The Blue Rose

by Anthony Eglin

  Early in the morning, three days after Vicky was admitted to the hospital, the phone had woken them. Kate had somehow known it would be the hospital. She and Alex had been calling frequently, inquiring about Vicky’s condition, only to learn that there was no improvement. If anything it was worsening.

  The physician who had called that morning to inform them of Vicky’s death, a Dr Simon Maclean, had more or less confirmed what they already expected, that Vicky’s death was attributable to an unknown virus. He said that when the pathology tests were complete – within the next twenty-four hours – he hoped to be able to provide a more accurate cause of death. He thanked Kate for putting them in touch with Vicky’s father, saying that the hospital had contacted him and that he was on his way down from Scotland.

  Soft shadows were starting to melt in and out as the watery sunlight rose over the east wall. She inhaled deeply and looked dolefully about her. Her eyes were still red from crying. On her right, haughty spires of back-lit foxgloves swayed ever so gently. She touched one lightly as she passed. She looked up and wiped her eyes for the hundredth time. Above her, rambling roses showered blossoms, like sea foam, out of trees. At the periphery of her vision she caught a darting flash of blue. A kingfisher, perhaps. She came to a black wrought-iron bench and sat down. Staring forlornly into space, she let go and allowed the images of Vicky to project on her mind. They were powerfully real.

  Vicky’s death had overshadowed everything. The funeral service, in her home town of Aberdeen, had been simple and brief. Kate finally got to meet Alex’s favourite Aunt Nell, who had accompanied them on the train. Vicky’s nursery partner, Jill, also made the long trip. Sitting on the hard pew in the little stone church, clutching Alex’s hand, Kate had somehow managed to suppress visions of Vicky and the tears that were so near the surface. Those would come later.

  Kate got up, crossed her hands in front of her, grasping her forearms and rubbing them for warmth. She ambled up the path and set her mind to focus on more hopeful thoughts, thoughts of their new home and garden, of her deepening love for Alex. Over the last several days, she’d seen yet another side of him; the caring manner in which he had responded to Vicky’s plight, his calm and selflessness in shouldering the ensuing responsibilities. They’d never shared bereavement before. She was so thankful to have someone with his level-headedness and compassion to help her through it.

  Then there was The Parsonage and, of course, the question of the blue rose and the enormity of wealth that might – or now, with Graham’s recent bombshell, might not – be coming their way. Over the last several days she had finally been able to overcome her initial panic at the idea of losing The Parsonage. Despite his own distrust and contempt for Graham, Alex had managed finally to persuade her to disregard Graham’s callous threat. The paragraph proposing the compromise was quite specific – perfectly clear – Alex maintained. The Cookes were prepared to overlook voiding the transaction on the house as long as she and Alex agreed to turn over the rose.

  It was hard to accept the fact that millions of pounds were about to slip through their fingers. While she still struggled with the idea of equating a simple flower with such a vast fortune, Alex took it all in his stride. Over the last weeks, it appeared that he was growing more and more accustomed to the idea of being super rich. Whether that would now be the case was up in the air – up to the lawyers.

  But The Parsonage was another matter entirely. Whatever happened, they mustn’t lose that, too. While waiting for the outcome of Graham’s challenge, she could only pin her hopes on Alex’s conviction that their house was not in jeopardy. ‘Don’t worry, Kate, the lawyers will sort it out,’ he kept reassuring her.

  That made her think of Adell. He had called immediately after receiving the copy of Stanhope’s letter, to say that because he’d been under the weather he had only taken a cursory look at it. After Kate pressed him for his thoughts on the Cookes’ claim, his answer had been ambiguous and unconvincing. He had said merely that his first-blush assessment found it frivolous but that he needed more time to evaluate it.

  Adell had been more emphatic on the matter of the missing journal Graham claimed to possess, and the possibility that a formula might now exist whereby the rose could be cloned. He had gone on to allow that for it to be taken seriously the hybridizing formula could never be accepted simply on its face value. It would obviously have to be proven viable: that following its prescription would conclusively result in the creation of a blue rose. That could take three or more years to be validated. He added that as a routine procedure, he planned to make a request that the missing journal be presented for their inspection.

