“And who would that have been?”
Jiro cleared his throat. “The Kimura family of Nagasaki acquired the paintings when their family were little better than warlords.”
“Until you stole them,” Jake said, hoping to catch Jiro flatfooted.
“Until I claimed them. You and your daughter were living in Singapore at the time, yes?”
Jake’s body tensed. Again, the man mentioned Mina. Was he interested in blackmail? “What is your concern in the whereabouts of my daughter?”
Jiro peered out the window. “The Kimura were great lovers of art through the ages. The older generations had seized power and influence for the younger ones to wield and waste as they chose. Choice is the privilege of the rich, yes?”
Jiro glanced at Jake, perhaps expecting a reply. Well, too bad. He had no interest in a history lesson.
“The youngest son of the current head of family wasn’t inclined to wield power or influence like his father or older brothers. Kai cared only for Beauty.” Jiro’s lips curved into a faraway smile. “You English have an expression for him: his head was in the clouds. Being the youngest son of many, his father indulged this quality, accepting it as proof of how far the Kimura had come since their warlord days.” Almost as an aside, he added, “An art master from the Kano school was employed.”
“You?”
Jiro inclined his head. “The boy loved art in all its forms. His focus was like that of a butterfly, lighting upon one beautiful flower after another, be it music, painting, or poem. Beauty was life for him. Then one day, he saw the Dutch physician’s daughter at the koi pond in Dejima.”
The familiar pang of dread stirred within Jake. “I know about them,” was all he could trust himself to say.
“Kai needed his art master’s help to—how do you say?—courta girl from the West without his family’s knowledge.”
A thought occurred to Jake. “You didn’t fall in love with her, too, did you?”
Emotion, pure and raw, fleeted across Jiro’s eyes, and the hair on the back of Jake’s neck stood on end. Certain pieces of the puzzle were beginning to snap together, but not in the configuration he’d expected. The picture that was emerging made no sense.
“She was Beauty personified to Kai,” said Jiro. “I believe he loved the girl with all his heart. What could a loyal art master do in the face of such love?”
Jake held his tongue. He could think of a number of things.
“Then”—Jiro placed his hands flat on the room’s central table as if to shore himself up for what he must say next—“she was with child. Kai knew what he would do. He would marry her, and they would be a happy family. An indulged youngest son had no reason to believe this idea was anything other than possible. Of course, his father quickly disabused him of such romantic delusion. Clemence and the child were to be cast aside like so much Western rubbish and forgotten. Kai nodded his agreement to his father and began formulating another plan.”
“To take Clemence and the paintings and to flee,” Jake intuited.
“Kai had this idea that he could sell them and live off the profits until he and Clemence found a way to establish themselves.”
“Did she know of this plan?”
Jiro shook his head, and his fingers clenched into fists. “Kai made the decision to bide his time and wait until after the child was born. He’d not wanted to risk her health or that of the unborn child by sailing on the open sea. Besides, his father’s spies would know if he attempted any communication with her. After all, they would have the rest of their lives to be together. But then—” An unreconciled note of grief choked up Jiro’s voice.
“She died,” Jake finished for him.
Jiro nodded and cleared his throat. “Before Kai could surface from his grief, you left Dejima with the child.”
Jiro’s eyes found his, and Jake saw recrimination in their depths. Compelled to explain, he said, “Clemence requested I take her daughter. No one else would.”
“I thought this must be the case. Otherwise, why would you of all people—”
“Yes, why wouldI? Her cuckold?” Jake threw at the man like a rebuke.
“Unless she’d requested it,” Jiro finished as if he hadn’t heard Jake. “She had nowhere else to turn.” A low flame lit within the man’s gaze. “Did she have to beg you to take her child?”
Jake felt like he’d been gut-punched. “Yes.”
“She did nothing wrong,” Jiro stated. “Her only crime was to love in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing wrong with her love.”
Jake wouldn’t argue with this man about the world’s opinion on that love. It was an entirely different conversation. From his perspective, and the only one he cared to give any consideration, Mina came of that union. There was, indeed, some right to it.
