The Blue Rose

by Anthony Eglin

  ‘That’s where Alex and Vicky planted the rose,’ Nell said, pointing a shaking finger. ‘Over there.’

  Kate stumbled through the muddy tracks to where they ended. In front of her there was a hole nearly four feet wide and almost as deep.

  Nell caught up with her. She gripped Kate’s arm and stared in disbelief at the hole. ‘Good Lord! Somebody’s taken the rose. Who on earth would do that?’

  ‘Offhand, Nell, I can think of at least three people.’ She shook her head. ‘This is really bad news.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’

  ‘Probably. But first I have to call Alex.’ She took Nell’s arm and they walked back to the house. Adding the police to the equation was a complication she couldn’t deal with right now.

  Kate put the phone down, looked at her watch, then at Nell. ‘Nobody home. Alex and Kingston are probably still at Graham’s. I think I’d best be leaving, Nell.’

  ‘Won’t you at least stay for tea? The kettle’s boiled.’

  ‘I’d love to, Nell, but the rose being stolen changes everything. It has me scared. I can’t explain it right now but it’s a lot more serious than it appears. I can’t imagine what Alex is going to say.’ She put her arms around Nell and hugged her. ‘Next chance I get, I’ll tell you all about it. Are you going to be okay?’

  ‘Well, of course I am. Arthur’s only a couple of doors away.’ She smiled, making her rosy cheeks shine. ‘In any case, whoever took the rose is hardly likely to come back to the scene of the crime, is he?’

  ‘I doubt it very much, Nell.’

  ‘You get on your way, then, dear.’

  ‘Okay – sorry about the tea. I’ll call you the minute I get home.’

  She waved to Nell one last time from the Trooper. Standing at the door, waving back, Nell looked so tiny and vulnerable. Kate bit her lip lightly and drove off up the lane.

  About fifty feet from Nell’s house the lane curved before continuing to meet the road. As she was straightening up coming out of the bend and picking up speed, she almost ran into a black Jeep parked in the middle of the lane. It was positioned to make passing impossible. Kate slammed on the brakes. The Trooper skidded in a straight line on the loose gravel and wet leaves and came to a stop not more than six feet from the Jeep’s rear bumper.

  She leaned on her horn a number of times, to no avail.

  ‘This I don’t need,’ she muttered. The Jeep appeared to be unoccupied. It must have broken down or run out of petrol.

  The only sounds came from the noisy tappets of the idling Trooper and the gentle rustling of leaves on the trees in the surrounding woods. Her impatience was supplanted by irritation. She considered pushing it off the road but dismissed that idea, knowing she could easily damage either or both vehicles.

  It looked as if she would have to back up to Nell’s and call for a tow truck. Before doing that she decided to take a closer look at the Jeep. She turned off the engine and stepped out on to the muddy lane. Perhaps there was a note on the windshield. As she approached she saw that the dark tinted glass of the driver’s side window was rolled half-way down. Inside, everything appeared normal. As she had expected, there was no key in the ignition. A road map, two jackets, a paperback book with a curling cover, a partially eaten apple and some magazines were spread over the back seat.

  As she turned away from the door, she saw him coming for her.

  He wore a black ski mask that revealed only his eyes. Before she could scream, a gloved hand was clasped roughly across her mouth. A second masked man, short and chunky, appeared. A muscular arm encircled her waist. She struggled fiercely, but it was useless. Her assailants were just too strong. A strip of silver duct tape was banded tightly across her mouth. Terrified and inhaling rapidly through her nose to keep pace with her pumping lungs, she was hoisted up and shoved roughly into the back seat of the Jeep. Her head slammed into the roof. For a few seconds she thought she was going to black out. The taller man got in beside her and shoved her across the seat. The magazines and jackets crumpled beneath her as she slid across the smooth leather. He produced a length of white nylon cord and bound her wrists in front of her. Passing the cord round her waist, he knotted it behind her back so she could no longer move her hands. Satisfied that she was immobilized, he motioned for her to turn away from him. Suddenly, her world went black as he strapped blacked-out goggles on her, securing them with more duct tape around the back of her head. She winced as the tape tugged at her hair. She heard him step out of the car, slamming the door behind him. The Jeep bounced lightly as the man got into the driver’s seat. He locked all the doors, started the engine, and drove slowly off. Behind, Kate heard the distinctive rattle of her Trooper’s engine. The second man was following in her car. Tears rolled off her cheek and down her neck.

