The Blue Rose

by Anthony Eglin

  ‘Whenever you say so, Kate. All I have to do is let Nell know we’re coming up. It’s going to take two of us, though, to transplant a rose that size. It’ll require some muscle. Do you think you could come up with me, Alex?’

  ‘Absolutely. We can go this Saturday, if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘Actually, Saturday would be perfect, I’ve got the day off.’

  ‘I wish I could go with you,’ Kate said, ‘but I have to be at the shop on Saturday. They’re delivering the things I bought at the auction last week.’

  Vicky took a sip of wine and twiddled the stem of the glass on the table. ‘By the way, Alex, it might be a good idea if we plan to stay overnight. Do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all, as long as Kate doesn’t mind me running off for the weekend with another woman,’ he said grinning at Kate. ‘But you’re right, it is a pretty good hike up there.’

  Vicky smiled. ‘It makes sense, considering the time it’ll take to plant the rose properly. Besides, I know Aunt Nell will insist on it and I wouldn’t want to disappoint her. She’ll really enjoy the company. She gets so few visitors these days.’

  On Saturday morning, Vicky woke just before dawn. She had spent the night at The Parsonage so they could get an early start. Pulling aside the bedroom curtain, she peeked outside. There was enough light, she decided.

  Before they got the blue rose out of the ground she wanted to take the cuttings. Now was as good a time as any. She put on her sweater and jeans and crept quietly downstairs, careful not to step on Asp, who was curled up at the foot of the stairs.

  With sharp pruning shears, she removed a few of the blooms. Kate was going to attempt drying them. Next, she carefully snipped off twelve slender canes just below a leaflet, removing all the leaves save a couple at the top. She then dipped the lower end of each eight-inch cutting in a hormone rooting compound, after which she planted each of them in its own plastic pot filled with a specially prepared potting medium. After watering them, she enclosed each pot in a clear plastic bag to simulate a minigreenhouse. The whole procedure took less than fifteen minutes.

  She carefully placed the pots in an old wooden crate and carried it up to the garden shed where Kate had made a space for them. On the way back from Nell’s tomorrow she planned to pick them up and take them to the nursery for safekeeping. Eventually she would transplant them into larger containers.

  Carrying the rose blooms for Kate in a basket, she went back up to the house to make a pot of tea.

  Getting Sapphire out of the ground proved more difficult than they had imagined. Vicky stressed the importance of keeping the largest possible ball of soil around the roots, to avoid root damage. The less disturbance the better, she had insisted. To minimize shock to the rose when it was uprooted, and make digging easier, Alex had thoroughly soaked the surrounding ground the night before.

  To begin with, the spade sliced easily through the soft, moist earth on the surface. But the deeper Alex dug, the harder the earth became. The roots were unusually thick and deeply anchored for a rose – even an old rose. As Vicky levered up the big root ball with her shovel, Alex gradually wrapped the sheet of burlap around the ball, securing it with twine around the main cane just above the crown. At times, his face was perilously close to the dense red thorns bristling on the branching canes. Seen from inches away, they took on a vaguely menacing beauty.

  They stood back for a moment, gawking at the cavernous hole that remained. Asp seized the moment to jump into it and start burrowing madly, determined to make it even deeper. Shooing him out, Alex filled it in and raked the surface smooth. With Alex and Vicky on either side, their hands under the root ball, they heaved Sapphire on to the waiting wheelbarrow. Alex figured that the sack held close to a hundred pounds of soil. With a lot of grunting, they hoisted it into the back of the van. Resting on a shallow box filled with small wood chips, it was tied on either side to the slats on the inside walls to make doubly sure there was no movement. Satisfied that Sapphire would enjoy the trip in comfort they walked up to the house to say goodbye to Kate.

  ‘Be careful while we’re gone,’ Alex said, giving Kate a hug. ‘If that American chap–’

  ‘Alex, please don’t worry. In another fifteen minutes, I’m going to the shop. I’ll be there all day. I’m staying with Peg and Stuart tonight – then back at the shop tomorrow. I’d call that pretty safe, wouldn’t you?’

  After promises to phone, they debated briefly whether Asp should stay with Kate or go with Alex and Vicky. While Kate often took him to the shop, she was reluctant to take him to Peg’s house overnight. Looking at him across the courtyard, sitting in the cab of the van, with his little red tongue bobbing in and out, they decided that he would enjoy the trip to Shropshire.

