Anthony Eglin - The Blue Rose

‘Whew!’ Alex whistled.

‘Then it goes on to mention the inevitability of lawsuits related to patents, and so forth.’

‘My God,’ Alex breathed. ‘We could become filthy rich.’

‘Highly possible,’ Kate replied, closing the book with a thump. ‘I have a good feeling about our Dr Kingston. He’ll know what to do. I’m sure of it.’

‘What time is he coming tomorrow?’

‘About noon.’

‘Then I’ve got time to get in a good thirteen hours’ sleep. A very early night,’ Alex said, yawning. ‘Which I seriously need.’

‘No caviar before dinner, then?’ Kate asked.

Alex’s head whirled around. ‘You don’t, really – do you?’

‘Well, I thought a little celebration might be in order.’

Kate stood and went to the refrigerator.

‘ Voilà! ’ She held up a small jar.

‘I suppose I could be convinced to go to bed a little later,’ Alex said.

‘A wise decision,’ Kate said, setting the jar down on the table. She turned back and took out a bottle of chilled champagne and the plate of chopped eggs, onion, sour cream and crackers she had prepared previously. ‘Once dinner’s over, I suppose I could be convinced to join you.’

Alex grinned, breaking into song: ‘Caviar comes from the virgin sturgeon. The virgin sturgeon’s a very fine fish. The virgin sturgeon needs no urgin’, that’s why caviar is my dish.’

‘You’re too much,’ Kate giggled.

Saturday was hazy but clear with cirrus clouds drifting overhead. Kate was watering the hydrangeas in the terracotta pots edging the courtyard when she heard the car approaching. As she turned, a racing green Triumph TR4 with the top down rumbled into view.

‘Ah,’ she said to herself, setting down the watering can. ‘Dr Kingston, I presume.’

Asp raced toward the car, yapping excitedly.

The Triumph crunched to a stop on the gravel alongside Alex’s Alfa Romeo. She watched with amusement as Kingston extricated his lanky frame from the car’s cramped confines. The picture hadn’t really done him justice. He was more rugged than it had suggested.

A tangle of ivory-coloured hair unravelled over his collar. In contrast, dark bushy eyebrows jutted out over deep-set blue eyes. Though tall and lean, he still gave the impression of being physically powerful. There was a litheness about him that suggested an iron discipline concerning those habits and diets that cultivate paunches, spare tyres and jowls. To Kate, he appeared the very antithesis of the archetypal scholar. He was wearing an old suede jacket, a cream button-down Oxford shirt, and dark olive corduroy trousers. A bulky camera case hung from shoulder straps by his side. He took off his checked cap and tossed it like a frisbee into the car.

‘Mrs Sheppard?’ he inquired, as he approached her.

‘Yes. Please call me Kate, Dr Kingston.’

Asp was sniffing at Kingston’s trouser cuffs.

‘Oh, and this is Asp.’

‘Curious name.’

‘My husband’s idea of a joke. It stands for All Spare Parts.’

Kingston chuckled. ‘Cute little fellow,’ he said, bending down to pat the dog’s head. ‘And please call me Lawrence – all right?’

‘I will,’ she said, shaking his hand.

In his large grip her hand disappeared up to her wrist. When he smiled at her she noticed a ripple of creases fanning out at the corner of each eye.

‘Welcome to The Parsonage,’ Kate said, retrieving her hand. ‘Alex and I really appreciate your coming down. I can assure you, you won’t be disappointed.’ She smiled. ‘And thanks for bringing nice weather with you, too. It’s been awfully soggy down here the last few days.’ She gestured towards the house. ‘Let’s go inside. I’m sure you could do with a cup of coffee or perhaps a drink after such a long drive.’

Kingston nodded. ‘Coffee would be nice. Thank you.’

He followed her into the house, stooping to clear the door beam. ‘Lovely house. Mid-nineteenth century, isn’t it?’

‘1835, we’ve been told.’

‘Most charming.’

‘Alex is fixing something in the kitchen,’ she said. ‘He’s really looking forward to meeting you.’ She turned to Kingston and smiled. ‘In all fairness,’ she said, ‘I should tell you that he’s anointed himself the “black thumb” of the family. He’s quite happy to leave most of the gardening to me.’

‘I’ll take that into account, Kate,’ he said, following her into the kitchen.

After introducing Kingston to Alex and putting on the kettle, Kate showed Kingston into the living room.

They sat facing each other in the warm sunlight coming through the open windows.

‘So, what makes this rose of yours so special?’ Kingston inquired, relaxing into the upholstered wing chair.

She looked directly at him, her face expressionless, anticipating his reaction. ‘It’s blue,’ she said, softly.

Kingston dropped his head down and shook it slowly from side to side. ‘Oh, no – I was afraid of that. A purplish blue, I suppose. Mauve, eh?’

‘No, it’s blue – royal blue. Sapphire.’

‘Are you serious? I take that back – of course you are,’ he stammered.

Kate waited, suppressing her amusement, watching him regain his composure. For the next ten minutes she told him all about their recent purchase of the house and their discovery.

‘And that brings us to you, Lawrence. But first let me get the coffee. Then we’ll go outside and you can see the rose. You’re in for quite a shock.’

Kate and Alex stood silently, several paces back from the rose bush, as Kingston started his examination. They watched as he peered through a bone-handled magnifying glass, gently prodding and poking at various parts of the rose with stainless steel tweezers. Kate could not help but think of Sherlock Holmes. She pursed her lips tightly, barely managing to suppress the urge to giggle. A quick glance at Alex, who was grinning from ear to ear at the spectacle of the doctor’s surgeon-like examination, didn’t help matters.

After a while Kingston stepped back a few paces and stood, studiously tapping the magnifying glass on the palm of his left hand as he continued to stare intently at the rose bush. Placing the glass back into the pocket of his shabby jacket, he slowly stroked his chin, all the time gazing at the unearthly rose as if mesmerized by its enigmatic beauty.

Finally, he spoke.

‘Extraordinary – most extraordinary,’ he mumbled.

‘How do you think it happened?’ Kate asked, timidly.

‘There’s really no saying,’ Kingston replied, methodically circling the rose. ‘It appears to be an aberration of nature, which we’ve always been led to believe is genetically impossible.’

Alex was grinning. ‘Then we get to keep the five hundred pounds?’

Kate could have kicked him.

Kingston simply cracked a weak smile and nodded.

Kate flashed Alex a disapproving look. ‘How valuable do you think it is?’ she asked.

‘If it can be propagated – extremely so,’ Kingston replied, tugging on his earlobe, lost in thought. ‘Let me take a few snapshots,’ he said, finally.

Kate and Alex waited patiently while Kingston used an entire roll of film, shooting the rose from every conceivable angle and focal length. ‘That should do it,’ he said, putting the camera back in its case.

‘So, what do you think, Lawrence?’ asked Alex.

Kingston looked at Alex and then across to Kate. It was evident that he was still preoccupied with the rose, groping for a suitable response. ‘Well, first of all, there appears to be no question that the rose is genuine. And I’ve no doubt that it will be considered one of the greatest horticultural discoveries of all time.’ His gaze drifted back to the rose, locking on to it. ‘As to its value, it’s anybody’s guess. Let’s just say that there are many individuals and companies that would go to extreme lengths to obtain the patent rights to a blue rose. The rewards could be staggering. But more important, is how the two of you handle this from now on. It’s going to require considerable thought and a great deal of caution.’