False Impression

Anna wanted to jump up and run out of the room, but she couldn’t move. Her father always told her when you’ve been found out, confess. She confessed everything. In fact, she even let him know where the painting was hidden. Once she finished, Nakamura didn’t speak for some time. Anna sat and waited to be escorted unceremoniously from a building for the second time in just over a week.

“I now understand why you didn’t wish the painting to be sold for at least ten years and certainly wouldn’t want it to be put on public display. But I am bound to ask how you intend to square the circle with your former boss. It is clear to me that Mr. Fenston is more interested in holding on to such a valuable asset than having the debt cleared.”

“But that’s the point,” said Anna. “Once the overdraft has been cleared, the Wentworth estate can sell the painting to whomever they wish.”

Mr. Nakamura nodded. “Assuming that I accept your version of events, and if I was still interested in purchasing the Self-Portrait, I would want to make some conditions of my own.”

Anna nodded.

“First, the painting would have to be purchased directly from Lady Arabella, and only after legal tenure had been properly established.”

“I can see no objection to that,” said Anna.

“Second, I would expect the work to be authenticated by the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.”

“That causes me no problems,” said Anna.

“Then perhaps my third condition will cause you a problem,” said Nakamura, “and that is the price I am willing to pay, as I do believe that I am, to use that ghastly but appropriate American expression, in the driving seat.”

Anna nodded her reluctant agreement.

“If, and I repeat if, you are able to meet my other conditions, I am happy to offer, for the Wentworth Van Gogh Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear, fifty million dollars, which I have worked out will not only clear Lady Arabella’s debt but leave enough over to cover any taxes.”

“But it could come under the hammer for seventy, even eighty million,” Anna protested.

“That assumes you are not hammered long before then,” Nakamura replied. “I apologize,” he added immediately. “You have discovered my weakness for bad puns.” He smiled for the first time. “However, I am advised that Mr. Fenston has recently issued a bankruptcy order against your client, and knowing the Americans as I do, it might be years before any legal action can be settled, and my London lawyers confirm that Lady Arabella is in no position to consider the crippling legal costs such a lengthy process would undoubtedly incur.”

Anna took a deep breath. “If, and I repeat if”—Nakamura had the grace to smile—“I accept your terms, in return I would expect some gesture of goodwill.”

“And what do you have in mind?”

“You will place 10 percent, five million dollars, in escrow with Lady Arabella’s solicitors in London, to be returned if you do not wish to purchase the original.”

Nakamura shook his head. “No, Dr. Petrescu, I am unable to accept your gestu

re of goodwill.”

Anna felt deflated.

“However, I am willing to place five million in escrow with my London lawyers, the full amount to be paid on exchange of contracts.”

“Thank you,” said Anna, unable to disguise a sigh of relief.

But Nakamura continued. “Having accepted your terms, I would also expect some gesture of goodwill in return,” he said as he rose from behind his desk. Anna rose nervously. “Should the deal go through, you will give serious consideration to taking up the appointment as the CEO of my foundation.”

Anna smiled but did not bow. She offered her hand and said, “To use another ghastly but appropriate American expression, Mr. Nakamura, we have a deal.” She turned to leave.

“And one more thing before you go,” said Nakamura, picking up an envelope from his desk. Anna turned back, hoping she didn’t look apprehensive. “Would you be kind enough to pass on this letter to Miss Danuta Sekalska, a huge talent that I can only hope will be allowed to mature.” Anna smiled as the chairman accompanied her down the corridor and back to the waiting limousine. They chatted about the tragic events in New York, and the long-term consequences for America. However, Nakamura made no reference to why his regular driver was in hospital recovering from serious injuries, not least to his pride.

But then the Japanese have always considered that some secrets are best kept in the family.

Whenever Jack was in a strange city, he rarely informed the embassy of his presence. They always asked too many questions he didn’t want to answer. Tokyo was no exception, but he did need some of his own questions answered, and he knew exactly who to ask.

A con man, whom Jack had put behind bars for several years, once told him that whenever you’re abroad and in need of information, book yourself into a good hotel. But don’t seek advice from the manager and don’t bother with the receptionist; only deal with the head concierge. Information is how he makes his living; his salary is incidental.

For fifty dollars, Jack learnt everything he needed to know about Mr. Nakamura, even his golf handicap—fourteen.

Krantz watched as Petrescu emerged from the building and climbed back into the chairman’s limousine. She quickly hailed a taxi and asked to be dropped a hundred yards from the Seiyo hotel. If Petrescu was about to depart, she would still have to retrieve her luggage and settle the bill.