Anthony Eglin - The Blue Rose

‘Where do we go from here?’ asked Alex.

‘That’s going to require a lot of discussion. This is only the beginning of a long drawn-out process, I’m afraid.’

Kingston turned back to them. To Kate’s surprise he was smiling. ‘Not every day one runs into a blue rose,’ he said. ‘Bit of a jolt, I must say.’

‘Well, why don’t we take you for a walk through the garden and then we’ll go back to the house,’ said Kate. ‘You’re probably ready for some lunch, I would imagine?’

‘Excellent. That would be very nice. We have much to discuss,’ he replied.

Back in the house, Kate set off for the kitchen while Alex and Kingston went to chat in the living room. Earlier, Alex had decided to mark the occasion and celebrate the impending change in their fortunes by breaking out the good stuff – a bottle of Bordeaux that a client had given him several years ago.

Kingston’s eyebrows rose when he saw the label. ‘A Château Lafleur-Pétrus,’ he exclaimed. ‘You must have quite a cellar, Alex.’

‘Yes, well–’

‘What year is it?’

Alex picked up the bottle and studied the label. ‘1982,’ he said.

‘Good Lord!’ Kingston exclaimed. ‘That’s an absolutely excellent year for a Pomerol – one of the best in the last three decades. And very drinkable, now. 1990 was excellent too, but still a little young to open yet.’

‘Drinkable?’

‘I should have said, ready to drink. The best Bordeaux wines take many years to develop in the bottle, and shouldn’t be drunk until they have matured. ’82 is plenty old enough, though.’

Alex picked up a corkscrew. ‘Shall we?’

Kingston placed his hand on the bottle. ‘An ’82 – surely you’re going to decant it, old chap. Where’s your decanter?’

‘Ah – we don’t have one,’ Alex replied.

Kingston’s jaw dropped. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ Alex said, wondering just how humiliating his admission was sounding.

‘In that case,’ Kingston sniffed, ‘you might want to open it now, and let it sit for a while.’

Alex nodded. He just prayed that he didn’t break the cork on this one. He was good at doing that.

A timer went off in the kitchen. ‘Alex!’ Kate called. ‘Could you give me a hand here?’

‘Will you excuse me, Lawrence,’ Alex said. ‘I’ll bring the wineglasses back with me.’

The kitchen was filled with the piquant aroma of herbs and hot pastry. Kate was chopping parsley with a wicked-looking cleaver.

‘How’s it doing?’ Alex asked, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.

‘Couple more minutes and it’ll all be ready,’ she said. ‘If you could get those plates out of the oven, and keep stirring the sauce, that would be great.’

Alex had always admired how simple Kate made things look in a kitchen. Everything was always under control. There was never a sense of urgency or impending disaster. If he were in charge, the sink would be piled with pots and dishes, saucepans would be boiling over and throughout the house would be a strong smell of something burning.

‘What are you two talking about?’ asked Kate.

‘Wine – mostly.’

‘Does he know anything about wines?’

Alex rolled his eyes. ‘Are you kidding? When I told him we didn’t have a decanter I might as well have been telling him we didn’t have a teapot. The man’s an expert on everything. Next thing you know he’ll be telling me how to redesign the house.’

‘Now, now,’ Kate said, smiling. ‘I have a feeling Lawrence Kingston is going to be very helpful to us, so let’s be nice to him.’

They emerged from the kitchen to find Kingston wearing horn-rimmed glasses, examining the archway that separated the dining room from the living room.

‘Marvellous old house,’ he said, running his hand along one of the beams framing the archway. ‘Splendid architectural details.’

‘Yes,’ Alex said. ‘That’s one of the things we both love about The Parsonage. That, and the garden – which is more Kate’s thing, of course.’

‘Yes, the garden,’ Kingston said, lost in thought, standing back from the archway. ‘These beams were a later addition, I think.’

‘Why, yes,’ said Alex, surprised that Kingston could see the difference between the detailing, ‘they are. The original house dates back to the 1830s – these were probably added much, much later.’

‘You should get rid of them,’ Kingston said. He ran his hand along one of the beams again. ‘They’re not very sympathetic.’

‘They’re load-bearing beams,’ Alex pointed out.

‘Really?’ Kingston asked thoughtfully. ‘I should think it would be worth getting an architect in here to confirm that.’

Kate stifled a giggle.

‘I am an architect,’ Alex said.

‘Oh.’ Kingston peered down at Alex over the top of his spectacles. ‘Really?’

Considering that he had just gazed upon civilization’s first blue rose ever, Kingston displayed a remarkably nonchalant attitude throughout the lunch. For fifteen minutes or so there was further discussion of the rose, but soon Kingston steered the conversation deftly back to The Parsonage. He was clearly taken with its mellow character and with the layout and plantings of the luxurious garden. Switching subjects again, he inquired about Kate’s antiques shop, listening with uncharacteristic silence as Kate talked about her business, complaining about inflated prices and the difficulties of finding good quality items to sell. For many years he had collected antiques, he said, and still attended the occasional auction and estate sale. Kate’s eyes lit up when he mentioned a couple of items of furniture that no longer suited his purpose that he would be happy to consign to her.

For the most part, Alex remained silent.

‘So, how did the two of you meet?’ Kingston asked offhandedly, taking a sip of wine.

Alex glanced at Kate, as if to ask, should I tell him, then back to Kingston.

‘It was on Kate’s twenty-sixth birthday,’ he said. ‘At a picnic organized by one of her close friends, Annabel. It turned out to be a brilliant day – on the River Avon. I must say, when Annabel’s sister, Pam, asked me if I’d go with her I wasn’t too keen on the idea at first.’ Alex picked up his wineglass and cupped it in his hands. He rocked it gently to and fro, looking at it as if it were a crystal ball. ‘I’m not very big on crowds,’ he said, gazing at the glass. ‘The prospect of having to spend the best part of the day with a group of total strangers was about as appealing as being invited to an undertakers’ convention.’

‘Remind me not to throw any cocktail parties for you,’ Kingston chuckled.

Alex eyed Kate out of the corner of his eye. ‘Actually Kate’s not much better – well, maybe a little better.’ He paused to take a sip of wine. ‘It would be fair to say that we both have the tendency to be a trifle antisocial at times.’

‘Nevertheless, you obviously decided to go,’ Kingston observed.

‘I did, yes. In the first place, I’d always wanted to visit Bradford-on-Avon. It has some splendid old architecture and I thought, if time permitted, I’d pop up to Lacock Abbey to see the Henry Fox Talbot museum – you know, the photography fellow. Then, the more I thought about it, the idea of a picnic by the river did have a certain appeal – so I went.’ He took his eyes off Kingston and gave Kate an apologetic look, knowing that he was being far too talkative.

She flashed him a hurry-it-up look. ‘Annabel told me you and Pam never made it to Lacock.’

He looked flustered.

‘Did you?’ she asked with a knowing smile.

‘Well – no, as a matter of fact we–’ Alex put a hand to his mouth and coughed. ‘It simply got too late.’