  Chapter Fifteen

  We are all dreaming of some magical rose garden over the horizon – instead of enjoying the roses that are blooming outside our windows today.

  Dale Carnegie

  Sitting by an open casement window in the sitting room, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun, Alex was going over Alexander Stanhope’s legal ultimatum one more time. He had just finished reading it when he heard the gurgling sound of Kingston’s TR4 as it crunched up the drive. He glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes before two o’clock. He smiled. Kingston was punctual, as usual. Three hours earlier, Kate had left for Shropshire to take Nell back home. This afternoon, he and Kingston were going to keep their appointment with Graham.

  When he had told Kingston on the phone that he was going to visit Graham Cooke to deliver the journals, Kingston had insisted on accompanying him despite his having to drive all the way from London to do so. Alex knew full well that it was a convenient, but transparent, excuse for Kingston to camp at The Parsonage for a couple of days. Kate had welcomed the idea. More than ever, Alex was convinced that either Kingston had very few demands on his time or that he was simply an incorrigible quidnunc – another word he had learned from Kingston. He wouldn’t admit it to Kate but he was glad in a way that Kingston was accompanying him to Graham’s.

  Entering the room – Alex had left the front door open for him – Kingston looked every part the English country squire: hounds-tooth check jacket, white open-necked shirt, paisley cravat, suede shoes – even a pipe, which he held in his hand. ‘Splendid drive down. Couldn’t have picked a more bonny day.’ He ran a hand through his shock of wind-tossed silvery hair.

  Alex wanted to smile but didn’t as he watched Kingston stride across the room, plop down into ‘his’ chair and attempt to light his pipe.

  ‘Never seen you with a pipe before, Lawrence.’

  ‘Mostly for show, old chap. Used to smoke it quite regularly till I cracked a tooth on it. More of a placebo, now. Damned things are really more of a nuisance. Always going out. All the paraphernalia you have to carry – tobacco, matches, cleaners, what have you.’

  Right off, Alex regretted mentioning the pipe. He knew how Kingston loved to dwell on minutiae and also knew that if he didn’t change the subject immediately, he risked spending the next ten minutes being enlightened on the finer points of pipe smoking. He waved Stanhope’s letter. ‘I’ve memorized every single word of this bloody letter,’ he said. ‘Kate refuses to talk about it any more.’

  ‘Still no word from Adell, I take it?’

  ‘No. But if you want my opinion, I think he’ll recommend some kind of compromise.’

  ‘Such as?’ Kingston lit a match and held it up to the pipe, making loud sucking noises.

  ‘Well – probably some kind of mutual sharing of royalties. According to everybody’s assessment of the rose’s value, even half of its worth will certainly be in the many millions. You’d think that Graham would be chuffed to bits about a windfall like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Couldn’t agree with you more. But greed does funny things to people.’

  ‘Rotten things would be more like it.’ Alex placed the letter on the table next to
him, got up and crossed the room to close the window, talking as he went.

  ‘You know, Lawrence, despite all my reassurances, Kate is still paranoid about losing the house.’

  ‘I don’t know why. Stanhope’s letter specifically states that they will accept the compromise of your giving up the rose to keep the house. Unless they back out for any reason, there’s no cause for her to worry. I’d just let Adell deal with it, Alex. There’s no point in getting your knickers in a twist over the whole thing.’

  Alex returned and sat down facing Kingston. ‘That’s exactly what I told her.’

  Kingston smiled then shook his head. ‘It is preposterous when you think about it. It’s a mind-boggling amount of money to give up. A bit like winning the lottery and then losing the ticket.’

  ‘I told Kate that with the money from the rose, we could buy any property in the entire British Isles. But she’s nutty about this place.’

