The Blue Rose (7 page)

‘That was quick.'

‘Well, to be honest, there wasn't much to go on. They are well organized and whoever compiled them did an exceptionally neat and thorough job. Sorry to say, though, I'm afraid they might not be of much use.'

‘That's a shame. Wait a second – Kate will probably want to hear what you have to say. Let me put her on the other phone.'

Kate came on the line.

‘Hello, Kate,' said Kingston. ‘I was about to tell Alex my thoughts about Major Cooke's journals.'

‘I'm all ears,' said Kate.

‘Well, my considered opinion is that the books are, indeed, records of hybridizing. Given everything we know, it's reasonable to conclude – though there's no name affixed to any of them – that they belonged to Major Cooke.'

‘Isn't there also the off-chance that they could have been compiled by the Farrow chap?' Alex asked.

‘It's immaterial. For whatever reason – as you already know – either or both used some kind of code to indicate all the crossings, the roses they used for cross-pollination, and all the accompanying notes. Unless we can break the code, we may never know whether your rose was the result of Major Cooke's experiments or not. I'm afraid it's starting to look as if we might be up against a brick wall.'

‘Oh dear,' said Kate.

‘On the other hand, if we could, by some chance, prove that either of them was directly responsible for creating the blue rose, then it could also raise another issue.'

‘Like what?' asked Alex.

‘It would mean that you could have a tough time proving ownership. Either of their heirs – or Farrow, if he's still living – could rightfully claim the rose as theirs.'

Alex interrupted. ‘But we've just gone over that with Adell. He's told us not to worry about it – at least, not for now.'

‘Well, he should know, I suppose,' said Kingston.

‘So there's not much more we can do at this point, then,' said Kate.

‘Not necessarily.' Kingston cleared his throat. ‘Here's what I think. For the time being we have to rule out making further inquiries with Mrs Cooke. I seriously doubt that there's anything more we can learn either from her or from her nephew. In any case, from what you've told me, doing so would only stir up a wasps' nest in the form of the nephew.'

‘So what's the next step?' asked Kate.

‘If there is a next step, it's to find out if Farrow is still alive. If he is, we'll know for sure whether he took part in the hybridizing.'

‘If he did, he would obviously know the code.'

‘In all probability he would, yes. By the way, do we know how old Farrow was at the time?'

‘I do, actually,' said Kate. ‘I called Mrs Cooke yesterday, mostly to thank her. Oddly enough, she mentioned Farrow again. He was quite amusing, apparently – clever with card tricks. Among other things, she told me that if her husband were alive today he would be in his mid-eighties. She also said that Farrow and her Jeffrey were about the same age – so there
is
a slim chance that Farrow could still be alive and kicking.'

‘Ticking, would be more like it, I would think,' Alex quipped.

Kingston chuckled. ‘If he is, I'm sure we can track him down. I've already started working on it, in fact. I've been doing a little poking around on the garden club thing.'

‘Really?' said Kate.

‘Yes. So far I've called over a dozen clubs, in Wiltshire, Hampshire and Avon – but, so far, no Thomas Farrow. I did unearth – if you'll pardon the phrase – a Thomas Farr, but he was laid to rest over thirty years ago, poor chap, so he doesn't qualify. I'll keep at it, though. I simply had no idea that there were so many damned garden clubs around.'

‘It is the world's most popular hobby,' Kate commented.

‘Yes, I know,' Kingston sighed. ‘You've only got to watch telly to know that. Doesn't seem to matter what time of day you turn it on, it's either a gardening programme or a cooking show.' He paused, then said, ‘Oh, I had another theory, too.'

‘What was that?' asked Alex.

‘Farrow could also have been a military man. There's nothing to suggest that, I grant you. All we know is what Mrs Cooke told you – that she thought her husband met Farrow at this garden club. But what if they knew each other prior to that, maybe during the war? If they did, then it could explain why the books are encoded. It's possible they might have been in the same unit together. It might have been a little game they played – you know, boffin-boy stuff – entering the hybrid crosses in code.'

