She almost ran into him.
‘Alex, what on earth are you doing?’ she said breathlessly. ‘Have you gone bonkers?’
He was facing her now. His face had a strange look. She had never, ever, seen him this agitated.
He took her other hand.
‘Alex,’ she began.
‘Wait,’ he said, holding up a hand. ‘Eyes closed, please.’
She sighed. ‘All right.’
She closed her eyes and let him lead her no more than a dozen paces. ‘Alex, this is silly…’ she started to protest, when they stopped. He let go of her hand and stepped behind her. She could now feel his hands on her shoulders, his breath on her cheek.
‘Eyes still closed?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Open them now,’ he whispered.
She did.
At first, what she saw made no sense. For a second, she thought her eyes were still adjusting to the light. Behind her, Alex was squeezing her shoulders.
‘I wasn’t hallucinating after all,’ he murmured.
‘It can’t be – it’s not possible,’ she breathed.
‘It is,’ Alex said.
Standing shoulder height in front of them was a rose bush, thick with thorns and silky dark green leaves. It was covered with blooms the size of tennis balls – dozens of them. They were plump and perfectly formed.
They were blue.
A brilliant blue. Not lavender or mauve, but an electric sapphire blue.
Kate edged closer and knelt until her face was inches from one of the blooms. She gripped it lightly and gently tugged one of the petals.
‘Oh – my – dear – God!’ she said, quietly. ‘It is real!’
Moving in closer she inhaled its fragrance. It was soft and velvety. More like jasmine than rose – but more complex, more intoxicating. It was too much: not only a blue rose, but one with a seductive perfume too.
‘Alex,’ Kate said, getting up, still staring hypnotically at the rose, ‘this is not one of your silly pranks, is it?’
She barely heard his answer. ‘Not this time.’
‘You know, this is supposed to be genetically impossible. That’s why there’s never been a blue rose. Ever.’
Alex didn’t answer. He was busy inspecting the thorns on the claret-coloured canes.
‘I wonder how old it is?’ Kate muttered. ‘How long it’s been growing here?’
‘Looks pretty old to me, but then, what the hell do I know?’ He stood up. ‘God! Those thorns are like bloody needles.’
‘Alex, listen to me. I don’t think you realize the significance of this. We’re looking at a horticultural miracle.’
For a moment they stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the rose bush.
Alex took a sideways glance at Kate. ‘What do you think we should do, then?’
‘I’m really not sure.’
‘Maybe we should ask Vicky to have a look at it. She’d know. Why don’t we go up and call her at the nursery?’
Her eyes still glued on the rose, Kate paused before replying. ‘You’re right. Vicky would almost die if we were to tell her about this, but let’s not rush our fences. I think we should sleep on it first.’
‘Whatever you say.’
‘Alex, if this is for real – and it certainly looks like it – I have a hunch that it could be worth an awful lot of money. But if word gets out we could have a major problem on our hands.’
‘Why?’
‘Can’t you picture it? Everybody and his brother will be hammering on our door wanting to see it.’
‘Then we’ll just have to keep it a secret until we find out more about it.’
‘Exactly.’
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
Finally, Alex put his arm around Kate’s waist and squeezed. ‘Well, I think this is really exciting. Tell you what, let’s go and have lunch. Then, afterwards, I’ll come back down and take some photos. Not that anybody will believe them. Blue roses are only a click of the mouse with Photoshop.’
‘True. But you’re right, we should take some anyway.’ Kate took his hand as she watched Asp sniffing the ground by the rose.
Alex smiled. ‘I think we’d better get Asp out of there or he’s going to be peeing away our fortune.’
‘Come on, Asp,’ she chuckled.
They took one more look at the mesmerizing sapphire blooms and then started back toward the house.
‘One good thing,’ said Alex, as they headed up the path, ‘it’s perfectly safe where it is and we’ve got all the time in the world to think about it.’
Kate simply nodded.
He put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Anyway, what makes a blue rose so valuable? It’s only a horse of a different colour, isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s not, believe me. I read an article about it. Scientists have spent years trying to create a blue rose, without success. The explanation was far too technical for me, but the gist of it was that they couldn’t isolate the gene from another blue flower – I believe it was a petunia – and pass it on to a rose.’
‘They’re called blue genes, I suppose.’
‘Very funny.’
A squirrel skipped across the path in front of them, hotly pursued by a yapping Asp.
‘I bet the Internet will turn up some information,’ said Alex.
‘You’re probably right. I’ll check the library, too.’
‘I wonder how much it’s worth?’
‘To a company selling roses, a great deal, I would imagine.’
‘Hmm.’ Alex squeezed her shoulder. ‘Maybe fixing up the house is going to happen sooner than we expected.’
‘Could be,’ Kate said. ‘We’ll soon find out.’
Chapter Three
Won’t you come into the garden? I would like my roses to see you.
Richard Sheridan
Kate had a hard time sleeping. She woke Alex several times as she tossed and turned, visions of the blue rose invading her mind. At some point during her many waking moments she recalled an article that she’d read some time ago about roses. It was devoted entirely to propagating and hybridizing, written by one of Britain’s foremost experts. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she was that their next move – rather than talk to the people at Kew Gardens or the National Rose Society, as Alex had suggested – should be to engage the services of an individual expert. In doing so, there would be far less chance of word leaking out. The professor who wrote the article could be the very person they were looking for. Hopefully he could be persuaded to examine the rose, authenticate it, and, more important, give them advice on what they should do.
As the first glimmer of daybreak outlined the windows, she got out of bed and went down to the kitchen to make tea. There was no need to turn on the lights. The recently lime-washed walls were already bathed in the dawn light. With a steaming hot mug of tea in her hand, she went out to the living room and began rummaging through a stack of old gardening magazines till she found the one she was looking for. Then, with the magazine rolled under her arm and her mug of tea, she walked out into the garden and headed for the crescent to take another look at the rose.
The songbirds were in full chorus as she stood facing the rose, her hands clasped around the mug for warmth. It seemed even more seductive, certainly more real, in the cool grey morning light. How on earth had it happened? It must have something to do with the house’s previous owners. Hadn’t they created the garden? Surely they must have known about the rose. During the negotiations for the sale of the house, neither she nor Alex had met the former owner. All they knew was that she was an elderly widow, a Mrs Cooke. Perhaps she rarely ventured into the garden or was an invalid. But that wouldn’t necessarily explain it either. She or her deceased husband obviously enjoyed the garden. Judging by the size of it, the bush had certainly been growing in the same spot for more than just a couple of years. One of them should have known about it. On the other hand, the entire garden had become so overgrown that the chance of stumbling on the rose would have been unlikely. On top of that, the rose was extremely well hidden. After all, she and Alex hadn’t spotted it during their several walks through the garden. There was another thing, too. She and Alex had no idea how long it bloomed. If it was like most of the old garden rose varieties it would only put out roses once a year, the flowers sometimes lasting for as little as three to four weeks. After that, nobody would know it was a blue rose bush. Despite all this, she had an odd feeling that somebody must have known about it.