The old man did as she suggested and removed the lid. The box contained some sort of pureed fish that was—according to the stallholder who had sold it to Milton—quite a delicacy.

Sakura looked at him. “Kamaboko.”

“The man who sold it to me said that it’s good.”

The old man laughed loudly. “It is,” he said in accented English. “You make a good first impression.” He put out his hand. “My name is Hachirō. It is good to meet you.”

76

They settled into the corner of the room and talked. It was obvious that father and daughter had shared a difficult conversation; Sakura’s eyes were reddened and her father spoke with a catch in his throat.

“Where did you learn English, Hachirō?” Milton asked, seeking a gentle introduction to another conversation that he knew might prove to be challenging.

“She hasn’t told you?”

Milton shrugged. “No. I don’t think so.”

“I lived in London for three years,” he replied with a smile at his daughter. “That’s where I met Sakura’s mother.”

“Were you studying?”

He nodded. “At UCL.” His smile faded a little as he continued. “I liked it and I always thought I might settle there, but then my father died and I had to return to help with the family business.”

Milton knew enough about what that business entailed not to enquire too closely about it; the details would come when it was necessary.

“My wife—Sakura’s mother—came back with me and, eventually, Sakura arrived.” His smile returned, but it was accompanied now with a sadness. “We had many happy years here until she passed. We had a house overlooking Tamahime Park. Do you remember it, Sakura?”

“Of course,” she said.

Milton thought about what Hachirō had just told him. Sakura had said nothing about her mother. He hadn’t known that she was English, but the mixed heritage—Asian and European—explained her unusual looks.

“Do you want to eat, John? Are you hungry?” Hachirō asked him.

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Then I suppose we should talk about my brother.”

He changed the subject without preamble, and the warmth that he had shown was immediately replaced by a flinty cold.

“Has Sakura told you what happened?” Milton said.

“She has. Thank you for what you have done for her.”

Milton raised his hands. “There’s no need to thank me.”

“I disagree. Most people would not have done what you did. You have put yourself in danger for the sake of a stranger.”

“I was happy to do it. And even happier now that I’ve got to know her.”

“And you do not need to do anything else,” he said firmly. “I will take over from here.”

Sakura frowned; her father evidently had not forewarned her that he had made that decision.

Milton cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”