35
WHEN ANNA WOKE the next morning, the first thing she did was to phone Wentworth Hall.
“It’s going to be a close-run thing,” warned Arabella, once Anna had imparted her news.
“What do you mean?” asked Anna.
“Fenston has issued a bankruptcy order against the estate, giving me fourteen days to clear the debt or he’ll put Wentworth Hall on the market. So let’s hope Nakamura doesn’t find out, because if he does, it will certainly weaken your bargaining position and might even cause him to have second thoughts.”
“I’m seeing him at ten o’clock this morning,” said Anna. “I would call you back as soon as I find out his decision, but it will be the middle of the night.”
“I don’t care what time it is,” said Arabella, “I’ll be awake.”
Once Anna had put the phone down, she began to go over her tactics for the meeting with Nakamura. In truth, she’d thought of little else for the past twelve hours.
She knew that Arabella would be happy with a sum that would clear her debts with Fenston Finance and allow her to make sure that the estate was safe from prying creditors, with enough over to cover any taxes. Anna calculated that sum to be around fifty million. She had already decided she would settle for that amount and the chance to return to New York, no longer with the sobriquet missing attached to her name, and be reacquainted with both loops in Central Park. She might even ask Nakamura for more details about the job she wasn’t interviewed for.
Anna lingered in a bath that went from boiling to tepid—an indulgence she normally only allowed herself at weekends—as she continued to think through her approach to the meeting with Nakamura. She smiled at the thought of Nakamura opening his present. For all serious collectors, it’s as much of a thrill to discover the next master as it is to pay a vast sum for an established one. When Nakamura saw the bold brushwork and the sheer flair, he would surely hang Freedom in his private collection. Always the ultimate test.
Anna thought long and hard about what she would wear for their second meeting. She settled on a beige linen dress with a modest hemline, a wide brown leather belt, and a simple gold necklace—an outfit that would be considered demure in New York but almost brash in Tokyo. Yesterday she’d dressed for her opening move, today for closing.
She opened her bag for a third time that morning to check that she had included a copy of Dr. Gachet’s letter to Van Gogh, along with a simple one-page contract that was standard among recognized dealers. If she could agree on a price with Nakamura, Anna was going to ask for 10 percent down as an act of good faith, to be returned in full if, after inspecting the masterpiece, he was not satisfied. Anna felt that once he set his eyes on the original . . .
Anna checked her watch. The meeting with the chairman was at ten, and he had promised to send his limousine to pick her up at nine forty. She would be waiting in the lobby. The Japanese quickly lose patience with people who play games.
Anna took the elevator to the lobby and walked across to reception. “I expect to be checking out later today,” she said, “and would like my bill prepared.”
“Certainly, Dr. Petrescu,” said the receptionist. “May I ask if you have had anything from the minibar?”
Anna thought for a moment. “Two Evian waters.”
“Thank you,” said the clerk, and began tapping the information into his computer as a bellboy came rushing up to her.
“Chauffeur here to collect you,” was all he said, before leading Anna out to the waiting car.
Jack was already sitting in a taxi when she appeared at the entrance. He was determined he wasn’t going to lose her a second time. After all, Crew Cut would be waiting for her, and she even knew where Anna was going.
Krantz had also spent the night in the center of Tokyo, but unlike Petrescu, not in a hotel bed. She had slept in the cab of a crane, some 150 feet above the city. She was confident that no one would come looking for her there. She stared down on Tokyo as the sun rose over the Imperial Palace. She checked her watch. Five fifty-six A.M. Time to descend if she were to leave unnoticed.
Once Krantz was back on the ground, she joined the office staff and early morning commuters as they disappeared underground and made their way to work.
Seven stops later, Krantz emerged in the Ginza and quickly retraced her steps to the Seiyo. She slipped back into the hotel, a regular guest who never booked in and never stayed overnight.
Krantz positioned herself in the corner of the lounge, where she had a perfect sight line of the two elevators, while she could be seen by only the most observant of waiters. It was a long wait, but then patience was a skill, developed over hours of practice—like any other skill.
The chauffeur closed the back door behind her. Not the same driver as the night before, Anna noted—she never forgot a face. He drove off without a word, and she became more and more confident as each mile passed.
When the chauffeur opened the back door again, Anna could see Mr. Nakamura’s secretary waiting for her in the lobby. Sixty million dollars, Anna whispered to herself, as she climbed the steps, and I won’t consider a cent less. The glass doors slid open, and the secretary bowed low.
“Good morning, Dr. Petrescu. Nakamura-san is looking forward to seeing you.” Anna smiled and followed her down the long corridor of untitled offices. A gentle tap, and the secretary opened the door to the chairman’s room and announced Dr. Petrescu.
Once again, Anna was stunned by the effect the room had on her, but this time managed to keep her mouth closed. Nakamura rose from behind his desk and bowed. Anna returned the compliment before he ushered her into a chair on the opposite side of the desk. He sat down. Yesterday’s smile had been replaced by a grim visage. Anna assumed this was nothing more than a bargaining ploy.
“Dr. Petrescu,” he began as he opened a file on the desk in front of him, “it seems that when we met yesterday, you were less than frank with me.”
Anna felt her mouth go dry, as Nakamura glanced down at some papers. He removed his spectacles and looked directly at Anna. She tried not to flinch.
“You did not tell me, for instance, that you no longer work for Fenston Finance, nor did you allude to the fact that you were recently dismissed from the board for conduct unworthy of an officer of the bank.” Anna tried to breathe regularly. “You also failed to inform me of the distressing news that Lady Victoria had been murdered, at a time when she had run up debts with your bank”—he put his glasses back on—“of over thirty million dollars. You also forgot to mention the small matter of the New York police being under the illusion that you are currently classified as missing, presumed dead. But perhaps the most damning indictment of all was your failure to let me know that the painting you were attempting to sell is, to use police jargon, stolen goods.” Nakamura closed the file, removed his glasses once more, and stared directly at her. “Perhaps there is a simple explanation for such a sudden attack of amnesia?”