“I’m here on business,” she said, looking him up and down, her rosebud lips curved upwards in a smile. “I’ve been made Creative Director for Europe and Asia. I’ve had a thousand client meetings but I couldn’t come all this way and not look you up.”
“Congratulations. That’s a big promotion. I’m sure you deserve it,” he said, quietly.
“I certainly do,” she said, raising her delicate eyebrows. “But enough of me: I want to hear what you’ve been up to.”
She ran her eyes across the books and files on his desk.
He shrugged. “Teaching, mainly. It’s different from back home but it’s been interesting.”
There was a short silence.
“Well,” she said at last, when it was clear he had nothing more to say, “I haven’t had a chance to see anything of Tokyo, yet. I was hoping you’d be my guide for the day. When I phoned the language school to find out where you were staying, they told me you weren’t working today. Lucky me! Oh, don’t tell me you’re busy, Sam: not when I’ve come all this way.”
She pouted, gazing up at him from under her eyelashes.
Mentally Sam was cursing the efficient language school secretary who had so willingly given out both his schedule and address.
“Actually I had made plans,” he said. “With friends.”
She looked annoyed, but she also looked like she wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.
“And are those other friends leaving in 72 hours?” she said. “Oh, come on, Sam – surely you can spare a few hours – for old times’ sake?”
He raised his hands in defeat. He’d never found it easy to say ‘no’ to Elle.
“Sure, I can be your guide,” he said, forcing a smile.
“Marvellous!” said Elle. “I’ve got the company car waiting outside. We can go as soon as you’re ready.”
Sam laughed. “That’s so typical of you, Elle! How are you going to see anything of the city in a car! No, if you want to really see this place, we’re walking.”
He glanced at her shoes and the impractically high heels she habitually wore.
“But you’ll need to change those…” His look was challenging.
“Fine!” she snapped. “Fine. I’ll have to go back to the hotel.”
“After you,” said Sam.
She flounced out of the room and Sam closed the door behind him.
Paul was hovering in the corridor.
“You off out, buddy?” he said, flashing an appraising glance at Elle.
“Looks like it,” sighed Sam. “She’s only in town for a few days, so…” he shrugged. “Can you tell Tara for me…” he paused, then shook his head. “No, forget that: if she asks, just say I ran into an old friend.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” muttered Paul.
Sam nodded, his mouth twisted by a wry smile, and followed Elle, who was already waiting impatiently in the car outside.
Her hotel was in the Nihonbashi business district, a couple of miles from Sam’s more downmarket residence.
The Mandarin Oriental occupied the top eight stories of the landmark Mitsui Tower. Sam followed Elle inside, feeling, as ever, underdressed. The hotel was elegant and expensive without being brash: it suited Elle perfectly.
“I’m on the 37th floor,” she said, a challenging look on her face.
“I’ll wait in the lobby,” he replied, unwilling to meet her eyes.
She gave a theatrical sigh. “Oh, for goodness sake, Sam! What do you think I’m going to do? Throw you onto the bed and ravage you? Steal your virtue? I think you’ll be safe enough for the two minutes it’ll take me to find a pair of – ugh – flat shoes.”
He laughed again, the sound coming more naturally.
“Thank goodness for that!” said Elle, smiling. “I thought you were going to be serious all day.”
As they rode the elevator to her floor, Elle’s perfume filled the confined space. Sam felt awkward in the intimate space. Elle smiled to herself but didn’t speak.
Her suite overlooked the Imperial Palace gardens in one direction and Tokyo Bay in the other. Sam could see half the city spread out beneath him, a fretwork of steel and glass towers glittering in the sun.
“You like it here, don’t you?” she said, watching his face. It wasn’t really a question. “It suits you.”
He smiled. “This room suits you. Five-star all the way, Elle.”
She pouted. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He shook his head. “No, of course not, but it’s not the only way.” He smiled. “Today I’m going to show you my Tokyo: cheap and cheerful. And on foot.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Anything you can do, Sam Patterson…”
“Come on then!” he held out his hand and pulled her up from the bed.
First stop was the Tsukiji fish market, where she squealed at the sight of the very large tuna that were being landed alongside a catch of horrifyingly ugly fugu puffer fish, a delicacy despite the poisonous side effects that could kill a man in less than 24 hours if not prepared correctly. The icy warehouse was a relief after the heat outside.
Huge swordfish were being dismembered by noisy band saws, but the tuna were hand carved with knives over a metre long that looked like swords. There was every kind of shellfish and seafood you could imagine, and dozens and dozens of shops selling sushi, plus several restaurants crowded around the inner ring.
They left the chilly building to the burning heat of the streets before strolling through the grounds of the Meiji-jingu shrine, enjoying the shade provided by the tall, evergreen trees, an oasis against the backdrop of skyscrapers.
They drank O-cha green tea in a tiny café run by an ancient mama-san. Elle asked Sam about his work and he found himself describing his school, his classes, his pupils, the people that he’d met. She’d rarely shown such an interest in his life away from her.
Next he took her to a more Elle-like place, the famous Shibuya crossing where, 3,000 people crossed with every change of the lights. Smiling, he pulled her away from the shops and took her instead to the Jingu-bashi to see the Goths in punk kimonos, some dressed as anime characters, putting on a show for the tourists, and posing for photographs.
