Chapter 7

You are not serious Lisa, where is all the stuff going to go?’

‘That’s your problem Andrew. If you want me then my dolls come too.’

It was Sunday morning and Lisa was moving in. Her brother Brendan had hired a van and together they packed her belongings and were at Andrew’s doorstep at nine. Andrew could already detect Brendan’s hostility towards him. They had been close friends once. Andrew had met Brendan soon after he met Lisa and the two of them got on extremely well. Both had spent many an afternoon at the football together, played a regular game of tennis and had spent many evenings over a bottle of scotch arguing politics, economics and the state of the world in general. But it all came to an end when Andrew left for London. Brendan was younger than Lisa, was devoted to her and could feel her pain when Andrew left. He could understand Andrew’s motives and could sympathise with him but at the same time he could not help but be angry at seeing his beloved sister so hurt. Andrew wrote him a long letter from London explaining his actions and pleading for understanding and friendship but received no reply.

That morning was the first time the two of them had seen each other or communicated in all that time. Andrew was certain that this was the last place Brendan wished to be but his devotion to his sister was such that he could deny her nothing. So there he was, carting boxes up to Andrew’s flat, trying to avoid his gaze and offering no more than a curt hello when he first arrived.

Andrew was bemused by all of Lisa’s possessions, most remarkable being her doll collection. These were from all four corners of the globe, purchased by Lisa on her frequent travels or by friends who were never allowed to leave for overseas without promising to bring home a doll. There were dozens of them, all shapes, sizes and colours. Andrew had no idea where they would all go but Lisa had made it quite clear that she was not moving in without them.

By two o’clock everything was in the flat. The place was in disarray. Andrew had cleared as much wardrobe and cupboard space as he could but it would be up to Lisa to put her own things away. She was far too meticulous to allow Andrew to do that. There were boxes on the floor, clothes on hangers dangling from door handles and draped across chairs. And everywhere he looked there were dolls.

They were exhausted. Each flopped into a chair that was either empty or not totally covered in clothes. They were too tired to eat but Lisa insisted and soon they were tucking into a lunch of bagels and dips, Brendan and Andrew washing this down with lukewarm Pure Blonde and Lisa with mineral water. As they ate, Andrew could detect a reduction in hostility in Brendan. They had after all been very close in the past and perhaps some of that still remained despite everything that had happened.

Andrew thought he would break the ice. ‘How is your work going Brendan?’ he began. ‘Are you still at The Age?’

Brendan was a financial journalist who had held a number of positions in the financial press and had been appointed as a financial editor at The Age newspaper. Brendan was one of a few journalists who could write in a succinct and clear style that would enable most readers to understand the sometimes complex and almost incomprehensible world of economics. As a result, he had acquired a large and loyal following of readers and was much sought after by the various competing newspapers and magazines.

‘Work’s fine Andrew, thanks for asking. There is no shortage of news in the world. With the recession, bankruptcies everywhere you look and the odd scandal or two, I’m guaranteed work well into the next century.’

Andrew had the distinct impression that Brendan was not too interested in pursuing this line of conversation and was somewhat surprised by Brendan’s next question.

‘Have you met Winston Heathfield yet?

‘As a matter of fact, yes, I have,’ replied Andrew. ‘I had lunch with him a few weeks ago. Why do you ask? Do you know him?’

Brendan gave Andrew a bemused look.

‘Know him?’ was the reply. ‘I have studied him. I know more about the man than even he does.’ Brendan was becoming quite animated.

At that point Lisa piped in.

‘Spare us, will you Brendan, I don’t think I could cope with a Heathfield story today. Look at Andrew. He is pooped. Leave it for some other time, maybe when you are both drunk.’

‘It’s okay Lisa. I would like to hear it. I’m curious now. Brendan obviously knows something about Winston Heathfield and I would love to know what it is.’

At that Lisa got up and began heading for the bedroom.

‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m going to lie down. I’m too tired for Winston Heathfield even if you’re not.’

‘I’ll get us another beer Brendan. Then you can tell me all.’

Andrew headed to the kitchen, took two bottles of beer from the fridge, twisted off the tops and came back to the lounge room. He handed a bottle to Brendan, sat down, took a sip of beer and said:

‘Ready Brendan. Let’s hear it. Tell me your Winston Heathfield story.’

‘Okay, but remember you asked. Now sit back, sip your beer. I have got a story to tell you.’

WH Pharmaceuticals was a small company started by Winston Heathfield’s father whose name was also Winston, hence the initials. Winston Senior had died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of sixty. It caused quite a scandal at the time as he died while being straddled by his twenty-five year old mistress on a Thursday afternoon, during one of their regular liaisons at the Westin Hotel in the city. It made the news and Winston’s mother withdrew from society in shame and died two years later under mysterious circumstances. Suicide was suspected.

Winston Junior, who at the age of thirty eight had the title of Vice President of WH Pharmaceuticals, had to take over the company. He had been Vice President in title only. He had an office which he rarely visited, spending his time equally divided between the ski slopes of Switzerland and the pristine beaches at Far North Queensland. His photo was in the society pages most weeks with a different female companion by his side, usually blonde and always buxom.

Winston Senior did not approve of his son’s lifestyle but was happy for him to be out of the office and away from the company. The father realised that his son had no head for business and figured that the cost of his extravagant lifestyle was far less than would have been the cost to the company had he actually been involved in running it.

With his father gone and his mother in seclusion, Winston Heathfield found himself President of WH Pharmaceuticals, a company which he knew almost nothing about. Contrary to what Winston Senior believed, the son did have a head for business. He just never had to use it before. Winston spent a month familiarising himself with every aspect of the company’s operations. He was fortunate that his father had installed an extremely competent management team who were of invaluable assistance to Winston and who were also impressed with his business acumen, something they too were unaware of.

