you didn’t care about anything else. Your caring showed. But then you’re always that way.”

The remark surprised him. “How do you know?”

“Because people have told me.” Again the swift, warm smile. She had her glasses on again; removing and replacing them seemed a habit. Celia continued, “I know a lot about you, Andrew Jordan. Partly because it’s my job to get to know doctors and partly … well, I’ll get to that later.”

This unusual girl, he thought, had many facets. He asked, “What do you know?”

“Well, for one thing you were at the top of your medical school class at Johns Hopkins. For another, you did your internship and residency at Massachusetts General—I know only the best get in there. Then Dr. Townsend chose you out of fifty applicants and took you into his practice because he knew you were good. Do you want more?”

He laughed aloud. “Is there any?”

“Only that you’re a nice man, Andrew. Everybody says so. Of course, there are some negatives about you I’ve discovered.”

“I’m shocked,” he told her. “Are you suggesting I’m not perfect after all?”

“You have some blind spots,” Celia said. “For instance, about drug companies. You’re very prejudiced against us. Oh, I’ll agree that some things—”

“Stop right there!” Andrew raised a hand. “I admit the prejudice. But I’ll also tell you, this morning I’m in a mood to change my mind.”

“That’s good, but don’t change it altogether.” Celia’s businesslike tone was back. “There are lots of good things about our industry, and you just saw one of them at work. But there are also things that aren’t so good, some that I don’t like and hope to alter.”

“You hope to alter.” He raised his eyebrows. “Personally?”

“I know what you’re thinking—that I’m a woman.”

“Since you mention it, yes, I’d noticed.”

Celia said seriously, “The time is coming, in fact it’s already here, when women will do many things they haven’t done before.”

“Right now I’m ready to believe that too, especially about you.” Andrew added, “You said there was something else to tell me, that you’d get to later.”

For the first time Celia de Grey hesitated.

“Yes, there is.” Her strong gray-green eyes met Andrew’s directly. “I was going to wait until another time we met, but I may as well tell you now. I’ve decided to marry you.”

This extraordinary girl! So full of life and character, to say nothing of surprises. He had never met anyone like her. Andrew started to laugh, then abruptly changed his mind.

One month later, in the presence of a few close friends and relatives, Dr. Andrew Jordan and Celia de Grey were married in a quiet civil ceremony.