  As they turned out of the drive on to the road, Alex adjusted the rear view mirror. In it, he could see Kate, still waving.

  ‘We’d best take it nice and easy, Alex,’ Vicky said. ‘The less trauma the better. Besides, I don’t think this old van is used to marathon drives.’

  Alex laughed. ‘Frankly I’m not sure, after all that wine last night, whether I’m up for a long drive either.’

  Unnoticed by Alex, a dark-coloured BMW pulled on to the road behind them.

  The journey was uneventful. They arrived at Aunt Nell’s house in the late afternoon. It was located out of sight from the road, at the end of a narrow curving lane. Clumps of grass in the middle of the lane indicated that few cars had passed over it for some time. The hedge on either side was tall and overgrown. Prickly, snaking canes of dog rose and blackberry clawed against the van as they passed. Alex parked the van on a gravel patch under an old apple tree. Asp leaped out of Alex’s door and was already off exploring, sniffing up and down the hedgerow, as they both got out to give Sapphire a quick check. The rose appeared to be none the worse for the journey.

  As they approached Nell’s modest two-storey brick Victorian house, Alex stopped to peer over a side gate. All he could see was a tangled mess of dense foliage that had once been a garden. ‘You’re right Vicky. They’ll have a bloody hard time finding Sapphire here,’ he said.

  A diminutive white-haired woman stood at the open front door. ‘Hello, Vicky,’ she said with an affectionate smile. Then she half turned to Alex. ‘You must be Alex,’ she added.

  With her snowy hair tied in an unruly bun, periwinkle-blue eyes, ruddy cheeks and floral print frock, she was the quintessential aunt. Right out of Central Casting, thought Alex.

  ‘That’s me,’ he said, returning her smile. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Aunt Nell.’

  ‘I would imagine you both must be ready for a grownup’s drink.’

  Alex knew immediately that he would get on famously with her.

  A few minutes later, they sat in her small parlour in comfortable wicker chairs warmed by an aromatic wood fire crackling in the hearth. Alex had opted for scotch, not knowing that Aunt Nell poured it like lemonade. She and Vicky had settled for tea.

  Aunt Nell poked a log in the inglenook fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. ‘What’s all this hush-hush stuff about then, Vicky?’ she asked, blithely.

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t tell you too much on the phone. The upshot is that Alex here, and his wife, Kate, discovered this rare type of rose on their property. We have it in the back of the van. There’s a big chance that it could be quite valuable.’

  ‘My heavens! All this fuss over a rose. What makes it so special?’ Aunt Nell peered at Alex over the top of her bifocals.

  ‘Only one thing, actually, Nell. The rose is an unusual colour. There’s never been one like it before. Ever.’

  ‘It’s sort of a botanical aberration,’ Alex said.

  Nell gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘A freak of nature,’ Vicky chimed in. ‘We know that people in the business are desperate to get their hands on it. In fact, the word is already out. The people advising Alex and Kate have warned them to be careful.’

  ‘My goodness, how exciting,’
said Nell, her eyes twinkling away.

  ‘That’s why we thought of your garden, Auntie. We decided, on their recommendation, to hide the rose for a while – at least until we decide what to do with it. Only the three of us, Kate and a professor, will know where the rose is hidden. By the way, we’ve nicknamed the rose Sapphire.’

  Nell raised her eyebrows. ‘A blue rose?’

  ‘Yes, believe it or not, that’s what it is,’ Vicky said.

  ‘My goodness gracious, I suppose that is a trifle unusual.’

  ‘To say the least,’ Alex added.

  ‘You mentioned a professor, Vicky.’

  ‘Yes, a retired professor, actually. His specialty is botany – taught at Edinburgh University. He’s examined the rose and says that it’s real.’

  ‘How exciting,’ Nell enthused. ‘Well, it should certainly be safe here, wouldn’t you think? I hardly ever go out there any more. Only to give the birds a few crumbs now and then. Don’t know if you could see much when you drove in, but it’s an unsightly mess. We’ve never been ones for gardening. Even when Ben was alive he never took much interest. Always off down to the pub the minute he got some time off. Lord knows, Vicky, I wish I could afford a gardener but, for me, that would be a total waste of money. In any case it’s hard to find chaps who want to work at it these days – everybody’s so lazy and unreliable. Have to watch ’em like a hawk,’ she chortled.