“Are you ever going to let me eat anything?” she complained after several hours of walking and watching. “I’m starving!”
“Sure!” he smiled. “There’s a place I’ve been wanting to try out just a short walk from here.”
“More walking! My feet are about to fall off.”
She grimaced at the flat ballet pumps she was wearing. In fairness they probably weren’t the most comfortable footwear for sight-seeing.
“It’s not far,” he grinned, “Scout’s honour.”
He led her to the Shimo-Kitazawa district that was stocked with cheap secondhand shops, tiny restaurants, bars, boutique and café-filled alleys, finally stopping at a small, dark izakaya bar.
“In here?” she said, doubtfully.
It looked shabby and uninviting, especially for someone who couldn’t read the Kanji above the door that welcomed them.
“Yes, this is the place,” said Sam, ducking inside. “Their soba noodles are supposed to be really good. But the reason people come here is for the kobe beef. It’s a speciality. You can have it raw – that’s the sashimi – or cooked – teppanyaki.”
Elle raised her eyebrows. “What are you having?”
“Shabu shabu: it’s thinly-sliced, cooked meat with vegetables and dipping sauces.”
“That sounds good: I’ll have that, as well.”
He laughed. “I was sure you were going to try the sashimi.”
She smiled serenely. “You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Sam.”
“Is that right?”
He grinned. He’d forgotten that Elle could be fun to be around; so many of his memories of her were clouded by their later arguments and mutual irritation.
She looked impressed when he read out the menu to her: there was no Engli
sh or Romaji translation. He didn’t mention that he could only read half of the dishes on the list – the rest of the Kanji remaining as big a mystery as ever. He even managed to have a short conversation with the waiter: asking questions was easy enough – understanding the answer was more problematic. But not today. The elderly waiter spoke slowly and clearly, expressing some surprise that a gaijin was conversant in Nihon-go.
He wasn’t the only one.
“I can’t believe how well you can speak Japanese,” said Elle. “I’m pretty certain you didn’t speak any when you were in London. Or if you did, it was a talent you kept very quiet.”
Sam shrugged. “It wasn’t easy at first but I’m surrounded with it 24/7 – you pick it up. It’s not like in Europe: very few people speak English here, and those that don’t aren’t very good at guessing the meaning of bad Japanese – I suppose I’ve had no choice but to learn it.”
Elle nodded slowly.
Sam thought she was going to ask him something else, but she briskly changed the subject when the food arrived.
“So what is it that we’re eating?” she asked, looking at the tableau of dishes and plates.
“It’s a bit like sukiyaki but a lot less sweet,” he explained enthusiastically. “This is the kobe beef, that looks like chicken, tofu, Chinese cabbage. Er, I think those are chrysanthemum leaves – you can eat them – and that’s nori – edible seaweed. And that must be the sesame seed dip.”
“Quite the expert, aren’t you? Well, bon appetit!”
He grinned, “Itadakimasu!”
They finished the meal with more green tea and Elle leaned towards him, her eyes half closed.
“I’m stuffed. That was marvellous. I wonder if they’ll open a branch in Islington?”
He smiled. “You can take the girl out of Islington…”
She opened her eyes wide and smiled back, holding his gaze until Sam abruptly looked away.
“So how about taking me to a genuine karaoke bar?” she said, with one of those sudden shifts of conversational direction that were her trademark. “I’ve only ever heard you sing Christmas carols – I’d like to hear your version of ‘My Way’.”
Sam looked up in surprise and Elle blushed, realising her mistake.
“Oh, er, you mentioned to Mim that you were going to write a blog while you were away. She showed it to me. It… it was funny.”
Sam frowned. He didn’t remember telling Mim about his blog but he supposed he could have done. He wasn’t sure why he felt irritated that Elle had been reading it – after all, it was on the internet… how private was that?
“Oh, right,” he said.
Elle’s expression was careful. “So, how about that karaoke then?”
Sam shook his head. “Actually, I’m pretty tired – I was out late last night so… Maybe I should take you back to your hotel.”
“Oh, okay!” she sounded surprised but eager.
Sam realised how his words could have been construed – how she would have construed them – and kicked himself.
Elle was standing up and ready to go before he could find the sentence that would correct her misapprehension.
Damn.
“Can you walk or should I call you a cab?” he said. “I can just get the subway home…”
He hoped she’d infer that he was planning for them to travel in different directions. Instead she raised her eyebrows and linked her arm through his. “Let’s walk – it’s a lovely evening.”
They strolled along the busy streets, watching the quixotic parade of humanity rippling past. It should have been relaxing but Sam suddenly felt tense, wishing Elle had gone for the taxi option so he could have said goodbye to her outside the noodle shop.
She seemed to be enjoying herself, commenting on everything she saw, asking questions about signs she couldn’t read, asking Sam to teach her a few words and phrases. Either she didn’t feel his tension – or she was ignoring it.
When they finally reached the subway, Sam found her a seat on the train and she sank into it gratefully. Her feet were hurting her more than she was prepared to admit to. Twenty minutes later they were at her hotel.
