False Impression

Nakamura walked straight past the Van Gogh as if he hadn’t noticed it and looked at the vase for some time before he added, “If you ever come across a piece of pottery that is perfect, you can be confident that it was produced by a machine. With pottery, you must seek near perfection. If you look carefully enough, you will always find some slight blemish that serves to remind us that the piece was crafted by a human hand. The longer you have to search, the greater the craftsman, for it was only Giotto who was able to draw the perfect circle.”

“For me, it is perfection,” said Arabella. “I simply love it, and whatever Mr. Fenston manages to pry away from me du

ring the coming years, I shall never allow him to get his hands on my national treasure.”

“Perhaps it won’t be necessary for him to prize anything else away,” said Mr. Nakamura, turning to face the Van Gogh as if he’d seen it for the first time. Arabella held her breath while Anna studied the expression on Nakamura’s face. She couldn’t be sure.

Nakamura glanced at the picture for only a few seconds before he turned to Arabella and said, “There are times when it is a distinct advantage to be a vulgar millionaire, because although one may not aspire to being a national treasure oneself, it does allow one to indulge in collecting other people’s national treasures.”

Anna wanted to cheer but simply raised her glass. Mr. Nakamura returned the compliment, and they both turned to face Arabella. Tears were flooding down her cheeks.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.

“Not me,” said Nakamura, “Anna. Because without her courage and fortitude, this whole episode would not have been brought to such a worthwhile conclusion.”

“I agree,” said Arabella, “which is why I shall ask Andrews to return the self-portrait to Anna’s bedroom, so that she can be the last person to fully appreciate the painting before it begins its long journey to Japan.”

“How appropriate,” said Nakamura. “But if Anna were to become the CEO of my foundation, she could see it whenever she wished.”

Anna was about to respond when Andrews reentered the drawing room and announced, “Dinner is served, m’lady.”

“Would you like to go up front, Sasha?” Nina asked, once the captain had instructed the crew to take their seats and prepare for landing. “Then you can disembark immediately after the doors are opened.”

Krantz shook her head. “It’s my first visit to England,” she said nervously, “and I’d prefer to be with you and the rest of the crew.”

“Of course,” said Nina. “And: If you’d like to, you can also join us on the minibus.”

“Thank you,” said Krantz.

Krantz remained in her seat until the last passenger had left the aircraft. She then joined the crew as they disembarked and headed in the direction of the terminal. Krantz never left the chief stewardess’s side during the long walk down endless corridors, while Nina offered her opinion on everything from Putin to Rasputin.

When the Aeroflot crew finally reached passport control, Nina guided her charge past the long line of passengers and on toward the exit marked CREW ONLY. Krantz tucked in behind Nina, who didn’t stop chatting even when she’d handed over her passport to the official. He slowly turned the pages, checked the photograph, and then waved Nina through. “Next.”

Krantz handed over her passport. Once again, the official looked carefully at the photograph and then at the person it claimed to represent. He even smiled as he waved her through. Krantz suddenly felt a stab of pain in her right shoulder. For a moment, the excruciating feeling made it difficult for her to move. She tried not to grimace. The official waved again, but she still remained fixed to the spot.

“Come on, Sasha,” cried Nina, “you’re holding everyone up.”

Krantz somehow managed to stumble unsteadily through the barrier. The official continued to stare at her as she walked away. Never look back. She smiled at Nina, and linked her arm in hers as they headed toward the exit. The official finally turned his attention to the second officer, who was next in line.

“Will you be joining us on the bus?” asked Nina, as they strolled out of the airport and onto the pavement.

“No,” said Krantz. “I’m being met by my boyfriend.”

Nina looked surprised. She said good-bye, before crossing the road in the company of the second officer.

“Who was that?” her colleague asked, before climbing onto the Aeroflot bus.

Krantz had chosen to sit in the back of the aircraft so that few of the passangers would notice her, only the crew. She needed to be adopted by one of them long before they touched down at Heathrow. Krantz took her time as she tried to work out which of her new colleagues would fulfill that purpose.

“Domestic or international?” asked the senior stewardess, soon after the aircraft had reached its cruising height.

“Domestic,” replied Krantz with a smile.

“Ah, that’s why I haven’t seen you before.”

“I’ve only been with the company for three months,” said Krantz.

“That would explain it. My name’s Nina.”