False Impression (44 page)

What do you
mean?’ asked Anna apprehensively.

‘Fenston’s
lawyers delivered a letter by hand this morning, reminding me that should I
fail to repay their client’s loan in full by midday tomorrow, I must be
prepared to pension off all the family retainers.’

‘He plans to
dispose of the entire collection? ‘
said
Anna.

‘That would
appear to be his purpose,’ said Arabella.

‘But that
doesn’t make sense/ said Anna. ‘If Fenston were to place the entire collection
on the market at the same time he wouldn’t even clear his original loan.’

‘He would, if he
then put the hall up for sale,’ said Arabella.

‘He wouldn’t...’
began Anna.

‘He would,’ said
Arabella. ‘So we can only hope that Mr Nakamura remains infatuated with Van
Gogh, because frankly he’s my last hope.’

“Where is the
masterpiece?’ asked Anna as Arabella led her through to the drawing room.

‘Back in the Van
Gogh bedroom, where he’s resided for the past hundred years -’ Arabella paused
– ‘except for a day’s excursion to Heathrow.’

While Arabella
settled herself in her favourite chair by the fire, a dog on each side of her,
Anna strolled around the room, reminding herself of the Italian collection,
assembled by the fourth earl.

‘Should my dear
Italians also be forced to make an unexpected journey to New York,’ said
Arabella, ‘they shouldn’t grumble. After all, that appears to be no more than
an American tradition.’

Anna laughed as
she moved from Titian to Veronese and to Caravaggio. ‘I’d forgotten just how
magnificent the Caravaggio was,’ she said, standing back to admire The Marriage
at Cana.

‘I do believe
that you are more interested in dead Italians than living Irishmen,’ said
Arabella.

‘If Caravaggio
was alive today,’ said Anna, ‘Jack would be following him, not me.’

‘What do you mean?’
asked Arabella.

‘He murdered a
man in a drunken brawl. Spent his last few years on the run, but whenever he
arrived in a new city, the local burghers turned a blind eye as long as he went
on producing magnificent portraits of the Virgin Mother and the Christ child.’

‘Anna, you’re an
impossible guest, now come and sit down,’ said Arabella as a maid entered the
drawing room carrying a silver tray.

She began to lay
up for tea by the fire.

‘Now, my dear,
will you have Indian or China?’

‘I’ve always been
puzzled,’ said Anna, taking the seat opposite Arabella, ‘why it isn’t Indian or
Chinese, or India or China?’

For a moment,
Arabella was silenced, saved only by the entry of the butler.

‘M’lady,’ said
Andrews, ‘there’s a gentleman at the door with a package for you. I told him to
take it round to the tradesman’s entrance, but he said he couldn’t release it
without your signature.’

‘A sort of
modem-day Viola,’ suggested Arabella. ‘I shall have to go and see what this
peevish messenger brings,’ she added. ‘Perhaps I will even throw him a ring for
his troubles.’

‘I feel sure the
fair Olivia will know just how to handle him,’ rejoined Anna.

Arabella gave a
little bow, and followed Andrews out of the room.

Anna was
admiring Tintoretto’s Perseus and Andromeda when Arabella returned, the
cheerful smile of only moments before replaced by a grim expression.

Is there a
problem?’ asked Anna, as she turned round to face her host.

‘The peevish
fellow has sent back my ring,’ replied Arabella.

‘Come and see
for yourself.’

Anna followed
her into the hall, where she found Andrews and the under-butler removing the
casing of a red crate that Anna had hoped she had seen for the last time.

‘It must have
been sent from New York,’ said Arabella, studying a label attached to the box,
‘probably on the same flight as you.’

‘Seems to be
following me around,’ said Anna.

Tou appear to
have that effect on men,’ said Arabella.

They both
watched as Andrews neatly removed the bubble wrap to reveal a canvas that Anna
had last seen in Anton’s studio.

‘The only good
thing to come out of this,’ said
Anna,
‘is that we can
transfer the original frame back onto the masterpiece.’

