The cheerful notes of “White Christmas” and the sounds of merrymaking spilt out from the salon behind them.
From down the hill came the grinding of tyre chains, and a black Mercedes-Benz appeared out of the swirling snow—more party guests arriving.
Kozaburo Hamamoto stood in front of the open double doors, smoking a pipe, a brightly coloured ascot tied at his neck. Although his hair had turned completely silver, he was in excellent shape with no hint of excess flab, making his age difficult to estimate from his appearance. He lowered his pipe to exhale a plume of white smoke, then turned to smile at the woman by his side.
His daughter, Eiko, was wearing an elegantly expensive cocktail dress. Her hair was up, exposing her shoulders to the evening chill. She’d inherited her father’s aquiline nose and rather prominent chin, but was nevertheless something of a beauty. She was tall; in heels she stood slightly taller than her father. Her make-up was carefully done, but on the heavy side, as you would expect for an occasion like this evening. Her tight-lipped expression was that of a company president listening wordlessly to the demands of her union members.
The porch was illuminated in a yellow glow as the car pulled in. The instant it stopped in front of the Hamamotos, the door was flung open with great force and a tall, rather heavily built man with thinning hair leapt out into the snow.
“Well, what have we here? My own personal welcoming committee!” he bellowed, rather louder than necessary, his words forming white clouds in the air around him. Eikichi Kikuoka was the kind of man who had probably never spoken softly in his life; the extroverted company president was forever out and about attending social events. Perhaps that was why his voice always sounded a little raspy.
The lord of the manor nodded graciously, and his daughter formally welcomed the guest to their home.
A petite woman emerged from the car behind Kikuoka. She wore a black dress with a leopard-skin coat thrown over her shoulders and her movements were graceful and catlike. Her presence seemed to make the two inhabitants of the manor—or at least the younger—uneasy. Neither of the Hamamotos had set eyes on her before this evening. Her face was kittenish too—tiny, cute.
“Allow me to introduce you to my new secretary, Kumi Aikura. Kumi, this is Mr Hamamoto.”
It was clear that Kikuoka was doing his best to suppress it, but a hint of pride had crept into his voice.
Kumi Aikura smiled sweetly.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” she said. Her voice was astonishingly high-pitched.
Unable to stand the sound of that voice, Eiko quickly stepped up to the driver’s window and gave the chauffeur parking directions.
As soon as the butler, Kohei Hayakawa, who’d been waiting politely in the entrance way, showed the two new guests into the salon, a grin of amusement appeared on Kozaburo Hamamoto’s face. How many secretaries had Kikuoka gone through now? It was getting difficult to keep count. This Kumi Aikura would be doing her utmost to perform those all-important duties of sitting on her boss’s lap and walking arm and arm with him through the streets of Ginza, no doubt earning a small fortune in the process.
“Daddy?”
“What is it?” Hamamoto replied without taking his pipe from his mouth.
“Why don’t you go inside now? There’s only Togai and the Kanais still to come. There’s no need for you to welcome them personally. Kohei and I will be fine by ourselves. Go and keep Mr Kikuoka company.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’re right… But aren’t you going to catch cold dressed like that?”
“Could you ask Auntie to fetch me a mink? Any of them will do. See if she can get Sasaki to bring it out to me. It’d be nice if he could be out here too to greet Togai when he arrives.”
“Will do. Kohei, where’s Chikako right now?”
“She was in the kitchen last time I saw her…” replied the butler from his post inside the doorway.
The two men disappeared into the house.
Left alone, Eiko hugged her exposed arms as she listened to the music of Cole Porter drifting out from the salon. And then suddenly she felt the soft brush of fur around her shoulders. She turned her head to see Shun Sasaki.
“Thanks,” she said curtly.
“Togai’s late,” Sasaki remarked. He was a young man, fair-skinned and handsome.
“He’ll be stuck in the snow somewhere. You know what a terrible driver he is.”
“You’re probably right.”
“I want you to stay until he gets here.”
“Sure.”
They stood there quietly for a while, until Eiko abruptly broke the silence.
“Did you see Kikuoka’s secretary?”
“Yes, er… Well… Yes, I saw her.”
“What taste!”
