The Prize

Farelli had his big hands on Garrett’s shoulders, rocking him with love. ‘Dr. Garrett, you are a genius, a genius! When everything is lost, there is nothing more to lose-but now, I can only think of what can be gained. We will work as we have never worked before. I will get hold of Öhman and obtain that embryonic heart tissue from the miscarriage-’

‘And I’ll start preparing the new anti-reactive serum.’

For an instant, Garrett’s mind was not on the serum, but on his recent past. He had the curious feeling that he would never know the end to Mrs. Zane’s amorous dilemma. He was sorry for that-that, and the loss of Dr. Keller, crutch and friend-but suddenly he knew he did not care. For the first time in what seemed eternity, he felt released of the genetic shackles that had bound him to shadowed ancestors. He wanted to sing, but he did not, for he could never carry a tune. So he sang inside, ever so briefly, until Farelli’s musical voice blended in to conduct him back to the present.

‘We will do this wonderful experiment together,’ Farelli was saying, with enthusiasm.

‘Yes,’ said Garrett, smiling at last, ‘for better or for worse.’

It would not be until three hours later that the electric duplicating machine in the clerical office of the Caroline Hospital began to revolve, imprinting Öhman’s official release to the press:

On behalf of His Royal Highness the King, the directors of the Stockholm Caroline Hospital are pleased to a

It was 11.14 in the morning.

Andrew Craig, one knee pressing his tan, lightweight valise to his bedroom floor, grunted as he tightened and fastened the straps of his luggage. Tired of awaiting Leah’s return from Dalarna, Craig had begun to empty his drawers and cupboard ten minutes before, throwing his effects helter-skelter, without care or economy, into his luggage. Now the necessary task was finished. What remained was to telephone the portier downstairs and request a boy to move his bag, and the formal evening suit he had left out on its hanger for the afternoon Ceremony, to the single room he had arranged to have for his last night in Stockholm. After that, there were two pieces of writing required of him-the curt, decisive note to Leah, and the speech he must create before five o’clock.

He lifted himself off the valise, carried it into the sitting-room, and then started back to his bedroom telephone, when the front door buzzer intercepted him. He expected it to be Leah, at last, and he would be spared writing the note to her. But it was a young page, instead, offering him a sealed envelope on a silver tray.

Somewhat mystified, Craig took the envelope, and told the page to wait a moment. Walking back to his bed, to find a one-krona tip in his sport jacket pocket, he tore open the envelope. On a single sheet of hotel stationery was hastily scrawled a brief message:

DEAR ANDREW, I have been thinking about everything, and I would like to see you once more, if you want to see me. I have something important to tell you. I’ll be in my room at 12.30 sharp. Ring me then. EMILY.

Craig came alive with hope. He read the message again, and then reread it a second time. Why had she put a boundary to their reunion-‘would like to see you once more’? And what was the ‘something important’ she had to tell him? His immediate elation now became earth-bound. Was this to be a courtesy farewell, a more sensible explanation as to why she would never see him after Stockholm? But then, he tried to see the brighter side of it. After an emotional breaking-off, she had reconsidered. She would see him. The message was almost affectionate. She would see him, and that was all that mattered, and after that, it would be up to him.

He remembered the page at the front door, quickly separated a one-krona coin from his copper and silver change, and hurried back to the bearer of good tidings.

Paying the page, he inquired, ‘Who gave you this note to deliver?’

‘A lady, sir.’

‘A pretty lady with dark hair and green eyes?’

‘I did not notice her eyes, sir, but she was very pretty.’

‘Was she coming in or going out?’

‘She was going out, sir.’

‘Thank you.’

Craig closed the door, read the note a fourth time as he returned to his bedroom, and decided that there would be no use in trying to get in touch with Emily earlier than she had suggested. She was out, probably last-minute shopping, and hope would have to be deferred until 12.30. Then he realized that he had forgotten to ask the page to move his valise and evening clothes.

Before he could reach the telephone, he heard the front door slam. He stopped short, listening. He heard footsteps. Someone was in the sitting-room. Was it the chambermaid, or was it-?

He went into the sitting-room.

Leah Decker was removing her hat and coat before the mirror, and when he emerged from the bedroom, she saw the reflection of him join her in the mirror.

‘Andrew-’

She dropped coat and hat in the nearest chair, and turned towards him, her severely bu

She started towards him. ‘Andrew, it was divine up north. You simply haven’t been to Sweden until you’ve seen Lake Siljan in the winter-everyone ice skating and skiing-and tobogganing-like back home-only so much more fun. I think we should-’

Her eyes had gone past the tan valise, bulging, strapped, travelled back to it, considered it, and then met his own gaze with puzzlement.

‘You packed by yourself. Why the hurry? We aren’t leaving until tomorrow night.’

He knew that he would not be writing the note to her. ‘You are leaving tomorrow night-by yourself. I am leaving when I please-by myself. Starting right now. This is our last time together.’

‘Andrew! Have you been drinking or what?’

‘Get off it, Lee.’

Suddenly she made the pretence of understanding his motive. ‘Oh-I bet I know what’s got into you. You tried to see your German girl friend, and she told you I-’

‘I won’t even bother about that,’ said Craig. ‘God knows, that was bad enough-but the other thing you’ve done is infinitely worse. You’ve behaved like an unbelievable weekend bitch in an old Broadway play. You’ve saddled me with a lie I never deserved. I won’t forgive you for it, and I never want to set eyes on you again.’

Leah was a study in confusion. ‘Andrew, I haven’t the faintest idea what’s-’

‘You haven’t? You really haven’t? You can’t think of one rotten thing you’ve done to me in the last-’

‘No, of course not!’

‘How convenient-Instant Amnesia,’ said Craig bitterly. ‘All right, maybe I can help refresh your memory. Ever since Harriet’s death, you’ve led me to believe I was responsible. I had some drinks, and lost control of the car, and I killed my wife. That’s been the story, hasn’t it?’

Leah’s eyes had widened, and involuntarily her hand had gone to her cheek, elbow extended, as if ready to avert a blow.