False Impression (28 page)

The limousine
drove at an uneven pace through the city, and it was another twenty minutes
before the driver turned off the highway and began to climb into the hills.
A few minutes later, another turn, a much smaller road and far less
traffic.
Krantz wanted to fall off, but knew that every minute she could
cling on would be to her advantage. The car came to a halt at a crossroads,
turned sharp left and continued along what appeared to be a wide, uneven path.
When they stopped at the next crossroads,

Krantz listened
attentively. A passing lorry was holding them up.

She slowly
released her right arm, which was almost numb, unsheathed the knife from her
jeans, turned to one side and thrust the blade into the right-hand rear tyre, again
and again, until she heard a loud hissing sound. As the car moved off, she fell
to the ground and didn’t move an inch until she could no longer hear the
engine. She rolled over to the side of the road and watched the limousine as it
drove higher into the hills. She didn’t attempt to get up until the car was out
of sight.

Once the
limousine had disappeared over the hill, she pushed herself up and began to
carry out a series of stretching exercises.

She wasn’t in a
hurry. After all, it would be waiting for her on the other side of the hill.
Once Krantz had recovered, she began jogging slowly towards the brow of the
hill. Some miles ahead of her, she could see a magnificent mansion nestling in
the hills that dominated the surrounding landscape.

When Krantz came
over the rise, she saw the chauffeur in the distance, on one knee, staring at
the flat tyre. She checked up and down what was clearly a private road and
probably led only to the Nakamura residence. As she approached, die driver
looked up and smiled. Krantz returned die smile, and jogged up to his side. He
was about to speak when, with one swift movement of her left leg,

Krantz kicked
him in the throat, then in the groin. She watched as he collapsed on the
ground, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. For a moment, she considered
slitting his throat, but now she had the painting, why bother, when she would
have the pleasure of cutting someone else’s throat tonight. And in any case,
she wasn’t being paid for this one.

Once again
Krantz looked up and down the road.
Still clear.

She ran to the
front of the limousine and removed the keys from the ignition, before returning
to unlock the trunk. The lid swung up and her eyes settled on the wooden crate.
She would have smiled, but first she needed to make sure that she’d earned the
first million dollars.

Krantz grabbed a
heavy screwdriver from the toolkit in the trunk and wedged it into a crack in
the top right-hand corner of the crate. It took all of her strength to wrench
the lid open, only to find her prize was covered in bubble wrap. She tore at it
with her bare hands. When the last remnant had been removed, she stared down at
the prize-winning painting by Danuta Sekalska, entitled Freedom.

Jack waited for
another
hour,
one eye on the door for Crew Cut, the
other on the elevator for Petrescu, but neither appeared. Yet another hour
passed, by which time Jack was convinced Anna must be staying overnight. He
walked wearily up to reception and asked if they had a vacant room.

‘Name, sir,’
asked the booking clerk.

‘Fitzgerald,’
Jack replied.

Tour passport,
please?’

‘Certainly,’
said Jack, taking a passport out of an inside pocket and handing the document
over.

‘How many nights
will you be staying with us, Mr Fitzgerald?’

Jack would have
liked to be able to answer that question.

W
hen 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.

Tenston 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 brush work 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 a price with Nakamura,

Anna was going
to ask for 10 per cent 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
mini-bar?’

Anna thought for
a moment.
‘Two Evian waters.’

‘Thank you,’
said the clerk and began tapping the information into his computer as a bell
boy 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 centre of Tokyo, but unlike Petrescu, not in a hotel
bed. She had slept in the cab of a crane, some one hundred and fifty 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. 5.56 am. 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
sightline 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 die 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?’

Anna wanted to
jump up and run out of the room, but she couldn’t move. Her father always told
her when you’ve been found out, confess. She confessed everything. In fact, she
even let him know where the painting was hidden. Once she finished, Nakamura
didn’t speak for some time. Anna sat and waited to be escorted unceremoniously
from a building for the second time in just over a week.

1 now understand
why you didn’t wish the painting to be sold for at least ten years, and
certainly wouldn’t want it to be put on public display. But I am bound to ask
how you intend to square the circle with your former boss. It is clear to me
that Mr Fenston is more interested in holding on to such a valuable asset than
having the debt cleared.’

‘But that’s the
point,’ said Anna. ‘Once the overdraft has been cleared, the Wentworth Estate
can sell the painting to whomever they wish.’

Mr Nakamura
nodded. ‘Assuming that I accept your version of events, and if I was still
interested in purchasing the Self-portrait, I would want to make some
conditions of my own.’

Anna nodded.

‘First, the
painting would have to be purchased directly from Lady Arabella, and only after
legal tenure had been properly established.’

‘I can see no
objection to that,’ said Anna.

‘Second, I would
expect the work to be authenticated by the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam.’

‘That causes me
no problems,’ said Anna.

‘Then perhaps my
third condition will cause you a problem,’ said Nakamura, ‘and that is the
price I am willing to pay, as I do believe that I am, to use that ghastly but
appropriate American expression, in the driving seat.’

Anna nodded her
reluctant agreement.

‘If, and I
repeat if, you are able to meet my other conditions, I am happy to offer, for
the Wentworth Van Gogh Self-portrait with Bandaged Ear, fifty million dollars,
which I have worked out will not only clear Lady Arabella’s debt, but leave
enough over to cover any taxes.’

‘But it could
come under the hammer for seventy, even eighty million,’ Anna protested.