Over the High Side (13 page)

‘People do think that,' he said softly, ‘with some justification. Comes from tidy-minded officers of justice popping people into jail and letting them stay there while their business is sorted out at great leisure – so handy. There's a lot of feeling against this and it is being stopped – too slowly. But nobody's putting Denis in jail, you know: we haven't any right to, and anyway he isn't around.'

‘Sounds pretty sensible of him, not to be around,' tartly.

‘Only that this not being around does suggest – wouldn't you agree? – as though his conscience wasn't quite clear.' This, he noticed, struck her. She reached over with the decanter and poured him some more sherry. Great stuff, making his English marvellously fluent even if all these phrases had been given him by Inspector Flynn. ‘Nobody has suggested, at any time, that he's guilty of anything whatever. The fact facing us is that he knew Mr Martinez, was in his company that afternoon, and left abruptly that night, getting his ticket changed to do so. We want him to tell us what happened, under all the safeguards anyone can think of.'

‘Who is this Mr Martinez – I mean what sort of man is he?'

‘Was.'

‘I beg your pardon,' nicely. ‘I do realize that you are concerned with the sanctity of human life.'

‘Well, there's a sort of relationship I don't begin yet to understand – it's another reason why I came to see you.'

‘Permit the terrifying Senator Lynch to offer you one of his cigars?'

‘I think that's the right note – yes, please, I love them – I think we have to look at all this without too much solemnity. It's our difficulty and I do mean our. Need a bit of levity.'

‘You have it.'

‘I hope enough to realize the absurdity of my position.'

‘I'll try to match that.'

‘How quick you are, and how grateful I am.' To his relief she gave her peal of laughter, not very ladylike but reassuringly real.

‘Go on.'

‘We wondered how Denis came to know Mr Martinez. He had interests in several countries, and used to have connections here. The commercial people at the embassy are looking them up to see if there's anything interesting, which I think unlikely enough. What's more to the point is that he lived here at one time, and three of his daughters still do. Young women now, married to Irish people.'

‘But that is interesting – would I know any of them, I wonder?'

‘It's unlikely too, I'd think – I've met one of them. She does know Denis. I knew that already, but it was useful to hear her confirm it.'

‘And how did you know that?'

‘By a coincidence – accidental eye-opener. Martinez lived in Amsterdam. We were trying to discover what he was doing in our town which is some way outside, and found a witness who saw him in an art gallery, with Denis, looking at a picture which strangely resembled this daughter. You see, it's the kind of link which without being tangible is real enough, and in the occurrence it was enough to bring me over here, expecting to have it confirmed, which I did.'

‘And in what way,' cautiously, ‘does Denis know this young woman?'

‘I'm wondering whether he could be her lover.'

There – it was to arrive there that he had spent so much time on careful bricks and mortar.

Mrs Lynch had been leaning back on the sofa, legs crossed in a negligent masculine way as though to show she was indifferent and had no fear of him. Now she sat up, put her knees together, arranged her wrapper, and put her forearms together along her thighs, fingertips pointing at him in an instinctively defensive, essentially serious pose.

‘Have you anything – like a letter – to support what you say?'

‘No. But I'm trying keys till I find one which can open a locked door. I've seen the woman. An odd woman – very attractive.'

She was silent for some time. He tried again, wondering whether it was a mistake.

‘I came for that too – wondering whether you knew anything about this.'

She shook her head.

‘I don't. But I'm bound to admit there's no reason why I should. And would I tell you, if I did?'

‘You don't strike me as the kind of woman that likes to delude herself.'

She made no answer to that.

‘You realize I can't keep this from the boy's father,' she said. ‘He will certainly want to see you – make no mistake; in his office, in daylight, openly. It isn't in his nature to have any underhand dealing – oh, I'm not suggesting you would be a party to that, but I'm trying to say, very badly, that you can rely on one thing, and that is that if there are any explanations to be made, Denis will make them and his father will see to that. But who he will make them to – that's for Senator Lynch to decide.'

‘I accept that: I'm at his disposal.'