“Will you come in for a drink?” she said, looking up at him.
He unlinked his arm from hers. “No, thanks. I’m going to head back now. It’s pretty late.”
She pouted. “Oh, come on! One drink. In the bar… I’ve had as much of that wretched O-cha as I can take today. I’m still a bit jetlagged and I’ll be awake for hours yet. Please!”
He sighed. “Okay, one drink.”
She smiled and Sam escorted her inside. She made her way to a western-style bar near the hotel’s lobby on the 30th floor.
“Champagne?” she said.
Sam shook his head. “I’ll have a house beer.”
He ignored Elle’s irritated expression and ordered a glass of champagne for her and a beer from the barman, wincing at the prices. The cost was more than double that of their combined meal earlier in the evening.
Elle kicked off her shoes and snuggled into a large, leather couch. Sam knew that bare feet on the furniture was definitely bad etiquette in Japan, but decided he wasn’t going to be the one to tell her. He wondered if the waiter would be brave – or foolish enough – to point it out.
But clearly the waiter had seen enough appalling gaijin manners because although he pressed his lips together, he remained silent. Sam applauded him internally for his wisdom.
“Bottoms up!” said Elle, as she clinked her glass against his.
“Cheers,” he said, quietly.
“So…” she let the word hang in the air.
Sam stared at his beer, wondering how quickly he could get out of there without appearing too rude.
But she surprised him.
“I’ve been offered a new job,” she said.
Sam blinked. “I thought you said you’d just been promoted to Creative Director for Europe and Asia?”
“Oh, you were listening!” she said, archly. “Yes, that’s true: but I’ve also been offered CEO for Asia and Australasia… I’d be based in Tokyo.”
Sam took a deep breath as she watched him closely.
“So what do you think?” she asked, impatient when he didn’t comment.
“What do I think?” he asked, pretending not to understand. “It’s nothing to do with me – but it sounds like a great opportunity for you.”
She leaned back, her eyes tightening: definitely not the response she’d been looking for.
“We could be together, Sam,” she said, her face stiff with some suppressed emotion. “We could give it another go.” Her expression softened. “I’ve missed you. We were good together. Think about it.”
Instinctively Sam shook his head but before he could reply, they were rudely interrupted.
“Ellie-belly! Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you all day!”
Roland Nash bore down on them. His face was red and, if Sam were any judge, he’d spent the better part of his day looking for Elle in a bar. His shirt was damp with sweat and his tie limp. He stared at Sam owlishly.
“Bloody hell! What are you doing here? Ellie-belly?”
The second part of his question was directed to Elle, but Roland was still staring at Sam.
Sam stared back, disgust written all over his face.
“Time for me to go,” he said, softly, getting to his feet.
Roland stuck his pugnacious face into Sam’s. “Yes, clear off!”
Sam balled his fists, but with a huge effort restrained himself from squashing the bulbous nose back into the man’s purple face.
“Don’t go, Sam!” said Elle, biting her lip.
“I think I’d better,” he said, tightly.
“Could… could you at least see me up to my room?”
She seemed anxious.
“Are you worried about this moron?” he said in a furious whisper. “Because if you are…”
“No, I can handle him. I’d just rather not have a scene.
”
“You’re not going anywhere with this pup!” snorted Roland.
He made the mistake of wrapping his oily fingers around Elle’s arm.
Sam grabbed the drunk by the collar of his shirt and pulled him away from Elle. At the same time, she slapped Roland’s livid face so hard, his eyes bulged.
The waiter looked up anxiously as the whip-crack echoed around the room.
“Get your filthy paws off me,” snarled Elle.
Roland collapsed into a chair.
“Bloody hell!” he whimpered, sounding a shade more sober. “That bloody hurt, Ellie-belly!”
“Good!”
Sam felt the rage ebb away as he saw the fight fade out of the man slumped beneath him.
“God, he’s obnoxious!” said Elle, her voice stiff with annoyance.
Sam couldn’t agree more.
“Do you want me to see you up now, Elle?” he said, quietly.
“Please!”
The doors of the lobby’s lift opened with a whisper and they rode to the 37th floor in silence.
When they reached her suite, the angry words that would erupt any second, were still unsaid. Elle slid her key card through the lock and the door swung open.
She turned to Sam, resting one hand on his chest, the other cupped around his cheek. “Come in. Please, Sam.”
Sam stepped back and shook his head, quietly removing her hands. “No. I said I’d see you to your room in case that… moron …” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
She attempted a laugh. “Him! That was nothing!”
“Are you dating him now?” said Sam, almost angrily.
“Do you care?” replied Elle, equally annoyed.
Sam stared at her, then shrugged his shoulders. “Not my business.”
He turned on his heel and walked back down the corridor.
“Sam,” she called after him. “Sam!”
But he kept walking.
After the chilly atmosphere of the air-conditioned building, the sultry night air half suffocated him. He was furious with himself and needed to walk off his frustration. He strode through the busy streets, his face dark with anger at his own stupidity.
It took him over an hour to walk back to the hostel. He felt calmer, his anger giving way to mere irritation, mostly at himself.