Last Stop Tokyo

by James Buckler

  ‘What type?’

  ‘The type that can’t resist putting themselves behind bars.’

  Naoko laughed. ‘You really think so?’

  ‘Of course. Anyway, it’s Hiro fault. He shouldn’t have bought such a beautiful one.’

  ‘Where is Hiro?’ Naoko asked.

  ‘I haven’t seen him for a while now. He said he was going out of town for the weekend.’

  ‘Did he say where?’

  ‘You know he doesn’t tell me anything.’

  Naoko handed her the package from Hermès and watched as Yukiko unwrapped it and took out the silk scarf. She unfolded it and held it up to examine it closely, her mouth open in amazement.

  ‘It’s to thank you for all you’ve done for me. The cranes are supposed to bring good luck.’

  ‘This looks very expensive,’ Yukiko said.

  ‘Of course. I like to buy you nice things. Anyway, look at what I’ve bought for myself.’

  She reached down and handed Yukiko the glossy black bag from Chanel. Yukiko peered inside.

  ‘Take it out and open it.’

  Yukiko pulled out the tissue-paper bundle and laid it on her lap and slowly started to unwrap the jacket.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘Try it on.’

  ‘No. It will look silly on me. You try it and let me look at you. I’m sure it’s even better when you wear it.’

  Naoko took the jacket and slipped into it. The closeness of the fit and the softness of the material felt luxurious to the point of decadence. She turned around to show it from all angles.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Naoko asked.

  ‘I think it looks lovely. But it must have cost more than a month’s wages. How can you afford it?’

  Naoko tried to sound nonchalant. ‘I had a windfall,’ she said. ‘And I think it’s important to share good fortune with the people closest to you.’

  ‘A windfall?’

  ‘Quite a big one.’

  ‘So you decided to treat yourself to a whole new wardrobe?’

  ‘Why not?’ Naoko said. ‘We both know that clothes last longer than men.’

  Yukiko looked her in the eye and immediately saw what she was trying to hide. She had known her long enough to see straight through any attempt to disguise her troubles. She glanced down at the shopping bags lying at Naoko’s feet.

  ‘I think you’d better tell me what’s going on,’ she said.

  Naoko began to tell the story – about Alex, the gallery, Megumi and Saito – and it all tumbled out of her as if it had been waiting desperately to escape for some time. She could hear herself as she talked and her face began to flush in embarrassment. Her words all sounded so childish.

  ‘Slow down,’ Yukiko said. ‘Who’s Alex?’

  ‘He’s Hiro’s friend. He was with me the night I brought Hiro here drunk.’

  ‘The gaijin?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why was he arrested at your apartment?’

  ‘He made a big scene and one of the neighbours called the police. You know how stuck-up the people are in my building. They all think I don’t belong there anyway. When the officers arrived, I panicked. I told them the first thing that came into my head. If I told the truth, I knew I could lose my job and my apartment, so I came out with a story to convince them it wasn’t my fault. How was I to know Alex was going to come back while the police were still there? Once they had arrested him, I had to stick to my story.’

  ‘And you asked for jidan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Five million yen?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘So why not give it back to him?’

  ‘I was going to,’ Naoko said. ‘That was always my intention. I called him this morning and some girl answered his phone. It didn’t take him long to replace me, so now the money is mine. That seems fair to me.’

  ‘Where did the gaijin get the money? Is he rich?’

  ‘I have no idea. He lives on a teacher’s salary. Maybe he had savings he never spoke about.’

  Yukiko sounded concerned. ‘And now you’ve spent all of it on clothes and shoes?’

  ‘Not all of it,’ Naoko said, struggling to maintain the moral high ground. ‘I spent over half of it but I still have about two million yen left.’

  ‘This isn’t like you, Naoko. No good will come of this. It will end up hurting you, not helping. If you want my advice, you should take all of it back. It won’t bring you any happiness.’

  Naoko knew she was right. ‘I don’t know how to solve this now,’ she said. ‘I feel ashamed of spending the money. I was angry and not thinking clearly. But surely I deserve something for all I’ve suffered?’

