‘I’ve no idea. But I know someone who would, I bet.’
‘Kingston.’
‘Right.’
Chapter Six
All gardeners need to know when to accept something wonderful and unexpected, taking no credit except for letting it be.
Allen Lacy, garden writer
Announced by a discreet brass plaque, whose blackened lettering suggested daily polishing, the law offices of Sheridan, Adell and Broughton were situated on a narrow alley off tree-shaded Lincoln’s Inn Fields. Miscalculating the walking distance from The Ivy restaurant in Covent Garden, where they had spent almost two hours over lunch, Kate and Alex arrived ten minutes late for their Friday appointment with solicitor Christopher Adell. The day before, Alex had phoned Lawrence Kingston to tell him that the meeting was going to take place.
Adell appeared much younger than Alex had reckoned when he first talked to him on the phone. After apologies for being late and handshakes, they were ushered into Adell’s sparsely furnished office overlooking a pleasant courtyard. Surprisingly, there was no diploma or old etching in sight. Instead, the walls displayed black-framed action photographs of sailing boats awash with spray and foam. These no doubt signalled Christopher Adell’s first love. His tanned face and bleached hair tended to affirm the supposition.
Alex spent the first ten minutes or so telling Adell about their recent purchase of The Parsonage, their discovery of the rose, Dr Kingston’s visit and his appraisal of the rose.
Adell listened attentively, making notes on a blue-lined pad.
‘And that’s about it,’ said Alex, finally.
‘Extraordinary,’ said Adell, putting his fountain pen down on the desktop. ‘Most extraordinary. This will have enormous impact on the world of horticulture – but then you probably don’t need me tell you that.’ He straightened in his chair and adjusted the double cuffs of his bold-striped shirt. ‘From a legal standpoint there are a number of issues which must be addressed before we get to the question of marketing and selling the rose – I gather that is your intent, is it not?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Alex answered.
‘No need to enumerate them now, of course, but among them are establishing and recording ownership, patent applications, royalties – that sort of stuff.’
‘So, you don’t think there will be a problem getting a patent for Sapphire, then?’ asked Kate.
‘Oh, no, not at all. As far as plants are concerned, they are available to anybody who discovers or invents a new variety and asexually reproduces it. It’s a straightforward process. The qualifications are quite specific. I haven’t researched the point lately, but I know, without question, your rose would qualify on more than one account.’ He leaned back, hands clasped behind his head. ‘As I recall, one of the criteria is novelty. To be novel – generally speaking, that is – a variety of plant must not have existed before in nature. There are some requirements concerning distinctiveness, too. Simply put, that means that the new plant must have characteristics that clearly distinguish it from existing varieties. This could be a different shape or size of fruit or flower, or, as in your case, colour.’ Adell paused, eyeing them both in turn. When he next spoke, his voice was perceptibly lower. ‘Getting a patent is really the least of our concerns. In terms of discovery and value, it’s something like having the equivalent of a living dinosaur on your hands. There’s really no precedent, of course. I’m afraid that the name of the game is going to be protection. Not only for the rose but, more important, for the two of you, as well.’
There was a knock on the door, and a young woman appeared with a tray of tea. She walked over, placed the tray on Adell’s desk, excused herself and left.
Adell slid the tray a few inches towards Kate and Alex. ‘Please,’ he said, ‘help yourselves.’
As Kate poured tea for Alex and herself, he continued in a more upbeat tone. ‘Other than what brief mention I might have made to Alex on the phone, I’ve told you nothing about our firm, or myself. Let me give you a little background.’ Arms folded, rocking his leather chair lazily back and forth, he proceeded to talk about the firm’s capabilities, their experience and seventy-year history. In closing Adell mentioned of a handful of their longstanding clients including a rose grower near Brighton, a client since the early forties.
Kate slid the tea tray to Adell. He paused to pour a cup for himself.
‘Before my time, one of our senior partners worked with the chap who founded the company. Ben Compton was his name – now considered somewhat of a legend in the commercial world of British roses. No longer with us, I’m afraid. He was a real treasure. Anyway, Ben’s son Charlie now runs the business. I’m now the partner responsible for their legal counsel.’
‘So you know a lot about roses, then.’ Alex intended it as more statement than question.
‘More than your average gardener, I would say. More important, I know the workings of the business, the wholesale as well as the retail side. How roses are grown commercially. How they’re marketed and merchandized. Who the big players are – most of the small ones too.’
‘Excellent,’ said Alex.
Adell’s phone buzzed. He picked it up and, turning away from them, listened for no more than a few seconds. ‘Tell him I’ll call him back within the hour. Thanks, Martha.’ He placed the phone down and swivelled his chair back to face Alex and Kate. ‘Speak of the devil. That was Charlie Compton – now let me see, where was I?’
‘You were talking about the commercial side of roses,’ Alex reminded him.
‘Right. It’s big business – colossal, in fact. It’s the world’s oldest cultivated plant and the sales keep growing every year. To give you some general idea about the numbers, last time I checked – quite a while ago – the combined sales of cut flowers and plants, worldwide, was around forty to fifty billion US dollars. There’s an enormous worldwide interest in gardening these days, and roses are the star attraction. Jackson and Perkins, the largest volume grower in the States, sell more roses in greater quality and variety than any other brand name in the world. Last time I looked, they were closing in on growing twenty million rose bushes a year. Baker-Reynolds in Washington State is not far behind.’
Alex took a quick glance at Kate. She looked impressed. ‘They’re mind-boggling numbers,’ he said. ‘So the long-term value of a blue rose would be in the many millions. Ultimately billions?’
‘A lot will depend on how the gardening public receives a blue rose, but my guess would be that, yes, it could – over the course of a few years – top the billion mark,’ said Adell.
‘Kingston was right, then,’ Kate murmured.
The conference continued for another half-hour. By that time Adell had sketched out a tentative but well-conceived plan of action. It was his last suggestion that took Kate and Alex by surprise: that the blue rose be sold to the highest bidder at an international auction. ‘How would you achieve the maximum price for a Degas or van Gogh?’ Adell reasoned.
‘Quite ingenious,’ said Kate.
Then he added a caveat. ‘If we are to proceed down this road – and that is my recommendation – it stands to reason that we will not be able to contain the secret of a blue rose for long. So a word of caution. No matter how diligent we are or what constraints we apply, word will get out. And when it does, it’s going to spread like wildfire. It’s going to happen very fast. Every rose grower on the planet is going to be on our doorstep wanting to know more, trying to circumvent the auction. From the very minute we contact the auctioneers, it won’t be a secret any more. I want you to understand that.’