She stood up abruptly and wrapped the morning-coat tighter round her stocky body in another defensive gesture. ‘Where are you staying, Mr Van der Valk?'

‘The Sheridan Hotel.'

‘Will you take me out to lunch?'

He was startled.

‘With the very greatest pleasure.'

‘I have things to do in town. I must also talk to my husband. He has an official lunch; I won't be seeing him before three. Before then, I would like to see some more of you.' She went over to the window, picked up a leather memo book, found a number, dialled it.

‘Reservations? Mrs Terence Lynch, for two, at a quarter to one … thank you … very well then.' She looked at him again direct, with a sudden lift of the head, as though she had had a doubt and dismissed it. ‘Sorry – a nice quiet restaurant,
where we'll be undisturbed. Will you give me a quarter of an hour to dress? Sorry to be a nuisance.' To that he had nothing to say.

She was not much longer than a quarter of an hour either: she wore the ‘purplish suit', darkish burgundy red, a classic cut, skirt knee-length. The knees were plumpish, the stockings a pronounced pale tint, the shoes shiny patent leather. His eye getting all this must have been indiscreet since she caught it straying.

‘I hope you won't be ashamed of me, Mr Van der Valk.'

In penitence for this sharpish smack he took the coat the maid was holding – one of those short black furs, curly and glossy, with an Armenian look – and helped her into it. He had just realized that he had to pass an examination, and had failed the first question. Parked outside on the gravel was a small Lancia, chaste midnight blue.

‘Will you drive, or shall I?' she asked.

‘Which ever you please,' not certain he had the second test right either.

‘Then perhaps I'd better – traffic in Dublin …'

‘It wouldn't do if you got a police ticket through my fault.'

‘We call them the Guards. Of the peace, but it gets left unsaid, which seems unfair.' He held the door and she got in neatly: it was the four-door model.

‘I don't much like sports cars; they're so indecent to get out of.'

She drove fast and very precisely, as women drivers do when they are good. He got innocent pleasure from being in nice cars, and said so, which got a good mark; she was amused.

‘Senator Lynch,' in inverted commas, ‘has a Big Black Mercedes – I hate it rather.'

‘Rich towns have them as police cars – the cheaper models, I hasten to add. They do smell so awful. I may as well say my town gives me a Volkswagen.' She had a pleasant low giggle, not trying to be girlish, but unselfconsciously being so.

‘Now I wonder where I'm going to park.' They had stopped in a narrow, crowded street.

‘Let me handle it; what are policemen for?' He gave her a formal arm, held his palm out for the keys, and played escort.
The usual headwaiter hurried forward; wheyfaced goose. Doctor Van der Valk determined not to be bullied. He had the keyring on his finger, and a crumpled ten-bob note sticking out.

‘Mrs Lynch would like you to park her car.'

‘Oh. I'm not sure …'

‘Since I drove her, and since I'm a stranger, I am sure.'

‘But we've no doorman.'

‘Perhaps you'd like us to go somewhere else,' nastily.

‘Er – Stephen! Park Mrs Lynch's car, and will you be careful not to scratch it now. This way sir, and will we be taking your coats?'

‘Bravo,' she said grinning. He had got a good mark!

‘No, really I hate making a fuss in restaurants, but they need to be bellowed at a tiny bit. Are you a drinking woman?'

‘Rather,' smiling at his English.

‘Then we'll have some champagne.' Mentally, he was already writing out his expense sheet. ‘Giving lunch to Mrs Terence Lynch' – he was looking forward to the embassy comptroller's face.

Till they got rid of waiters she made social small talk.

‘Dublin is very small,' she said. Even after the flapping ears had ceased to hover she asked him about Holland. Eating cake – she had a healthy disrespect for her figure – she asked about his wife. It was only when sipping coffee that she suddenly said, ‘What's this woman like?'

‘Not pretty – that is to say yes she is, very, but her looks are unusual. Exceptionally seductive; I feel it myself strongly.'

‘Old?'

‘Something over thirty.'

‘Where does she live?' He hesitated a fraction too long: her direct eyes, clear pale brown, met him head on.

