False Impression (45 page)

When she finally
left the ladies’ room, she went in search of her new employers. Her walk was a
little unsteady, but then she wasn’t used to high heels. Krantz’s eyes settled
on another woman who was dressed in an identical uniform. She walked across to
the counter and asked, ‘Have you got a spare seat on any of our London
flights?’

That shouldn’t
be a problem,’ she replied. ‘Can I see your passport?’ Krantz handed over the
recently acquired document.

The company’s
representative looked up Sasha Prestakavich’s details on the company database.
According to their records, she was on a three-day layover. ‘That seems to be
in order,’ she eventually said, and handed her a crew pass. ‘Be sure that
you’re among the last to check in, just in case we have any latecomers.’

Krantz walked
across to the international terminal, and once she’d been checked through
customs, hung around in duty free until she heard the final boarding call for
flight 413 to London.

By the time she
arrived at the gate, the last three passengers were checking in. Once again her
passport was checked against the company database before the gate officer
studied his screen and said, ‘We’ve got seats available in every class, so take
your pick.’

‘Back row of
economy,’ Krantz said unhesitatingly.

The gate
official looked surprised, but printed out a boarding card and handed the
little slip over to her. Krantz walked through the gate, and boarded Aeroflot’s
flight 413 to London.

A
nna walked
slowly down the wide, marble staircase, pausing for a moment at every two or
three steps to admire another master. It didn’t matter how often she saw
them ..
.
she
heard a noise behind
her, and looked back towards the guest corridor to see Andrews coming out of
her bedroom. He was carrying a picture under his arm. She smiled as he hurried
away in the direction of the back stairs.

Anna continued
to study the paintings on her slow progress down the staircase. As she stepped
into the hall she gave Catherine,

Lady Wentworth
another admiring look, before she walked slowly across the black-and-white
marbled-square floor towards the drawing room.

The first thing
Anna saw as she entered was Andrews placing the Van Gogh on an easel in the
centre of the room.

What do you think?’
said Arabella, as she took a pace back to admire the self-portrait.

‘Don’t you feel
that Mr Nakamura might consider it a little ventured Anna, not wishing to
offend her
host.

‘Crude,
blatant, obvious?
Which word were you searching for, my dear?’ asked Arabella as she turned to
face Anna. Anna burst out laughing. ‘Let’s face it,’ said Arabella, I’m
strapped for cash and running out of time, so I don’t have a lot of choice.’

‘No one would
believe it, looking at you,’ said Anna as she admired the magnificent long rose
silk-taffeta gown and diamond necklace Arabella was wearing, making Anna feel
somewhat casual in her short black Armani dress.

It’s kind of you
to say so, my dear, but if I had your looks and your figure, I wouldn’t need to
cover myself from head to toe with other distractions.’

Anna smiled,
admiring the way Arabella had so quickly put her at ease.

‘When do you
think he’ll make a decision?’ asked Arabella, trying not to sound desperate.

‘
like
all great collectors,’ said Anna, ‘he’ll make up his
mind within moments. A scientific survey has recently shown that men decide
whether they want to sleep with a woman in about eight seconds.’

‘That long?’
said Arabella.

‘Mr Nakamura
will take about the same time to decide if he wants to own this painting,’ she
said, looking directly at the Van Gogh.

‘Let’s drink to
that,’ said Arabella.

Andrews stepped
forward on cue, proffering a silver tray that held three glasses.

‘A glass of
champagne, madam?’ he enquired.

‘Thank you,’
said Anna, removing a long-stemmed flute. When Andrews stepped back, her gaze
fell on a turquoise and black vase that she had never seen before.

‘It’s quite
magnificent,’ said Anna.

‘Mr Nakamura’s
gift,’ said Arabella.
‘Most embarrassing.
By the way,’
she added, ‘I do hope I haven’t committed a. faux pas by putting it on display
while Mr Nakamura is still a guest in my home?’ She paused. ‘If I have, Andrews
can remove it immediately.’

‘Certainly not,’
said Anna. ‘Mr Nakamura will be flattered that you have placed his gift among
so many other maestros.’

‘Are you sure?’
asked Arabella.

‘Oh yes. The
piece survives, even shines in this room. There is only one certain rule when
it comes to real talent,’ said Anna. ‘Any form of art isn’t out of place as
long as it’s displayed among its equals. The Raphael on the wall, the diamond
necklace you are wearing, the Chippendale
table
on
which you have placed the vase, the Nash fireplace and the Van Gogh have all
been created by masters. Now I have no idea who the craftsman was who made this
piece,’ continued Anna, still admiring the way the turquoise appeared to be
running into the black, like a melting candle, ‘but I have no doubt that in his
own country, he is considered a master.’

‘Not exactly a
master,’ said a voice coming from behind them.

Arabella and
Anna turned at the same time to see that Mr Nakamura had entered the room. He
was dressed in a dinner jacket and bow tie that Andrews would have approved of.

‘Not a master?’
queried Arabella.

‘No,’ said
Nakamura. ‘In this country, you honour those who “achieve greatness”, to quote
your Bard, by making them knights or barons, whereas we in Japan reward such
talent with the title “national treasure”. It is appropriate that this piece
has found a home in Wentworth Hall because, of the twelve great potters in
history, the experts acknowledge that eleven have been Japanese, with the sole
exception of a Cornishman, Bernard Leach. You failed to make him a Lord or even
give him a knighthood, so we declared him to be an honorary national treasure.’

‘How
immensely civilized,’ said Arabella, ‘as I must confess that recently we have
been giving honours to pop stars, footballers and vulgar millionaires.’
Nakamura
laughed, as Andrews offered him a glass of champagne. ‘Are you a national
treasure, Mr Nakamura?’ enquired Arabella.

