The Blue Rose (13 page)

Before Alex could bring the van to a complete stop, Asp bounded out of the open window and bolted for Kate, standing at the front door. She picked him up, lifting her chin as he licked furiously at her neck.

‘Come and say goodbye to Vicky,' Alex called to her as he got out of the van.

Kate walked over to see Vicky sliding over into the driver's seat. ‘Aren't you coming in, Vicky?' she asked.

‘No thanks, Kate. 'Fraid I'm coming down with something. I think I'm just going to go home and get some rest. On the way out, I'll stop at the shed and pick up the twelve cuttings I took yesterday. I'll drop them off at the nursery on the way home.'

‘I can do that tomorrow, if you'd like.'

‘It's no bother, I have to practically drive by there anyway.'

‘Well, I'm sorry you're not feeling well. I'll give you a call tomorrow. Did everything go okay at your aunt's?'

‘Yes. We found the perfect spot for Sapphire. Nobody will find her there. Alex enjoyed himself, too. He and Nell really hit it off. I'm sure he'll tell you all about it.'

Vicky started the engine, turned the van around and, with a wave goodbye, took off down the driveway.

 

Vicky parked the van by the nursery greenhouse and got out. Stepping on to the gravel path, she felt slightly dizzy but shrugged it off as tiredness. She unlocked the padlock and opened the door. Back at the van, she took out the box containing the cuttings, and carried them inside. With a felt marker she wrote,
Don't touch, these are Vicky's
on the side of the crate. She then placed them on a high shelf in the farthest corner of the small greenhouse.

By the time she switched the lights on in the cottage it was past eight. Her mouth was dry and her limbs ached. Maybe it was the long drive and the glass of wine she'd had at lunchtime, she said to herself. Or perhaps the crab sandwich. No, it couldn't be that, she'd hardly eaten any of it.

Rummaging through the refrigerator, she found a half-full bottle of Malvern water. There was some leftover pasta and a curling slice of pizza in there, too, but the very thought of eating anything made her feel queasy. The water had lost its fizz, but she poured it into a glass and drank it anyway. She was unusually thirsty. She went to the tap and refilled the glass, swallowing it in two gulps as she stood there.

She went into the living room and plopped down on the sofa with the idea of reading the two newspapers she'd brought in with her. Why was the cottage so warm? The radiators hadn't been on for days. She took off her turtleneck sweater, reminding herself to tell Alex that she had his. He'd left it in the van.

She was now on her fourth glass of water. And when the words on the newspaper started to blur, she knew something was really wrong. She stood up, steadying herself on the arm of the sofa. Her eyes were focusing again but she felt very disoriented – as though she might pass out at any moment. Slowly she made her way to the phone and picked it up.

 

Alex put a hand round Kate's waist. ‘Poor Vicky. I'm afraid she's really under the weather. She slept most of the way back. I promised I'd give her a call in the morning to see how she's doing.'

They walked into the living room. Alex slumped on the sofa and kicked off his loafers.

Kate put Asp down. He promptly leapt up on Alex's lap.

‘Are you hungry?' she asked.

‘Not really, a snack, maybe. We had a pub lunch about one o'clock. Poor thing, she hardly touched anything on her plate.'

‘How about a glass of champagne?'

‘Are we celebrating?'

Kate was about to answer when the doorbell rang.

‘Seven thirty,' Alex said, with a frown, looking at his watch. ‘Are you expecting anybody?'

‘No. You stay put, I'll go and see who it is.'

‘Pray that it's not our friend the doctor,' Alex called out after her.

Kate opened the heavy oak door just as the doorbell rang a second time. Standing outside on the step, thumb still on the button, was Graham Cooke.

‘Graham,' she said. ‘What brings you here?' He was wearing the same shabby Donegal suit as at their last meeting and held a slim leather portfolio.

‘I'm sorry about just showing up like this, but I'm going away for a few days tomorrow and this couldn't wait.'

‘It's not about your aunt, is it?' Kate asked, her voice overshadowed with concern.

‘In a way. May I come in?' His manner was brusque and bordering on antagonistic.

‘Of course,' she said, injecting as much pleasantness into her voice as she could muster. ‘This way.'

As Kate led Graham into the sitting room she noticed his eyes darting around, obviously appraising the changes since his aunt's departure. ‘Can I get you anything?' she asked? ‘Tea? Coffee? A drink maybe?'

‘No thanks, Mrs Sheppard. I won't stay for more than a moment. I don't anticipate this taking long at all.'

Alex stood up as the two of them entered. ‘Graham – what brings you here?'

Graham sat down in a leather wing chair, placing the portfolio on his lap. He licked his lips, quickly wiping them dry with the palm of his hand. ‘It's about the rose in your garden. The one my uncle created. The blue rose.'

Kate's gasp was not loud enough to hear.

Alex had a look of incomprehension on his face.

For several seconds there was an uneasy silence.

‘Recently,' Graham continued, ‘I engaged the services of a solicitor, to find out who rightfully owns the rose in question. My aunt and I feel – correctly so, as it turns out – that the rose legally belongs to us. If it were known, at the time you bought The Parsonage, that a very valuable rose existed on the property we would, of course, never have sold it to you. As you probably know by now, the value of the rose is inestimable. Hundreds – many hundreds of times that of the property.'

‘You can't be serious,' Alex said, finally having found his voice. ‘What do you mean by “correctly so”?'

‘The overriding argument, here – and it's all been legally established – is that my aunt and I were disadvantaged by the transaction and therefore it should be voided. Meaning that title of The Parsonage reverts back to our family. Accordingly, we are entitled to possession of the rose. You simply get your money back.'

Kate's heart sank. Lose the rose
and
The Parsonage?

Alex's expression had changed to one of annoyance. ‘Now just wait a minute,' he snapped. ‘How do you know it was your uncle who hybridized it?'

‘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:

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–'