‘You think we’re opening a Pandora’s Box?’
‘It’s impossible to say, Kate. How this is going to affect the two of you, we will never know until it actually happens.’ He paused to take a sip of tea then flashed a genial smile from behind the gold rim of his teacup and shook his head. ‘All I’m advising is that you will have to exercise reasonable care and good judgement, because you’ll become public domain as it were. Privacy will become a thing of the past.’
Alex was reminded of Kingston’s similar words of caution. He said nothing.
Adell ran his pen down his list of notes and circled one. ‘The question of security,’ he said, rubbing his chin. ‘We’ll need to undertake measures to ensure the rose’s safety. Until we can move it to a properly secure location, it should be guarded around the clock. For the moment – if you are absolutely certain that only the three of you know of the rose’s existence and location – we have what I’ll call a temporary security measure.’
‘We do?’ asked Kate.
‘Yes. I’m surprised you didn’t think of it yourselves.’
Alex scratched his head. ‘What is it?’ he asked.
‘You simply cut off all the blooms.’
‘Well, of course. Then nobody could tell it from any of the other two hundred odd roses.’
‘Not unless they really know a lot about roses and saw those perfect leaves,’ said Kate.
Alex shook his head. ‘That’s most unlikely, I would say.’
‘Anyway,’ said Adell, tapping his pen of the desk, ‘do it when you get back. We can talk later about a more permanent security system.’
‘Will do,’ said Alex.
Kate snapped her finger. ‘I could try drying the roses,’ she said.
‘That’s fine,’ said Adell. ‘But I would caution you not to show them to anybody.’ He looked at his watch. ‘One more thing. Before we do anything, we must establish beyond any doubt that you are the rose’s rightful and sole owners. We can’t proceed until we have recorded that.’
‘Alex and I are a bit confused on that question,’ said Kate. ‘In fact, we don’t see eye to eye on it.’ She glanced at Alex, who made a slight gesture toward Adell as if to say, go ahead, ask him. She turned back to Adell. ‘Well, Alex maintains that since the rose is on our property we are the rightful owners – possession being nine points of the law, as he says. But don’t you think that, if – and I grant you it’s a big “if” – it’s ultimately proved that the rose was created by Major Cooke, not by some freak accident of nature, shouldn’t Mrs Cooke be entitled to the money? Besides, from the staggering numbers being bandied around there’ll be much more money than any of us could ever want.’
‘It’s going to depend on how solid a case we can present,’ said Adell. ‘If, as you speculate, it’s proved later that Major Cooke did indeed create the rose, then Mrs Cooke could, should she so decide, contest our claim. I’m afraid that it’s not possible this early in the game to give you a definitive answer, Kate. Meanwhile, let’s proceed on the assumption that you are the sole owners.’
Alex smiled at Kate. ‘That’s fine by us,’ he said.
Kate nodded in agreement.
They had much to talk about on the cab ride to Paddington station.
With a sigh of resignation, Lawrence Kingston placed the folded newspaper on the side table next to him, took off his bifocals and rubbed his tired eyes. For tonight, he had gone as far as he could with the crossword. It was the Saturday Times jumbo puzzle with over seventy devilishly cryptic clues to solve. After wrestling with it for two hours he’d pencilled in barely a dozen answers.
Draining the remains of his cognac, Kingston gazed pensively at the framed photo of his daughter, Julie, that occupied a prominent spot on the mantelpiece. She now lived in Seattle and he missed her deeply. She was the only woman remaining in his life and would undoubtedly continue so, for he had no further notions of any female relationships beyond the occasional dinner or theatre date. Since the death of his wife, Megan, some years earlier, he had chosen to remain single.
Most people dream of retiring to a cottage in the country after a lifetime of work in the city or suburbs, but Lawrence Kingston had chosen to move to London. The city, with its theatres, museums, concert halls, excellent restaurants and libraries, suited his aesthetic tastes. More for the challenge than the income, he accepted a modest consultation job now and again. His two-storey flat on Cadogan Square, conveniently located within walking distance of the elegant shops and amenities of Knightsbridge and Sloane Street, was ample for his needs. Packed into its high-ceilinged rooms, the furniture and trappings were decidedly masculine. Overstuffed couches and leather chairs, antique furniture, book-lined walls, tasteful art and an overabundance of artifacts and bibelots, signalled good taste and a well-travelled life. The only touch that might suggest a feminine hand at work was the large vase of white roses, lilies and freesias that always occupied the same position on top of a French sideboard. Megan had always loved flowers in the rooms of their house. To preserve the custom, Kingston paid a florist’s shop on the King’s Road a stiff sum to replace the arrangement every two weeks all year round. Despite this plenitude of possessions and memorabilia, there was a pleasant orderliness about the place.
That morning, he had received an express package from Alex containing an explanatory letter along with the eleven leather-bound journals thought to be those that Major Cooke and Thomas Farrow used in their greenhouse experiments. Since then he had studied them at great length and concluded that, in all likelihood, they were, indeed, records of hybridizing written in a code of some sort.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost nine thirty. Surely, by now, Alex and Kate would have returned from their meeting in London with the lawyer. He would give them one last try – he was curious to know how legal minds would assess such an earthshaking botanical discovery and what they would recommend.
After the fifth or sixth ring, he was about to place the phone back on the cradle when Alex answered.
‘Sorry to call so late, Alex,’ he said, ‘but I thought you’d probably be late getting back from town, anyway.’
‘No problem at all, Lawrence. We stopped off at the Crown for a spot of supper on the way back. Let me tell you, it was quite a long day.’
‘I thought you might like to know that I’ve taken a thorough look at the journals.’
‘That was quick.’
‘Well, to be honest, there wasn’t much to go on. They are well organized and whoever compiled them did an exceptionally neat and thorough job. Sorry to say, though, I’m afraid they might not be of much use.’
‘That’s a shame. Wait a second – Kate will probably want to hear what you have to say. Let me put her on the other phone.’
Kate came on the line.
‘Hello, Kate,’ said Kingston. ‘I was about to tell Alex my thoughts about Major Cooke’s journals.’
‘I’m all ears,’ said Kate.
‘Well, my considered opinion is that the books are, indeed, records of hybridizing. Given everything we know, it’s reasonable to conclude – though there’s no name affixed to any of them – that they belonged to Major Cooke.’
‘Isn’t there also the off-chance that they could have been compiled by the Farrow chap?’ Alex asked.
‘It’s immaterial. For whatever reason – as you already know – either or both used some kind of code to indicate all the crossings, the roses they used for cross-pollination, and all the accompanying notes. Unless we can break the code, we may never know whether your rose was the result of Major Cooke’s experiments or not. I’m afraid it’s starting to look as if we might be up against a brick wall.’