  Yukiko shook her head slowly. She folded the scarf and handed it back to Naoko. ‘The funny thing with suffering,’ she said, ‘is that, just when you think you’ve suffered enough, you realize it’s only just beginning.’

  21

  THE CAR ARRIVED at seven thirty, as arranged. Naoko watched as it pulled up at the entrance to her building and waited at the kerb with the engine running. She fastened the buttons on her new Chanel jacket and sprayed a mist of scent before her, turning through it twice as it hung in the air. She stood for a moment and examined her reflection in the mirror. Tonight was her chance to redeem herself in Mr Kimura’s eyes. She would listen and smile sincerely and talk as little as possible. She had been doing this long enough to be able to charm her way through another business meeting at a dinner table of rich, older men. There was no mystery in what they expected of her. She looked at herself one last time and locked the apartment as she left.

  The driver held the car door open for her and Naoko thanked him as she climbed inside. She remained silent as he drove through Mejiro and along Showa Dori, towards the heart of Ginza. When they turned east towards the government buildings at the edge of Hibiya Park, Naoko was surprised. She leaned forward to catch the driver’s attention.

  ‘I thought I was meeting Mr Kimura at a restaurant in Ginza,’ she said.

  The driver kept his eyes on the road. ‘I’m to take you to the Imperial Hotel,’ he said. ‘Those are my instructions.’

  ‘The Imperial? Are you sure?’

  He shrugged and glanced back at her in the rear-view mirror. ‘Kimura-san said for you to give his name at reception.’

  The Imperial Hotel stood in front of the park, its stone façade dotted with squares of yellow light. The car pulled into the forecourt and a doorman helped her out and guided her through the entrance. The cavernous lobby smelled of misery and old money. Naoko approached the desk and smiled politely at the desk manager. When she explained she was meeting Mr Kimura, he told her he was waiting for her in Suite 237. She assumed he would have made a reservation in the restaurant or brasserie at a secluded table where they could conduct business without being overheard. Perhaps the client was more secretive than usual, she thought. The desk manager called over a bellboy, who led her through the lobby and up to the seventh floor in the lift.

  Mr Kimura was reclining in a plush suede armchair at the far side of the suite. He raised his head as Naoko entered but he didn’t stand to greet her. He was deep in conversation with another man, who was sitting in the chair opposite, only the back of his head visible. Kimura was wearing plaid trousers and his navy club blazer. The negotiations for the ukiyo-e sale must have started on the golf course, Naoko thought. They were well under way, it seemed to her. Behind them, a picture window looked out over the nightscape of illuminated buildings, the vast gardens of the Imperial Palace in darkness to one side. The door to the balcony was open and the thin curtains billowed in the breeze. An icicle chandelier glowed gently in the centre of the room, the subdued lighting giving the space a dreamy quality.

  ‘Good evening, Kimura-san,’ Naoko said as she approached.

  ‘Good evening, Naoko. Your timing is excellent, as always. You can save us from falling into an interminable discussion of politics.’ He indicated his companion. ‘I be
lieve you know our new customer already?’

  The man raised himself slowly from the deep upholstery of the armchair. His bulk was significant enough to cause him to strain as he pushed himself to his feet and turned around to face her. She faltered as she recognized him.

  ‘So pleased to see you again, Ms Yamamoto. You look delightful.’

  He bowed, with his face directed towards her, his gaze bright with a triumphant sheen. It was Togo Nishi, looking as if he had gained even more weight since the evening they had met on the blossom-viewing cruise. His beady eyes sat wide apart on his face, dark and piercing as an owl’s. He smiled knowingly, as if fully aware that his presence was unexpected.

  Naoko caught herself and took a breath. ‘Good evening, Nishi-san,’ she said. ‘I’m so happy we are finally able to help you find the artwork you were so desperately looking for.’