  Vicky got up and put her cup and saucer on the tray. ‘We don’t expect the rose to be here long. When this is all over, I’ll come down and give you a hand. At least tidy the garden up a bit. You might enjoy it out there in the summer. I’m sure Alex and Kate would love to come and see you too.’

  ‘You’ll like Kate a lot,’ said Alex, starting to feel the effect of the king-size scotch. ‘I’ll come back any time you’ll have me.’

  ‘Well, you leave Spitfire, or whatever her name is, out there as long as you please, dear. You must be jolly hungry after that long drive. Will Cornish pasties be all right? Made them this morning. You look as if you’re ready for another one,’ she said with a knowing grin, grabbing Alex’s glass out of his hand before he had a chance to decline.

  ‘Spitfire,’ said Alex after she’d left the room. ‘That’s funny. It may turn out to be more appropriate than Sapphire.’

  The next morning Alex was jolted out of a blissful sleep by what he first thought was a pneumatic drill. It was the old-fashioned wind-up alarm clock Nell had left by the bed. ‘Just as bloody well I don’t have a weak heart,’ he mumbled. He got dressed and went down to the kitchen to feed Asp and see if he could find some coffee. Nell had thoughtfully left everything out for them: coffee, tea, sugar, cups, and a loaf of fresh bread. Not five minutes later, as the coffee was starting to percolate, Vicky joined him. ‘That alarm clock probably woke up half the population of Market Drayton,’ she said, in the midst of a lengthy yawn. ‘Nell must wear ear plugs.’

  Outside, it was unseasonably nippy and a thin mist robbed the garden of all colour. It looked even more of a shambles than it had yesterday. For the best part it was nothing more than an impenetrable mass of brambles, overgrown shrubs and tortured coils of rambling roses and vines. Trying to negotiate a path through it was frustrating. Only a chain saw would have made any real forward progress possible. After ten minutes, Alex and Vicky finally came across a suitable home for Sapphire: a long kidney-shaped flowerbed that had miraculously evaded the encroaching wilderness, providing a rare stretch of earth where enough sunlight penetrated for the rose to flourish. It was well out of sight.

  Alex set about digging the hole while Vicky went to fetch Sapphire. Earlier, they had lifted the rose from the van into a decrepit wheelbarrow that had probably seen neither oil nor use in the last quarter century. After several unsuccessful attempts to get the wheelbarrow moving, she finally had to call Alex for help. The rose was simply too heavy for her to handle alone.

  ‘Remember the old saying, “It’s better to plant a five-quid rose in a ten-quid hole than vice versa,”’ Vicky said, as she watched the pile of soil alongside Alex getting higher.

  ‘The hole’s more important than the rose, eh?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Gonna be shaking hands with an Aussie soon, if I go much deeper.’

  ‘Tell you what, Alex. Lay the shovel across the hole and we’ll measure the depth. We need plenty of extra space for the compost that’s going in there.’

  Vicky decided that the ‘crater’, as Alex called it, was wide and deep enough. She up-ended the large bag of compost and shook it into the hole. As she did so, Alex spaded it in with the earth.

  ‘How’s it going, you two?’ It was Nell carrying two bottles of mineral water. ‘Thought you might be thirsty with all that digging.’ She handed them each a bottle.

  Alex took a long swig. ‘Mmm, that’s good. Thanks, Nell. The hardest part’s done, I think.’

  ‘That’s an awfully large hole for that bitty rose, isn’t it?’ Nell asked, eyeing the wheelbarrow.

  ‘We’re playing it really safe,’ Vicky replied.

  All this time, Alex had been fighting a losing battle to keep Asp from jumping in the hole. ‘Nell,’ he said, ‘could you take Asp till we’re finished here. I’m going to bury the little chap if I’m not careful.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Nell, picking up Asp and tucking him under her arm. ‘Well, you don’t need me here – I’ve got some ironing to do.’ She turned and walked back toward the house, and Alex and Vicky turned their attention back to Sapphire.