  With Vicky’s death and now the business with Graham, she’d almost forgotten about the American. She was surprised he hadn’t made further contact. Then there was the man who had sent them the letter too – Tanaka. Had they heard the last from either of them? Somehow, she doubted it. ‘What a bloody mess,’ she said quietly, kicking the gravel at her feet.

  As she walked back to the house her mood lightened. She had an idea. Before taking Nell back to Market Drayton today, they would stop off in Marlborough. That would cheer them both up. They would have a lovely lunch at the Polly Tea Rooms and she could return the library books and pick up Alex’s painting that was ready at the frame shop.

  At the reception after the funeral Kate and Alex had suggested that Nell come back with them before going home to Shropshire. After a phone call to her neighbour who was looking after her cat, it was settled. As a result, Nell had been their guest for the last three days. And Kate had enjoyed every single minute. She was going to be truly sorry to see Nell go.

  As if someone had used an atomizer, the air became perfumed. Kate had brushed against a clump of lavender humming with bees. The scent rekindled memories of rainy days when, as a small child, she would secretly forage through the drawers of her mother’s scented bedroom chests, looking for dresses and shoes to try on.

  It was at times like these that Kate missed her mother desperately. Her father too, but in a different way. She had never really had the opportunity to get to know him well. While she was growing up he was always on the road, working as a district sales manager for a car-parts manufacturing company. He had died in a car accident when she was in grammar school. She would never forget coming home from school that rainy day to be told the tragic news. Her grief-stricken mother had never fully recovered from the loss. It was as if a part of her had died with him. She now lived in America, in a suburb of Boston, with her younger sister, moving there shortly after Kate and Alex married. Kate would have loved to have her mother here this very moment, so she could see the house and the garden in its present glory. Soon after they’d moved in, Kate had sent her photos of The Parsonage, but somehow none of the pictures did the place justice. She would call her later. It had been at least two weeks since they’d last spoken. The prospect cheered her.

  She paused at the sight of an old rose bush in full bloom. Stooping, she read its marker: La Reine Victoria. The sight and scent were overpowering. ‘This is really all about roses, isn’t it?’ she muttered under her breath. An old man’s infatuation turned obsession with roses. What would the Major say, she wondered, if he knew what had happened since she and Alex had become custodians of his garden and his beloved roses? Come to think of it, why hadn’t he announced to the world the miracle he’d wrought? Odd, she thought.

  Her most recent tally of the roses in the garden added up to two hundred and ten different types. With few exceptions, they were old varieties: Gallicas, Damasks, Albas, Bourbons and the like. Old, meaning that the ‘youngsters’ in the garden were varieties dating from the nineteenth century. But the lineage of some of the senior citizens, like the Gallica roses, could be traced back through many centuries. She remembered quite clearly the day at the nursery when Vicky had told her that the oldest and the most famous of all the Gallicas was a rose called Officinalis – also known as the Apothecary’s rose, because of its medicinal use. It
was the red rose, she said, chosen by the House of Lancaster during the Wars of the Roses, which started in 1455.

  ‘Kate! There’s a phone call for you – Kate!’

  Looking up toward the house she saw Alex on the veranda in his dressing gown. ‘Oh, there you are,’ he called down. ‘It’s Peg – she wants to know whether you want her to work tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll be right up,’ she replied.

  Peg ran the antiques shop when Kate wasn’t there. Thank goodness she’d been able to fill in these last few days.

  Kate walked up to Alex and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, brushing away the moisture from her cheek.

  ‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She gave him a melancholy smile. ‘Where’s Nell?’

  Alex nodded in the direction of the house. ‘She’s in the kitchen. Lord knows what she’s cooking up in there. When I last peeked in, she had practically every pot and pan we own pressed into service. The woman should run a restaurant.’

  Kate managed a smile.

  Yesterday evening, Alex and Kate had tried to persuade Nell to stay a couple more days but she was insistent on returning home. ‘Guests are like fish,’ she reminded them. ‘For two or three days, everything’s fine, but beyond that, the place starts to stink up a bit.’

