The Blue Rose (14 page)

‘– 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.'

‘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.

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.

Early in the morning, three days after Vicky was admitted to the hospital, the phone had woken them. Kate had somehow known it would be the hospital. She and Alex had been calling frequently, inquiring about Vicky's condition, only to learn that there was no improvement. If anything it was worsening.

The physician who had called that morning to inform them of Vicky's death, a Dr Simon Maclean, had more or less confirmed what they already expected, that Vicky's death was attributable to an unknown virus. He said that when the pathology tests were complete – within the next twenty-four hours – he hoped to be able to provide a more accurate cause of death. He thanked Kate for putting them in touch with Vicky's father, saying that the hospital had contacted him and that he was on his way down from Scotland.

Soft shadows were starting to melt in and out as the watery sunlight rose over the east wall. She inhaled deeply and looked dolefully about her. Her eyes were still red from crying. On her right, haughty spires of back-lit foxgloves swayed ever so gently. She touched one lightly as she passed. She looked up and wiped her eyes for the hundredth time. Above her, rambling roses showered blossoms, like sea foam, out of trees. At the periphery of her vision she caught a darting flash of blue. A kingfisher, perhaps. She came to a black wrought-iron bench and sat down. Staring forlornly into space, she let go and allowed the images of Vicky to project on her mind. They were powerfully real.

Vicky's death had overshadowed everything. The funeral service, in her home town of Aberdeen, had been simple and brief. Kate finally got to meet Alex's favourite Aunt Nell, who had accompanied them on the train. Vicky's nursery partner, Jill, also made the long trip. Sitting on the hard pew in the little stone church, clutching Alex's hand, Kate had somehow managed to suppress visions of Vicky and the tears that were so near the surface. Those would come later.

Kate got up, crossed her hands in front of her, grasping her forearms and rubbing them for warmth. She ambled up the path and set her mind to focus on more hopeful thoughts, thoughts of their new home and garden, of her deepening love for Alex. Over the last several days, she'd seen yet another side of him; the caring manner in which he had responded to Vicky's plight, his calm and selflessness in shouldering the ensuing responsibilities. They'd never shared bereavement before. She was so thankful to have someone with his level-headedness and compassion to help her through it.

Then there was The Parsonage and, of course, the question of the blue rose and the enormity of wealth that might – or now, with Graham's recent bombshell, might not – be coming their way. Over the last several days she had finally been able to overcome her initial panic at the idea of losing The Parsonage. Despite his own distrust and contempt for Graham, Alex had managed finally to persuade her to disregard Graham's callous threat. The paragraph proposing the compromise was quite specific – perfectly clear – Alex maintained. The Cookes were prepared to overlook voiding the transaction on the house as long as she and Alex agreed to turn over the rose.

It was hard to accept the fact that millions of pounds were about to slip through their fingers. While she still struggled with the idea of equating a simple flower with such a vast fortune, Alex took it all in his stride. Over the last weeks, it appeared that he was growing more and more accustomed to the idea of being super rich. Whether that would now be the case was up in the air – up to the lawyers.

But The Parsonage was another matter entirely. Whatever happened, they mustn't lose that, too. While waiting for the outcome of Graham's challenge, she could only pin her hopes on Alex's conviction that their house was not in jeopardy. ‘Don't worry, Kate, the lawyers will sort it out,' he kept reassuring her.

That made her think of Adell. He had called immediately after receiving the copy of Stanhope's letter, to say that because he'd been under the weather he had only taken a cursory look at it. After Kate pressed him for his thoughts on the Cookes' claim, his answer had been ambiguous and unconvincing. He had said merely that his first-blush assessment found it frivolous but that he needed more time to evaluate it.

Adell had been more emphatic on the matter of the missing journal Graham claimed to possess, and the possibility that a formula might now exist whereby the rose could be cloned. He had gone on to allow that for it to be taken seriously the hybridizing formula could never be accepted simply on its face value. It would obviously have to be proven viable: that following its prescription would conclusively result in the creation of a blue rose. That could take three or more years to be validated. He added that as a routine procedure, he planned to make a request that the missing journal be presented for their inspection.