  ‘Let’s run some water in the hole to check the drainage.’ Vicky looked up at Alex and smiled. ‘Then we can introduce Sapphire to her new home.’

  With effort, they managed to lift the rose off the wheelbarrow. With short shuffling steps they walked it the short distance to the hole. Just as they were about to lower the heavy root ball, Vicky stumbled and lost her grip. The weight was too heavy for Alex. He couldn’t hold it. The rose hit the ground with a soft thump and the thorny canes whipped around, raking Vicky’s arm. A five-inch tear in the sleeve of her white shirt was instantly soaking up blood like blotting paper.

  ‘Damn! That hurt,’ she said, gritting her teeth and grasping her forearm tightly.

  ‘We’d better get up to the house – clean that out with some hydrogen peroxide and put a bandage on it. They look like pretty deep gashes to me,’ Alex said, taking her free arm and leading her back to the house.

  In a matter of a few minutes, Aunt Nell, working calmly and efficiently, had treated and bandaged Vicky’s arm.

  ‘I’ll leave you two together, then,’ she said, getting up from the kitchen chair and walking over to the sink to rinse her hands. ‘I’ve got to go and call my neighbour, Arthur. He’s got some tomatoes for me.’

  ‘Rotten bit of luck, that,’ said Alex, after Nell had left the room. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll finish up out there,’ he said, getting up from his chair.

  ‘No, I’m fine, Alex.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Before all this business started, I’d always thought of roses as being beautiful and benign,’ he said. ‘But this one’s getting to be positively dangerous.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, Alex. It was just an accident. It’s not the first time I’ve been attacked by a rose. I’ll be fine. And so will Sapphire.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The morning rose that untouch’d stands

  Arm’d with her briers, how sweet she smells!

  But pluck’d and strain’d through ruder hands,

  Her sweets no longer with her dwells.

  Sir Robert Aytoun

  Kenji Tanaka – Ken, as he preferred to be called – stared out of the window of his tastefully appointed Hampstead Heath flat, lost in thought as he sipped from the cup of hot green tea. His tea ritual was one of the few Japanese customs that had endured from his childhood in San Francisco, where his maternal grandmother had raised him. Ken was fifty-two, but
could pass easily for a man twenty years younger. His hair was neatly barbered, jet black and shiny. He had yet to discover – and he searched conscientiously every day – a single lurking grey hair. At a glance his Asian ancestry was not readily apparent. This was due, in good part, to a fastidiously trimmed moustache and narrow beard that circled his lower face drawing attention to his thin-lipped mouth. Everything else about him – his choice of clothes (expensive London boutiques), taste, demeanour and general lifestyle – was distinctly Western. His speech, a deceptive mix of American and cultured English, bore no trace whatsoever of Japanese, despite the fact that – thanks to his grandmother – he spoke the language fluently.

  Tanaka had lived in London for nearly twenty years, enjoying a civilized and comfortable life made possible by brokering art and real estate to wealthy Japanese individuals and corporations. Despite his being a nisei – born in America of Japanese immigrants – he had developed, through family and friends, a network of important business contacts in Japan.

  He was contemplating his good fortune, thinking about the phone conversation he’d had two weeks earlier with a business acquaintance, Roger Maltby. Roger was an executive with Bonham’s, the London auctioneers in Knightsbridge. It wasn’t at all unusual for Roger to give him advance notice about forthcoming auctions. But this particular auction, he had said, was not about paintings or antiques. It was a rose that was going on the block. Ken had started to laugh but quickly stopped when Roger told him the rose was blue. ‘It’s the world’s first ever blue rose and it’s going to break every auction record in the book. I’m talking huge money,’ he said. And Ken Tanaka was desperately in need of money.

  It was almost a year to the day since he had made a deposit into his brokerage and bank accounts. Three years ago, before the dotcom collapse, and before the Japanese art and real estate buyers had bailed out of the market, his portfolio in stocks, bonds and cash was over two million dollars. His most recent Schwab statement and his TD Waterhouse retirement account totalled little more than £25,000. Allowing for fixed monthly expenses and curtailed spending, only for day-to-day living, it would all be gone within a few months. Borrowing was out of the question, he had no tangible assets or equity of any kind. For the first time in his life he would be broke. Even now, he refused to accept that possibility. The humiliation alone would be more than he could take.