  This morning she was cooking ‘a proper English breakfast’, as she put it, for the three of them. The night before, she’d conjured up ‘a proper English dinner’, except for the Scottish trifle; and earlier, ‘a real English luncheon’.

  After chatting with Peg for a couple of minutes, Kate entered the kitchen to find Alex already seated at the table, staring at his steaming plate with undisguised relish. ‘Gosh! What a treat,’ he said, looking at Kate with eyebrows raised.

  In front of him, still sizzling, was a formidable array of sausages, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, sauteed potatoes, fried tomatoes, fried bread – even fried kidneys.

  ‘I was going to do kippers too, but I didn’t, because I thought that might be a little too much,’ Nell shouted from the depths of the kitchen.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Kate stage-whispered, sitting down across from Alex, eyeing the greasy assortment of food on his plate.

  Nell entered carrying Kate’s breakfast and a large teapot. ‘Here’s some nice strong tea,’ she said, joining them at the table.

  ‘Well, I must say, Nell, you’ve done it again,’ Kate said, raising her knife and fork. ‘I can’t remember when we last had such a hearty–’ She was interrupted by the phone ringing.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ said Alex, getting up from his chair. ‘I’m expecting a call from a client, Mrs Hendrickson. I’ll take it in the living room.’

  ‘The lady of the loos,’ Kate quipped.

  Alex picked up the ringing phone, fully expecting a ruffled Mrs Hendrickson.

  ‘Hello?’ he said.

  ‘Mr Sheppard?’

  It certainly wasn’t Mrs Hendrickson. The man’s voice was cultured and completely unfamiliar to Alex.

  ‘Yes? Who is this?’

  ‘This is Ken Tanaka, Mr Sheppard. I’m calling about the letter I sent you.’

  Damn. It was the other man after the rose. Hadn’t he passed Tanaka’s letter on to Adell? Yes, he had. ‘Do I need this?’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Yes, Mr Tanaka. I recall your letter. But surely you must have heard from my solicitor by now?’

  ‘I did, sir. My client, however, is not interested in being part of the auction. He wants–’

  ‘Excuse me, Mr Tanaka,’ Alex snapped, ‘it doesn’t matter to me what your client wants, we aren’t selling the rose, our solicitor is. And that’s my final word on the subject, I’m afraid.’

  ‘That is unacceptable to my client.’

  ‘Well, then – that’s just too bad.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand. You’re passing up an incredible opportunity – an offer in the several millions. Why don’t I meet with you, to discuss it in more detail? I’ll be happy to come to your house, if you prefer.’

  ‘No, absolutely not. We’ve got a houseguest right now – and I don’t appreciate being bothered at home.’

  ‘I will pay you well for your time.’

  ‘Mr Tanaka, I appreciate the generous offer, but I’m afraid–’

  ‘Would a thousand pounds for fifteen minutes of your time make you change your mind?’

  ‘Mr Tanaka. I really must say no.’

  ‘Unfortunately my client will not take no for an answer.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I won’t quibble with you, sir. Two thousand.’

  He could hire somebody to do Mrs Hendrickson’s drawings for that amount of money. ‘Stop, please, Mr Tanaka. I have to go.’

  ‘No, please wait–’

  ‘I have to go. Please discuss it with Mr Adell. Goodbye.’

  He hung up before Tanaka raised the ante to the point where he would really start to listen.

  He walked back into the kitchen, where Kate and Nell were chattering away.

  ‘You’ll never guess who that was,’ Alex said.

  ‘Not Kingston, was it?’ asked Kate.

  ‘No. It was our friend, Mr Tanaka.’

  ‘The one who wrote the letter?’

  ‘That one, yes.’

  Kate frowned. ‘Why was he calling?’ she asked.

  ‘He wanted to come down here and talk with you and me personally, Kate. He also offered to pay us two thousand pounds just to listen to his proposal. Can you believe it?’

  Kate looked perturbed. ‘What a nerve.’ She put a hand across her mouth. ‘He’s not coming, I hope,’ she said quietly.

  ‘No, of course not. He kept insisting but I told him that it wouldn’t do any good.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope that’s the end of it,’ said Kate.