‘But what shall
we do with him?’ asked Arabella, gesturing towards the impostor. The butler
gave a discreet cough. ‘You have a suggestion, Andrews?’ Arabella enquired. ‘If
so, let’s hear it.’

‘No, m’lady,’
Andrews replied, ‘but I thought you would want to know that your other guest is
proceeding up the drive.’

‘The man clearly
has a gift for timing,’ said Arabella, as she quickly checked her hair in the
mirror. ‘Andrews,’ she said, reverting to her normal role, ‘has the Wellington
Room been prepared for Mr Nakamura?’

‘Yes,
m’lady.
And Dr Petrescu will be in the Van Gogh room.’

‘How
appropriate,’ said Arabella, turning to face Anna, ‘that he should spend his
last night with
you.
’

Anna was
relieved to see Arabella so quickly back into her stride, and had a feeling
that she might prove a genuine foil for Nakamura.

The butler
opened the front door and walked down the steps at a pace that would ensure he
reached the gravel just as the Toyota Lexus came to a halt. Andrews opened the
back door of the limousine to allow Mr Nakamura to step out. He was clutching a
small square package.

‘The Japanese
always arrive bearing a gift,’ whispered Anna,

‘
but
under no circumstances should you open it in their
presence.’

‘That’s all very
well,’ said Arabella, ‘but I haven’t got anything for him.’

‘He won’t expect
something in return. You have invited him to be a guest in your house, and that
is the greatest compliment you can pay any Japanese.’

That’s a
relief,’ said Arabella as Mr Nakamura appeared at the front door.

‘Lady Arabella,’
he said bowing low, ‘it is a great honour to be invited to your magnificent
home.’

‘You honour my home,
Mr Nakamura,’ said Arabella, hoping she’d said the correct thing.

The Japanese man
bowed even lower, and when he rose came face to face with Lawrence’s portrait
of Wellington.

‘How
appropriate,’ he said. ‘Did the great man not dine at Wentworth Hall the night
before he sailed for Waterloo?’

‘Indeed he did,’
said
Arabella, ‘and you will sleep in the same bed
that the Iron Duke slept in on that historic occasion.’

Nakamura turned
to Anna and bowed.
‘How nice to see you again, Dr Petrescu.’

‘And you too,
Nakamura San,’ said Anna. ‘I hope you had a pleasant journey.’

‘Yes, thank you.
We even landed on time, for a change,’ said Nakamura, who didn’t move as his
eyes roamed around the room.

‘You will please
correct me, Anna, should I make a mistake. It is clear that the room is devoted
to the English school. Gainsborough?’ he queried, as he admired the full-length
portrait of Catherine, Lady Wentworth. Anna nodded, before Nakamura moved on.
‘Landseer, Morland, Romney, Stubbs, but then, I am stumped – is that the
correct expression?’

It most
certainly is,’ confirmed Arabella, ‘although our American cousins wouldn’t
begin to understand its significance. And you were stumped by Lely.’

‘Ah, Sir Peter,
and what a fine-looking woman -’ he paused ‘a family trait,’ he said, turning
to face his host.

‘And I can see,
Mr Nakamura, that your family trait is flattery,’ teased Arabella.

Nakamura burst
out laughing. With the risk of being taken to task a second time, Lady
Arabella, if every room is the equal of this, it may prove necessary for me to
cancel my meeting with those dullards from Corns Steel.’ Nakamura’s eyes
continued to sweep the room, “Wheatley, Lawrence, West and Wilkie,’ he said
before his gaze ended up on the portrait propped up against the wall.

Nakamura offered
no opinion for some time. ‘Quite magnificent,’ he finally said. ‘The work of an
inspired hand –
‘ he
paused ‘but not the hand of Van
Gogh.’

‘How can you be
so sure, Nakamura San?’ asked Anna.

‘Because the
wrong ear is bandaged,’ replied Nakamura.

‘But everyone
knows that Van Gogh cut off his left ear,’ said Anna.

