Vol 2 Chapter 2 Part 2

His story was as follows:

After Yoneyama was exposed as a counterfeiter by the owner, he turned himself in, atoned for his crimes, and started a new life. He completely washed his hands of that world.

Thanks to the owner’s help, he’s been working an honest job ever since. However, at the same time, the owner has been making sure to inform others that Yoneyama is a former counterfeiter. He believes that Yoneyama will be able to live more confidently if he doesn’t try to hide it. Sounds like the owner, all right.

On one occasion, Yoneyama was invited to a party where he ended up running into the one person he wanted to avoid the most: a rich, elderly man named Takamiya who lives in the Okazaki district.

“I sold him one of my counterfeits when I was in my early twenties.” Yoneyama shrank away again, looking ashamed.

A bad friend of his had heard a rumor that there was a rich man in Okazaki named Takamiya who had no eye for art. He then told Yoneyama to create a certain painting. Up until then, Yoneyama had only done the creation of the counterfeits. He hadn’t been involved with sales. But that one time, he really wanted to see the customer’s reaction with his own eyes. That’s how confident he was in his work.

It was the first and last time he sold his own counterfeit. In other words, he’d run into his one and only victim at that party.

At this point in the story, Holmes crossed his arms and asked, “Whose painting did you copy?”

“Vermeer.”

“A beloved artist for counterfeiters, I see.” Holmes chuckled.

“What do you mean by that?” I tilted my head in confusion.

“Vermeer was a Dutch painter who was called the ‘Magician of Light.’ His masterful use of rays of light and his textured painting style continue to fascinate the world to this day. His most famous work is Girl with a Pearl Earring, which depicts a girl looking back and smiling. It’s revered as the ‘Dutch Mona Lisa.’ An ingenious counterfeiter from the twentieth century named Meegeren was able to reproduce Vermeer’s works almost perfectly, and these remain a problem for art collections all over the world. It’s at the point where when you hear Vermeer’s name, you also think of Meegeren,” Holmes answered with ease. It’s good to see that his explanations are still going strong.

“That’s Kiyotaka for you,” Yoneyama said, laughing weakly.

“Everyone in this industry knows of him. By the way, I know Mr. Takamiya as well. He may be old, but he still has an eye for great art. I find it a bit difficult to believe that you’d be able to trick him into buying a counterfeit Vermeer. Was the work you copied The Concert, by any chance?”

“No, it was The Guitar Player,” Yoneyama said quietly.

Holmes’s eyes lit up. “I see. How sly.”

It was like the two of them were communicating with their eyes, and I was the only one who was out of the loop. Holmes noticed my blank stare and turned to me with a gentle smile. “My apologies. The Guitar Player is,” he said, taking an art book from the shelf and flipping it open, “this work here.”

On the page was a painting of a young girl wearing a simple dress. She was holding a guitar that was a little bigger than a ukulele and smiling at someone outside of the frame. The painting had a soft and subdued atmosphere.

“This was one of Vermeer’s final works. Due to the deterioration of his ability, it’s worth less than his other paintings.”

“Oh, so does that mean it’s easier to forge?”

I nodded in understanding, but Yoneyama shook his head with a feeble smile and said, “No, that’s not it.”

“Huh?”

“This painting was kept in an art gallery in England called Kenwood House, but it was the subject of a theft in 1974,” Holmes said with a long face.

I leaned forward, surprised. “Huh? This painting was stolen?”

“Yes. However, it was found two months later and remains on display at Kenwood House today.”

“Oh, so they got it back. That’s good.”

“Indeed, but it wouldn’t be strange for someone to think, ‘What if they created a fake in order to maintain their pride, and the real painting is still out there somewhere?’” Holmes looked straight at me. His sharp gaze made me gulp.

A work that was stolen but came back to the gallery. In other words, Yoneyama and his friend had claimed that the one at Kenwood House was a cover-up, and theirs was the real thing.

“What about the other one you mentioned, The Concert?” I asked.

