‘Anyway, I’ll fax it up to Adell tomorrow,’ said Alex. ‘Let him deal with Mr Tanaka.’
For the next several minutes they travelled in silence. Once again the blue rose had managed to insinuate its dark presence. Would the time ever come, she wondered, when it would not be lurking beneath the shallows of her thoughts, ready to surface like an insidious creature from an alien planet? She sat silently, trying to forget the letter, watching the countryside slip by, now and then glancing at Alex out of the corner of her eye. Physically, he’d changed little in the nine years they’d known each other. A frosting of grey in his sideburns now – a little plumper in the face, perhaps. But, despite having the appetite of a ditch digger, he still somehow managed to maintain the lean physique of his college sports photos. Of late, he’d been playing a lot of tennis. Word was that he was giving some of the younger hotshots quite a whipping.
Nearing Shaftesbury, on the A350, Kate caught sight of a road sign pointing to the village of Kingston Deverill. I wonder how he’s doing she asked herself. She thought back to Kingston’s last visit to The Parsonage. She smiled inwardly. It was no coincidence how he always managed to arrive at mealtimes – invariably staying for the rest of the day and evening, too. The limp excuse on his last visit for packing an overnight bag was that he planned to stay at the local, the George and Dragon. Of course, he ended up staying in their guest room.
That same evening, after dinner Kingston had launched into a long-winded reminiscing – mostly about his experiences in various far-flung outposts when he served as a captain in the army. Around ten thirty, Alex, who looked as though he might fall asleep any minute, finally excused himself, saying that he had to get up early the next morning. She and Kingston had continued talking, mostly about gardens. Another hour passed with Kingston showing no signs of tiredness. In need of a break, she asked if he’d like more coffee. The minute she did so, she regretted it. That’ll keep him going for another couple of hours, she cursed to herself.
When she returned with the coffee, Kingston steered the conversation back to The Parsonage and Kate and Alex.
‘So, how did the two of you end up at the altar?’ he asked out of the blue.
Kate was determined to make her answer as brief as possible. Now her eyes were starting to droop. Didn’t he ever get tired?
‘Well, let me see,’ she said rubbing her chin. ‘Alex told you how we met – all about the picnic.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, for about six months after that I dated an army lieutenant. Coldstream Guards. James, his name was. He got an overseas posting, wanted me to go with him and I said no. The relationship would have fizzled out anyway. It wasn’t going anywhere, not as far as I was concerned, at least. Nice chap, though.’
Kingston chuckled. ‘As they say, “Nice to the regiment, but rotten to the core.”’
She laughed and took a sip of the strong lukewarm coffee. ‘I must be boring you to tears, Lawrence,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘You must be tired.’
‘No, I’m fine. You’re not boring me at all. I find it all most interesting. Please, go on.’
Inwardly she groaned and managed to stifle a yawn just in time. ‘After that I didn’t have a regular boyfriend,’ she said. ‘The occasional date now and again but nothing serious. Then, by happenstance, I ran into Alex again. Of all places, at my shop in Bath.’
‘That must have been a surprise.’
‘It was, believe me. It was a Saturday. It was bucketing down that day.’ Her eyes wandered off momentarily towards the windows, then back to Kingston. ‘I was in the back of the shop moving furniture, helping a customer get a better look at a large armoire. Suddenly, there was this awful sound of shattering glass. It sounded expensive. I went to the front to investigate. I was horrified to see a man there, sprawled on the floor. He was lying in a pool of broken crystal, the remains of eight of my Edwardian goblets. The smear of ice cream he had slipped on was clearly visible – the little boy who had dropped it had disappeared with his mother.’
‘He wasn’t hurt or anything?’
‘No, only his vanity.’
Kingston smiled. ‘Poor bugger,’ he chuckled.
‘When he looked up and I realized it was Alex, we both burst out laughing.’
‘That’s hilarious, Kate.’
‘It really was. I still look upon it as divine intervention.’
‘Hope he offered to pay for the glasses.’
‘Absolutely. He left the shop a hundred and twenty pounds poorer, but not without talking me into a date for dinner the following weekend.’
‘So, when did the two of you finally get married?’ Kingston asked.
‘It was about three months after the glasses episode. At a civil ceremony in Bath. I’m afraid I gave Alex conniptions – I dropped the ring and it rolled into a grating. It was another twenty minutes before the ceremony was able to continue.’
The rumble and buffeting of a passing truck jolted Kate back to the present.
She shifted in her seat to face Alex.
‘What are you smiling at?’ he asked, glancing at her.
‘Oh, nothing in particular – mostly about Kingston. I wonder how he’s doing?’
‘Who knows? Probably hot on the trail of the mysterious American by now.’
‘His own Professor Moriarty.’
Kate placed her hand on Alex’s knee. ‘You know, we both kid about Kingston, but I sometimes wonder whether he knows a little more than he’s telling.’
‘About what?’
‘That’s the problem, I’m not sure. For one thing, I keep harking back to his not wanting us to take all the blooms off the rose as Adell suggested. Why would he object to that?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Alex, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.
‘It’s when he talks about things like being watchful that I begin to get nervous. Isn’t that what he said?’
‘Yes, I believe he did.’
‘Well, what does he mean by that? That we might be under surveillance? Followed?’
‘I certainly hope not. But with everything that’s happening, who knows? When you think about the money involved, I suppose it’s not entirely out of the question.’
‘I agree, but it seems out of character. Didn’t you and Lawrence conclude that the American is a businessman of some kind?’
‘If you talked to him on the phone, you might not think so,’ Alex countered.
‘Maybe Kingston’s just overreacting. Next time we talk, I’ll simply ask him if he’s holding anything back.’
Nothing more was said for a couple of miles.
‘Roses,’ Alex said, breaking the long silence.
She turned and peered at him over her sunglasses. ‘What about them?’
‘Are they as finicky as everybody makes out?’
‘No, not really,’ said Kate, wondering where he was headed. ‘They’ve really had a lot of bad press over the years. Some modern hybrids are more susceptible to disease and insects, but as a genus the rose is a remarkably tough. Tougher than most, in fact.’
‘Good,’ he said.
‘In fact,’ Kate continued, ‘all over the world roses have survived, untended, for hundreds of years. I read, not too long ago, of a bunch of rose nuts in America who go traipsing about the countryside and backwater towns taking cuttings of old roses – most of them over a hundred years old.’
‘The rose nuts?’
Kate ignored the remark. ‘One of the more likely hunting grounds – or unlikely, depending on your point of view – is cemeteries. Not your everyday graveyards, but ones that have been abandoned or receive little care. The Texas Rose Rustlers, I think the group is called.’
‘Clever name.’
‘It is, isn’t it? Often they can date the rose from the year on the neighbouring headstone.’