Faces in the Rain Read Online Free

afford to antagonise them.
    â€˜Let’s examine what you do,’ Walters continued as if he was on to a winning point, ‘you buy up all these research groups and every now and again when there is a renewed stock-market interest in cancer or AIDS research you turn them over to another speculator for a profit just like a property developer.’
    â€˜That may happen in the States,’ Lloyd said, ‘but that’s not our aim.’
    â€˜Not your aim, but you may do it, right?’
    â€˜We’ve carefully thought through this proposal, Doctor,’ Lloyd replied less aggressively, ‘and we would bank on getting some drug developments out of Magenta, even if they weren’t for cancer.’
    As they argued I took a few more seconds to examine the faces of the board. One of them – a Dr Cassandra Morris – seemed less inclined to agree absolutely with Walters. She was a closet beauty doing everything she could to look plain; her black hair was swept up in a bun and she wore glasses that looked as if they belonged in the laboratory. Her eyes were big, penetrating and so vividly green that I wondered if she was wearing coloured contact lenses, and she had a straight, attractive nose with a notch of imperfection right in the middle of it. Though she wasn’t making use of natural physicalgifts, she dressed impressively in a dark business suit, with a red, grey and white striped cravat. Her body language divulged an independent mind; when the others nodded in support of Walters, her head was still. Once I caught her staring at me and I would have given quite a few pennies for her thoughts. The short bio on her in my notes said she was ‘chief research scientist, cancer division’. Morris was a freelance researcher with her own operation, and under contract to the Institute. She was highly thought of as one of the best in her field.
    I decided on a long shot.
    â€˜Let me say this,’ I said, using a politician’s cliche, ‘we would inject massive funds over and above our offer to you into new equipment.’ I pulled out a chequebook and began to scribble. ‘I’m willing to write any figure you need to get the equipment for your push to find a cure.’ My eyes held Morris’s again. ‘Just tell me. How much would you need?’ No one seemed brave enough to answer. Morris’s eyes examined her fingers as she leant right forward on the desk.
    â€˜Someone must have an idea,’ I added, looking at the other faces. ‘It’s only an offer. You can refuse it.’ I glanced back at Morris. ‘Dr Morris. You must have some idea.’
    â€˜It’s difficult to calculate off the top,’ she said. I liked her voice. It had an assertive resonance.
    â€˜A ball-park figure will do.’
    â€˜Never was good at ball games,’ she said.
    â€˜Roughly what would you need tomorrow to be shipshape for a proper research assault,’ I persisted, ‘four, five?’
    Walters sat back, arms folded, his expression dark. He had not looked at Morris but the tension generated was tangible.
    â€˜Yes,’ she nodded.
    I wrote out a cheque for five million and pushed it across the table at Walters.
    â€˜Ladies and gentlemen,’ I said, ‘the offer is on the table.’ Walters pushed it back. Morris reached down the table, held the cheque above the table and let it drop. Everyone watched it float and tumble.
    â€˜At least it didn’t bounce,’ she said.
    â€˜I really don’t think we need your style of company,’ Walters said. I stared at him. Surprisingly, he added, ‘but because the offer appears generous we will consider it and get back to you.’ As we left the Institute, Lloyd looked despondent.
    â€˜We needed them,’ he said, ‘but that Walters bastard won’t give us a ghost of a chance.’
    â€˜Wonder why he’s being so difficult?’
    â€˜Maybe he thinks we’d