Free A Long Silence by Nicolas Freeling Page B

nothing for you though; the customers like somebody older, they find him more “understanding” of their special needs.’
    The morning was much as usual, with Saint absent for most of it. A little before lunchtime he reappeared, pottered about aimlessly for a minute or two, and then said suddenly ‘Come and have a drink, Dick.’
    â€˜Lovely. Though I don’t drink much. Can’t afford it on my salary.’ Saint grinned.
    â€˜That’s all right, I’m paying. We won’t go to a bar – let’s see, you’ve never been in my flat, have you?’
    â€˜I don’t even know where it is. You live on the Leliegracht somewhere, don’t you?’
    Richard was first surprised, and then impressed. The shabby, mean little entrance next door to the sex-shop did not seem like Saint, nor did the narrow, fusty stairway. That the flat should be so big, so airy – and so rich … he opened his eyes. Persian rugs and some good antique furniture – well, Larry was in the right business to get hold of them. But he liked the creaky old parquet floor with its inlaid pattern in pale hardwood, beautifully lavender-waxed, the superb bathroom where he was taken to wash his hands, the ease and elegance of it all. When he thought of his own ghastly room …
    â€˜Is that really a Renoir?’
    â€˜No, it’s a fake,’ said Larry negligently. ‘But people think it real when I want them to think it real, which is just as good. Now – Campari, Lillet, Chambéry? Or a real Spanish pernod, nearest thing to real absinthe nowadays?’
    â€˜Campari, please’ – since it was the only one he’d ever heard of.
    â€˜What about a cigarette? – those are blonde, those are French and those are reefers, take your pick.’
    â€˜I don’t get reefers as a rule,’ with a self-conscious giggle. ‘Too dear. I say – pretty good here.’
    â€˜Yes,’ vaguely. ‘Ice? A dealer gets his hands on all sorts of things as you are beginning to understand, and some of them can make plenty. That now – no, you needn’t bother they aren’t dirty books – the poems of Horace in the original binding, sixteenth century, right here in Amsterdam, you’d be surprised what it’s worth.’
    â€˜Nice.’
    â€˜Yes, you’ve got taste. But it’s only like your watch, you know: these material things are small fry. The moth corrupts and the rust spots – I say, that sounds Biblical, doesn’t it? They get burgled or broken or lost in a fire and where are you then? It’s brains that make money, my lad.’
    â€˜You’ve got to have them first, though, don’t you?’
    â€˜Oh one can acquire them,’ merrily. ‘I like you, Dick. Been watching you, as you know, and pretty happy with the promise you show. I’ll let you into something – how would you like to come tonight? – I’ve a bit of a party on: I don’t want to sound patronizing but I think it’s time you learned something of the world.’
    â€˜You bet – but I don’t have anything to wear much.’
    â€˜No strain – we don’t go for dinner-jackets any more. If you have money, spend it on clothes if that’s what you enjoy – if not, a shirt and corduroy pants goes just as well. Grey matter is what counts. What was your comment again – that one didn’t always have it? Very true but other people have, or they have talent. One deals in that,’ shaking the iceblocks in his drink gently. ‘The best basic capital, Dicky, the most fruitful, the most adaptable. Doesn’t get wet, warped or broken. A clever impresario makes a little country girl into a singer – a star. And he refuses ten million dollars for her. Takes skill, I grant, and luck too, but no more than the Stock Exchange, or any of those other nineteenth-century ways of getting rich. Barney