‘Particularly if they suspected they were getting close to a hybridizing breakthrough,' Alex said.

‘Wow!' Kate cut in. ‘That's really clutching at straws.'

‘Well, it is, I know,' Kingston admitted. ‘But if that were the case, we could approach one of the military branches for help in decrypting the journals. Intelligence Corps would be the most likely place to start, I would think.'

‘Isn't there a faster way to track him down – through the Registrar of Births and Deaths – whatever that office is called now?' asked Alex.

‘I checked that out first. I was told it could be a time-consuming process. In any case, if they established that he had died, the records would only tell us when and where. I'm hoping to find him still breathing or, if not, to locate a surviving relative who might be able to provide some answers.'

‘Sounds like you've been quite busy, Lawrence,' said Kate. ‘Next thing we know, you'll be opening an office in Baker Street.'

‘The Baffling Case of the Blue Rose,' he laughed.

Alex interrupted, ‘Well, it really is, when you think about it. It's quite a whodunit.'

‘It is, I suppose,' said Kingston. ‘But tell me what happened at the meeting today. I'm anxious to know what Adell said.'

For the next couple of minutes Alex filled Kingston in on the key points of their meeting. Kingston listened patiently, without interrupting.

‘So what do you think of Adell's idea to auction licences to breed and market Sapphire?' asked Alex.

‘Damned clever.'

‘That's exactly what we thought,' Alex said. ‘Pretty exciting, eh?'

‘It certainly is most creative.' He paused. ‘Of course, you realize that, in doing so, the entire world will know about your rose.'

‘Adell warned us to expect that.'

‘Well, Alex, it all sounds good. You have to tell me more, when we next get together.'

‘We will,' Alex replied. ‘Oh, I forgot, there was something else Adell recommended.'

‘What was that?'

‘Security. He wants the rose put under surveillance. He's looking into it. In the meantime, as a temporary measure, he wants us to cut off all the blooms.'

‘We thought that was clever,' said Kate.

There was a long pause before Kingston responded.

‘Hmm. I'm not so sure that's a good idea. Not yet, anyway.'

‘Why do you say that?' asked Alex.

‘Let me give it a little more thought. We'll talk about it.'

When they'd hung up, Alex walked into the kitchen. Kate was about to turn the light off. She kept her hand on the switch, squinting at Alex, a puzzled look on her face. ‘I wonder why he doesn't want the roses cut off?' she said.

‘I've no idea. Blooms or no blooms, nobody's going to find the rose, anyway.'

‘You're probably right,' she said with a shrug. ‘Let's not worry about it. We can cut them off later. I want Vicky to see the rose in bloom first, then she can deadhead and take the cuttings at the same time.'

‘I bet you one thing, though,' he said, putting his arm around her.

‘What's that?'

‘That good old Lawrence finds a way to invite himself down again.'

 

A week passed with no further word from Kingston or Adell. Life at The Parsonage had resumed a pleasant orderly rhythm. With the weather much improved, Kate was spending as much time as she could in the garden.

On this celery-crisp day, she was out cutting flowers for the house. The early morning air was pungent with rich, earthy smells. Over the past six weeks, like a mother over a newborn child, she had watched the garden coming to life. There was so much to look at.

From the black decay of last year's leaves and stubble, she marvelled at how the new growth had rapidly displaced the sight of earth. How mature everything had become, almost overnight. The clematis vines fascinated her. Like inquisitive toddlers, their capricious tendrils grasped at anything in sight. Against the wall, and in some of the larger beds, fully leafed-out shrubs were now jostling for space. The snaking canes of climbing roses and coiling vines seemed to be everywhere. Throughout the garden roses were bursting forth in a dazzling confection of colours.

If Alex was home, she would have gone up to the house and dragged him away from whatever he was doing to share this moment. Perhaps, surrounded by this irresistible beauty, inhaling the seductive scents, he would at least
begin
to understand what so enthralled her. What it was that, in the fluttering of a swallow's wings, could calm or quicken her pulse, charge her emotions and stir her innermost feelings. It was a sight to make even the most jaded gasp with wonder and admiration.