With Vicky's death and now the business with Graham, she'd almost forgotten about the American. She was surprised he hadn't made further contact. Then there was the man who had sent them the letter too – Tanaka. Had they heard the last from either of them? Somehow, she doubted it. ‘What a bloody mess,' she said quietly, kicking the gravel at her feet.

As she walked back to the house her mood lightened. She had an idea. Before taking Nell back to Market Drayton today, they would stop off in Marlborough. That would cheer them both up. They would have a lovely lunch at the Polly Tea Rooms and she could return the library books and pick up Alex's painting that was ready at the frame shop.

At the reception after the funeral Kate and Alex had suggested that Nell come back with them before going home to Shropshire. After a phone call to her neighbour who was looking after her cat, it was settled. As a result, Nell had been their guest for the last three days. And Kate had enjoyed every single minute. She was going to be truly sorry to see Nell go.

As if someone had used an atomizer, the air became perfumed. Kate had brushed against a clump of lavender humming with bees. The scent rekindled memories of rainy days when, as a small child, she would secretly forage through the drawers of her mother's scented bedroom chests, looking for dresses and shoes to try on.

It was at times like these that Kate missed her mother desperately. Her father too, but in a different way. She had never really had the opportunity to get to know him well. While she was growing up he was always on the road, working as a district sales manager for a car-parts manufacturing company. He had died in a car accident when she was in grammar school. She would never forget coming home from school that rainy day to be told the tragic news. Her grief-stricken mother had never fully recovered from the loss. It was as if a part of her had died with him. She now lived in America, in a suburb of Boston, with her younger sister, moving there shortly after Kate and Alex married. Kate would have loved to have her mother here this very moment, so she could see the house and the garden in its present glory. Soon after they'd moved in, Kate had sent her photos of The Parsonage, but somehow none of the pictures did the place justice. She would call her later. It had been at least two weeks since they'd last spoken. The prospect cheered her.

She paused at the sight of an old rose bush in full bloom. Stooping, she read its marker:
La Reine Victoria
. The sight and scent were overpowering. ‘This is really all about roses, isn't it?' she muttered under her breath. An old man's infatuation turned obsession with roses. What would the Major say, she wondered, if he knew what had happened since she and Alex had become custodians of his garden and his beloved roses? Come to think of it, why hadn't he announced to the world the miracle he'd wrought? Odd, she thought.

Her most recent tally of the roses in the garden added up to two hundred and ten different types. With few exceptions, they were old varieties: Gallicas, Damasks, Albas, Bourbons and the like. Old, meaning that the ‘youngsters' in the garden were varieties dating from the nineteenth century. But the lineage of some of the senior citizens, like the Gallica roses, could be traced back through many centuries. She remembered quite clearly the day at the nursery when Vicky had told her that the oldest and the most famous of all the Gallicas was a rose called
Officinalis
– also known as the Apothecary's rose, because of its medicinal use. It was the red rose, she said, chosen by the House of Lancaster during the Wars of the Roses, which started in 1455.

‘Kate! There's a phone call for you – Kate!'

Looking up toward the house she saw Alex on the veranda in his dressing gown. ‘Oh, there you are,' he called down. ‘It's Peg – she wants to know whether you want her to work tomorrow.'

‘I'll be right up,' she replied.

Peg ran the antiques shop when Kate wasn't there. Thank goodness she'd been able to fill in these last few days.

Kate walked up to Alex and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Are you all right?' he asked, brushing away the moisture from her cheek.

‘Yes, I'm fine.' She gave him a melancholy smile. ‘Where's Nell?'

Alex nodded in the direction of the house. ‘She's in the kitchen. Lord knows what she's cooking up in there. When I last peeked in, she had practically every pot and pan we own pressed into service. The woman should run a restaurant.'

Kate managed a smile.