  With a look of mild disgust, Kingston took the pipe out of his mouth, tired of trying to light it, and put it in his top jacket pocket. ‘I can understand her feelings, in a way,’ he said.

  Alex got up, put on his leather jacket and checked his trousers pocket to make sure he had the house keys.

  ‘By the way,’ said Kingston, ‘I take it you haven’t heard any more from the American chap?’

  ‘No, thank goodness. As of a week ago, neither had Adell. I guess he gave up on the idea.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because, as Kate might have told you, I’m pretty sure I know whom he represents.’

  ‘Yes, she said you were working on it. But how could you possibly figure that out?’

  ‘It wasn’t as impossible as it would first seem. From what you told me, he has or has access to the money – a lot of money. Next, if I recall, he said something to the effect that the rose would have “enormous impact on the world of commerce”. He also mentioned “patent rights and royalties”. This would all suggest that he is, more likely than not, representing a company or organization involved in the business of horticulture.’

  ‘Even so. My God, there must be hundreds of thousands of companies in the States that could qualify.’

  ‘Not if we’re talking roses, old chap. Even worldwide, there are not that many companies able to come up with the millions that it’ll take to acquire a blue rose.’

  ‘So who is it, then?’

  ‘From everything we know – from what you’ve told me and what I’ve been able to gather from insiders in the States – it all suggests that the person behind it is a man named Ira Wolff. He runs a big rose-growing concern in Washington State. I would have told you sooner but I’ve been waiting on some information from a colleague of mine on the West Coast. I got a package from him a couple of days ago and he called me yesterday to follow up. Alex, it’s more complicated than you could imagine, and, from all accounts, this Wolff is utterly ruthless in the way he does business. I won’t go into it right now because we have to get going. I’ll save it for when we get back. It’s a long story and a disturbing one, I might add.’

  Alex got up. ‘Lawrence, you get to sound more like bloody Hercule Poirot every day! All that’s missing is the accent.’

  Kingston shrugged using his hands. ‘Il n’y a pas de roses sans épines, mon ami,’ he said.

  ‘Whatever,’ Alex replied, with a glance at the carriage clock on the mantel. ‘I guess we’d better get going. We shouldn’t keep the opportunistic sod waiting.’

  Kingston got up and followed Alex to the door. ‘You have the journals?’ he asked.

  ‘They’re in the car.’

  Buckling his seat belt, Kingston glanced at Alex. ‘You know, Alex,’ he said in a paternal tone, ‘it might pay to be on your best behaviour with Graham when we get there. There’s nothing to be gained by you venting your anger. Just keep it cordial and businesslike.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Lawrence, you’re sounding just like Kate. That’s exactly what she said.’

  Alex and Kingston stood waiting on the brick porch of Graham’s red and white painted bungalow. Alex put down the cardboard box containing the journals and pressed the doorbell for the fourth time. It could be faintly heard ringing inside.

  Kingston glanced at his watch. ‘Ten past three. We’re not that late.’

  Alex resorted to hammering loudly on the door with his knuckles. Still, there was no response.

  ‘There’s nobody here – that’s for sure,’ Alex said, pacing up and down. ‘Maybe he’s forgotten we’re coming.’

  ‘I doubt it, somehow.’

  Alex rapped one more time and looked at Kingston. ‘What do you think we should do? We can’t leave the journals on the doorstep.’

  Kingston looked furtively up and down the street. ‘Wait a moment,’ he said, as he stepped over a narrow border of mixed annuals and walked four paces across the patch of lawn to the large bay window. With his hands held up to both sides of his face and nose pressed to the glass, he looked in. ‘No signs of life inside,’ he said, returning to the front door.

  ‘Well, we can’t stand here all bloody day,’ Alex mumbled. ‘The neighbours will start to get suspicious.’

  ‘Let’s take a peek around the back. Maybe he’s in the garden.’

  ‘Hang on a minute, Lawrence. I can’t lug this box around. Let me put it in the car.’ Alex crossed the grass verge, opened the boot of the Alfa, put the box of journals in and slammed the lid shut. When he got back to the path, Kingston was already half-way up the street. Running, Alex caught up with him.

