Anthony Eglin - The Blue Rose

‘Isn’t there a faster way to track him down – through the Registrar of Births and Deaths – whatever that office is called now?’ asked Alex.

‘I checked that out first. I was told it could be a time-consuming process. In any case, if they established that he had died, the records would only tell us when and where. I’m hoping to find him still breathing or, if not, to locate a surviving relative who might be able to provide some answers.’

‘Sounds like you’ve been quite busy, Lawrence,’ said Kate. ‘Next thing we know, you’ll be opening an office in Baker Street.’

‘The Baffling Case of the Blue Rose,’ he laughed.

Alex interrupted, ‘Well, it really is, when you think about it. It’s quite a whodunit.’

‘It is, I suppose,’ said Kingston. ‘But tell me what happened at the meeting today. I’m anxious to know what Adell said.’

For the next couple of minutes Alex filled Kingston in on the key points of their meeting. Kingston listened patiently, without interrupting.

‘So what do you think of Adell’s idea to auction licences to breed and market Sapphire?’ asked Alex.

‘Damned clever.’

‘That’s exactly what we thought,’ Alex said. ‘Pretty exciting, eh?’

‘It certainly is most creative.’ He paused. ‘Of course, you realize that, in doing so, the entire world will know about your rose.’

‘Adell warned us to expect that.’

‘Well, Alex, it all sounds good. You have to tell me more, when we next get together.’

‘We will,’ Alex replied. ‘Oh, I forgot, there was something else Adell recommended.’

‘What was that?’

‘Security. He wants the rose put under surveillance. He’s looking into it. In the meantime, as a temporary measure, he wants us to cut off all the blooms.’

‘We thought that was clever,’ said Kate.

There was a long pause before Kingston responded.

‘Hmm. I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. Not yet, anyway.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Alex.

‘Let me give it a little more thought. We’ll talk about it.’

When they’d hung up, Alex walked into the kitchen. Kate was about to turn the light off. She kept her hand on the switch, squinting at Alex, a puzzled look on her face. ‘I wonder why he doesn’t want the roses cut off?’ she said.

‘I’ve no idea. Blooms or no blooms, nobody’s going to find the rose, anyway.’

‘You’re probably right,’ she said with a shrug. ‘Let’s not worry about it. We can cut them off later. I want Vicky to see the rose in bloom first, then she can deadhead and take the cuttings at the same time.’

‘I bet you one thing, though,’ he said, putting his arm around her.

‘What’s that?’

‘That good old Lawrence finds a way to invite himself down again.’

A week passed with no further word from Kingston or Adell. Life at The Parsonage had resumed a pleasant orderly rhythm. With the weather much improved, Kate was spending as much time as she could in the garden.

On this celery-crisp day, she was out cutting flowers for the house. The early morning air was pungent with rich, earthy smells. Over the past six weeks, like a mother over a newborn child, she had watched the garden coming to life. There was so much to look at.

From the black decay of last year’s leaves and stubble, she marvelled at how the new growth had rapidly displaced the sight of earth. How mature everything had become, almost overnight. The clematis vines fascinated her. Like inquisitive toddlers, their capricious tendrils grasped at anything in sight. Against the wall, and in some of the larger beds, fully leafed-out shrubs were now jostling for space. The snaking canes of climbing roses and coiling vines seemed to be everywhere. Throughout the garden roses were bursting forth in a dazzling confection of colours.

If Alex was home, she would have gone up to the house and dragged him away from whatever he was doing to share this moment. Perhaps, surrounded by this irresistible beauty, inhaling the seductive scents, he would at least begin to understand what so enthralled her. What it was that, in the fluttering of a swallow’s wings, could calm or quicken her pulse, charge her emotions and stir her innermost feelings. It was a sight to make even the most jaded gasp with wonder and admiration.

It had become her daily habit to walk down to the crescent – as she and Alex now called it – to check up on Sapphire. Following Kingston’s instructions, she would do nothing for the rose unless it appeared to be undergoing stress. There had been more than sufficient rain, so watering was not required. Neither was it to be fed, he had cautioned. On this day, nearly three weeks after its discovery, Sapphire looked exceptionally healthy to Kate – almost alarmingly so. Some of the petals had faded to a pretty Wedgwood blue, but new blooms were the same startling blue as before, without blemish. The perfectly formed leaves were a holly-green colour, so shiny that she could almost see her reflection in the larger ones. Then there were the thick canes, with their impenetrable armour of menacing thorns. There were no dead leaves on the ground under the bush. Unless one knew differently, the rose could be mistaken for a good silk reproduction, the kind that must be touched to make sure that it’s not real.

The cell phone in her sweater pocket rang. It was Kingston calling.

‘Hello, Lawrence. Your ears must be ringing. I was just thinking of you. I’m standing here, looking at Sapphire as I speak.’

‘How is she?’

‘She appears to be just fine. It’s weird, though, she always looks the same. Always healthy. Never seems to drop any leaves.’

‘Considering that it’s a mutation of some kind, it’s to be expected that it will deviate in some ways from accepted characteristics of the Rosaceae family.’

‘My thoughts entirely, doctor,’ Kate said, smiling to herself.

Kingston simply grunted.

‘I was just marvelling at how unreal she looks,’ she said, eyeing the rose. ‘More like a fake rose. It’s sort of creepy.’

‘I’d really like to see it again. By the way, don’t forget to remind your friend to take the cuttings. Perhaps it’s time I came down for another look. We should take some more photos, too. Those I took were a trifle out of focus. Next time I’ll use a tripod.’

‘You know you’re welcome any time,’ Kate said, sitting down, cross-legged on the strip of grass by the rose bed. She knew that a short phone call with Kingston was an oxy-moron.

‘That’s awfully kind of you, Kate, I’d love to. But the reason I’m calling is to let you and Alex know that I’ve managed to dig up some information on Farrow.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, I ferreted out the garden club that he and Cooke belonged to.’ He sounded very pleased with himself.

‘That was clever of you.’

‘Not really, my dear. All it took was some good old-fashioned detective spadework. The club was in Newbury. Still is. The club president vaguely recalled Major Cooke – apparently he was once on the club’s board – but had no recollection of Farrow.’

‘How did you find out about him, then?’

‘I got the names and phone numbers of all ten of the club’s officers and started calling them, one by one. On the sixth call, I got lucky. The lady I talked to was the club’s recording secretary. Sounded as if she smoked three packs a day. Volunteered that she was in her eighties and remembered Farrow quite clearly. Kept calling him Tommy.’ He laughed. ‘The way she talked about Farrow, I think she might have had a soft spot for him.’

Kate allowed a little chuckle. ‘So, you got a phone number? An address?’

‘Yes, and no. She recalled Farrow’s moving up somewhere near Bletchley in Buckinghamshire, of all places. So I checked around the post offices in the area and came up with the address of a Jennifer Farrow. She’s not listed in the phone book, so I plan to take a run up there, maybe as early as tomorrow, and find out whether she’s a relative.’