Free The Blue Rose by Anthony Eglin

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.
    â€˜And that’s about it,’ said Alex, finally.
    â€˜ 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?’
    â€˜Yes, it is,’ Alex answered.
    â€˜No need to enumerate them now, of course, but among them are establishing and recording ownership, patent applications, royalties – that sort of stuff.’
    â€˜So, you don’t think there will be a problem getting a patent for Sapphire, then?’ asked Kate.
    â€˜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.
    â€˜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.’
    â€˜So you know a lot about roses, then.’ Alex intended it as more statement than