The Name in the Drawer

With this, the place was settled. Dressing the interior was Olivia's work. All that remained for me was to name someone who would promote the shop.

I headed for the suite where Lukashi was staying. Perhaps because I had put him in the finest room in London, his face was unusually bright.

I'd seen him earlier, but that had been with Jo Sudeok. A real conversation might as well have been our first. We sat facing each other across the low table between the sofas.

"Is the room to your liking?"

"Y-yes. Of course. It's the best there is."

"You'll have to live in London from here on. Which would suit you better, a hotel or a house?"

"Living on the top floor of a hotel has been a dream of mine my whole life, but..."

"Then why not do exactly that?"

"But the cost would be far too much."

"You'll earn us that much, won't you?"

"M-me?"

Lukashi scratched at his head for no particular reason. The look on his face said he could not even imagine possessing an ability like that.

"Since it came up, may I ask what I'm supposed to do from now on?"

"Design, obviously."

"Even design splits into a lot of branches..."

"Anything is fine. Keep making T-shirts the way you do now, or hats, hoodies. If you told me you were making furniture, I wouldn't mind."

His Adam's apple jumped.

"And I'd be paid to do that?"

I nodded. Lukashi scratched his head again, as if he had no idea what answer he was meant to give.

"The thing is, I heard my salary is a hundred thousand dollars a year."

A hundred thousand dollars. Somewhere around a hundred and fifty million won.

"And for that you want me shut in a corner of a room, just drawing?"

"Not a corner of a room."

"...?"

"You come in to the select shop."

"Ah. So you're giving me a studio as well."

He would have to look after the shop, too, though a secret shop hardly left much to manage. Lukashi seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

"Boss, would it be all right if I took on more work?"

"Sorry?"

"Design doesn't simply spill out because you've decided to do it. How do I put it. When the work won't stay in my hands, something to cool my head..."

Ah. So he was afraid I'd throw him out if the design wasn't good enough, and he wanted other duties as insurance. That was what he meant.

Worrying about the strangest things. That was my reading, anyway. Lukashi himself looked as though he wouldn't rest easy until he had more on his plate. Fine. So be it.

"Do you like taking photographs?"

"I could never take enough of them."

"Perfect. I'm thinking of starting a men's magazine. I'd like you to take charge of some of the pages."

The brief was simple. Walk the streets of London with a camera, and whenever a look caught his eye, photograph it and bring back an interview. Model fees would be paid, so booking people ought not to be hard.

"It sounds like you're telling me that if I get bored loafing around the shop, I should go out and loaf somewhere else."

"You don't want to?"

"As if."

That seemed to settle things well enough. I was just about to stand.

"Boss."

Lukashi stopped me, rather urgently. For all the hurry in his voice, his face was painfully awkward, and he opened his mouth with care.

"I-it's presumptuous of me to say this, but."

"...?"

"I overheard you talking with Professor Jo Sudeok earlier, and it sounded as if you were looking to hire more people."

Ah. Ultimate alone would have been enough. Somehow it had ended up otherwise.

"I went back and forth over whether I should even mention it. I'm already grateful you took me in by myself..."

"It's all right. Go ahead."

Permission had been given, and still he stole a glance at my face. Then Lukashi squeezed his eyes shut.

"Th-there's a fellow I know with a pretty good eye. If you need people, maybe you could look him over once."

Wait.

An acquaintance of Lukashi's?

It felt as if a memory, hidden in the deepest drawer of a desk gone gray with dust, had lifted its head by a crack. Maybe that was why excitement leaked into my voice.

"Is he a designer too, by any chance?"

Lukashi didn't miss it.

"He never went through a proper course, but his skill is unbelievable. He worked at our shop for a little while, and instead of doing what he was told, he spent the whole day scribbling in a notebook. Can you believe it?"

And when anyone bothered to look later, the results were killer.

"Set aside the fact that he's a British immigrant, so his accent is a little obnoxious, and he's an excellent friend."

The instant Lukashi bore down on the word British, the drawer that had been shut tight dropped clean out of the desk with a thud.