  On a stand in one corner of the room, a traditional Japanese woodblock print stood unscrolled. The print showed a riverbank scene, a medieval courtesan practising the shamisen as two herons waded among the reeds before her, their beaks poised above the water as they searched for fish. It was a Kunisada, from the Edo period, and probably a second or third run, a vintage rarely seen outside of a museum. The layers of the courtesan’s clothing and the reeds at the water’s edge were perfectly etched and the flowing river suggested by subtle brushstrokes of pale blue ink. The delicate paper was rippled slightly at the edges from years of unfurling but the ink was still bright and crisp. It was a rare example of an original, high-quality ukiyo-e and Naoko guessed it was supremely valuable, about ten million yen, she thought.

  ‘Would you like a drink while we finalize the sale, Ms Yamamoto? I’m waiting for a call from my accountant to announce the funds have been transferred and the matter is concluded.’

  ‘Whatever you think is best, Nishi-san.’

  There was a bottle of vintage Pol Roger in an ice bucket on the cabinet and Nishi poured two glasses and handed one to Naoko. He motioned for her to take a seat. He sat opposite her and ran a hand through his receding hair.

  ‘I hope you like the surroundings,’ he said. ‘I always find the service at the Imperial first class. It makes for a most conducive atmosphere to celebrate a successful purchase. I’ve ordered dinner to be served later, once business matters are finished with.’

  ‘That sounds very agreeable.’

  ‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ Nishi said, looking admiringly at the print. ‘Do you know it?’

  She smiled innocently, aware that it was always best to feign ignorance with men like Nishi. ‘It’s a failing of mine,’ she said, ‘but I’m afraid I know nothing of traditional art.’

  He seemed pleased to be able to show off his basic knowledge. ‘It’s from a series called Twenty-two Stations along the Kanda River. One of the best in circulation. An amazing find.’

  ‘Yes. It’s very beautiful. And so well preserved. It looks like it was printed only days ago.’

  Nishi basked in the compliment, as if he had painted it himself. ‘Tastes were so much more sophisticated in the Edo period. And the craftsmanship is exquisite. I’m going to give it to my wife as a gift for our anniversary.’

  ‘I’m sure she will be overjoyed.’

  ‘I should hope so. A fifteen-million-yen gift is to be appreciated under any circumstances.’

  The mention of the price almost made Naoko choke. It was way over even the most optimistic valuation of such a piece. She was unsure why a man like Nishi would be so eager to overpay.

  Nishi’s phone began to ring. ‘This should be confirmation of the transfer,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll take this in private.’

  He stood up and excused himself and went into one of the adjoining rooms of the suite. Kimura watched him leave with a solemn expression. Once he had left the room, he clapped his hands together with glee.

  ‘Well done, Naoko,’ he said. ‘You have made some great catches in the past but this is one of the best deals you’ve brought in.’

  She was slightly confused. ‘I’m not so sure I deserve your praise, Kimura-san.’

  ‘Nonsense. All day, Nishi has been dropping your name into the conversation. It seems you made a big impression on him when you met back in the spring. I know I can always rely on you to bring new business to the gallery.’

  The memory of that evening was still fresh enough for Naoko to picture it clearly. It was surprising to hear their meeting recalled by Kimura in such a positive light. Perhaps Nishi had been too drunk to remember quite how boorish he had been, she thought. She had no way of being sure what his motives were.

  ‘Of course, I expect you to maintain your hospitable manner once I’ve left you two alone,’ Kimura said. ‘We both know a sale to a customer is never actually completed. One is only ever the prelude to the next.’

  Naoko began to frown but stopped herself. ‘You’re not staying?’ she asked.

  Kimura shook his head. ‘Nishi has asked that you are left to dine alone together. He very much wants to spend time with you in private.’

  ‘I’m not sure why,’ Naoko said.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you can guess.’

  The hair on her arms began to stand up. ‘I thought we would all have dinner together and then I would leave with you, as usual?’

  ‘Yes. But our usual customers don’t pay such a premium for the pleasure of your company.’ Kimura’s manner began to take on a harsh, clinical edge. The avuncular warmth he liked to radiate had completely disappeared. ‘I would have thought it was instinctual for you by now, Naoko. After all, it’s not as if you are a stranger to such circumstances.’