  ‘There’s an alley up here – I noticed it on the way in,’ Kingston said. ‘I’m certain it runs along the backs of these houses. Chances are they’re not numbered in the back. We’d better count them off, so we know we’re at the right back gate.’

  ‘I’m not so sure that this is such a good idea, Lawrence. Don’t you think–’ His words were wasted on Kingston who was already striding up the alley ten paces ahead of him. Just as Alex caught up with him they were startled by the loud bark of a large dog. Paws resting on the fence, it looked like an unwashed shag rug. As Alex and Kingston got closer the barking grew louder, reverberating off the walls of the surrounding houses. Kingston insisted that it was a giant schnauzer. Alex was not the least interested in its pedigree. ‘If that hasn’t alerted the neighbourhood, I don’t know what the hell will,’ Alex said, relieved that the beast had finally decided to give up and return to its kennel on the back porch.

  Two houses up, they located Graham’s. The red and white paint left no doubt. His fence was higher than those of his neighbours, and there was no latch visible on the gate. There appeared no way to gain entry. After several attempts to locate the latch, Alex was ready to admit defeat and return to the car – not so Kingston. Alex watched, mouth agape, as Kingston pulled himself clumsily over the fence and opened the gate from the inside. ‘Christ! Lawrence – this is breaking and entering!’ he hissed.

  Kingston shrugged, hoisted up his trousers and started up the wavy brick garden path. Alex followed him, stopping half-way. He waited nervously, expecting to hear police sirens any minute as Kingston knocked on the back door.

  ‘Well, Alex, looks like you were right, after all,’ Kingston shouted, pressing his nose to the window that jutted out to the left of the back porch.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Lawrence, keep your voice down.’

  ‘Just let me see if I – oh, Jesus!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  Kingston turned around, a look of alarm on his face. ‘There’s a body on the floor in here!’

  ‘Don’t scare me like that, Lawrence.’

  ‘No, I’m serious. There’s a man’s body – come and have a look.’

  Alex pushed past Kingston and peered into the poorly lit room. ‘Shit,’ he said, putting a hand to his forehead. ‘It’s Graham.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  In a way, nobody sees a flower really, it is so small, we haven’
t time – And to see takes time, like to have a friend takes time.

  Georgia O’Keefe

  Graham’s body lay face down on the oriental carpet, his head close to the tiled hearth of the fireplace. A small table had been knocked over and a lamp, a framed photo, and miscellaneous books and magazines were strewn over the floor. Otherwise the room was undisturbed.

  Kingston was on one knee, feeling for Graham’s pulse. Alex hovered over him wishing they’d never come round the back in the first place.

  After a few more seconds that seemed like minutes to Alex, Kingston lowered Graham’s wrist to the floor and looked up to Alex. ‘He’s dead, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  Kingston stood, looking down at Graham’s body. For a moment he massaged his chin with thumb and forefinger, thinking. ‘Alex, go and find the phone and call the police. Tell them what’s happened.’ It was more of an order than a request. ‘While you’re doing that, I’ll take a quick look around to see if there’s any sign of the missing journal.’

  ‘God, Lawrence. The man’s dead and you’re worrying about the journal? In any case Graham’s not stupid enough to have it just lying around the house. It would be locked up somewhere. You just can’t go around ransacking the bloody place. We have enough explaining to do as it is.’

  ‘Calm down, Alex,’ Kingston said, his eyes searching the room. ‘You never know – and I’m not going to ransack the place – just have a quick look-see, that’s all.’

  With an angry shake of his head, Alex left to find the phone.

  The Coach and Horses, five miles outside Bath, proved as pleasantly hospitable inside as it was inviting on the outside. Sitting in the cosy comfort of the saloon bar with glasses of best bitter in front of them, they were both still reeling from the grisly shock of finding Graham’s body. Within minutes after Alex’s emergency phone call, the police had arrived at Manor Close and cordoned off the alley. An ambulance arrived a minute later. After being questioned at length by the sergeant in charge, giving him Mrs Cooke’s address, and tendering their respective addresses and phone numbers, Alex and Kingston were allowed to leave.