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“It makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Talking with you is fascinating. I’ve learned more in the past day than I have in months.”
He smiled, the fatigue on his face slowly dissipating.
“If you would like, I can tell you more interesting stories over dinner tonight.”
Linda bit her lower lip as her heart thudded with excitement. She checked her watch and stood. She had to go, or she would be late for her appointment with Mrs. Orwell.
Moistening her lips, she grinned. “Do you like Italian food?”
Jane Orwell was a slender, stylish woman in her fifties. Her platinum hair was cut in a conservative bob, her posture rigid. Although Linda had met her on several occasions, each time she did it was like encountering a stranger. Whether it was from choice or practice, Mrs. Orwell emitted standoffish vibes.
“It’s a pleasure seeing you again, Ms. Coriola.”
Her handshake was firm but brief, before she invited her to take a seat in the chair facing her desk. Linda sat, putting her purse on the chair beside her.
Orwell cut right to the chase. “What can I do for you?”
Familiar with the clinic’s most influential director, Linda had done her homework. Her tone was all business, as was her attitude. Neither of them had time to waste.
“I heard about the innovative treatment Doctor Gerard Leon has created. He’s seen some amazing success in trials. I met with him the other day because I wanted to know more about his serum. I was shocked to learn it’s not being used yet here in the clinic. When I asked him why, he informed me that the Medicines and Healthcare Regulatory Agency have yet to authorize its use. Why haven’t you pushed for authorization, Mrs. Orwell? Why isn’t what could easily be a miraculous treatment available to those who need it most?”
For a brief second, the older woman was taken aback. Her nostrils flared. Linda had the distinct impression Orwell was about to ask how she dared demand any explanation. But since she knew how much money Linda and her family contributed to the clinic, she couldn’t afford to alienate such an important benefactor, and they both knew it.
Orwell linked her fingers on her desk, her long red nails glinting sharply in the light.
“Ms. Coriola, I don’t know how familiar you are with the MHRA’s policies,” she said, her voice patronizing. “While I don’t contest Doctor Leon’s talent and enthusiasm, the agency needs to be certain any drug they authorize is stable. They’ve requested more testing before they’ll consider approving the medication for commercial use.”
“But I understand his clinical trials are conclusive, and that his serum has cured six patients already. Isn’t that enough?”
Orwell gave a tight, condescending smile. “Not nearly. There are side effects to his serum that have to be taken into account.”
“All drugs have side effects. What matters is the balance between the beneficial effects and the negative ones. In this case, the side effects are far fewer than the current chemical toxins approved for use. Those six people were cured. Shouldn’t that be the bottom line? Don’t you want to see the children currently here, suffering as they are, cured? With your support and encouragement, the MHRA might be willing to broaden the trials and make the drug available to more patients.”
The skin on Orwell’s cheekbones tightened. The woman struggled to maintain her self-control. She didn’t like being challenged. Too bad.
“In an ideal world, yes, but we have rules we must abide by. I assure you I’m not a fan of bureaucracy either, but I have to respect it. If the MHRA says they need more time to study the long-term effects of this drug, then they do, but perhaps the agency will allow testing on additional volunteers.”
“Doctor Leon assures me the serum has been tested and is safe to use under medical supervision.”
“Doctor Leon is a scientist, not a member of the agency nor an administrator here,” Orwell snapped. “I’m the director of this clinic. I can’t afford a scandal by allowing the use of an as yet unapproved treatment. I have to respect protocols.”
“And how many children like Lara will die for the sake of your bloody protocols?”
Jane Orwell kept her composure. The woman had ice water for blood. There was only one way to deal with her, and that was to hit her where it hurt. Clearly, the human factor didn’t matter to her.
Linda took a deep breath. She didn’t like playing hardball, but it wasn’t the first time she’d had to do it.
“Has Doctor Leon patented his treatment formula yet?” she asked.
Jane Orwell shrugged her skinny shoulders. “He has.”
“Then, I assume he’s free to take his invention to another clinic where he might find more support for his endeavors, and the board might be willing to pressure the MHRA on his behalf.”
Orwell’s eyes narrowed, and her chin went up a notch.
“No, I’m afraid that’s not possible. He used HOPE’s funds and facilities for some of his research. According to our legal contract with him, while he holds the patent, the formula belongs to the HOPE Center for Cancer Research.”
Linda waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure with a good solicitor he can get out of that contract. In fact, Doctor Leon could build his own clinic.”