  She placed her champagne glass on the table. ‘Why don’t you tell me exactly what is going on, Kimura-san? Then there’s no confusion between us.’

  He stood and began to pace before the open window leading out to the balcony, his hands clasped behind his back. The headlights of passing cars silhouetted his figure as he spoke.

  ‘I always believed in you, Naoko. I always thought I knew who you really were. But it appears I have been deceived. I believed you to be shrewd and ambitious but, ultimately, an intelligent and trustworthy employee. Someone who knew which lines were not to be crossed. Then there was that unfortunate business with the gaijin at the private view and the involvement of the police in the disturbance at your apartment. My belief in you began to be shaken. Well, now something new has come to light. Something that casts my trust in you as the foolishness of an old man.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Naoko said.

  ‘I’m afraid Megumi has come to me with certain information regarding your previous life before you came into my employment. Information that she believed she had no choice but to share with me, due to its serious nature.’

  ‘Megumi isn’t to be trusted. She’s jealous of me and has been trying to discredit me for some time now.’

  Kimura stopped pacing. He reached inside his jacket and retrieved something from the pocket.

  ‘I’m not sure I would have believed her without evidence,’ he said.

  He tossed an envelope down on to the table before her and Naoko picked it up.

  It was addressed to him, in Megumi’s handwriting. Naoko looked up at Kimura for some sign of what she might find inside but he had turned his back to her and stood haloed by the lights of the city. She reached for the envelope and opened it.

  Inside, she was expecting to see a note or letter of some kind but instead there was a business card tucked down in the bottom corner. She reached inside and took it out and instantly understood its meaning.

  The name, printed in bold kanji on one side of the card, was that of Hisako Ota. The address was on the other side; Naoko hadn’t visited for years: The House of Fallen Leaves, Meidai Dori, Ochanomizu. She tried to work out how it had come to be in Mr Kimura’s possession. Megumi must have overheard their conversation when Hisako had stumbled into the restaurant bathroom. She must have tracked her down somehow and found out all of the details
of Naoko’s youth. All of the indiscretions that she had tried for so long to outrun. She looked up from the card, her face drained of all vitality.

  Kimura slowly turned to face her.

  ‘Megumi was most upset when she came to me with this. She wouldn’t tell me how she had discovered the information, but she felt very betrayed.’

  ‘She felt betrayed?’

  ‘In the sense that you have pretended to be someone you’re not in the time she has known you and that this has continued for so long. It seems that you have taken us all in with your lies.’

  ‘Please, Kimura-san,’ Naoko said. ‘I’ve never been anything less than true and faithful. I have given my life to the gallery. Please believe me.’

  ‘I wish I could, Naoko.’

  ‘Does this mean you’re firing me?’

  ‘Firing you? No. It means that when people like Nishi make propositions such as the one he has today, I no longer have a reason to turn him down.’

  Kimura stood before the Kunisada print to appreciate it one more time. His eyes were full of admiration. As he turned to Naoko, it was replaced with contempt.

  ‘I am going to leave now,’ he said. ‘If you value your position at the gallery, you will do all that Nishi asks of you.’

  When he returned from the side room and quietly closed the door behind him, Nishi seemed surprised to find Naoko in the suite alone. The chandelier cast soft sepia shadows over the tastefully arranged furniture, the redwood cabinet and antique Berber carpet. The night air breezed in through the open window, playing at the edges of the unscrolled print. The courtesan gazing enigmatically from across the centuries. Naoko had managed to compose herself. She was sitting on the edge of the corner sofa, sipping from a freshly poured glass of Pol Roger as if this was the evening she had always envisaged.

  ‘I have to admit I didn’t believe Kimura when he said you would obey his instructions. I thought your fiery spirit would overcome your pragmatism. It seems he knows you better than most.’

  Naoko smiled to herself. ‘Kimura-san has always been a most benevolent and insightful man.’