16
Turner had been relaxing in Hayama for ten days when Olivier visited him. He arrived on a black motorcycle, which—despite being electric—emitted a malicious, deep rumble. It was far more powerful than the petrol bikes of old times. Under the motorcycle jacket, as always, he was wearing a suit. He smiled and greeted Turner like an old friend.
Turner knew that Olivier’s pleasantries were part of the businesspeople like him are always nice when they smell money—but he was glad to see him.
“Lovely house, Mr. Turner,” said Olivier, stepping into the living room. He walked out to the terrace to check the view. The ocean radiated iridescent shades of blue and green that can be seen only at the zenith of summer. Thanks to the clean sea-air, he could see to the distant horizon. “And the view,
