The Blue Rose

Inhaling deeply, he proceeded to explain in painstaking detail and – with neat sketches on a large artist’s pad that Alex had provided – the cycle by which flowers produce seed.

‘A flower’s sole purpose in life,’ Kingston said, ‘is seduction.’ To reinforce the point, he repeated the word. ‘Seduction – to lure the pollinators: the birds, bees, butterflies and insects. The bright colours and patterns of the flowers act as a magnet. Nectar, resins, oils and perfumes are the reward. But the real purpose of this transaction, the veritable essence of life, is the transfer of pollen from the stamen, the flower’s male organ, to the stigma at the tip of the pistil, the plant’s female organ, right here.’ He stabbed a long bony finger dramatically to the place on his drawing as if it were the target of a cruise missile. ‘Where germination takes place,’ he said. ‘This is, more often than not, done by the pollinators. Bear in mind, too, that it can also be achieved by the wind, by animals and, of course, by man. When pollen is deposited on the stigma of a flower, the flower is said to be pollinated.’

At this point Kate excused herself to let in Asp, who was barking at the front door.

‘I’m not putting you to sleep, Alex, am I?’ Kingston asked.

‘No, not at all. It’s – it’s fascinating.’

Kingston smiled, helping himself to more coffee, thus avoiding the immediate need for further conversation with Alex.

Kate returned and Kingston continued where he’d left off.

‘Only certain insects will pollinate certain plants,’ he said. ‘We know, too, that the complex genetic structure of each individual plant group prohibits pollen fertilization between unlike plant species.’

‘Which means?’ asked Kate.

‘Meaning you can’t cross a rose with a daisy. But in your case it looks as if nature has finally hiccuped. It’s almost certain that a rose – probably a white one – has cross-pollinated with a blue flower of some kind.’

‘A freak of nature?’

‘Exactly. The only other possible explanation is that it was hybridized by a person or persons unknown.’

Kingston got up from the chair, smoothed his corduroy trousers and stood facing them. With chin raised, hands clasped behind his back, and eyes twinkling, he gave Alex and Kate a self-satisfied smile. ‘Well – there you have it,’ he said.

‘What do you suggest we do now?’ Kate asked. ‘What do we do with this eighth wonder of the world, Lawrence?’

‘A good question, my dear,’ Kingston answered in a more sombre tone. ‘There are some serious issues looming here,’ he said, wagging a finger in the air. ‘The first thing we need to address is how to handle the bedlam that’s going to erupt when word of a blue rose gets out. Your garden will be emblazoned on the front page of every newspaper and magazine around the globe. The fields around Steeple Tarrant will turn into an international settlement for every reporter and rose fanatic on the planet. Not only that, but every single entity in the world that has anything to do with growing roses will beg, cajole – even cheat or steal to get their hands on the blue rose patent.’

‘God, that sounds horrible,’ Kate exclaimed.

Kingston held out his open palms. ‘On the brighter side, if you play your cards right, you could soon be in the tax stratosphere of superstars and sports professionals. The fees and royalties could be monumental.’

‘I suppose commercial rose growers would be the most interested,’ said Kate.

‘Absolutely,’ said Kingston. ‘There are some big rose companies out there. You can bet your life that David Austin, in this country, will be clamouring to get their hands on the world’s first blue rose. In the States, there’s any number of big outfits. Jackson and Perkins, in Oregon, is probably the biggest. Then there’s Baker-Reynolds, also on the West Coast. In France, the big player is Meilland. In Denmark, it’s Poulsen. Any of them would undoubtedly pay an astronomical price for it. To give you some idea, I read recently that the relatively new German rose Flower Carpet has sold over fourteen million plants worldwide in a short span of time – you can just imagine how many blue roses could be sold.’

A worried look clouded Kingston’s face. ‘My advice is that you start immediately counselling the various kinds of professionals – patent lawyers, accountants and such – who are going to be essential to maintain control of what could otherwise become a nightmare.’ He scratched his forehead, as if trying to conjure something he had overlooked. ‘Oh yes, I remember what it was – there’s an extensive collection of roses out there in your garden, and it’s a certainty that whoever planted and cared for them is, or was, a dyed-in-the-wool rose enthusiast. What’s more, it’s not totally out of the question that he, or she, might have been tinkering with hybridizing. If that’s the case then there may be some records stored away somewhere. It’s taken for granted that anybody making a serious attempt at hybridizing must keep a log of some kind. It’s a long shot, but you never know.’

‘The only person we can ask is the previous owner, Mrs Cooke,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll call Julian, our estate agent, and see if he has her new phone number. Maybe she can shed some light on the matter.’

‘I very much doubt it,’ said Alex. ‘If she knew she had a blue rose in the garden she would have hardly kept it a secret, would she?’

‘I still can’t figure out how come she, her husband, or somebody else, didn’t know about it,’ Kate responded. ‘I agree, it’s well hidden, but do you mean to tell me that all the time it’s been out there nobody has seen it?’

‘And if they had, wouldn’t they have known of its rarity and tried to sell it?’ Alex interjected.

Kingston raised a hand. ‘You’re assuming that it’s been blooming all these years, Kate. It’s a mutant, and there’s a lot we don’t about this rose. Who’s to say that it will behave like a normal rose? Plus, there are other factors that might explain poor or non-florescence–’

‘Florescence?’ Alex cut in.

‘Flowering, blooming,’ Kingston replied. ‘Roses won’t do well in a soil that’s too alkaline. It’s possible that there’s chalk in that part of the garden. It’s not in a very sunny spot, either – another factor influencing flower production. Add these together and it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that it’s only just started blooming. We will never know.’

‘You’ve convinced me,’ said Kate.

‘Well, if you do find anything more, let me know right away,’ Kingston said, walking over to the coffee table, placing his cup and saucer on the tray.

Kate sensed that, for today, at least, they had exhausted the subject of the blue rose. Alex was about to leave the room when Kingston spoke again. His words were carefully chosen and articulated. ‘Kate and Alex, let me say this. I’m not sure, yet, that either of you grasp fully the significance and enormous impact that this discovery is going to have on the international world of horticulture and commerce. There’s no doubt in my mind that the two of you could become exceedingly wealthy, but you’d best prepare yourselves for some surprises and some sacrifices, too. I’m sure these can be minimized if you exercise reasonable care and good judgement.’ His expression became less serious. ‘What we have to do is to assemble a competent team of professional people to handle the legal work, management and marketing of this awesome rose. It’s going to take a lot of your time and a lot of hard work on your part.’

Kate noted that Kingston had said ‘we’.

‘What’s the first step, then?’ Alex asked.

‘To find a good lawyer.’

‘How do we go about that?’ asked Kate. ‘Blue roses are hardly a legal specialty.’

‘A patents specialist is the closest I can think of,’ said Alex.

Kingston nodded. ‘I think you’re probably right, Alex.’

‘There must be some kind of referral service, I would imagine,’ said Kate.

‘There is,’ Kingston replied. ‘You need to call the Law Society. They recommended a solicitor for me a number of years ago. As a matter of fact, I think they have a website. You may want to check, Alex.’

Alex grinned. ‘What were you accused of?’

Kate flashed him a disapproving look.

Kingston smiled. ‘We were defending old Rascal.’

Alex frowned. ‘Old Rascal?’

‘Our beagle. Took a chunk out of one of the neighbourhood kids who’d been baiting him. Mother took us to court.’