Alchemist by Peter James Read Free Book Online Page A

tucking into his meal and chatting convivially, mostly about genetics, more as if he were at a dinner party with favourite colleagues than at an interview on which his future might depend.
    Rorke ate and drank with gusto as well; in contrast, Dr Crowe cut his food one sliver at a time, his slender fingers manipulating his cutlery with surgical deftness. Almost as a foil to Rorke’s cheery ebullience, he sat quietly, whilst studying Monty and her father with alert, steely eyes that missed nothing.
    He was a lean, sharp-featured man of fifty-two, with a narrow equine face, and his eyes were abnormally close together, giving an intensity to his gaze that Monty found rather unsettling. His lips were strange also, she thought. They were very thin, with a vermilion hue that stood out against his alabaster complexion, their effect being to make him look rather effete.
    She had done her homework on Crowe and had been impressed by his background. It was rare in the pharmaceutical industry to have a chief exec who was a scientist, and Crowe undoubtedly could have had a very brilliant career in research if he’d chosen. He had graduated from Cambridge with a double first in biology and pharmacology, then gone to the United States where he had done his masters at John Hopkins on the immune system.
    Back in Britain he’d spent three years as a research fellow at the Imperial Cancer Research Foundation. He’d then joined the Clinical Trials division of the Bendix Schere Foundation and become head of it after two years. At the age of thirty-six he was made the youngest main board director in the history of the company. Ten years later, in 1986, he was appointed Chief Executive on the sudden death of his predecessor, who was killed when the company jet crashed in mysterious circumstances during a routine visit to the Bendix Schere manufacturing plant in the Philippines.
    Whilst Rorke was a man who had clearly reached the top through inborn leadership quality and force of personality, Crowe struck Monty as more of a manipulator. She had not taken a dislike to him, but at the same time had not warmed towards him in the way she had to Rorke. Yet she knew there were big advantages for her father in having a fellow scientist at the top of the company, because at least they could talk the same language.
    Dick Bannerman pushed a wedge of cheese into his mouth, chewing ruminatively. ‘Sir Neil, one of the things that’s always struck me as curious is the obsession with secrecy that your company – foundation – seems to have.’
    Monty looked at the three men anxiously. This was the first hint of hostility from her father. Crowe impassively snapped a biscuit in half; in the silence it sounded like a gunshot.
    Rorke smiled, and opened his hands expansively. ‘A very reasonable query, Dr Bannerman.’
    Monty had noticed that, in spite of the conviviality of the luncheon, their hosts had made no overtures about relaxing the formalities and moving to first-name terms.
    â€˜You see,’ Rorke continued, ‘in our industry we encounter opposition from a great many sources. People object to the mark-ups we make on prescription pharmaceuticals, forgetting that the cost today of developing a new drug and bringing it to the market is upwards of one hundred million pounds, and that we only have a limited patent life in which to recoup those costs. And there are some very unpleasant fanatics among the Animal Rights lot – quite frankly as dangerous as some political terrorist groups. We keep information about our company secret to protect the shareholders, the directors and our staff. Simple as that.’
    â€˜Would you be prepared to divulge the shareholders to me?’
    After a brief exchanged glance with Crowe, Rorke smiled amiably. ‘We’re going to put a proposal to you today, Dr Bannerman. If you accept it, I’m sure you’ll find there are no secrets kept from you.’
    Dick