Yesterday evening, Alex and Kate had tried to persuade Nell to stay a couple more days but she was insistent on returning home. ‘Guests are like fish,' she reminded them. ‘For two or three days, everything's fine, but beyond that, the place starts to stink up a bit.'

This morning she was cooking ‘a proper English breakfast', as she put it, for the three of them. The night before, she'd conjured up ‘a proper English dinner', except for the Scottish trifle; and earlier, ‘a real English luncheon'.

After chatting with Peg for a couple of minutes, Kate entered the kitchen to find Alex already seated at the table, staring at his steaming plate with undisguised relish. ‘Gosh! What a treat,' he said, looking at Kate with eyebrows raised.

In front of him, still sizzling, was a formidable array of sausages, eggs, bacon, mushrooms, sauteed potatoes, fried tomatoes, fried bread – even fried kidneys.

‘I was going to do kippers too, but I didn't, because I thought that might be a little too much,' Nell shouted from the depths of the kitchen.

‘Thank God for that,' Kate stage-whispered, sitting down across from Alex, eyeing the greasy assortment of food on his plate.

Nell entered carrying Kate's breakfast and a large teapot. ‘Here's some nice strong tea,' she said, joining them at the table.

‘Well, I must say, Nell, you've done it again,' Kate said, raising her knife and fork. ‘I can't remember when we last had such a hearty–' She was interrupted by the phone ringing.

‘I'll get it,' said Alex, getting up from his chair. ‘I'm expecting a call from a client, Mrs Hendrickson. I'll take it in the living room.'

‘The lady of the loos,' Kate quipped.

Alex picked up the ringing phone, fully expecting a ruffled Mrs Hendrickson.

‘Hello?' he said.

‘Mr Sheppard?'

It certainly wasn't Mrs Hendrickson. The man's voice was cultured and completely unfamiliar to Alex.

‘Yes? Who is this?'

‘This is Ken Tanaka, Mr Sheppard. I'm calling about the letter I sent you.'

Damn. It was the other man after the rose. Hadn't he passed Tanaka's letter on to Adell? Yes, he had. ‘Do I need this?' he muttered under his breath. ‘Yes, Mr Tanaka. I recall your letter. But surely you must have heard from my solicitor by now?'

‘I did, sir. My client, however, is not interested in being part of the auction. He wants–'

‘Excuse me, Mr Tanaka,' Alex snapped, ‘it doesn't matter to me what your client wants, we aren't selling the rose, our solicitor is. And that's my final word on the subject, I'm afraid.'

‘That is unacceptable to my client.'

‘Well, then – that's just too bad.'

‘I don't think you understand. You're passing up an incredible opportunity – an offer in the several millions. Why don't I meet with you, to discuss it in more detail? I'll be happy to come to your house, if you prefer.'

‘No, absolutely not. We've got a houseguest right now – and I don't appreciate being bothered at home.'

‘I will pay you well for your time.'

‘Mr Tanaka, I appreciate the generous offer, but I'm afraid–'

‘Would a thousand pounds for fifteen minutes of your time make you change your mind?'

‘Mr Tanaka. I really must say no.'

‘Unfortunately my client will not take no for an answer.' He took a deep breath. ‘I won't quibble with you, sir. Two thousand.'

He could hire somebody to do Mrs Hendrickson's drawings for that amount of money. ‘Stop, please, Mr Tanaka. I have to go.'

‘No, please wait–'

‘I have to
go
. Please discuss it with Mr Adell. Goodbye.'

He hung up before Tanaka raised the ante to the point where he would really start to listen.

He walked back into the kitchen, where Kate and Nell were chattering away.

‘You'll never guess who that was,' Alex said.

‘Not Kingston, was it?' asked Kate.

‘No. It was our friend, Mr Tanaka.'

‘The one who wrote the letter?'

‘That one, yes.'

Kate frowned. ‘Why was he calling?' she asked.

‘He wanted to come down here and talk with you and me personally, Kate. He also offered to pay us two thousand pounds just to listen to his proposal. Can you believe it?'