The Blue Rose

by Anthony Eglin

  ‘I have proof of that – but let me continue.’ Graham opened the portfolio and withdrew an envelope. ‘You might want to take a look at this. I think you’ll find that it spells out our position quite clearly.’ He handed the sealed envelope to Alex. ‘Oh, yes. You asked for proof that my uncle propagated the rose.’

  ‘That’s right, I did,’ Alex replied.

  ‘You’ll recall my uncle’s journals? The ones you borrowed?’

  Kate’s heart sank further.

  ‘You still have them, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we do,’ said Alex.

  Kate glanced at Alex. She could see that he was getting rankled.

  ‘Well,’ said Graham, ‘if you examine the hybridizing dates – the only entries not in code – you’ll discover a break in the sequence between two of the books. There’s a journal missing.’ He paused, then said, ‘I have that journal.’

  Kate leaned forward. ‘And…’

  ‘The crossing formula – I believe that’s what you call it – for the blue rose is in that journal.’

  ‘But if it’s in code, how can you be so sure?’ asked Kate.

  ‘Look, how I found out is really none of your business. Just take my word for it that the formula to create a blue rose is in that book.’

  ‘I’m just curious. How did you know which specific journal contained the formula?’ Alex asked.

  Graham heaved a sigh. His patience was clearly coming to an end. ‘If you must know,’ he said, ‘the book in question was never with the others. According to my aunt it was in a safety deposit box along with some other valuables. After Uncle Jeffrey died, she couldn’t figure out why on earth he’d put it there. When she told me about it, frankly, neither could I. Eventually, it was put in with the other books and they were all put away and forgotten about. It’s a miracle, in fact, that they weren’t chucked out. But when you two showed up and started asking about Uncle’s roses and his records, I suddenly realized its significance. That there was a very good reason, indeed, why Uncle had locked that book away.’

  Kate looked away from Graham to Alex and then to the envelope in Alex’s hand.

  ‘I suppose we might as well look at it now,’ she said, in a dejected voice.

  Alex opened the envelope and withdrew the one-page letter, which bore the letterhead of a Newbury law firm, Stanhope, Stanhope and Crouch, Barristers and Solicitors. Together, they started to read it:

  Dear Mr and Mrs Sheppard,

  I represent Mr Graham Cooke. He is the nephew of Mrs Cooke, from whom you recently acquired the property wherein you now reside, commonly known as The Parsonage.

  Mr Cooke informs me that a certain rose bush, unique in all the world, grows in a corner of the Parsonage premises; that its existence was unknown to both his aunt and you at the time of offer, acceptance, and conveyance of the property; and that, because of its uniqueness, it imparts a value to the property far exceeding your purchase price.

  It thus is apparent, applying settled legal doctrine, that Mrs Cooke and yourselves entered into the transaction on the basis of a ‘mutual mistake’ of major proportions concerning the property’s value; that, but for this mistake, the transaction would not have happened; and that the transaction therefore is voidable at the seller’s instance.

  My purpose in writing is to advise you that Mr Cooke, on behalf of his aunt and with her authorization, is prepared to initiate legal action to void the transaction. Before taking that extreme step, however, he proposes a compromise whereby: (1) you would retain title to The Parsonage, (2) ownership of the subject rose bush would be restored to Mrs Cooke, and (3) the rose bush would be removed from the Parsonage premises at a mutually acceptable time.

  I suggest you call me at your early convenience to arrange a meeting, in my office, to consider Mr Cooke’s eminently fair and reasonable proposal. Hearing nothing from you by 15th August, we will undertake legal action.

  I caution you, pending resolution of this matter, not to sell, pledge, move, take cuttings from, or otherwise propagate, disturb, or tamper with the subject rose bush in any manner whatsoever.

  Very truly yours,

  Alexander Q. Stanhope

  Still holding the letter, Alex looked up at Graham. Alex’s face was grim. ‘Graham,’ he said, ‘I think you’d better leave. There’s obviously nothing more to be said. We’ll refer this to our solicitor tomorrow.’

