A garden really lives only insofar as it is an expression of faith, the embodiment of a hope and a song of praise.
Russell Page, international garden designer
It was a day much more befitting mid-July. A little after eight thirty, when Alex had left for work, Kate gathered up tools from the potting shed and set off into the garden. Already she could feel the sun’s warmth on her bare arms.
She had tossed and turned all night, thinking the worst about the missing file and the disturbing phone call from the American stranger. She was convinced they were connected. Today, however, she would put aside all negative thoughts and enjoy her day off in the garden. Nothing strenuous – it would be spent simply pottering, enjoying.
A drowsy stillness hung over the garden, stirred every now and then by a gentle breeze that rustled only the topmost leaves of the old elms. High above, in the eggshell blue sky, the twittering of swallows and lazy cawing of rooks crystallized the sights and senses. It was so easy to shut off the outside world.
She busied herself deadheading roses, staking droopy delphiniums and foxgloves, and raking rose petals and dead leaves from under the thickly planted beds. Not for the first time, she was reminded of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s story, The Secret Garden. Though she hadn’t read it since childhood, she could still recall how the garden was first described: ‘The sweetest, most mysterious place anyone could imagine.’ Burnett could have been talking about the very same florid excess surrounding Kate this very minute. Even to ‘the high walls which shut it in’ and ‘the light swaying curtains, here and there, of climbing roses that had crept from one tree to another and made lovely bridges of themselves.’
Of late, Kate found herself consciously avoiding the blue rose as much as possible. She had no rational explanation for doing so, but for some time now a nagging voice skulking deep inside her warned her to be cautious. Don’t be lured by its captivating beauty and promise of vast riches, the voice kept saying. She knew that if she gave Alex even the slightest hint of her uneasiness it would only aggravate matters. She still had not been able to convince him of the downside potential of their discovery.
She stopped raking, to stare in fascination at a velvety bumblebee rolling drunkenly in the golden pollen of a peony. Quickly the bee flew off to find other temptations. Just as quickly, thoughts of the blue rose returned. The whole idea of turning it over to the lawyer had been to absolve themselves of responsibility and worry, to allow more time to themselves and enjoy their new home to the fullest. None of this was happening now. Worse, the sequence of unsettling developments was now starting to adversely affect their marriage, giving rise to ripples of dissension between her and Alex. To add further fuel to her misgivings, there was last night’s phone call. Alex wouldn’t admit it but she knew it had unnerved him. So much so that he had phoned Adell first thing that morning to tell him of the conversation.
The church clock striking twelve broke her train of thought. Why was she thinking about the damned rose again? She’d promised herself she wouldn’t do that. She just stood there for a moment, forcing her mind to think of something else – anything. She didn’t have much success. ‘Oh, bugger it,’ she said under her breath. It was obviously a good time to take a break. She gathered up her tools and set off for the house.
Kate kicked off her shoes, left them in the small room off the kitchen and walked into the house. The temperature inside was pleasantly cool – not surprising, since the old exterior stone walls of The Parsonage were over one foot thick. A heavy slate roof helped further insulate the house. The limestone floor tiles felt soothing on the soles of her feet. As she filled the kettle, she thought back to their meeting with Adell. Soon, the brochure would be sent out, and everybody and their uncle would know about their rose. Word of a blue rose would travel fast. No doubt it would hit the newspapers and then television. Up until now she hadn’t given that eventuality too much thought. What would happen then?
By the time the kettle had boiled, she knew what she would do. Saddling Alex with further debate about her qualms would only risk touching off more bickering. That was out of the question. The answer was simple: she would unburden herself on Kingston, good old Lawrence. She walked over to the Welsh dresser, picked up the phone, and punched in his number. While the phone was ringing, she reminded herself not to sound too worked up when she told him about what was happening. She was pleased when she heard his now familiar voice.
After exchanging pleasantries, mostly about the garden – and the weather, of course – she told him about the missing file.
‘Alex spoke to Adell again this morning,’ she said. ‘It still hasn’t shown up.’
