She let out a long sigh, as if she didn’t want to continue. Alex was about to offer words of comfort when she brushed a hand lightly across one eye and said, ‘I think you already know the ending to the story.’
Kingston broke the silence. ‘The boy died,’ he said solemnly.
‘Yes, he did. And for all these years, I’ve had a gnawing suspicion that the deaths were linked in some way, and now, it seems, you may have stumbled on proof of it.’
‘It’s certainly starting to look that way,’ said Alex. ‘When did the young boy die? Do you remember what year it was?’
‘Not exactly. It must be well over three years ago now, I would imagine. Although it could be more.’
‘We should check with the hospital in Bath, Alex,’ Kingston said.
Alex nodded.
Mrs Cooke looked drained and close to tears. ‘I’m sorry. I suppose I should have told you all this when you bought the house. At the time, I didn’t think it was important – it was all in the past.’
‘It wouldn’t have made any difference at the time anyway, Mrs Cooke,’ Alex said, in an effort to make her feel more comfortable.
‘So all of this had to do with this particular rose then? The one that my husband created.’
‘That seems to be the case,’ Kingston replied. ‘It’s certainly starting to look that way.’
Alex stood, taking her hand and holding it between his. ‘Well, we’ve taken far too much of your time already, Mrs Cooke. Again, I can’t tell you how saddened we are about Graham’s passing. Promise me you’ll call if you need anything.’
‘I will. Thank you, Alex. You tell that Kate of yours I’d really like to see her again,’ she said, letting go of his hand. She turned towards Kingston. ‘It was very nice to make your acquaintance, doctor. It’s such a shame the circumstances had to be so unpleasant.’
‘Yes, these are, indeed, sad times,’ Kingston said, his voice heavy with solace. ‘You’ve been more than kind and very helpful. Alex and I greatly appreciate your frankness and hospitality.’ He gave her a formal handshake and a comforting smile. ‘Oh, and if, by chance, you come across that journal, perhaps you’ll let us know.’
‘I will, doctor.’
On the front porch, Mrs Cooke took considerable time shaking hands again with them both. Clearly she would have liked them to stay longer. Finally, Alex and Kingston stepped outside and walked down the crazy-paved path to their car.
Kingston started the engine, shifted into first and let out the clutch. As they drove off, he glanced at Mrs Cooke in the rear view mirror, now a diminutive figure waving goodbye. He rolled down the window and waved back.
‘I can tell you one thing,’ he said, turning to Alex. ‘Whoever did nick the rose is going to be in for one hell of a surprise if it nicks them.’
Chapter Twenty-one
With a garden, there is hope.
Grace Firth
Kate had hoped – anticipated, in fact – that having signed the agreement she would have been set free by now. But there was still no sign of her abductors. They had been very careful not to show their faces in all the time she had been imprisoned.
Food and other necessities were passed through the narrowly opened, quickly closed door. This happened at staggered times, often while she slept. Mercifully, they had been considerate in providing her with books, magazines and other small treats. One evening she awoke to find a small box of Black Magic chocolates by the door. She spent most of the time reading, thinking about Alex and the house or fantasizing about what she would do when the nightmare was over.
Sometimes she tricked her mind into playing out imaginary scenarios – most cast in the future, when she would be back with Alex at The Parsonage, when this wretched nightmare would be a distant memory. She always emerged from these daydreams vowing to be more attentive, more understanding, more loving when things returned to normal. She was beginning to forget what normal was like. Or whether there really was such a state.
More and more her beloved garden played a major role in these fantasies. She pictured the roses starting to fade. By now most of the old varieties doubtlessly would have finished blooming. In their place asters, Japanese anemones, chrysanthemums and other autumnal flowers would take over. Hydrangeas, too. She remembered seeing those huge mop-headed shrubs in some of the photos Mrs Cooke had shown them. It was Kate’s plan to dry a lot of those when the blooms were almost spent.
She summoned a reproachful smile. Perhaps she should have listened to Alex when he had suggested destroying the blue rose. She recalled her apprehension and prophecies when they first found the rose, how it might adversely change their life, how it could imperil their marriage. Not even in her worst dreams had she envisioned anything like the present horror. While she tried hard not to dwell on her miserable situation, she could not avoid speculating on how it would play out.
She wondered how Asp was doing. Dear little Asp. She would forever cherish the memory of the day he came into their lives in Bath, over a year ago. It could easily have been yesterday. It was a Saturday, she remembered, and Alex had disappeared early that morning without waking her. When she got up and went down to the kitchen there was a note on the table: I’ll be back around noon. Stick a bottle of champers in the fridge. XXX Alex. Shortly before twelve she heard Alex’s Alfa pull into the drive and the customary toot of the horn. She looked out of the window, watching as he got out of the car and headed for the front door. He was carrying a shallow wicker basket.
Entering the kitchen, he was all smiles. ‘Here, Kate,’ he said, handing her the basket as if it were filled with new-laid eggs.
As she took it from him she thought she saw something move under the plaid cloth that concealed its contents. She gave Alex a quizzical look and slowly pulled the cloth aside.
Curled in a tight ball was a tiny puppy. As she gently caressed its velvety fur, it stretched, yawned, and started licking her finger. Then the tears started to roll slowly down her cheeks.
‘What do you think?’ Alex asked, grinning ear to ear. ‘It’s a boy, by the way.’
‘I don’t know what to say, Alex,’ she said, wiping her eyes. ‘He’s lovely. Does he have a name?’
‘Not yet.’
‘What made you–’
‘I thought a lot about what we discussed Wednesday evening, about selling the house and moving farther out. For some reason I couldn’t imagine us living in the country without a dog. I was going to wait for your birthday but I decided not to hold off. I saw the ad two days ago and decided to go for it.’ He smiled. ‘If you’re not sure about taking on a new responsibility, he comes with return privileges, by the way.’
‘Oh, no, Alex, he’s lovely. Let’s keep him.’
He took the basket from Kate, put it on the floor, and picked up the puppy, holding its wet pink nose up close to his. ‘We’ve got to think of a name for you, young feller,’ he said, gently lowering the puppy to the floor. They had watched it waddle unsteadily under the table where it proceeded to make a small puddle…
The quick creak of the door opening brought her back to the present. She turned just in time to see a small stack of magazines being placed on the floor. As quickly as it had opened, the door closed again, and she heard the bolt slide into place. She hoped that the selection was better than the last time. Most of them had been hunting, fishing and hotrod magazines.