were now the hotelâswhite perimeter walls. Within those walls was a line of European-style cypresses, interspersed with what were probably intended to resemble European chestnut trees but were more likely Japanese horse chestnuts. They were planted close together to give some sort of wooded ambiance. And the tallest tree in the neighbourhood, the big old zelkova, was nowhere to be seen.
The low stone wall, the bamboo fence lined by azalea bushes: these were all gone and replaced with white concrete. There was a gently sloping terrace where a lawn had been planted, and a broad, sweeping driveway along which cars could enter the grounds. It looked like the entrance to a park.
What on earth had happened to the original house with its roofed gateway and stone steps? The two-storey house visible behind the trees and shrubs had been a typical old Japanese-style house. That property alone had had over a hundred yards of bamboo fence facing the street. When put together with the plot on which Takahashi Cosmetics had stood, it meant this hotel was built on a very generous portion of land indeed.
The original house had belonged to someone named Kubo, Asai recalled. When heâd visited with Miyako, heâd been paying attention to the surroundings, and had made a point of reading nameplates. Asai guessed that the Kubo family had bought up the neighbouring property in order to construct a hotel. But if that was the case, why the striking similarity of the hotelâs name to Chiyoko Takahashiâs? Perhaps the characters werenât supposed to read âChiyoâ at all, but âSendaiâ, meaning âone thousand generationsâ, and it was just a coincidence. He couldnât imagine how theunmarried female proprietor, who couldnât even afford to hire staff to run her tiny cosmetics boutique, would have had the means to buy up the neighbouring plot of land and build a fancy hotel.
Or maybe someone else had purchased both the Kubo house and Takahashi Cosmetics. After all, the couplesâ hotel business was extremely profitable. It was a quiet area, and an exclusive neighbourhood to boot. The clientele would enjoy the high-end feel of the place, and after dark there were few passers-by to observe the couples coming and going. The street was poorly lit, too; infinitely preferable to a bustling, brightly lit street in the city centre. It seemed that up at the top of the hill, the Tachibana and Midori were both doing brisk business. Anyone with enough capital would recognize this area as a good investment opportunity.
According to the president of Yagishita Ham, back when he had visited Asai at the ministry, a lot of these kinds of hotel were popping up in hot-spring resorts. The regular Japanese inns were suffering from a shortage of maids and other attendants, and customer service was falling short. Compared to the traditional Japanese inn experience, a visit to a couplesâ hotel required far fewer personnel, and the room turnover rate was much higher. The facilities themselves were generally all that were required to turn a profit. Of course, the top-end villas and inns remained as they were, but the less popular hotels were rushing to convert.
Yet Asai couldnât help feel that something was oddly amiss. He was standing at the exact point on the road that his wife had been walking before her death from asudden heart attack. If the maid at the Midoriâs account could be trusted, a brand-new couplesâ hotel had now suddenly appeared at the exact same location. It was a strange coincidence: the boutique where Eiko had taken her last breath had now become part of that same hotel.
After arriving at the ministry the next morning, Asai asked one of his junior colleagues to get him a copy of any documents relating to the ownership of the Hotel Chiyo from the Yoyogi local public office. When he opened the papers, his eyes widened; Chiyoko Takahashi was indeed listed as president. Well, he
The low stone wall, the bamboo fence lined by azalea bushes: these were all gone and replaced with white concrete. There was a gently sloping terrace where a lawn had been planted, and a broad, sweeping driveway along which cars could enter the grounds. It looked like the entrance to a park.
What on earth had happened to the original house with its roofed gateway and stone steps? The two-storey house visible behind the trees and shrubs had been a typical old Japanese-style house. That property alone had had over a hundred yards of bamboo fence facing the street. When put together with the plot on which Takahashi Cosmetics had stood, it meant this hotel was built on a very generous portion of land indeed.
The original house had belonged to someone named Kubo, Asai recalled. When heâd visited with Miyako, heâd been paying attention to the surroundings, and had made a point of reading nameplates. Asai guessed that the Kubo family had bought up the neighbouring property in order to construct a hotel. But if that was the case, why the striking similarity of the hotelâs name to Chiyoko Takahashiâs? Perhaps the characters werenât supposed to read âChiyoâ at all, but âSendaiâ, meaning âone thousand generationsâ, and it was just a coincidence. He couldnât imagine how theunmarried female proprietor, who couldnât even afford to hire staff to run her tiny cosmetics boutique, would have had the means to buy up the neighbouring plot of land and build a fancy hotel.
Or maybe someone else had purchased both the Kubo house and Takahashi Cosmetics. After all, the couplesâ hotel business was extremely profitable. It was a quiet area, and an exclusive neighbourhood to boot. The clientele would enjoy the high-end feel of the place, and after dark there were few passers-by to observe the couples coming and going. The street was poorly lit, too; infinitely preferable to a bustling, brightly lit street in the city centre. It seemed that up at the top of the hill, the Tachibana and Midori were both doing brisk business. Anyone with enough capital would recognize this area as a good investment opportunity.
According to the president of Yagishita Ham, back when he had visited Asai at the ministry, a lot of these kinds of hotel were popping up in hot-spring resorts. The regular Japanese inns were suffering from a shortage of maids and other attendants, and customer service was falling short. Compared to the traditional Japanese inn experience, a visit to a couplesâ hotel required far fewer personnel, and the room turnover rate was much higher. The facilities themselves were generally all that were required to turn a profit. Of course, the top-end villas and inns remained as they were, but the less popular hotels were rushing to convert.
Yet Asai couldnât help feel that something was oddly amiss. He was standing at the exact point on the road that his wife had been walking before her death from asudden heart attack. If the maid at the Midoriâs account could be trusted, a brand-new couplesâ hotel had now suddenly appeared at the exact same location. It was a strange coincidence: the boutique where Eiko had taken her last breath had now become part of that same hotel.
After arriving at the ministry the next morning, Asai asked one of his junior colleagues to get him a copy of any documents relating to the ownership of the Hotel Chiyo from the Yoyogi local public office. When he opened the papers, his eyes widened; Chiyoko Takahashi was indeed listed as president. Well, he
Similar Books