  Graham tucked the portfolio under his arm and stood, ready to leave.

  ‘When you think about it,’ he said, ‘if I own the hybridizing formula and am presumably capable of reproducing the blue rose, possessing the rose itself becomes moot, doesn’t it?’

  ‘We’ll see about that,’ said Alex.

  Graham turned and started toward the door.

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Kate, taking the letter from Alex and studying it. ‘I’m curious.’

  Graham stopped, and looked at her. ‘About what?’

  ‘This letter says, specifically, that “a certain rose bush grows in a corner of the Parsonage premises.” How would you or your lawyer have known that? How can you be so sure that the rose is growing in our garden?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not answering any more questions,’ he said. ‘I must be going.’

  Kate followed Graham to the front door. He left without saying another word.

  Kate walked back into the living room, where Alex was seated on the couch rereading Stanhope’s letter. As he looked up at her she threw her head back and started laughing. ‘What’s so bloody funny?’ he asked.

  ‘Who said bad luck is bending over to pick up a four-leaf clover and being infected by poison ivy? What a turn-up for the books!’

  ‘I had a feeling all along that Graham was an opportunist, but why did he have to go to a lawyer, for Christ’s sake? Why didn’t he come to us first? What a weasel,’ he said, slapping the letter with the back of his hand.

  ‘In a way, I can see his point. It is his uncle’s creation. At least, as far as we know.’

  ‘Kate, I’m no expert on estate law but I’ve read any number of times that anything physically attached to a house or planted in the ground is considered part of the property when it’s sold. Who created the rose is irrelevant. The rose was planted on our land and it belongs to us. It’s as easy as that.’

  Kate snapped her fingers. ‘That’s it,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How Graham knew the rose was in our garden. He actually saw it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes. You remember he left the books on the porch, while we were gone. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to take his time poking round the garden. I’ll bet that’s just what he did.’

  ‘You’re right, Kate – the sly bugger.’

  ‘Well, what do we do now?’

  ‘Wait and see what Adell advises, I guess.’

  Kate looked at her watch. ‘It’s a bit late to call him now.’

  ‘I’ll do it first thing tomorrow.’ He screwed up his face in distaste. ‘Losing the rose would be bad enough. But losing it to Graham – speaking for myself, that would be a really bitter pill.’

  ‘We haven’t lost it yet.’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘You know, Alex, it’s odd, when you think about it. Logically, one would expect Mrs Cooke to be the one to instigate such a claim. After all, it was her husband’s doing–’

  ‘– if we’re to believe Graham.’

  ‘Yes, but assuming that’s the case – Graham’s not even her son. I just wonder if he hasn’t talked her into all this.’

  ‘There’s only one way to find out, and that is to ask her.’

  ‘You know, I really think we should. If she’s unaware of what Graham is up to – and I grant you, that’s unlikely – it could change everything.’

  ‘Kate, she must have known. It would be almost impossible for Graham to pull this kind of stunt behind her back. It’s far too serious. Hiring a lawyer and everything.’

&nbs
p; ‘You’re right. We have to talk to her.’

  ‘Just her.’

  ‘Alex, I can hardly ask her to exclude Graham. But if I suggest a weekday meeting, say mid-afternoon, chances are he’ll be at work. We’ll just have to play it by ear.’

  Alex sighed. ‘I think I’ll skip the champagne, Kate. A large scotch is what I need.’ He massaged his forehead. ‘I was thinking. Kingston’s going to be really miffed when we tell him that it’s all over. He was really getting into this code thing. I’ll call him first thing tomorrow.’

  The phone rang.

  ‘Christ, what now?’ Alex said.

  ‘I’ll get it.’ Kate got up and walked over to the phone. ‘Kate Sheppard speaking.’