At the end of that month, Winston came to two conclusions. The first was that the company, his company, was struggling. The second was that he had no idea what to do about it.

WH Pharmaceuticals was a generics company. Generics were drugs that had come off patent, which then allowed any drug company to market them. WH was one of several such companies in Australia and competition was fierce and margins were narrow. The company made a profit. Nothing spectacular but a respectable profit, certainly sufficient to have previously financed Winston Junior’s lavish lifestyle.

WH Pharmaceuticals had no research and development departments. It could not discover or develop any drugs and would therefore never have a blockbuster drug on which fortunes were made. While profitable, the profit was steadily declining and were this to continue, Winston realised, the company would cease to be profitable at all in the not too distant future.

Bob Martin, the company’s CEO had informed Winston that his late father had been acutely aware of the problem but had been unable to reverse this slide. Winston Senior tried to attract an equity partner to inject funds but could not find anyone willing to take the task on. He explored public float of the company but had been informed by the advisors that he had hired that this would fail as there were insufficient profits and no immediate prospect of correcting that problem.

So the company drifted along, keeping its head above water, just. Winston, to his credit did make some headway improving the company’s bottom line. He launched an aggressive campaign to increase its market share. At any one time there were two or three generics for each of the previously patented drugs and competition to get their products into pharmacies was fierce. Winston’s sales team had some limited success. It was rumoured that under the table payments were made to the pharmacists although nothing was ever proven. Such conduct was contrary to the guidelines of Medicines Australia and was also illegal.

But beyond these measures, there was nothing else that Winston could think to do to improve WH’s fortunes. He hired top tier business advisors who could not give him any useful advice. Sell more drugs, find a blockbuster drug, was all they offered.

This continued for the next few years. Winston had to give up the ski trips to Switzerland, frequented the beaches less often and was now hardly ever in the social pages. He was single. He had never met a woman who he was interested in marrying and was content with the occasional superficial relationship as long as she was young and willing.

On one Monday morning at a regular executive meeting, Winston came across the order for Amaradine attached to which was a short note from George Connors, Head of Production, ‘Sorry, it will lose money. Have to supply. No choice.’

Winston sighed. Another loss-maker. Just what the company did not need. Winston enquired of the others at the meeting whether they knew anything about this drug, which they did not. Enquiries were made down the chain and an hour later the information came back that large quantities of Amaradine were being requested by the Prince Charles Hospital for a clinical trial they were planning to conduct. The principal investigator was Dr Jeffrey Harris whose contact details were included.

That afternoon, being mildly curious and having nothing better to do, Winston Heathfield telephoned Dr Jeffrey Harris, introduced himself and made some gentle enquiries about the trial involving his drug, Amaradine.

Expecting a dry, incomprehensible dissertation about the trial, Winston was taken aback by Jeffrey Harris’ enthusiastic response. He caught the words cancer and cure and something about a huge medical breakthrough. Jeffrey Harris was speaking very quickly and Winston could not take it all in on the phone. They arranged to meet. As it happened, both belonged to the same club in the city and the meeting was set up two evenings hence.

Winston Heathfield and Jeffrey Harris hit it off immediately. Jeffrey continued speaking at the same rapid rate that he had done on the phone. There were technical details that Winston could not follow. In his mind he kept hearing the word cancer and cure and the term blockbuster drug then crept into his mind. Winston sensed that Amaradine may be the key to his company’s future and decided that evening that he would supervise the project personally. Jeffrey Harris explained to Winston that to proceed any further with the drug, a trial of efficacy would have to be conducted. The drug had been used for years for Parkinson’s disease and no safety issues had emerged so that they could proceed with an efficacy trial immediately. Jeffrey pointed out to Winston that drug trials were expensive, the cost running into millions and that Prince Charles Hospital could not fund such a trial. While not asked directly, implicit in his statement was the question of whether or not WH Pharmaceuticals could.

With the words blockbuster drug repeating themselves in Winston’s mind, he gave Jeffrey Harris an immediate and unequivocal undertaking that WH Pharmaceuticals would fund the trial, whatever the cost. The two men shook hands and arranged to meet again very soon for the details to be thrashed out.

Jeffrey Harris could not believe his luck and Winston Heathfield was filled with excitement and anticipation of a huge profit. Somewhere in the back of his mind however was the nagging thought that he had no idea how he could come up with the funds and as he drove home from the club, Jeffrey’s use of the term millions kept echoing inside his head.

‘And you pretty much know the rest Andrew. Winston managed to coax his bankers into a loan to cover the trial cost and from then on he hasn’t looked back.’

‘You’re right Brendan. That is quite a story,’ said Andrew. But Amaradine was out of patent. What was to stop other companies from marketing the drug and cashing in?’

‘Ah. That’s where Winston’s savvy came in. He was well aware of the patent issues. Somehow he got his chemists to slightly alter the drug, I can’t recall the details. They either added a methyl group or took one away. I have never understood any of that. In any case, he was able to patent “the new Amaradine” and so kept the other players out and kept the profits all to himself. And the patent is still current. You have got to admire the man.’

‘You certainly do.’

Lisa appeared at the door. ‘Are you two done yet, it’s getting late Brendan. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.’

‘I guess that’s my cue to go,’ Brendan replied.

‘Andrew, let’s catch up again soon…’ He stood up, gave Lisa a peck on the cheek, shook Andrew’s hand and he was off.

Andrew looked at Lisa. Her face had a mischievous smile.

‘At last, I’ve got you all to myself. I hope you aren’t too tired.’

It was now Andrew’s turn to smile. He took her hand and without a word, led her into the bedroom.