‘That is strange, I must say, but you know how lost things have a way of eventually showing up,’ he said. ‘There’s probably a perfectly rational explanation. It got mixed in with another folder. Somebody put it in the wrong file, or took it home by mistake. Any number of possibilities.’
Kingston’s words were reassuring, but she knew he could hardly say anything else. He was turning out to be an incorrigible optimist. She was glad that she’d called him, though. ‘That’s true, I suppose,’ she said. ‘But that’s not the only recent development, Lawrence.’
‘What else?’
She told him about the phone call from the American. ‘Alex tried hard to convince me not to worry about it, that it was doubtful we’d hear from him again. But I could tell that he really didn’t believe that,’ she said. ‘At one point, he said the man became almost threatening.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that at all. I think you have every reason to be concerned. But an American, you say! That is interesting. I wonder how he found out it was you who owned the rose?’
‘It has to be the missing file.’
‘I doubt it, Kate. There’s got to be another explanation. Adell predicted this sort of thing, didn’t he? It doesn’t surprise me that the calls have started coming.’
‘I still think it’s the file. It makes sense. He finds out about the auction and then knows who’s handling the whole thing – Adell’s firm. And if he wants to know more about us and the rose, it’s all there in Adell’s files. Addresses, phone numbers, the brochure, everything. He may even know about you.’ She waited for him to respond.
‘Hmm,’ he said, obviously choosing his words. ‘If he did have the file, then he – or they, I suppose – certainly would have the inside track, so to speak. It wouldn’t augur at all well.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kate asked. Suddenly, she felt uneasy.
As if regretting his last remark, Kingston was slow to respond. ‘Well, like you say, they would know everything about you, wouldn’t they?’ There was another pause, then he added, ‘Where you live – and most significant of all, where they can find the rose.’
‘The possibility hadn’t escaped me,’ she said. ‘It’s not a pleasant thought, is it?’
‘Sorry, Kate. I didn’t mean to get you upset. What also concerns me is why the man wanted to remain anonymous. It goes without saying that any legitimate offer to purchase the rose would hardly be presented in such a manner. If, as you’re convinced, the file was stolen then it’s either an inside job or a professional one. More likely the latter, I would say.’
‘It’s all getting very complicated. Alex has told Adell – not that he can do much about it.’
‘Well, all you can do for the moment is to sit tight and, as best you can, ignore all these goings on until the auction. Meanwhile I suggest the two of you keep a close watch on the rose and, in general, be careful.’
‘We will, Lawrence. I’ll tell Alex that we talked,’ she said.
‘Why don’t you ask him to call me tonight, Kate? I’d like to ask him more about this mysterious American chap. It’s all very odd, I must say.’
They talked for another minute or so before hanging up.
‘Hello, Lawrence, it’s Alex. Kate said you wanted to talk to me.’
‘Yes, thanks for calling, Alex. I wanted to ask you about the phone call you got from this American chap. Kate was telling me about it earlier. Do you have a minute?’
‘Of course.’
‘You’re sure he was American?’
‘American or Canadian. I can never tell the difference.’
‘Was there anything in the conversation to suggest that he was representing somebody else?’
‘Yes. He referred to “a syndicate” at one point.’ Alex paused, then said, ‘Oh, and his “partners”.’
‘Did he mention any numbers? How much he was prepared to pay? Did that come up at all?’
‘Only vaguely. I think he used a phrase like “more money than you’ve ever dreamed of”.’
Alex combed quickly through the conversation again. ‘Oh, and he did say that Kate and I would become multi-millionaires.’
‘So, whoever they are, they’re fully aware of the rose’s value, commercially.’
‘He mentioned that, too.’
‘What?’
‘Let me think a moment. He said words to the effect that we must be aware of the impact that the rose would have commercially. I’m pretty sure he mentioned patent rights and royalties, too.’
‘That’s interesting. Anything else that struck you as unusual?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, then–’
‘Oh, wait a minute. Yes, there was. He said that he knew who our lawyers were.’