‘You don't want to tell me because you're afraid I'll try and tamper with her.' He shook his head.

‘Monkstown. It's the police mind. Just like the meteorologists; they aren't able to look at a sunset and simply think it beautiful.'

‘I hate anything underhand as much as my husband does, but I can't expect you to take my word for that on a point like this.'

He liked this scruple; she was awarding herself a bad mark!

‘I know little enough about her, as yet. She has three children, her husband is in some fairly banal commerce, earns a good unspectacular living, has the reputation of a decent man but drinks.'

‘The description,' dryly, ‘applies to ninety-nine per cent of Dublin. Have you been drinking with him?'

‘Not yet. I hope to. I've only her word for it. She talks very freely.'

‘If she's as unusual as you say, how does she come to marry a man like that?'

‘What I have asked myself, but he may not be like that.'

‘I suppose not. Yes I would like some brandy, or is my nose red?'

‘Not in the least.'

‘I come from humble origins,' she said tranquilly, ‘and perhaps that's why I enjoy being rich, and why I'm sometimes crude in my manners. I make gaffes. Since Senator Lynch became what one calls an important political figure, I've had to learn not to.'

‘Except on purpose sometimes.'

‘I'm probably making one now when I say that I'll do what I can to make your job more reasonable – I won't say easier. Thank you for a very pleasant lunch.'

‘I hope I may see you again.'

‘If I thought that was for my pretty face! What have you in mind?'

‘I'd like to know more about Denis.'

‘I see. Well Mr Van der Valk, I look forward to returning your hospitality. I'll ask my husband to find a day that suits both of you, and perhaps you'll give me the pleasure of coming to my house for dinner.'

‘Yes.'

‘Will you be at your hotel this afternoon?'

‘Yes.' It was one more mark, a small one. He called the waiter.

‘Will you get the car for Mrs Lynch, please.'

He wanted to work all right, but had a suspicion it would
turn into a siesta. He had only had one glass of champagne, but she had drunk the rest, and left him to get through a whole bottle of burgundy …

*

Exactly: he fell sound asleep, and the sudden bawling of the telephone found him cross and blurry; have to clap in his spurs.

‘Van der Valk.'

‘Senator Lynch's office. The Senator is calling you; will you hold the line a moment please?' Time to yawn, to look at his watch – four-twenty, oh – and wish for cold water on his neck. Not a climate for lunch-time drinking.

‘Van der Valk? Terence Lynch.' The voice was deep, hard, unusually slow, saying that this was a man who spoke seldom and thought more, and when he did speak that it was as well to listen.

‘Yes sir.'

‘I should like to talk to you. Does this evening suit you?'

‘At your convenience.'

‘Try and be here by five. Ask for my secretary; she'll bring you in.'

‘Count on me.'

‘Good.' Click. He leapt off the bed: cold water. Needed some inside, too.

‘Have you any mineral water?' he asked the waiter.

‘A tonic would that be sir?'

‘No, no.' Damn.

‘Nice cup of tea, sir?' The fellow had seen through him!

‘Haven't time, alas; let it go.'

‘Very good sir.'

‘Taxi sir?' asked the porter outside.

‘You know Senator Lynch's office?'

‘The Senate would that be or the newspaper office?'

‘Newspaper, I think.'

‘Is Senator Lynch in his office?'

‘I'm not too sure now, were you wanting to see him personally, is that right? Oh I see. I'm ringing his secretary now, if you'd just like to take a seat.' His longing for a cup of tea, for a really Irish cup of tea, was becoming intense.

‘Mr Van der Valk?' pronouncing it right, ‘you're lovely and punctual.'

‘I'm always punctual but my longing for a cup of tea is practically uncontrollable.' It was a girl, a kind of airline stewardess, but the kind one always sees in advertisements and never on planes; here was where they got to.

‘Is that so? But sure that's no trouble; I'll make you one at once.'

‘You're a poppet.' She was too; a delicious object, in a frock like smashed-up raspberries spread out thin and holding on to salient outlines with pleasure, assuming raspberries know all about sex, which they ought because they're in the right place – mm, oughtn't to have drunk all that brandy.