  Alex sat back down at the table. ‘I wonder if Graham will have anything to say this afternoon,’ he said, stabbing a congealed chipolata sausage. He sliced off a small piece, palmed it and, when Kate and Nell weren’t looking, slipped it under the table where Asp was curled up by his chair.

  ‘Very little, I would imagine.’

  A few days earlier, a secretary from Stanhope’s office had called requesting the return of the journals that Graham had lent them. Rather than take them all the way to Stanhope’s office in Newbury, it was agreed that the journals could be dropped off at Graham’s house on the outskirts of Bath. A date was established when Graham would be home to receive them and make sure that they were all in good order. Alex was delivering them that afternoon at three o’clock.

  Letting out a sigh, Alex placed his knife and fork tidily on his empty plate. He looked across the table at Kate and grimaced. ‘You know, Kate, the thought of having to see that twit again is really off-putting.’

  ‘I’m sure it will be nice and brief. Just drop the books off, that’s all. Anyway you’ll have good old Lawrence with you.’

  Alex sighed. ‘Don’t worry, Kate. I’m not going to punch Graham out, for God’s sake.’

  Alex picked up Asp and sat him in his lap. ‘By the way, Kate, since you’ll probably be late getting back from Nell’s this evening, I told Lawrence we would all eat at the Royal Oak tonight, if that’s okay with you.’

  ‘That’s fine, Alex. It’ll be nice to see him again.’

  ‘Guess I’m going to be saddled with him most of the day,’ Alex said in a disgruntled tone.

  ‘Oh, come on, Alex. Can’t you be just a tad more charitable as far as Kingston’s concerned?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like him, Kate – I do. But, at times, he can be so…condescending, so pompous. It’s almost embarrassing.’ He noted that Kate was smiling. ‘It’s not funny, Kate.’

  She reached across the table and put her hand on his. She squeezed gently. ‘I have a feeling that whether we like it or not, Kingston might be around for a while longer. Just try to be a little nicer to him – a little more appreciative, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘You have to admit,’
she added, ‘he has been very helpful with the rose and he is entertaining. In a funny sort of way, I grant you. I vote we keep him for a while.’

  Alex sighed. ‘As you said, we may not have much choice.’

  ‘Here we are. About a hundred yards, you’ll see my lane on the right,’ said Nell.

  Kate flicked on her signal and slowed for the turn. Unnoticed, a couple of hundred feet behind, a black Jeep also reduced speed.

  ‘You’re probably ready for a nice afternoon nap, I would imagine,’ Kate remarked, glancing at Nell.

  ‘Later maybe. First things first. I’ve got to go up to Arthur’s house to pick up Buttons, my kitty, and the mail, and the newspapers. Through all this, Arthur’s been a real dear. Think I’ll cook him a really nice dinner one night this week. He loves liver and bacon.’

  ‘I’d like to take a quick look at the rose, too, before I leave. With all the wet weather we’ve had lately, I’m sure it’s survived perfectly well. Anyway, we’re going to be moving it out soon, so you won’t have to worry about it any more, Nell.’

  Kate parked the Trooper by the front door and helped Nell out with her suitcase. Once inside, Nell put the kettle on. ‘Bet you could do with a cuppa,’ she said.

  ‘That would be nice. While we’re waiting for the kettle, perhaps I’ll go and take a peek at Sapphire.’ Seeing the confused expression on Nell’s face, Kate hastily corrected herself. ‘The rose. The blue rose, Nell.’

  ‘Oh, of course – silly me. Yes, I’ll come with you to show you where they planted it. We can go out the front. It’s a little easier to get to it that way.’

  Kate followed her out of the house. They walked alongside a shoulder-high picket fence for about thirty paces. Rounding the corner where the fence made a right-angled turn, they both froze. In front of them, an eight-foot stretch of the fence lay flat and splintered on the ground. Beyond the gap, wide tyre tracks and a swath of flattened vegetation ran in a straight line across the jungle-like garden to a small clearing.

  Kate put a hand up to her mouth. ‘My God! What’s happened?’