Anthony Eglin - The Blue Rose

‘It’s a story about the Eden Project down in Cornwall.’

‘The humongous greenhouses?’

‘Right. They’re calling it one of the world’s architectural marvels. We should definitely go down and take a look.’

She poured the hot water into the teapot, took it to the table, and sat down. ‘We could make a weekend of it, do the lost garden at Heligan, too.’

‘That would be fun.’ Alex folded the paper and put it down. ‘Save this would you, love, I want to check out their website later.’

‘Maybe that’s where the blue rose will end up,’ she said, pouring tea into their cups.

‘On that subject, I’ll try to set up a meeting with Christopher Adell. Is Thursday or Friday okay for you?’

‘Yes, that’s fine.’

‘And you’re tracking down Mrs Cooke today?’

‘Right.’

‘Still strikes me as a bit of a waste of time.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, didn’t Kingston say he was pretty much convinced that it was a fluke of nature?’

Kate smiled. ‘Surely, you mean an “aberration”?’

Alex rolled his eyes. ‘Okay.’

‘Regardless, Alex, there’s still the long shot that it wasn’t.’ She paused momentarily. ‘If the rose does turn out to have something to do with Mrs Cooke, in fairness, don’t you think she should get some of the money?’

‘Kate, the rose is on our property. We own the property now, not Mrs Cooke. Don’t worry, the rose is ours all right.’

‘But it would be unfair. What if it was the other way around? I bet you’d feel differently.’

‘At this point it’s immaterial. I don’t think we should be concerning ourselves about it right now. Let the lawyer deal with it.’

‘I suppose you’re right,’ Kate said, with a shrug.

‘I was thinking,’ Alex said, doodling a lopsided rose on a corner of the newspaper. ‘ If this rose is everything we think it is, then we can’t go on calling it…’ He paused and stage-whispered the next three words: ‘… the blue rose . We must give it a pseudonym – a nickname of some kind.’

‘Any suggestions?’

‘Blue Streak? Blue Moon? How about Baby Blue?’

‘I don’t think we should use the word “blue”.’

‘Okay, then what’s the bluest of all blues?’ Alex asked, chin resting on his clenched fist.

‘Sapphire – I suppose.’

‘I like that, Kate. Sapphire . It has a nice feel to it and nobody will have the slightest notion of what or who we are referring to.’

‘Next time we talk with Kingston, we should tell him.’

‘Speaking of Kingston, do you think we should keep him in our camp for a while? Formally, I mean.’

‘I think he considers himself already in. Didn’t you notice yesterday, he used the word “we” more than once?’

‘Maybe we should have him sign a confidentiality statement.’

‘I was thinking more like putting him on some kind of retainer? We may need his services down the road.’

‘It makes sense. After all, he’s the only other person right now who knows about the rose – oops! I mean, Sapphire.’ A perplexed look flashed across Alex’s face. ‘Good Lord. Was he ever alone out there with the rose? It just occurred to me – he could have taken a cutting. It would have been so easy.’

‘Oh, Alex, he wouldn’t do that, surely.’

‘If I were a botanist suddenly confronted with the greatest horticultural discovery of the century, I might be tempted.’

Kate shook her head. ‘No, he was never alone out there, I’m sure of it. Anyway, I trust him – he is a professor, after all.’

‘A professor? I can’t see why that puts him above temptation. Though I’ll admit in his case it would be a stretch to think of him as being that unscrupulous. But from now on, as he said, we can’t be too careful. The last thing we need is dozens of blue clones out there.’

‘Talking of cuttings, we must ask Vicky to take some for us. That was one of the first things Kingston asked about. I’d attempt it myself, but I never seem to have much success with propagating roses.’

Kate walked to the door with Alex, to see him off. She took his hand, squeezing it gently, as they stood on the porch. ‘Alex,’ she said, avoiding his gaze, ‘is it just me, or is this blue rose thing starting to take over our lives? You and I haven’t talked about anything else since we found it.’

‘Come on, Kate, it’s only been a couple of days! In any case, it’s hardly small change we’re talking about. With the megabucks at stake that everybody seems so sure of, I think it’s more than reasonable to expect some inconvenience, a few disruptions. Anyway, once the whole business is in the hands of a lawyer I’m sure our life will return to normal. Until that happens – hopefully, soon – I wouldn’t worry too much about it.’

‘I suppose you’re right, Alex.’ She looked up at him and flashed an impish smile. ‘You don’t think we should concoct some story for Kingston, about it suddenly dying – and that could be the end of it?’

‘And never know what it’s like to be disgustingly rich?’ Alex pulled Kate closer and put his arm around her.

‘Just kidding, of course. But, truthfully, I am just a little worried,’ she said. There was a slight tremble in her voice.

‘About what, for heaven’s sake?’

‘About all the things that might happen. I keep thinking of what Kingston said, “Your world will never be the same.” It’s – it’s just that I like things the way they are – the way we’d planned. I’m just afraid this rose business could spoil it all. That would be awful, Alex.’

He held her tightly, leaned down and brushed his lips across her hair. ‘Not a chance,’ he said.

Alex tried the doorbell again. ‘Perhaps she got the date mixed up,’ he said.

‘No, we agreed on today. I wrote it down,’ Kate replied. ‘She’s probably in the loo or something.’

‘It is the right house?’

‘I’ll check again.’ Kate pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. ‘Three thirty, Tuesday 24th, 12 St Margaret’s Mews. She said it was sheltered accommodation. This is it all right.’

Juggling their schedules, they had managed to set the meeting with Mrs Cooke for today. This worked out well because, if by chance they learned anything significant, they would be able to tell Christopher Adell. Alex had set up a meeting with him the coming Friday in London.

Alex was about to hammer on the door when an approaching image rippled in the dimpled glass pane. The front door to the neat bungalow opened. A thin, pale man stood there.

‘Kate and Alex Sheppard, I take it,’ he said in a flat voice.

Alex nodded affirmatively. ‘And you’re – Graham? Your aunt said you might be here.’

‘That’s me,’ he answered, with an awkward half-smile.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Alex said, thrusting out a hand. It was like shaking hands with a rubber glove.

Graham stepped aside. ‘Come in,’ he said, ‘Auntie’s in the living room, going over the racing form. Believe it or not, she makes quite a few bob on the ponies every week. Sorry to leave you standing on the doorstep like that. Her hearing’s not too good these days – I’m just fixing one of the cupboard doors in the kitchen. I’ll join you in a minute.’ Graham ushered them into the living room then departed.

Inside, as expected from the pristine exterior, the house was immaculate. Cheerful, too. The walls of the small living room were a sunny cream colour, making it look larger than its small space. An Oriental carpet, which Alex guessed to be an old Heriz, almost touched the walls on all sides. He recognized some of the antique pieces as being part of Mrs Cooke’s furnishings at The Parsonage when they had first seen it.