“That one was another victim of theft. Unfortunately, its whereabouts are still unknown.” Holmes looked down, looking sincerely sorrowful.

I see… But that means that works of art really do get stolen, huh? It’s like something out of a manga or film.

“The Concert is too risky to forge, you know?” Yoneyama said.

“Indeed. You really are a sly one.”

“Hey now, it’s all in the past. Besides, it was my friend’s idea.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

The two looked at each other and smiled.

“Umm, why is The Concert riskier?” I felt bad being the only one who didn’t understand, but I still had to ask.

“If a famous missing painting appeared, it would be world news. Even if you made the buyer promise not to publicly announce it, there’s a chance that the real painting would appear in the future. So, it’s less risky to choose a work that has already been recovered. That way, the buyer will also be willing to keep it to themselves and not proclaim that theirs is the real article. It’s unlikely that the public will find out.”

“I-I see.” It made sense. It’d be a huge deal if a centuries-old masterpiece that’d been missing all this time suddenly appeared. But if it were The Guitar Player, which had already been recovered, then they wouldn’t have to worry about that.

“Sly, right?” Holmes looked at me as if seeking my agreement. I was going to nod, but I hesitated. It was hard to say “Yes, that is sly!” right in front of the perpetrator.

“You’re always so quick-witted when it comes to counterfeits, Kiyotaka.” Yoneyama smiled as if he was enjoying this.

Holmes straightened his posture. “So, how much did you try to make Mr. Takamiya pay for it?”

Yoneyama held up one finger. Huh? Does that mean one million yen? He sold it for that much?

“One hundred million,” he said without hesitation.

“O-One hundred million?” I squealed, my voice echoing through the store.

“Considering that Vermeer’s early works were auctioned for one billion, one hundred million is a safe price for a later work that you can’t publicly declare to be real.”

“S-Safe? That’s a safe price?”

“Assuming it is real. A counterfeit isn’t even worth a single yen,” Holmes snapped, as if to remind us of that fact.

“Sharp as ever,” Yoneyama said with a quiet laugh, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m surprised that Mr. Takamiya would offer one hundred million, though. I know he’s wealthy, but he’s also cautious and shrewd. Was your friend’s sales pitch that impressive?” Holmes seemed perplexed. He rested his chin on his hand and stared at Yoneyama.

“There was no pitch. We just showed him the painting and stated the price.”

“I see.”

“A while after that, he said he’d buy it. The check came at a later date, but it was only for one million. It didn’t seem like he was going to pay the rest, but we couldn’t pursue it further, so it ended up only being sold for that amount.” Yoneyama shrugged.

Holmes smiled in acknowledgment and nodded. “That makes sense. Mr. Takamiya may have seen through you, but he still paid you one million. He was rewarding you for deceiving him and implying that he saw promise in your skill.”

Yoneyama took a deep breath. “Exactly. So when I ran into him again at the party, I couldn’t say anything. I just stood there with my head down, shaking. But he gave me this nice, unthreatening smile and said, ‘Thank you for The Guitar Player from some time back.’ I felt like I’d been drenched in cold water.” Remembering it must’ve really given him the chills, because his face was pale as he held his head in his hands.

“I understand. This industry is full of monsters like my grandfather. It’s a terrifying place,” Holmes said, nodding. My face stiffened. You’re a monster too, Holmes.

“Then, Mr. Takamiya said to me…” Yoneyama took a deep breath and resumed his story.

After receiving Yoneyama’s The Guitar Player, Mr. Takamiya immediately went to England to see the painting that was at Kenwood House. At that point, he knew without a doubt that the painting he’d received was a counterfeit. The deciding factor was that it looked truly identical. There wasn’t the slightest difference between it and the one on display in the gallery. To Mr. Takamiya, it felt as though Yoneyama had engraved every detail of the work into his head—as though Vermeer himself was possessing him as he copied it. As Holmes said, the one million yen was indeed both a reward for fooling him and a show of respect for the depth of the forgery.

