__________
Tina turned on the switch under her desk. The little screen on the corner came on. Fenston was on the phone. She flicked up the switch to his private line and listened.
“You were right,” said a voice, “she’s in Japan.”
“Then she probably has an appointment with Nakamura. All his details are in your file. Don’t forget that getting the painting is more important than removing Petrescu.”
Fenston put the phone down.
Tina was confident that the voice fitted the woman she had seen in the chairman’s car. She must warn Anna.
Leapman walked into the room.
33
ANNA STEPPED OUT of the shower, grabbed a towel, and began drying her hair. She glanced across at the digital clock in the corner of the TV screen. It was just after twelve, the hour when most Japanese businessmen go to their club for lunch. Not the time to disturb Mr. Nakamura.
Once she was dry, Anna put on the white toweling bathrobe that hung behind the bathroom door. She sat on the end of the bed and opened her laptop. She tapped in her password, MIDAS, which accessed a file on the richest art collectors around the globe: Gates, Cohen, Lauder, Magnier, Nakamura, Rales, Wynn. She moved the cursor across to his name. Takashi Nakamura, industrialist. Tokyo University 1966-70, B.Sc. in engineering. UCLA 1971-73, M.A. Economics. Joined Maruha Steel Company 1974, Director 1989, Chief Executive Officer 1997, Chairman 2001. Anna scrolled down to Maruha Steel. Last year’s annual balance sheet showed a turnover of nearly three billion dollars, with profits of over four hundred million. Mr. Nakamura owned 22 percent of the company and, according to Forbes, was the ninth richest man in the world. Married with three children, two girls and a boy. Under other interests, only two words appeared: golf and art. No details of his fabled high handicap or his valuable Impressionist collection, thought to be among the finest in private hands.
Nakamura had made several statements over the years, saying that the pictures belonged to the company. Although Christie’s never made such matters public, it was well known by those in the art world that Nakamura had been the underbidder for Van Gogh’s Sunflowers in 1987, when he was beaten by his old friend and rival Yasuo Goto, chairman of Yasuda Fire and Marine Insurance Company, whose hammer bid was $39,921,750.
Anna hadn’t been able to add a great deal to Mr. Nakamura’s profile since leaving Sotheby’s. The Degas she had purchased on his behalf, Dancing Class with Mme. Minette, had proved a wise investment, which Anna hoped he would remember. She wasn’t in any doubt that she had chosen the right man to help pull off her coup.
She unpacked her suitcase and selected a smart blue suit with a skirt that fell just below the knees, a cream shirt, and low-heeled navy leather shoes; no makeup, no jewelry. While she pressed her clothes, Anna thought about a man she had met only once, and wondered if she had made any lasting impression on him. When she was dressed, Anna checked herself in the mirror. Exactly what a Japanese businessman would expect a Sotheby’s executive to wear.
Anna looked up his private number on her laptop. She sat on the end of the bed, picked up the phone, took a deep breath, and dialled the eight digits.
“Hai, Shacho-Shitso desu,” announced a high-pitched voice.
“Good afternoon, my name is Anna Petrescu. Mr. Nakamura may remember me from Sotheby’s.”
“Are you hoping to be interviewed?”
“Er, no, I simply want to speak to Mr. Nakamura.”
“One moment please, I will see if he is free to take your call.”
How could she possibly expect him to remember her after only one meeting?
“Dr. Petrescu, how nice to hear from you again. I hope you are well?”
“I am, thank you, Nakamura-san.”
“Are you in Tokyo? Because if I am
not mistaken it is after midnight in New York.”
“Yes, I am, and I wondered if you would be kind enough to see me.”
“You weren’t on the interview list, but you are now. I have half an hour free at four o’clock this afternoon. Would that suit you?”
“Yes, that would be just fine,” said Anna.
“Do you know where my office is?”
“I have the address.”
“Where are you staying?”