  ‘Hello, Kate, Lawrence here. I’ve got some interesting news.’

  ‘Really? As a matter of fact, we were just talking about you. We were about to sit down and have a drink. We both need it. We’ve just received some rather unsettling news.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps I should call you tomorrow.’

  ‘No, it’s fine, Lawrence.’

  ‘All right, then. I promise to make this quick. I was calling to let you know that I did manage to get Major Cooke’s journals translated. They’re exactly as we suspected – records of his hybridizing. But that’s not all. Guess what? Somebody else took the missing journal to the same place – Defence Intelligence and Security Centre at Chicksands – and had it translated, too. What’s more, for reasons I won’t go into, the Intelligence people couldn’t locate their file copies of the decrypted notes of the pages in question. All they could tell me for certain was that the journal did mention a blue rose. Want to take a guess who took the journal in?’

  ‘So it’s true, then?’

  ‘What is? What are you saying?’

  ‘We already know who it was.’

  ‘What do you mean, Kate?’

  ‘The person who had the missing journal decoded.’

  ‘How on earth would you know that?’

  ‘It was Graham Cooke. He was just here and told us all about it. What’s more he’s threatening to repossess The Parsonage. He wants us to hand over the blue rose. He left us a very nasty letter from his solicitor. He knows all about it. Everything.’

  ‘My God! That’s absurd. He certainly didn’t waste any time.’

  ‘I know, Lawrence. It’s been one hell of a shock. It hasn’t all started to sink in yet. Graham just left – literally minutes ago. As I mentioned, Alex and I were just about to sit down and discuss it over a large drink.’

  ‘I don’t know quite what to say – other than I’m sorry. With everything that’s happening, perhaps it’s time the three of us got together again – though it sounds like this business with Graham will have to be thrashed out by the lawyers.’

  ‘Alex is calling Adell first thing tomorrow and faxing him the lawyer’s letter.’

  ‘Good. Keep me posted. I’d like to know what Adell says.’

  ‘We will, Lawrence. I’ll ask Alex to call you later tomorrow.’

  ‘Whenever he can. Well, goodnight, Kate. I’m sure, with Adell’s help, you’ll be able to sort it all out.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, one last thing. Our American friend. From what Alex told me, it looks like he’s just a go-between. I’m not quite sure yet, but I think I may know who may be behind it, though. Give me a couple of more days to do a little more digging and I’ll fill you in.’

  ‘I’ll tell Alex,’ she said, wishing Kingston goodnight and hanging up.

  Kate plopped down next to Alex and put her arm around his shoulder. ‘Well, we know one thing,’ she sighed.

  ‘What’s that, darling?’

  ‘Graham’s not lying about having had the notorious missing journal decoded.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Kingston was saying that he just got back from meeting with some government intelligence people at a place called Chicksands. They decoded the Major’s journals. They also admitted to having decoded the journal – for Graham.’

  Alex’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Graham and Kingston went to the same place?’

  ‘It’s really not that much of a coincidence. According to Kingston it’s the only branch of intelligence remaining capable of doing it.’

  Alex covered his face with his hands and let out a long sigh. ‘This is really getting out of hand. Next thing you know Kingston will be telling us that the American is working for the CIA. I mean, really.’

  Kate chuckled. ‘Actually, he mentioned him – the American. Lawrence said that he’s pretty sure he knows who’s behind it. He’s doing some more checking and will let us know. Probably talking to MI5,’ she said with a smirk.

  ‘Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.’

  Kate got up and switched on the table lamp next to Alex. ‘How about that large scotch?’

  ‘That would be very nice.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘I wonder when this is all going to end? It’s getting–’

  The phone rang, interrupting him.

  ‘Not yet, by the sound of it,’ said Kate. ‘You get this one.’

  Alex got up and went to the phone.

  ‘Alex.’ It was a woman’s voice, but he could hardly hear her.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to speak up a bit.’

