６．及川
夕方の街は、帰宅を急ぐにはまだ早い。
橙の空の下、オフィスビルの一階で『Bar Abientot』が灯っていた。ガラス越しの光が、歩道の端をうっすら照らす。
及川蒼は、店が近づくにつれて歩幅が小さくなった。
ワインバーで法律相談とは、気軽な依頼人だ――
胸のどこかに引っかかりを残したまま、にぎやかなメニューが貼られた扉を押す。
視線を走らせても、誰かを待っている客は見当たらない。
脚の長い丸テーブルに向かい、スツールに腰を掛ける。スマートフォンを取り出し、メールをもう一度だけ確認した。
依頼主は、谷村茜。
相談内容は、遺産相続。
〈事務所に伺うのは敷居が高い〉と書かれていて、〈交通費は上乗せになるが外での依頼も受けつける〉と返すと、この店が指定された。
読み終えたころ、入り口から一人の女性が入ってくる。マーメイドラインのスカートが、歩くたび柔らかく揺れた。
周囲を見渡し、こちらへまっすぐ歩み寄る。右手の指に、細い指輪がひとつだけ光っていた。
「弁護士の及川先生、ですか」
「谷村さん、ですか」
「お待たせしました――すみません、こんなところにお呼び立てして」
彼女は正面にビジネスバッグを置き「ここは職場の近くで、たまに立ち寄るんです」と言い添えた。
「外でお時間をいただくのに、仕事の時間内だと恐縮な気がして」
及川はわずかな安堵を覚えた。少なくとも、場をわきまえない相手ではなさそうだ。
「――かといって、夜ご飯の時間にかかると、ご家族に悪いかと思って」
彼女が髪を耳にかける。
反射的に、強い香水の輪郭を思い浮かべた。けれど届いたのは、洗い立ての布に近い匂いだった。
及川は一拍置き、小さく首を振る。
「独り身なので、大丈夫です」
「そう？ それは、良かった」
「さて、ご依頼は、遺産相続に関してでしたよね。ご兄弟とすでに話し合っているとか」
「ええ。でもまずは、注文してもいいかしら」
少し慌てて、どうぞ、と促した。
彼女は短く笑みを見せ、卓上の小さなメニューを手に取る。ほどなく店員が近づいた。
「軽めの赤を、二つ。グラスでお願いします」
及川は姿勢を正す。気づけばテーブルの下で、指先の組み方を変えていた。
グラスが置かれたのを合図に、改めて声をかける。
「谷村さん」
「アカネです」
訂正するように名を告げ、彼女はグラスを持ち上げた。視線が、まっすぐに及川を射抜く。
「『谷村家』の、遺産の話をしたくて」
そう言って、兄や家族の名を挙げていく。
なるほど、と思う。同じ姓ばかりでは、下の名前で呼ぶしかない。
舌の奥に妙な違和感は残ったが、それは赤ワインの渋みに押し戻され、名前を持たないまま沈んでいった。
※
The evening streets were still a little too early for the rush home.
Under an orange-stained sky, the ground floor of an office building glowed with the sign of Bar Abientot. Light spilled through the glass, brushing the edge of the sidewalk in a thin wash. As Ao Oikawa drew closer, his stride shortened without him meaning it to.
(A legal consult at a wine bar—some client has an easy relationship with boundaries.)
With that faint snag still caught somewhere in his chest, he pushed open the door plastered with a lively menu. A quick sweep of the room told him no one was obviously waiting for anyone. He faced one of the tall, long-legged round tables, sat on a stool, and took out his phone to check the email one last time.
The client: Akane Tanimura.
The matter: inheritance.
Her message had said, Coming to your office feels intimidating. When he replied, I can meet outside, though travel costs will be added, she had named this place.
He had just finished rereading when a woman entered through the front. A mermaid-line skirt swayed softly with each step. She scanned the room, then walked straight toward him. On the fingers of her right hand, a single slender ring caught the light.
“Mr. Oikawa—the attorney?”
“Ms. Tanimura?”
“Sorry to keep you waiting—really. And I’m sorry for calling you out to a place like this.”
She set a business bag down in front of her and added, “It’s close to my office. I stop by sometimes.”
“I felt bad taking up your time outside,” she went on, “if it had to be during work hours.”
A small relief loosened something in Oikawa. At least she didn’t seem like the type who dragged other people into her scene without a thought.
“—But if it runs into dinner,” she said, “I thought I might be putting you in trouble with your family.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
Reflexively, he found himself bracing for the hard outline of perfume. He’d met plenty of people who wore it like armor at tables like this.
But what reached him was different—something closer to freshly washed fabric.
Oikawa paused, then shook his head once.
“I’m on my own, so it’s fine.”
“Oh? Then… good. I’m glad.”
“Right,” he said. “Your request was about inheritance, wasn’t it? You mentioned you’ve already spoken with your siblings—”
“Yes. But first… may I order?”
He nodded a little too quickly and gestured for her to go ahead. She gave a brief smile and picked up the small tabletop menu. A moment later, a server approached.
“Two light reds,” she said. “By the glass, please.”
The ease with which she ordered for both of them was almost perfectly natural.
Oikawa straightened. Without realizing it, he’d changed how his fingers laced together under the table. When the glasses were set down, he tried again, more deliberately.
“Ms. Tanimura.”
“Akane.”
She gave her name as if correcting him, lifted her glass, and looked straight through him.
“I want to talk about the Tanimura family’s estate.”
As she spoke, she began listing names—her brother, other relatives—one after another. I see, he thought. With the same surname repeating, first names would be the only workable way through it.
A small, nameless discomfort lingered at the back of his tongue—then the tannins of the red wine pushed it down, and it sank without ever taking shape.