‘Hmm. If they’ve got the book on you, it’s likely that Kate could be right – that they’re the ones who have your file. It hasn’t shown up yet, I take it?’
‘No, it hasn’t.’
‘Well, Alex, let me mull this over and we’ll talk again soon. Oh, and let me know if he calls again. Correct that – when he calls again.’
Three more uneventful days passed with no sign of the file and no further word from the American. The fourth day was Alex’s birthday. To celebrate the occasion, Kate had planned an evening out with friends at one of Alex’s favourite restaurants in Shaftesbury. It was close to six thirty and they were about to leave for the forty-minute drive.
‘You did leave food and water out for Asp, didn’t you?’ Kate said, snapping shut her seat belt buckle.
‘Yes, he’s fine.’
Kate pursed her lips. ‘Did I leave the hall light on? I can’t remember.’
‘You did.’
‘And the back door’s locked?’
‘It is. And the portcullis is lowered and I’ll let the drawbridge down as soon as we reach the end of the drive.’
Kate smiled. ‘Happy birthday, darling,’ she said, for the umpteenth time that day.
As they approached the entry gate the postman walked into view.
‘You’re awfully late tonight, Sid,’ Kate remarked, as Alex pulled the car to a stop alongside him.
‘’Ad some trouble with the van,’ he muttered. ‘Piece of junk, that one.’ He handed over a small bundle of letters wrapped in junk mail flyers.
Kate put the letters on her lap while mapping out a route for Alex in the AA Road Atlas. Once they were under way, Kate flipped through the envelopes. ‘Bill – bill – doctor’s appointment – last three days of sale. Final notice?’
‘Final notice?’ Alex exclaimed. ‘Who’s that from?’
‘Just kidding. Hmm, this looks interesting,’ she said, slipping her fingernail under the flap of an expensive-looking envelope and opening it. She pulled out a one-page letter and started to read it. ‘Very interesting,’ she murmured.
Alex glanced up at the rear view mirror. ‘Who’s it from?’ he asked.
‘The letterhead reads, “Trident International” – there’s a London and a San Francisco address. Let me read it to you:
‘Dear Mr and Mrs Sheppard,I was most interested to learn about your blue rose. My company represents an individual – the head of an international corporation and a learned horticulturist – who is extremely interested in purchasing such a rose. Providing the plant passes certain botanical testing for authenticity and condition – which we will pay for in advance – my client is prepared to offer you a substantial sum in exchange for the rose and all subsequent patents.Would it be possible to arrange a meeting, at which time this proposal could be discussed in further detail and a viewing of the rose made possible?In the interests of time, please phone me at the Hampstead telephone number listed above. A prompt response would be most appreciated.’
Kate lowered the letter to her lap. ‘It’s signed Kenji. Tanaka, President,’ she said.
‘Ye gods! Here we go again. I guess the word’s really out, now.’
‘Out all over the planet, by the looks of it. I wonder how he got our name and address. Surely he can’t have access to our file, too.’
‘Not if the American lifted it.’
‘Hmm.’
‘It’s probably as Adell predicted. Someone from Bonham’s leaked it. I’m sure they know everything about us by now.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Kate murmured.
‘Anyway, I’ll fax it up to Adell tomorrow,’ said Alex. ‘Let him deal with Mr Tanaka.’
For the next several minutes they travelled in silence. Once again the blue rose had managed to insinuate its dark presence. Would the time ever come, she wondered, when it would not be lurking beneath the shallows of her thoughts, ready to surface like an insidious creature from an alien planet? She sat silently, trying to forget the letter, watching the countryside slip by, now and then glancing at Alex out of the corner of her eye. Physically, he’d changed little in the nine years they’d known each other. A frosting of grey in his sideburns now – a little plumper in the face, perhaps. But, despite having the appetite of a ditch digger, he still somehow managed to maintain the lean physique of his college sports photos. Of late, he’d been playing a lot of tennis. Word was that he was giving some of the younger hotshots quite a whipping.
