“Seems to be following me around,” said Anna.
“You appear to have that effect on men,” said Arabella.
They both watched as Andrews neatly removed the bubble wrap to reveal a canvas that Anna had last seen in Anton’s studio.
“The only good thing to come out of this,” said Anna, “is that we can transfer the original frame back onto the masterpiece.”
“But what shall we do with him?” asked Arabella, gesturing toward the impostor. The butler gave a discreet cough. “You have a suggestion, Andrews?” inquired Arabella. “If so, let’s hear it.”
“No, m’lady,” Andrews replied, “but I thought you would want to know that your other guest is proceeding up the drive.”
“The man clearly has a gift for timing,” said Arabella, as she quickly checked her hair in the mirror. “Andrews,” she said, reverting to her normal role, “has the Wellington Room been prepared for Mr. Nakamura?”
“Yes, m’lady. And Dr. Petrescu will be in the Van Gogh room.”
“How appropriate,” said Arabella, turning to face Anna, “that he should spend his last night with you.”
Anna was relieved to see Arabella so quickly back into her stride and had a feeling that she might prove a genuine foil for Nakamura.
The butler opened the front door and walked down the steps at a pace that would ensure he reached the gravel just as the Toyota Lexus came to a halt. Andrews opened the back door of the limousine to allow Mr. Nakamura to step out. He was clutching a small square package.
“The Japanese always arrive bearing a gift,” whispered Anna, “but under no circumstances should you open it in their presence.”
“That’s all very well,” said Arabella, “but I haven’t got anything for him.”
“He won’t expect something in return. You have invited him to be a guest in your house, and that is the greatest compliment you can pay any Japanese.”
“That’s a relief,” said Arabella, as Mr. Nakamura appeared at the front door.
“Lady Arabella,” he said, bowing low, “it is a great honor to be invited to your magnificent home.”
“You honor my home, Mr. Nakamura,” said Arabella, hoping she’d said the correct thing.
The Japanese man bowed even lower, and when he rose came face-to-face with Lawrence’s portrait of Wellington.
“How appropriate,” he said. “Did the great man not dine at Wentworth Hall the night before he sailed for Waterloo?”
“Indeed he did,” said Arabella, “and you will sleep in the same bed that the Iron Duke slept in on that historic occasion.”
Nakamura turned to Anna and bowed. “How nice to see you again, Dr. Petrescu.”
“And you too, Nakamura-san,” said Anna. “I hope you had a pleasant journey.”
“Yes, thank you. We even landed on time, for a change,” said Nakamura, who didn’t move as his eyes roamed around the room. “You will please correct me, Anna, should I make a mistake. It is clear that the room is devoted to the English school. Gains borough?” he queried, as he admired the full-length portrait of Catherine, Lady Wentworth. Anna nodded, before Nakamura moved on “Landseer, Morland, Romney, Stubbs, but then, I am stumped—is that the correct expression?”
“It most certainly is,” confirmed Arabella, “although our American cousins wouldn’t begin to understand its significance. And you were stumped by Lely.”
“Ah, Sir Peter, and what a fine-looking woman—” he paused “—a family trait,” he said, turning to face his host.
“And I can see, Mr. Nakamura, that your family trait is flattery,” teased Arabella.
Nakamura burst out laughing. “With the risk of being taken to task a second time, Lady Arabella, if every room is the equal of this, it may prove necessary for me to cancel my meeting with those dullards from Corus Steel.” Nakamura’s eyes continued to sweep the room, “Wheatley, Lawrence, West, and Wilkie,” he said, before his gaze ended up on the portrait propped up against the wall.
Nakamura offered no opinion for some time. “Quite magnificent,” he finally said. “The work of an inspired hand—” he paused “—but not the hand of Van Gogh.”
“How can you be so sure, Nakamura-san?” asked Anna.
“Because the wrong ear is bandaged,” replied Nakamura.