He had slept very late. He could sense that from the moment he awoke. The full morning light behind the drawn curtains still managing to filter through the fabric. The sound of a vacuum cleaner in the hallway. There was something reassuring about that hum. A feeling of order, of being looked after. A memory of his mother performing the same task. If he slept – which could not always be guaranteed – he was always a seven o’clock riser. On the dot. With or without an alarm clock. Then a movement of his bowels, a shower and a shave. Such regularity. Yet this morning, a deeper self had demanded more sleep, had overridden his usual methodical being. He liked that. There was still an ounce of anarchy left in him. He reached over to the bedside table, located his glasses. It was quarter-to-ten.
He washed and dressed quickly but by the time he reached the dining room, he realised it was too late. The tables were already stripped down, the chafing dishes removed, a team of cleaning staff in motion between the chairs.
‘Ah, Sir Edward,’ Takahashi said, appearing so quietly at his side as to startle him. ‘I am afraid you have missed breakfast.’
‘So it seems. Such a pity as I am quite famished.’ He tried to remember when he had last eaten. A few canapés at the embassy party.
‘I am sorry. But the dining room must be prepared. There is an Old Boys party coming for luncheon. But I could organise something for you in the tea lounge overlooking the garden. It is quite pleasant to sit there. And I can arrange for the radiators to be opened.’
‘That would be very kind of you.’
‘My pleasure. Would scrambled eggs and toast be sufficient?’
‘And a pot of tea.’
‘Of course.’
‘And Ms Blythe. Where is she?’
‘I believe she is hard at work in our small business centre.’
‘Perhaps you would like to join me then, Takahashi-san? We can have that little chat I have been so looking forward to.’
‘That would be most pleasant. I shall let you eat in peace. And then arrive to share some tea with you.’
Almost as soon as Edward had popped the last slice of toast into his mouth, Takahashi appeared at his table, bowed, pulled out a chair.
‘Some more tea,’ the hotel manager said, wriggling his starched white cuff high on his forearm and pouring out two cups with a measured efficiency. ‘So refreshing this particular Indian blend. We have it specially prepared for the hotel, you know. For many years now. It is quite famous.’
As he watched Takahashi sip his tea, Edward knew he was looking at the face of a lifelong smoker, the lines etched in the flesh holding a slightly grey tinge, the eyes bleary from years at the front line of such a habit. He could see the stained fingers edgy without their usual wedge between them. And on the back of one hand, the dried-up welt and blister of what appeared to be an old burn mark. Perhaps it was the taste of the hotel’s own quality brew that set him off or the mid-morning peacefulness from his position overlooking the gardens, but he suddenly felt an overwhelming curiosity about this man sitting in front of him.
‘Tell me, Takahashi-san. Was it hard for you after the war?’
Takahashi gently replaced his cup on its saucer and smiled. ‘Hunger, Sir Edward. That is what I always remember. An empty stomach and a constant desire to fill it. But we were lucky. Although we lived in the city we had relatives who were farmers. My mother often walked miles out into the country to visit them, threw herself at their mercy so we could be fed. Traded heirlooms for handfuls of rice. Sometimes I had nothing to eat but grasshoppers.’
‘Grasshoppers? I really thought that was only a fiction.’
‘I can assure you that poverty drove my mother to such extremes. My brother and I were often sent out to catch them. Excuse me, but do you mind if I smoke?’
‘Please go ahead.’
Takahashi turned to a waiter lurking by a far wall, mimed the flicking of ash into an imaginary dish.
‘You must forgive me, Sir Edward. But I do like a cigarette with my morning tea. My only vice.’
‘I fully understand. I was once a smoker myself.’
‘Fortunately you have had the discipline to forsake such an addiction.’
‘To be honest, now that I am in my seventies, I wouldn’t mind taking up the habit again. Now, to continue with your story, did you find it difficult coming here to attend to all these foreigners? After all, they had been the occupying power. The enemy. The very people who had caused your starvation.’
‘I’m not sure if that was true. I prefer to blame the lack of food on the poor way our own government dealt with the gangsters running the black markets. But to answer your question, I was quite happy to serve the Americans. I admired them very much. I still do. They dragged us out of a culture of imperialism and helped to modernise our country. I have always been very grateful to them for that.’
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking this. But did you ever read The Waterwheel?’
‘Of course. Although it was many years ago. We retain several copies in our library here. In both English and Japanese.’
‘And what did you think of it?’
‘That is not for me to say, Sir Edward. I am just a humble reader. Your many awards and prizes speak far better on your behalf than I can.’
‘But I am interested to know what you think.’
‘I liked the love story with the panpan girl very much. I recall it was very moving.’
‘But did you feel the novel was balanced? Balanced in the way it portrayed both the Americans and Japanese during and after the war?’
‘Ah, Sir Edward, you always were interested in such ideas. Ishikawa-san, the manager when you were first here, do you remember him? He sadly passed away many years ago. He often talked of his conversations with you. Late into the night, a shared bottle of one of our fine malt whiskies from the bar. I was often envious of such occasions. And here I am now, faced with the same opportunity, yet I am at a loss for words.’
‘Yes, I do remember Ishikawa-san. He wore such large spectacles.’
Takahashi nodded vigorously and slapped his thigh. ‘Yes, yes. Those spectacles. They were extremely large. And thick. They kept falling off his nose. We used to call him Binzoko. Bottle bottoms. Affectionately, of course. And never to his face.’
‘So you knew Ishikawa-san. How long have you been here then?’
‘Forty-eight years, Sir Edward. I retire next spring.’
‘My goodness. That means you were here during my first visit.’
Takahashi tilted his head in acknowledgement. ‘Yes, I remember your stay very well. All the staff were very impressed that a person could take up residency here for such a long time in order to write a book. We all thought you were a famous millionaire.’
‘No such thing. I had just come into a small inheritance after the death of my…’ And then it struck Edward. A flash of a memory. A magician’s fiery fingers. ‘Now I know who you are. You’re the young lad who put out the fire. During the performance of the Chinese illusionist. That’s the burn mark on your hand.’
‘Yes, that is very true. It occurred after the visit of the Honourable Jawaharlal Nehru. Do you remember that? I was very fortunate an Indian doctor was in the audience to treat me so quickly. Otherwise, the scar could have been much worse.’
‘You were something of a hero that evening.’
‘Just performing my duty, Sir Edward.’
‘And so you must remember Jerome Fisk from that time?’
‘Of course, I remember him. Fisk-sensei went on to become a professor at one of our famous universities. Only two days ago we chatted when he called about the Shinkansen tickets.’ Takahashi brought his cigarette slowly to his lips for a deep inhalation, then turned to look out of the window as the smoke curled out of his nostrils. The tea lounge overlooked the pond with its backdrop of trimmed shrubbery and then across to the dining room. Edward couldn’t tell if Takahashi was merely enjoying the view or spying on his staff as they prepared the tables for the Old Boys luncheon.
‘This has been an extremely pleasant conversation,’ Takahashi said eventually, turning his attention back to the room, squashing out his cigarette in the ashtray. ‘But there is one question you have not asked.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Forgive me, Sir Edward. But one thing I did learn from the Americans was to speak directly when the situation demanded.’
‘Well, please do so.’
‘You asked me if I knew Ishikawa-san and Fisk-sensei from your first visit here. But you haven’t asked about one of my co-workers. Sumiko-chan. Why don’t you ask about her?’