The Blue Rose by Anthony Eglin Page A

meetings, we’ve reached some tough conclusions that you should know about. You’re not getting any sugar with this pill. These are the facts. Eighteen months ago we started to experience a drop in sales. At first the decline was modest but as we entered our peak season sales started to plunge. In the first quarter of this year they were off over twenty-nine per cent.’
    He paused to let the number sink in. ‘Twenty-nine per cent,’ he said, slowly. He shook his head from side to side. ‘Twenty-nine per cent,’ he whispered, mouthing the words.
    The expressions around the table were stone-faced, as Wolff continued. ‘Despite taking corrective measures, the situation has worsened. Now we face two simple choices. Either, by some process, to dramatically hype sales, or –’ His lips tightened. ‘To start downsizing.’ Brushing a lock of hair from his eyes he waited a moment for the words to sink in.
    â€˜We’ve analysed our operational and selling costs and are satisfied that there’s little or no fat to be cut there. That leaves these options: first, to start immediately on an aggressive effort to sell the products we presently own; second, we must, and I repeat must, bring new products to market now. I’m not talking about in the next year or so – we don’t have that luxury. We’ve got to pull a rabbit out of the hat very soon or pink slips start showing up in the pay envelopes.’
    Wolff ’s cold eyes came to rest for a moment on Bill Samuelson, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
    â€˜And the first casualties will be in the sales department,’ Wolff added.
    Turning to Steve Weber, B-R’s Director of Research and Hybridizing, he continued. ‘Research and Development. We need fresh, new ideas in roses. We can’t rely on regurgitating the same tired old hybrid teas and floribundas any more. We’re at war with the British again – with David Austin’s English roses; the Germans are pounding away at our flank with their Flower Carpet roses; the French with Meilland’s Romantica series. Christ! Even the Canadians are in the battle, convincing buyers that they can grow roses around igloos.’
    An ominous silence gripped the room as Wolff paused to take a sip of water.
    â€˜Everyone must put on their thinking caps and come up with creative ideas. Within the next five days there’ll be another staff meeting, at which time I’ll expect all department heads to present their thoughts on turning this thing around. Don’t give me any Band-aid ideas. I’ll say it one more time. Somehow, between us, we must come up with an earthshaking new horticultural innovation to stop this freefall. I’m not talking six months from now – not even three months from now – we need it right now. I don’t care what it costs. If it’s a big-time idea, I’ll come up with big-time bucks to put behind it. Think hard about it. Have your families and friends think about it. Because if we don’t make it happen – and, I mean soon – this company is going to go under. And we’re all going with it.’
    With that he turned and left the room.

Chapter Eight
    Gardeners, I think, dream bigger dreams than emperors.
    Mary Cantwell
    Thomas Farrow’s cottage was in a cul-de-sac at the north end of Little Stanton village. It took Kingston two passes through the hamlet before he found it. The chattering windscreen wipers of the TR4 were no match for the gusting rain that made it difficult to see much up ahead.
    Finally he glimpsed the braided cap of the thatched roof peeking out above a tall yew hedge. It was the only part of the cottage visible from the street. Climbing out of his car, Kingston gingerly made his way up a narrow flight of slippery stone steps, keeping a firm grip on his umbrella and his briefcase. He had brought four of Major Cooke’s journals with him, just in case. At