Nearing Shaftesbury, on the A350, Kate caught sight of a road sign pointing to the village of Kingston Deverill. I wonder how he’s doing she asked herself. She thought back to Kingston’s last visit to The Parsonage. She smiled inwardly. It was no coincidence how he always managed to arrive at mealtimes – invariably staying for the rest of the day and evening, too. The limp excuse on his last visit for packing an overnight bag was that he planned to stay at the local, the George and Dragon. Of course, he ended up staying in their guest room.
That same evening, after dinner Kingston had launched into a long-winded reminiscing – mostly about his experiences in various far-flung outposts when he served as a captain in the army. Around ten thirty, Alex, who looked as though he might fall asleep any minute, finally excused himself, saying that he had to get up early the next morning. She and Kingston had continued talking, mostly about gardens. Another hour passed with Kingston showing no signs of tiredness. In need of a break, she asked if he’d like more coffee. The minute she did so, she regretted it. That’ll keep him going for another couple of hours, she cursed to herself.
When she returned with the coffee, Kingston steered the conversation back to The Parsonage and Kate and Alex.
‘So, how did the two of you end up at the altar?’ he asked out of the blue.
Kate was determined to make her answer as brief as possible. Now her eyes were starting to droop. Didn’t he ever get tired?
‘Well, let me see,’ she said rubbing her chin. ‘Alex told you how we met – all about the picnic.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, for about six months after that I dated an army lieutenant. Coldstream Guards. James, his name was. He got an overseas posting, wanted me to go with him and I said no. The relationship would have fizzled out anyway. It wasn’t going anywhere, not as far as I was concerned, at least. Nice chap, though.’
Kingston chuckled. ‘As they say, “Nice to the regiment, but rotten to the core.”’
She laughed and took a sip of the strong lukewarm coffee. ‘I must be boring you to tears, Lawrence,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘You must be tired.’
‘No, I’m fine. You’re not boring me at all. I find it all most interesting. Please, go on.’
Inwardly she groaned and managed to stifle a yawn just in time. ‘After that I didn’t have a regular boyfriend,’ she said. ‘The occasional date now and again but nothing serious. Then, by happenstance, I ran into Alex again. Of all places, at my shop in Bath.’
‘That must have been a surprise.’
‘It was, believe me. It was a Saturday. It was bucketing down that day.’ Her eyes wandered off momentarily towards the windows, then back to Kingston. ‘I was in the back of the shop moving furniture, helping a customer get a better look at a large armoire. Suddenly, there was this awful sound of shattering glass. It sounded expensive. I went to the front to investigate. I was horrified to see a man there, sprawled on the floor. He was lying in a pool of broken crystal, the remains of eight of my Edwardian goblets. The smear of ice cream he had slipped on was clearly visible – the little boy who had dropped it had disappeared with his mother.’
‘He wasn’t hurt or anything?’
‘No, only his vanity.’
Kingston smiled. ‘Poor bugger,’ he chuckled.
‘When he looked up and I realized it was Alex, we both burst out laughing.’
‘That’s hilarious, Kate.’
‘It really was. I still look upon it as divine intervention.’
‘Hope he offered to pay for the glasses.’
‘Absolutely. He left the shop a hundred and twenty pounds poorer, but not without talking me into a date for dinner the following weekend.’
‘So, when did the two of you finally get married?’ Kingston asked.
‘It was about three months after the glasses episode. At a civil ceremony in Bath. I’m afraid I gave Alex conniptions – I dropped the ring and it rolled into a grating. It was another twenty minutes before the ceremony was able to continue.’
The rumble and buffeting of a passing truck jolted Kate back to the present.
She shifted in her seat to face Alex.
‘What are you smiling at?’ he asked, glancing at her.
‘Oh, nothing in particular – mostly about Kingston. I wonder how he’s doing?’
‘Who knows? Probably hot on the trail of the mysterious American by now.’
