“Oh yes,” she said, a little too enthusiastically.
“Artist?”
“Van Gogh.”
Nakamura smiled an inscrutable smile that gave no sign if he was or wasn’t interested.
“Title?”
“Self-Portrait with Bandaged Ear.”
“With a famous Japanese print reproduced on the wall behind the artist, if I remember correctly,” said Nakamura.
“Geishas in a Landscape,” said Anna, “demonstrating Van Gogh’s fascination with Japanese culture.”
“You should have been christened Eve,” said Nakamura. “But now it’s my turn.” Anna looked surprised, but didn’t speak. “I presume that it has to be the Wentworth Self-Portrait, purchased by the fifth marquis?”
“Earl.”
“Earl. Ah, will I ever understand English titles? I always think of Earl as an American first name.”
“Original owner?” inquired Anna.
“Dr. Gachet, Van Gogh’s friend and admirer.”
“And the date?”
“Eighteen eighty-nine,” replied Nakamura, “when Van Gogh resided at Arles, sharing a studio with Paul Gauguin.”
“And how much did Dr. Gachet pay for the piece?” asked Anna, aware that few people on earth would have considered teasing this man.
“It is always thought that Van Gogh only sold one painting in his lifetime, The Red Vineyard. However, Dr. Gachet was not only a close friend, but unquestionably his benefactor and patron. In the letter he wrote after receiving the picture, he enclosed a check for six hundred francs.”
“Eight hundred,” said Anna, as she opened her briefcase and handed over a copy of the letter. “My client is in possession of the original,” she assured him.
Nakamura read the letter in French, requesting no assistance with a translation. He looked up and smiled. “What figure do you have in mind?” he asked.
“Sixty million dollars,” said Anna without hesitation.
For a moment, the inscrutable face appeared puzzled, but he didn’t speak for some time. “Why is such an acknowledged masterpiece so underpriced?” he asked eventually. “There must be some conditions attached.”
“The sale must not be made public,” said Anna in reply.
“That has always been my custom, as you well know,” said Nakamu
ra.
“You will not resell the work for at least ten years.”
“I buy pictures,” said Nakamura. “I sell steel.”
“During the same period of time, the painting must not be displayed in a public gallery.”
“Who are you protecting, young lady?” asked Nakamura without warning: “Bryce Fenston or Victoria Wentworth?”
Anna didn’t reply, and now understood why the chairman of Sotheby’s had once remarked that you underestimate this man at your peril.
“It was impertinent of me to ask such a question,” said Nakamura. “I apologize,” he added, as he rose from his place. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to allow me to consider your offer overnight.” He bowed low, clearly indicating that the meeting was over.