She looked directly at him, her face expressionless, anticipating his reaction. ‘It’s blue,’ she said, softly.
Kingston dropped his head down and shook it slowly from side to side. ‘Oh, no – I was afraid of that. A purplish blue, I suppose. Mauve, eh?’
‘No, it’s
‘Are you serious? I take that back – of course you are,’ he stammered.
Kate waited, suppressing her amusement, watching him regain his composure. For the next ten minutes she told him all about their recent purchase of the house and their discovery.
‘And that brings us to you, Lawrence. But first let me get the coffee. Then we’ll go outside and you can see the rose. You’re in for
Kate and Alex stood silently, several paces back from the rose bush, as Kingston started his examination. They watched as he peered through a bone-handled magnifying glass, gently prodding and poking at various parts of the rose with stainless steel tweezers. Kate could not help but think of Sherlock Holmes. She pursed her lips tightly, barely managing to suppress the urge to giggle. A quick glance at Alex, who was grinning from ear to ear at the spectacle of the doctor’s surgeon-like examination, didn’t help matters.
After a while Kingston stepped back a few paces and stood, studiously tapping the magnifying glass on the palm of his left hand as he continued to stare intently at the rose bush. Placing the glass back into the pocket of his shabby jacket, he slowly stroked his chin, all the time gazing at the unearthly rose as if mesmerized by its enigmatic beauty.
Finally, he spoke.
‘Extraordinary – most extraordinary,’ he mumbled.
‘How do you think it happened?’ Kate asked, timidly.
‘There’s really no saying,’ Kingston replied, methodically circling the rose. ‘It appears to be an aberration of nature, which we’ve always been led to believe is genetically impossible.’
Alex was grinning. ‘Then we get to keep the five hundred pounds?’
Kate could have kicked him.
Kingston simply cracked a weak smile and nodded.
Kate flashed Alex a disapproving look. ‘How valuable do you think it is?’ she asked.
‘If it can be propagated – extremely so,’ Kingston replied, tugging on his earlobe, lost in thought. ‘Let me take a few snapshots,’ he said, finally.
Kate and Alex waited patiently while Kingston used an entire roll of film, shooting the rose from every conceivable angle and focal length. ‘That should do it,’ he said, putting the camera back in its case.
‘So, what do you think, Lawrence?’ asked Alex.
Kingston looked at Alex and then across to Kate. It was evident that he was still preoccupied with the rose, groping for a suitable response. ‘Well, first of all, there appears to be no question that the rose is genuine. And I’ve no doubt that it will be considered one of the greatest horticultural discoveries of all time.’ His gaze drifted back to the rose, locking on to it. ‘As to its value, it’s anybody’s guess. Let’s just say that there are many individuals and companies that would go to extreme lengths to obtain the patent rights to a blue rose. The rewards could be staggering. But more important, is how the two of you handle this from now on. It’s going to require considerable thought and a great deal of caution.’
‘Where do we go from here?’ asked Alex.
‘That’s going to require a lot of discussion. This is only the beginning of a long drawn-out process, I’m afraid.’
Kingston turned back to them. To Kate’s surprise he was smiling. ‘Not every day one runs into a blue rose,’ he said. ‘Bit of a jolt, I must say.’
‘Well, why don’t we take you for a walk through the garden and then we’ll go back to the house,’ said Kate. ‘You’re probably ready for some lunch, I would imagine?’
‘Excellent. That would be very nice. We have much to discuss,’ he replied.
Back in the house, Kate set off for the kitchen while Alex and Kingston went to chat in the living room. Earlier, Alex had decided to mark the occasion and celebrate the impending change in their fortunes by breaking out the good stuff – a bottle of Bordeaux that a client had given him several years ago.
Kingston’s eyebrows rose when he saw the label. ‘A Chateau Lafleur-Petrus,’ he exclaimed. ‘You must have quite a cellar, Alex.’
‘Yes, well–’
‘What year is it?’
Alex picked up the bottle and studied the label. ‘1982,’ he said.
‘Good Lord!’ Kingston exclaimed. ‘That’s an absolutely excellent year for a Pomerol – one of the best in the last three decades. And very drinkable, now. 1990 was excellent too, but still a little young to open yet.’
‘Drinkable?’
‘I should have said, ready to drink. The best Bordeaux wines take many years to develop in the bottle, and shouldn’t be drunk until they have matured. ’82 is plenty old enough, though.’
Alex picked up a corkscrew. ‘Shall we?’
Kingston placed his hand on the bottle. ‘An ’82 – surely you’re going to decant it, old chap. Where’s your decanter?’
‘Ah – we don’t have one,’ Alex replied.
Kingston’s jaw dropped. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Alex said, wondering just how humiliating his admission was sounding.
‘In that case,’ Kingston sniffed, ‘you might want to open it now, and let it sit for a while.’
Alex nodded. He just prayed that he didn’t break the cork on this one. He was good at doing that.
A timer went off in the kitchen. ‘Alex!’ Kate called. ‘Could you give me a hand here?’
‘Will you excuse me, Lawrence,’ Alex said. ‘I’ll bring the wineglasses back with me.’
The kitchen was filled with the piquant aroma of herbs and hot pastry. Kate was chopping parsley with a wicked-looking cleaver.
‘How’s it doing?’ Alex asked, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.
‘Couple more minutes and it’ll all be ready,’ she said. ‘If you could get those plates out of the oven, and keep stirring the sauce, that would be great.’
Alex had always admired how simple Kate made things look in a kitchen. Everything was always under control. There was never a sense of urgency or impending disaster. If he were in charge, the sink would be piled with pots and dishes, saucepans would be boiling over and throughout the house would be a strong smell of something burning.
‘What are you two talking about?’ asked Kate.
‘Wine – mostly.’
‘Does he know anything about wines?’
Alex rolled his eyes. ‘Are you kidding? When I told him we didn’t have a decanter I might as well have been telling him we didn’t have a teapot. The man’s an expert on everything. Next thing you know he’ll be telling me how to redesign the house.’
‘Now, now,’ Kate said, smiling. ‘I have a feeling Lawrence Kingston is going to be very helpful to us, so let’s be nice to him.’
They emerged from the kitchen to find Kingston wearing horn-rimmed glasses, examining the archway that separated the dining room from the living room.
‘Marvellous old house,’ he said, running his hand along one of the beams framing the archway. ‘Splendid architectural details.’
‘Yes,’ Alex said. ‘That’s one of the things we both love about The Parsonage. That, and the garden – which is more Kate’s thing, of course.’
‘Yes, the garden,’ Kingston said, lost in thought, standing back from the archway. ‘These beams were a later addition, I think.’
‘Why, yes,’ said Alex, surprised that Kingston could see the difference between the detailing, ‘they are. The original house dates back to the 1830s – these were probably added much, much later.’
