conclude in just a few days from now, but I spoke with the lead researcher there, Dr. Van de Vliet, and he said there's still time to get you into the program.'
'Yes, Grant came to see me and brought me a brochure.'
'Your brother is very concerned about you and your mother, and he specifically asked me to inquire if you had any questions about the procedure that I might be able to answer for you.'
He was watching her carefully, all the while trying to keep his tone casual.
'Well, I think my mother is interested. Quite frankly, she doesn't have much to lose, though she may be in denial about that. In my own case, I'm not so sure. I still don't know anything about Karl Van de Vliet.'
She's still toying with the bait, Bartlett thought. I can't yank the line just yet, but she’s close. She’s so close.
'Truly, the best thing you could do would be to talk to him,' Bartlett said getting up from his desk and walking over to the window and pulling the curtains aside. The mid-morning light streamed in, a momentarily blinding presence. I've got to shake this up, he told himself. 'As a matter of fact, I'd like for you to meet with Karl before we go any further with this job. We need to get you well first. And your mother. He's had some truly amazing successes with both Alzheimer's and Parkinson's.'
'It's just that this is all so experimental. Aren't there any side effects? New drugs or new medical procedures always have side effects.'
Well, he thought, now you've hit on it. But that part is best left to Karl.
'If you have questions, that's all the more reason to check out the clinic,' he declared. Time to close the sale. He came back and sat down behind the mahogany desk. 'I've seen a lot of medical innovation over the years, including a good bit in my own companies. But there's never been anything that remotely compares to the promise of stem cell technology. And these stage-three clinical trials have shown how many miracles are in the realm of the doable.'
'Grant said Dr. Van de Vliet wanted to include someone with my specific condition in the-'
'Let me be frank with you.' He looked across at her and smiled. 'You would be a perfect fit. But the trials are going to be over very, very soon, so he's anxious to get started.'
'Truthfully, I'm thinking about taking Mom out there,' she said. 'And since we're all being so frank, let me say I'm getting the impression that my going out to your clinic is really the reason you wanted to see me today. It's-'
'It's the second reason,' he said. 'The design job is uppermost in my mind, but I see nothing wrong with having two purposes in seeing you. As someone once said, commerce is the mutually beneficial exchange of worth.'
Was she agreeing to see Van de Vliet? Playing the mother card may have done the trick.
'Well, why don't we stick to tangible worth,' she said. 'Let me take a look at the space downstairs. But you'll have to tell me some more about what you have in mind.'
'I propose we do it the other way around. You go down and look around, take measurements, make sketches, whatever it is you do, and then get back to me with some ideas. That'll be our starting point.' He picked up a walkie-talkie on his desk and punched a button. 'Ken, could you please come up. I'd like you to show Ms. Hampton the service floor.' He clicked it off without waiting for a reply. 'I'm due down at the office. When I get there, I'll have them cut a check for five thousand dollars as a retainer and messenger it over to your shop.'
Is this going to work? he wondered. Maybe I should be pushing harder. ..
He examined Alexa Hampton one last time as he rose to leave. Yes, she's a rare woman. Wouldn't it be ironic if Karl actually
As Ally watched Winston Bartlett sweep from the room, she was still trying to take measure of the man. What troubled her was why Grant and Bartlett were both so anxious to get her and her mother out to the clinic. But give Bartlett his due. He could charm the birds off the trees.
She looked around the room, wondering what the old kitchen and staff quarters would be like. Certainly not like this. The library/bedroom had a rich, over-the-top feeling, with a beautifully molded plaster ceiling, a virtual bas-relief of fruits and birds and clouds all meticulously painted. It wasn't the Sistine Chapel but had some of that feeling. The paneling and wainscot were burnished mahogany, and the floor was a mix of hardwoods worked into an isometric design. She decided it was probably the most luxurious private residence she had ever seen.
CitiSpace was mainly known for its creative handling of lofts in the abandoned commercial buildings of SoHo and TriBeCa. These old mansions of the nineteenth-century moguls were an entirely different world. It was intimidating, but she was sure she could do something below stairs that would retain the period flavor of the building while creating the kind of semiprofessional space he said he wanted. Still, it was different from anything else CitiSpace had ever done, so he had no way of knowing whether or not she could pull it off. Again that question: why on earth would he hand her this plum job?
And where was his wife? Although he liked to be photographed with blond starlets, the tabloids always reminded you that he had a wife someplace. The two doorbells were a tip-off that that someplace was here. Best guess: she probably had the top floors.
My God was Madame Bartlett going to get involved in the renovation? A lot of women with superrich husbands and too much time on their hands come to assume that that happenstance creates in them a natural gift for interior design. Big problem.
But
Winston Bartlett was on the phone to Van de Vliet the moment he stepped into his limo to head downtown.
'She said she's thinking about bringing her mother out to the institute, Karl. I believe she's ready to do it. Before she changes her mind, I want you to talk to her and schedule an appointment for tomorrow morning, if you can.'
'I'll put in a call to her office.'
'Karl, she's not there now. Try her cell. Grant has the number. We need to get moving on this. I've done about all I can at the moment.' He was watching the midmorning traffic that was clogging the avenue. He always felt claustrophobic in a limo, even a stretch. The only time he felt free was when he was in the McDonnell Douglas chopper. When he was
'Don't you think that's a little pushy, W.B.? We shouldn't seem too anxious. Believe me, I've had a lot of experience with ambivalent patients.'
'All right. She should be back at her office sometime after lunch.'
I'll wait awhile and put in a call there.' He paused. 'When was the last time you saw. . Beta One? The situation at Park Avenue?'
'I don't want to discuss it over a cell, Karl.' This conversation was definitely a bad idea. 'She comes and goes. I think it's getting worse.'
'I'll try to get over there late this afternoon and look in on her,' Van de Vliet said. 'I want to see her every day.'
'Karl, we can't give up hope. Never give up hope.'
He clicked off the phone and thought about his crapshoot with God. Kristen had wanted to play, to experiment with the Beta. But nobody made her undergo the procedure. She should never-
His cell phone rang.
'Yeah.'