Judging from his confidence and the way Holmes spoke of him, Takamiya must also have quite the discerning eye.

Yoneyama sighed deeply, as if recalling how he felt back then. “I was relieved, but then Mr. Takamiya said, ‘However, that doesn’t change the fact that you committed a crime against me. Now that we’ve met again, I’d like you to compensate me.’”

“Did he want his money back?” I asked.

Yoneyama shook his head. “If only. That would’ve been easy to take care of. Instead, he said…”

Mr. Takamiya’s request was: “I want you to grant one of my wishes. If you do, then I’ll forgive you.”

Holmes and I exchanged glances. Grant one of his wishes? What does that mean? As those questions flitted through my mind, Holmes nodded as if he understood.

“He wanted you to paint him something, yes?”

“Yes, and there was a condition.”

“What? Surely he didn’t request a forgery, right?”

“No. But he wanted me to paint him something similar to Diego Velázquez.”

“Diego Velázquez, you say?” Holmes folded his hands on top of the counter, seeming intrigued. I didn’t recognize the name, so I just stared at them blankly.

Holmes flipped the book that was still on the counter to another page and explained, “Diego Velázquez was a Spanish court painter—a master of the seventeenth century, which is considered the golden age of Spanish paintings. His famous works include The Surrender of Breda and Las Meninas.”

The page he flipped to had a picture of The Surrender of Breda. It depicted a post-war setting: soldiers gathered with their horses and spears; two men showing respect for each other. It was a brilliant painting—I could understand why the artist was called a master.

“The Surrender of Breda is a victory painting.”

A victory painting… In other words, it shows Spain winning the war.

“Normally, victory paintings depict the losing side’s commander kneeling on the ground while the victor looks down on him from atop his horse. However, The Surrender of Breda has the victorious commander standing on the ground with the loser, placing his hand on the loser’s shoulder as if showing appreciation for his hard work.”

I looked at the painting again. The two men looked like they belonged to the same troops, but it was actually the winner placing his hand on the loser’s shoulder. They almost seemed like comrades in arms.

“This excellent work shows Spain’s chivalrous spirit when they won the war. Diego Velázquez was amazing for both his technical skill and his ability to tug at one’s heartstrings,” Holmes said, smiling.

Paintings that tug at your heartstrings… After hearing the rest of his explanation, I looked at The Surrender of Breda again. It seemed noble, how the two men were supportive of each other regardless of the war’s outcome. I realized again how much better it is to have background knowledge when encountering such works of art. Just looking at them isn’t enough to understand the emotions and drama contained within.

“So, did you complete that painting?” Holmes asked. His voice brought me back to my senses.

“Yeah, I did. Mr. Yagashira said he’d come with me for the handover, because it’d be better to have a third-party witness who knows the situation.”

That does sound like a good idea. The owner must’ve been sincerely concerned about Yoneyama to offer to go with him.

“But when he saw my painting, he said, ‘I’m not going anymore. Get Kiyotaka to be your witness,’” Yoneyama said with a bitter expression.

“And that’s why you’re here.”

“I think he said that because there’s something only you would know. Could you please come with me?” Yoneyama bowed deeply.

Holmes sighed. “I understand. Since my grandfather called on me, I can’t refuse. Honestly, I also want to see what you painted.”

“Thank god.” Yoneyama wearily put his hand on his chest. He then looked at me and said, “Oh right, do you want to come too, Aoi?”

I was a bit surprised. “Huh? Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Mr. Takamiya lost his wife, son, and beloved granddaughter in an accident. He only has one living relative left. I think his granddaughter would be around your age if she were still alive, so he might feel comforted by your presence.”

Holmes nodded. “That may be true. Would you like to come with us, Aoi?”

“Y-Yes! I’d love to.” I was curious about Takamiya’s mysterious request, and I wanted to see Yoneyama’s painting. I also wanted to know why the owner called on Holmes. He hadn’t criticized the painting, so that wasn’t the issue. Perhaps it was indiscreet of me, but I nodded eagerly, anxious to find out.