Sasaki looked confused.
“Vulgar and ill-bred.”
Eiko frowned. Normally when she spoke, she took the greatest care to conceal her true emotions. It made her something of an enigma to all the young men who moved in her circle.
A Japanese-made mid-size saloon came struggling up the hill.
“Looks like he made it.”
The car pulled up in front of them and the window was wound down. The driver’s plump face with its silver-framed glasses appeared. Despite the wintry weather, Togai was covered in sweat. He opened the door slightly, but stayed in his seat.
“Thank you for inviting me, Eiko.”
“You’re late!”
“The roads were thick with snow. It was terrible. Whoa! You’re more beautiful than ever tonight. Here, I’ve got a Christmas present for you.”
He handed her a wrapped gift.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, Sasaki. What are you doing out here?”
“Been waiting for you. Just about to freeze to death, too. Hurry up and come inside.”
“Right. Will do.”
The two men knew each other and would sometimes get together in Tokyo for a drink.
“Go and park. You know where, right? The usual place.”
“Yeah, I know.”
The saloon puttered off through the snow and disappeared around the back of the mansion. Sasaki hurried after it.
Right away, a taxi pulled up in its place. The back door opened and a tall and extremely skinny man stepped out into the snow. It was one of Kikuoka’s employees, Michio Kanai. He turned and reached back into the taxi, his silhouette like a solitary winter crane in the middle of a snowbound field. It appeared to take all his physical strength to extract his wife, Hatsue, from the narrow back seat. The woman who eventually emerged was his exact physical opposite.
The husband turned to Eiko.
“It’s so lovely to see you, Ms Hamamoto. How kind of you to invite us again.”
It might be a little unkind to say, but Kanai was the master of the ingratiating smile—so much so that the muscles of his face seemed to be permanently fixed in that one expression. You could call it an occupational hazard. With only the slightest flexing of these muscles, he was able to create a smile, even when his real emotion was something quite different. Or maybe it was every other expression besides this smile that required special muscle power. It was hard to say.
It was impossible to recall this man’s regular facial expression, Eiko always thought. In fact, whenever she tried to picture Kanai he was wrinkling up the outer corners of his eyes and showing his teeth. Eiko frequently wondered whether he had been born that way.
“We’ve been looking forward to seeing you. Thanks for making the journey.”
“Not at all. Not at all. Has the boss arrived yet?”
“Yes, he’s here already.”
“Oh, dear. We’re late!”
Hatsue Kanai stood patiently waiting in the snow. At first glance, she appeared pleasant and laid-back, but her eyes were surprisingly sharp, and now her gaze was hastily checking out Eiko, sweeping her over from head to toe. In the next instant, her face broke into a smile.
“What a simply gorgeous outfit!” she announced. Her praise didn’t extend beyond her hostess’s dress.
With the arrival of the Kanais, all the guests were assembled.
The last of them safely inside the mansion, Eiko primly turned on her heel and headed in towards the salon. Cole Porter became louder. She strode like a stage actress passing from her dressing room, through the wings and out to her audience, with just the appropriate mix of apprehension and confidence.
A gorgeous chandelier hung from the ceiling of the salon. Her father had protested that such a grandiose item didn’t suit the style of the house, but Eiko had insisted and won.
In the west corner of this oversized living-dining room, there was a circular fireplace, next to it a pile of branches and logs. Above the fireplace was a giant inverted funnel that served as a chimney. On the brick surround of the fireplace, a single metal coffee cup sat forgotten by the side of Kozaburo Hamamoto’s favourite rocking chair.
All of the guests were seated around a long, narrow table beneath the electric candles of the chandelier. The effect was of a tiny floating forest of lights. The music had changed from Cole Porter to a Christmas medley.
Because the floor of the salon was on a slope, the legs of the table and surrounding chairs had been cut just the right amount to keep the dining arrangements perfectly horizontal.
The eyes of each guest were on the glass of wine and a candle in front of them, as they politely waited for Eiko to begin her speech. Presently, the music faded out and all eyes turned to the mistress of the mansion.
“Thank you, everyone, for making the long journey to be here this evening.”
Her shrill voice carried clearly through the large space.
“We have both young guests, and older.
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