  ‘Alex. It’s Vicky.’ Her voice was hoarse, little more than a whisper. ‘Since you dropped me off, I’ve been feeling awfully sick. My temperature is sky-high, and I keep getting dizzy. I’m a little scared.’

  He could hear her laboured breathing.

  ‘I think I should see a doctor – quickly. Could you help me – please?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He exchanged a concerned glance with Kate. ‘Hang on, Vicky – I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ He hung up. ‘That was Vicky. She’s very sick. I’m going to get her to a hospital.’

  He headed for the door.

  ‘Hold on,’ Kate called after him. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  Thirty minutes later they picked Vicky up and were on the way to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford. Other hospitals were closer, but the Radcliffe, on the eastern side of the city, at Headington, was considered the best and most advanced medical facility in their part of the country.

  Huddled in a tartan blanket in the back seat, her head on Kate’s lap, Vicky looked gaunt and drained of colour. Her cold hand trembled uncontrollably as she gripped Kate’s feebly. It all indicated much more seriousness than Kate wanted to believe.

  On arrival at the hospital, an efficient triage nurse immediately directed them into one of the emergency room cubicles where they eased Vicky on to a bed. Kate held Vicky’s hand while the nurse asked Vicky a series of questions. But Vicky was too out of it to be of much help.

  Soon the doctor staffing the emergency room arrived. ‘I’m Dr Hunter,’ she said. She and the nurse talked briefly in lowered voices then, putting a blood pressure cuff on Vicky’s arm, she started her examination. When she was finished, she pulled the curtain partway around the cubicle and led Kate and Alex over to the nurses’ station. The doctor had a tight-lipped look. It suggested a gravity that unnerved Kate.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Kate saw that the nurse had picked up the red phone on the wall and was talking to somebody.

  ‘We’re taking her up to intensive care,’ Dr Hunter announced abruptly.

  ‘What do you think it is?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Looks like a nasty virus of some kind – we’ll know more when we’ve taken some tests.’

  The nurse handed Alex a printed sheet. ‘Would you complete this, please, Mr Sheppard? You can leave it with the admissions desk at the front entrance. Don’t forget to fill in your address and a phone number where we can reach you, if need be. Thanks.’

  Kate turned to Dr Hunter. ‘When should we call to find out how Vicky’s doing?’

  ‘Wait till tomorrow morning.’ She smiled, briefly. ‘I’m sure we’ll have some information by then,’ she added, turning away to
talk with the nurse again.

  In a matter of moments, the hydraulic doors opened with barely a sound as a trolley appeared guided by a muscular young man in blue hospital garb. The nurse pulled aside the curtain to Vicky’s cubicle and, with help from the orderly, slid Vicky on to the trolley.

  Kate stole a glance at Alex who was on the opposite side of the trolley with his hand resting on Vicky’s shoulder. He looked heartbroken. Together they gave Vicky one last look. Her skin was colourless and waxen, her usually sparkling eyes vacant and resigned. To both of them, Vicky had always been a paragon of robust country life – to see her like this, like a total stranger, was alarming. Kate let go of Vicky’s hand to allow the trolley to pass through the door. As she did so, Vicky looked directly into her eyes. Kate desperately wanted to lean over and throw her arms around her, to hug and reassure her, but it was too late for that. She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling to stifle the tears that could come any moment. Just as the double doors were about to close, Vicky managed the faintest smile. Then she was gone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Blue thou art, intensely blue!

  Flower! whence came thy dazzling hue?

  When I opened first mine eye,

  Upward glancing at the sky,

  Straightway from the firmament

  Was the sapphire brilliance sent.

  James Montgomery

  The sandy gravel crunched under Kate’s bedroom slippers as she wandered aimlessly along the paths of the Parsonage garden. A wool cardigan over her cotton nightgown kept the early morning chill at bay. Even the quiet and beauty of her beloved garden could not ease her aching grief. The numbing reality had finally set in. She would never see Vicky again.