It had become her daily habit to walk down to the crescent – as she and Alex now called it – to check up on Sapphire. Following Kingston's instructions, she would do nothing for the rose unless it appeared to be undergoing stress. There had been more than sufficient rain, so watering was not required. Neither was it to be fed, he had cautioned. On this day, nearly three weeks after its discovery, Sapphire looked exceptionally healthy to Kate – almost alarmingly so. Some of the petals had faded to a pretty Wedgwood blue, but new blooms were the same startling blue as before, without blemish. The perfectly formed leaves were a holly-green colour, so shiny that she could almost see her reflection in the larger ones. Then there were the thick canes, with their impenetrable armour of menacing thorns. There were no dead leaves on the ground under the bush. Unless one knew differently, the rose could be mistaken for a good silk reproduction, the kind that must be touched to make sure that it's not real.

The cell phone in her sweater pocket rang. It was Kingston calling.

‘Hello, Lawrence. Your ears must be ringing. I was just thinking of you. I'm standing here, looking at Sapphire as I speak.'

‘How is she?'

‘She appears to be just fine. It's weird, though, she always looks the same. Always healthy. Never seems to drop any leaves.'

‘Considering that it's a mutation of some kind, it's to be expected that it will deviate in some ways from accepted characteristics of the
Rosaceae
family.'

‘My thoughts entirely, doctor,' Kate said, smiling to herself.

Kingston simply grunted.

‘I was just marvelling at how unreal she looks,' she said, eyeing the rose. ‘More like a fake rose. It's sort of creepy.'

‘I'd really like to see it again. By the way, don't forget to remind your friend to take the cuttings. Perhaps it's time I came down for another look. We should take some more photos, too. Those I took were a trifle out of focus. Next time I'll use a tripod.'

‘You know you're welcome any time,' Kate said, sitting down, cross-legged on the strip of grass by the rose bed. She knew that a short phone call with Kingston was an oxy-moron.

‘That's awfully kind of you, Kate, I'd love to. But the reason I'm calling is to let you and Alex know that I've managed to dig up some information on Farrow.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes, I ferreted out the garden club that he and Cooke belonged to.' He sounded very pleased with himself.

‘That was clever of you.'

‘Not really, my dear. All it took was some good old-fashioned detective spadework. The club was in Newbury. Still is. The club president vaguely recalled Major Cooke – apparently he was once on the club's board – but had no recollection of Farrow.'

‘How did you find out about him, then?'

‘I got the names and phone numbers of all ten of the club's officers and started calling them, one by one. On the sixth call, I got lucky. The lady I talked to was the club's recording secretary. Sounded as if she smoked three packs a day. Volunteered that she was in her eighties and remembered Farrow quite clearly. Kept calling him Tommy.' He laughed. ‘The way she talked about Farrow, I think she might have had a soft spot for him.'

Kate allowed a little chuckle. ‘So, you got a phone number? An address?'

‘Yes, and no. She recalled Farrow's moving up somewhere near Bletchley in Buckinghamshire, of all places. So I checked around the post offices in the area and came up with the address of a Jennifer Farrow. She's not listed in the phone book, so I plan to take a run up there, maybe as early as tomorrow, and find out whether she's a relative.'

‘Why do you say, “of all places”?'

‘Well, my dear, Bletchley was the place where all the classified code breaking was done during the war. It was all very hush-hush. Just struck me as being too much of a coincidence, that's all.'

‘I must say, Lawrence, you're becoming a regular Hercule Poirot.'

‘Ah!
Mon ami – nous verrons ce que nous verrons, n'est-ce pas?
'

With her scant knowledge of French, Kate knew roughly what he said and it didn't escape her notice that Kingston spoke the language like a native.

‘We shall see what we shall see, Kate,' he added.

He paused momentarily. ‘The actuarial life expectancy tables would indicate that by now – unfortunately for him and us – Farrow is probably six feet under and has been for a few years.'

‘Pushing up daisies, not roses.'

‘Very good, Kate.'