‘Certainly not,’
replied Nakamura. ‘My countrymen do not consider vulgar millionaires worthy of
such an honour.’

Arabella turned
scarlet, while Anna continued to stare at the vase, as if she hadn’t heard the
remark. ‘But am I not right in thinking, Mr Nakamura, that this particular vase
is not symmetrical?’

‘Quite
brilliant,’ replied Nakamura. ‘You should have been a member of the diplomatic
corps, Anna. Not only did you manage to deftly change the subject, but at the
same time you raised a question that demands to be answered.’

Nakamura walked
straight past the Van Gogh as if he hadn’t noticed it and looked at the vase
for some time before he added,

‘If you ever
come across a piece of pottery that is perfect, you can be confident that it was
produced by a machine. With pottery, you must seek near perfection. If you look
carefully enough, you will always find some slight blemish that serves to
remind us that the piece was crafted by a human hand. The longer you have to
search, the greater the craftsman, for it was only Giotto who was able to draw
the perfect circle.’

Tor me, it is
perfection,’ said Arabella. ‘I simply love it, and whatever Mr Fenston manages
to prise away from me during the coming years, I shall never allow him to get
his hands on my national treasure.’

‘Perhaps it
won’t be necessary for him to prise anything else away,’ said Mr Nakamura,
turning to face the Van Gogh as if he’d seen it for the first time. Arabella
held her breath while Anna studied the expression on Nakamura’s face. She
couldn’t be sure.

Nakamura glanced
at the picture for only a few seconds before he turned to Arabella and said,
There are times when it is a distinct advantage to be a vulgar millionaire,
because although one may not aspire to being a national treasure oneself, it
does allow one to indulge in collecting other people’s national treasures.’

Anna wanted to
cheer, but simply raised her glass. Mr Nakamura returned the compliment, and
they both turned to face Arabella. Tears were flooding down her cheeks.

‘I don’t know
how to thank you,’ she said.

‘Not me,’ said
Nakamura, ‘Anna.
Because without her courage and fortitude,
this whole episode would not have been brought to such a worthwhile
conclusion.’

‘I agree,’ said
Arabella, ‘which is why I shall ask Andrews to return the self-portrait to
Anna’s bedroom, so that she can be the last person to fully appreciate the
painting before it begins its long journey to Japan.’

‘How
appropriate,’ said
Nakamura.
‘But if Anna were to
become the CEO of my foundation, she could see it whenever she wished.’

Anna was about
to respond when Andrews re-entered the drawing room and announced, ‘Dinner is
served, m’lady.’

Krantz had
chosen to sit in the back of the aircraft so that few of the passengers would
notice her, only the crew. She needed to be adopted by one of them long before
they touched down at Heathrow. Krantz took her time as she tried to work out
which of her new colleagues would fulfil that purpose.

‘Domestic or
international?’ asked the senior stewardess, soon after the aircraft had
reached its cruising height.

‘Domestic,’
replied Krantz with a smile.

‘Ah, that’s why
I haven’t seen you before.’

‘I’ve only been
with the company for three months,’ said Krantz.

That would
explain it. My name’s Nina.’

‘Sasha,’ said Krantz,
giving her a warm smile.

‘Just let me
know if you need anything, Sasha.’

‘I will,’ said
Krantz.

Trying to relax
when she couldn’t lean on her right shoulder meant that Krantz remained awake
for most of the flight. She used the hours getting to know Nina, so that by the
time they landed, the senior stewardess would unwittingly play a role in the
most crucial part of her deception. By the time Krantz finally fell asleep,

Nina had become
her minder.

“Would you like
to go up front, Sasha?’ Nina asked once the captain had instructed the crew to
take their seats and prepare for landing. ‘Then you can disembark immediately
after the doors are opened.’

Krantz shook her
head. ‘It’s my first visit to England,’ she said nervously, ‘and I’d prefer to
be with you and the rest of the crew.’

‘Of course,’
said Nina. ‘And if you’d like to, you can also join us on the minibus.’

‘Thank you,’
said Krantz.

Krantz remained
in her seat until the last passenger had left the aircraft. She then joined the
crew as they disembarked and headed in the direction of the terminal. Krantz
never left the chief stewardess’s side during the long walk down endless
corridors, while Nina offered her opinion on everything from Putin to Rasputin.

When the
Aeroflot crew finally reached passport control, Nina guided her charge past the
long queue of passengers and on towards the exit marked CREW only. Krantz
tucked in behind Nina, who didn’t stop chatting even when she’d handed over her
passport to the official. He slowly turned the pages, checked the photograph
and then waved Nina through. ‘Next.’

Krantz handed
over her passport. Once again, the official looked carefully at the photograph
and then at the person it claimed to represent. He even smiled as he waved her
through. Krantz suddenly felt a stab of pain in her right shoulder. For a
moment, the excruciating feeling made it difficult for her to move. She tried
not to grimace. The official waved again, but she still remained fixed to the
spot.

‘Come on, Sasha,’
cried Nina, ‘you’re holding everyone up.’

Krantz somehow
managed to stumble unsteadily through the barrier. The official continued to
stare at her as she walked away.

Never look back.
She smiled at Nina, and linked her arm in hers as they headed towards the exit.
The official finally turned his attention to the second officer, who was next
in line.

“Will you be
joining us on the bus?’ asked Nina, as they strolled out of the airport and
onto the pavement.

‘No,’ said
Krantz. ‘I’m being met by my boyfriend.’

Nina looked
surprised. She said goodbye, before crossing the road in the company of the
second officer.

‘Who was that?’
her colleague asked, before climbing onto the Aeroflot bus.

‘W
asn’t there
anything on the film that would assist us?’ asked Macy.