Astonishingly, a single faded name badge lay inside. I looked up at Lukashi.

"What's your friend's name?"

"James... James Paver."

Sure enough, the badge in the drawer carried that very name.

Ten minutes later, Lukashi lifted the receiver, his face bright with excitement.

He had barely finished laying it out before Paver snapped back, venomous.

"There you go with the suspicion."

Lukashi shifted the receiver against his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ear.

"You know ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠John Green, right? The shoemaker. You said you wanted to give your old man a present."

Funny how freely he'd gone on about it, like some dream. It must have embarrassed him. Now he was pretending not to know.

"Anyway, he's the man who got that high-and-mighty John Green to take his hand. Our president."

Paver was a man who had always lived for the pleasure of resisting the established order. Perhaps that was why.

He looked as if he would rather die than work beneath another man.

He didn't know either. But how was he supposed to say that?

An ultimatum, plain and simple. Maybe that was why Lukashi looked ready to hang up at any second.

For the first time, Paver's voice came out serious.

That night, Olivia took a call rather late. Sir Lewis had given his permission. All that remained was to dress the shop.

It wasn't far from home, so she had come out to see the place for herself. Maybe because it had been cleared to the walls, the room felt larger than she had expected.

Bigger than I thought.

Olivia walked it slowly, drawing the space in her head: the color of the wallpaper, the furniture, how many mannequins. She couldn't have said how long she stayed like that. The empty room was just beginning to take on a shape when a knock came from behind her.

Knock, knock.

Already? Do I have to leave? He had said she could use it as she liked for the time being. She opened the door at once.

Of course Sir Lewis was standing outside.

"Something was delivered for young Jihun."

"Ah. I'll take it."

"The thing is."

"...?"

"Quite a lot arrived, and some of it is difficult to bring indoors."

"What do you mean?"

As if seeing it would explain everything, Sir Lewis led the way. Outside the tailor's shop stood a middle-aged man in a trench coat. The moment he saw Olivia, he bowed his head.

"The Chairman sent me."

The Chairman? Which Chairman?

"I telephoned the president, and he told me to send it here."

"Did he say it was all right for me to receive it?"

"Yes. He said Miss Olivia had requested it."

I requested it? A question mark floated over her head, but only for a moment. Ah. The vintage Rolex.

But what was this? What stood before her eyes was not a watch. It was an enormous motorcycle.

Reading the question on her face, the man spoke carefully.

"You did originally ask for a watch. But given the Chairman's nature, how could he send only that?"

"...?"

"This is a surprise gift from the Chairman."

And he said it while pointing at a motorcycle, of all things.

"Since the president is in Britain, the Chairman seems to have prepared a British machine as well. If I may speak of this model..."

"I know it."

"Pardon?"

"A Triumph Speed Twin. The legendary model they released in 1937."

"To recognize it at a glance. Honestly, I'm impressed."

She was the sort whose blood boiled at the mere sight of wheels. Her father's blood was in her, and a classic was bound to set her heart racing twice as fast. And yet this one shone as if it had only just left the factory. The thing was almost too luminous. Looking at it, she felt she might be pulled straight inside, and she had to lift her head in a hurry.

"I'm sorry, but a 1937 Speed Twin. What would it take to find one in the same condition?"

At that, the man put on a regretful face.

"Unfortunately, this isn't a model you can buy just because you have the money. It's old to begin with, and one in good condition is harder still to find."

"And he gave something like that away without a second thought?"

"If you'll only accept it, he could give you something greater still."

What kind of connection was this, anyway?

While she stood stunned, the man brought a small box from the parked car.

"This is the 1871 Patek Philippe the president requested."

Good God. He had said a Rolex from the nineteen-hundreds wasn't much, and he had actually gone and found a Patek Philippe from the eighteen-hundreds.

"Will you be wearing it yourself?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Then is it meant for display?"

She nodded.

"Would it be all right if we set it for you?"

"Set it?"

"We've brought the same installation they use in museums."

Ha. She was getting surprised far too often today.

"Th-then please, if you would."

Even as she answered, Olivia's gaze had already settled on the 1937 Triumph.