Ken's stern, traditional public face, however, was merely one of his many personas. Alone with her he could be as Western as any Japanese man would permit himself. For a Japanese, of course, "Western" doesn't mean all the glad-handing bonhomie of an American; there's always an element of reserve. Just the same, he was nothing like the typical sexless, oblique Japanese businessman. He had a superb body, taut and athletic, which he knew better than to bury in some cheap off-the-rack Japanese suit. No polyester; strictly silk and finest wool. He had a sense of style: the power look. And he really was a widower, whose wife had died in a freak auto crash soon after their marriage.
In short, Kenji Asano was complex, not easy to categorize.
The same went for Matsuo Noda. As she and Ken were coming down on the train, a porter had come through the car announcing "denwa," a call for Dr. Asano. When he returned, he reported that Matsuo Noda needed to make a quick trip down to the famous Shinto shrine at Ise tomorrow morning, to review the site for the new museum Dai Nippon, International would build to house the sword, and wanted him to come along, a good time to discuss their mutual interests.
"He always seems to know everything that goes on." Ken smiled wistfully. "He also 'suggested' that perhaps my visiting American colleague would like to make the trip too."
Oh, Tam thought, why me? That's not the way Japanese executives go about things. Women aren't part of their high-level conferences.
"I don't understand this, Ken." She'd been half dozing, but now she was coming awake very rapidly. "Seems a little strange, don't you think?"
Asano shrugged. "He just said he'd like to meet you."
"But why? What did you tell him about me?"
"Nothing, really . . ." He glanced away.
"Curious." She was fully alert now. "Then how did he . . . ?"