‘His own Professor Moriarty.’
Kate placed her hand on Alex’s knee. ‘You know, we both kid about Kingston, but I sometimes wonder whether he knows a little more than he’s telling.’
‘About what?’
‘That’s the problem, I’m not sure. For one thing, I keep harking back to his not wanting us to take all the blooms off the rose as Adell suggested. Why would he object to that?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Alex, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
‘It’s when he talks about things like being watchful that I begin to get nervous. Isn’t that what he said?’
‘Yes, I believe he did.’
‘Well, what does he mean by that? That we might be under surveillance? Followed?’
‘I certainly hope not. But with everything that’s happening, who knows? When you think about the money involved, I suppose it’s not entirely out of the question.’
‘I agree, but it seems out of character. Didn’t you and Lawrence conclude that the American is a businessman of some kind?’
‘If you talked to him on the phone, you might not think so,’ Alex countered.
‘Maybe Kingston’s just overreacting. Next time we talk, I’ll simply ask him if he’s holding anything back.’
Nothing more was said for a couple of miles.
‘Roses,’ Alex said, breaking the long silence.
She turned and peered at him over her sunglasses. ‘What about them?’
‘Are they as finicky as everybody makes out?’
‘No, not really,’ said Kate, wondering where he was headed. ‘They’ve really had a lot of bad press over the years. Some modern hybrids are more susceptible to disease and insects, but as a genus the rose is a remarkably tough. Tougher than most, in fact.’
‘Good,’ he said.
‘In fact,’ Kate continued, ‘all over the world roses have survived, untended, for hundreds of years. I read, not too long ago, of a bunch of rose nuts in America who go traipsing about the countryside and backwater towns taking cuttings of old roses – most of them over a hundred years old.’
‘The rose nuts?’
Kate ignored the remark. ‘One of the more likely hunting grounds – or unlikely, depending on your point of view – is cemeteries. Not your everyday graveyards, but ones that have been abandoned or receive little care. The Texas Rose Rustlers, I think the group is called.’
‘Clever name.’
‘It is, isn’t it? Often they can date the rose from the year on the neighbouring headstone.’
‘So is it reasonable to assume that a rose can be safely transplanted when it’s in bloom?’
‘It’s better to do it when it’s dormant. But, yes, if you’re careful and know what you’re doing, it’s fine.’
‘Well, then, let’s move Sapphire to another garden. A secret location.’
Kate wound up her window and adjusted the barrette in her windblown hair. ‘Not a bad idea. I’m not sure–’
‘No, Kate, think about it for a moment. It may be the answer we’ve been looking for. If the rose is no longer in our garden, the next time these creeps contact us we can simply tell them to bugger off. Explain that we don’t have it any more. There’ll be no point in their snooping around our house or badgering us if they know the rose is gone. We won’t even tell Adell where it’s hidden. Remember he wanted to have it guarded? Now that won’t be necessary. Only the two of us will know. Maybe we don’t even tell Kingston. It’ll take a lot of the pressure off. It’s brilliant.’
‘So, who’s going to take care of it in this secret location? It’s got to be watered. You can’t just go plop it in a field somewhere and forget about it.’
‘Kate, I realize that. I’m not a complete horticultural troglodyte.’
They drove in silent thought another mile or so. Deftly slipping the responsive Alfa into third gear, Alex slowed to negotiate a sharp bend in the road. On their right a collection of small buildings surrounding an old whitewashed barn came into view. Along the side of the barn was a gold-lettered sign on black background: Pennyroyal Nursery.
‘Yes, of course,’ Kate said, suddenly. ‘Holly Hill Nursery – Vicky.’
‘What about her?’ asked Alex.
‘She might know of a good hiding place.’
‘Good thinking, Kate. Why don’t you call her tomorrow? I’m sure she’ll be more than glad to help out – you two are like sisters.’
‘I will,’ said Kate. ‘Then, if we can get Sapphire out of our garden, perhaps we can get our lives back to normal. Close to normal, anyway.’