Nakamura turned
and smiled at Anna. ‘And you know only too well,’ he added, ‘that Van Gogh
painted the original while looking in a mirror, which is why the bandage ended
up on the wrong ear.’

‘I do hope that
someone is going to explain all this to me later,’ said Arabella as she led her
guests through to the drawing room.

K
rantz returned
to the shop at 2 pm, but there was no sign of the proprietor. ‘He’ll be back at
any moment,’ the assistant assured her, without conviction.

Any moment
turned out to be thirty minutes, by which time the assistant was nowhere to be
seen. When the owner did eventually show up, Krantz was pleased to see that he
was carrying a bulky plastic bag. Without a word being spoken, Krantz followed
him to the back of the shop and into his office. Not until he’d closed the door
did a large grin appear on his fleshy lips.

The proprietor
placed the carrier bag on his desk. He paused for a moment,
then
pulled out the red outfit Krantz had requested.

‘She may be a
little taller than you,’ he said with a half apology,

‘
but
I can supply a needle and thread at no extra charge.’ He
began to laugh, but ceased when his customer didn’t respond.

Krantz held the
uniform up against her shoulders. The previous owner was at least three or four
inches taller than Krantz, but only a few pounds heaver; nothing – as the
proprietor had suggested that a needle and thread wouldn’t remedy.

‘And the
passport?’ asked Krantz.

Once again the proprietor’s
hand dipped into the carrier bag, and, like a conjuror producing a rabbit out
of a hat, he offered up a Soviet passport. He handed over the prize to Krantz
and said,

‘She has a
three-day layover, so she probably won’t discover that it’s missing until
Friday.’

Tt will have
served its purpose long before then,’ Krantz said, as she began to turn the
pages of the official document.

Sasha
Prestakavich, she discovered, was three years younger than her, and eight
centimetres taller with no distinguishing marks.

A problem that a
pair of high-heeled shoes would solve, unless an overzealous official decided
to carry out a strip search and came across the recent wound on her right
shoulder.

When Krantz
reached the page where Sasha Prestakavich’s photo had once been, the proprietor
was unable to disguise a satisfied smirk. For his next trick, he produced from
under the counter a Polaroid camera.

‘Smile,’ he
said. She didn’t.

A few seconds
later an image spewed out. A pair of scissors appeared next and the proprietor
began to cut the photograph down to a size that would comply with the little
dotted rectangle on page three of the passport.
Next, a
dollop of glue to fix the new holder in place.
His final act was to drop
a needle and thread into the carrier bag. Krantz was beginning to realize that
this was not the first occasion he had supplied such a service. She placed the
uniform and the passport back in the carrier bag, before handing over eight
hundred dollars.

The proprietor
checked the wad of notes carefully.

‘You said a
thousand,’ he protested.

‘You were thirty
minutes late,’ Krantz reminded him as she picked up the bag and turned to
leave.

‘Do come and
visit us again,’ suggested the proprietor as she retreated, ‘whenever you’re
passing through.’

Krantz didn’t
bother to explain to him why, in her profession, she never saw anyone twice,
unless it was to make sure they couldn’t see her a third time.

Once she was
back on the street, she only had to walk for a couple of blocks before she came
across the next shop she required. She purchased a pair of plain black
high-heeled shoes not her style, but they would serve their purpose. She paid
the bill in roubles and left the shop carrying two bags.

Krantz next
hailed a taxi, gave the driver an address and told him the exact entrance where
she wished to be dropped off. When the cab drew up by a side door marked ‘Staff
Only
’, Krantz paid the fare, entered the building and
went straight to the ladies’ room.

She locked
herself in a cubicle, where she spent the next forty minutes. With the aid of
the needle and thread supplied by the proprietor, she raised the hemline of the
skirt by a couple of inches, and made a couple of tucks in the waist, which
wouldn’t be visible under the jacket. She then stripped off all her outer
garments before trying on the uniform – not a perfect fit, but fortunately the
company she was proposing to work for was not known for its sartorial elegance.
Next she replaced her sneakers with the recently acquired high heels, before
dropping her own clothes into the carrier bag.