Woman in Red (52 page)

One by one the bidders dropped out, until finally it was down to an anonymous phone bidder and an older Asian man in back whose paddle rose and fell as the numbers climbed to well over a million. Colin twisted around in his seat, trying to make him out amid the shifting sea of bodies—a round face, white hair combed straight back, a back as erect as the cane he clutched in his other hand. Colin could feel the tension around them mounting as the quietly fought battle continued, its intensity seeming to grow in inverse proportion to the languid hand movements of the Asian man and that of the Sotheby’s employee acting on behalf of the phone bidder.

Colin was so tense himself he could scarcely draw a breath. Two million . . . three . . . three and a quarter. Finally, at just shy of three and a half million, the Asian man, wearing an impassive face, raised his paddle one last time. A hush fell over the room, all eyes now on the woman manning the phone. She murmured something to the person at the other end, and there was a pause during which Colin felt his heart buck up against his ribcage, then she shook her head to indicate that her bidder was withdrawing.

The auctioneer’s gavel came down. Sold.

Alice looked as stunned as Colin. Before bidding commenced on the next lot, they quietly rose from their seats and made their way into the anteroom beyond, where they could talk in relative private.

“I can hardly believe it,” she said. “My God, all that
money
. The guy must be seriously rich.”

“Either that or he’s representing someone who is,” Colin speculated.

“I wonder what he plans on doing with it.”

“Who knows? Lock it in a vault maybe.” Colin certainly hoped that wouldn’t be the case.

“Well, I just hope he appreciates the sacrifice, whoever he is.”

They were heading for the stairs to the lower level when they noticed their mystery buyer waiting by the elevator. Up close, he looked even older, as he stood there leaning on his cane. And although the suit he wore was well-cut and his watch expensive, there was something humble about his appearance. He didn’t look the sort to be throwing around millions.

His eyes lit up when they introduced themselves. “Ah, yes. I was hoping I would have an opportunity to meet you,” he told Colin, speaking in perfectly enunciated English. “I am Mister Yamamoto. And you,” he said, directing his smiling gaze toward Alice, “are the image of your grandmother.”

“You knew her?” she replied, her eyes widening in surprise.

Mr. Yamamoto inclined his head in a reverent nod. “She was a great lady.”

Alice shook her head in disbelief. “What an amazing coincidence.” Then comprehension sank in, and she said, “It wasn’t a coincidence, was it? That’s why you’re here.”

Mr. Yamamoto inclined his head again. “You guessed correctly. And I will treasure your grandmother’s portrait all the more because of our friendship.” He turned to Colin. “I knew your grandfather as well. A good man. As kind as he was gifted.”

“How did you come to know them, if you don’t mind my asking?” Colin said.

Mr. Yamamoto smiled, a slow, remembering smile that transformed his wizened face into that of a much younger man. He said, “Please, if you are not in a hurry, come have a drink with me at my hotel. I will be flying back to Tokyo tomorrow, and there is much to tell.”

Alice leaned forward impatiently. “Mister Yamamoto . . . ”

“Yoshi, please,” he corrected her. “Your grandmother always called me by my first name. She was like a mother to me, and now to my wife and children, whom I have taught to revere her memory.”

“I don’t understand. If you were so close, why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Alice asked, looking perplexed.

The elevator pinged just then and its door slid open. With a smile, the old man took Alice by the elbow and gently but firmly steered her into the elevator, Colin stepping in behind them. “Come,” he said. “Let us sit and discuss this at leisure. It’s a long story.”

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Copyright © 2007 by Eileen Goudge

 

 

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Woman in red / by Eileen Goudge.

p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-593-15526-1

I. Title.