Free Over the High Side by Nicolas Freeling Page B

many rude things about the opinion she, as a French woman, had of Senators. He then put in a request to see the Procureur General for the province of North Holland. He had not seen Mr Anthoni Sailer for seven years, and found him as alarming a figure as he had then.
    â€˜Van der Valk,’ said Mr Sailer with the severely upright voice he had recalled vividly, ‘I have sympathy for you. It is undoubtedly a case of conscience. I recall that once before you had a dilemma of a similar nature, and acquitted yourself with credit. I am, myself, far from satisfied with the apparent cloak of diplomatic immunity presented to me to invite my acquiescence. If you have a suggestion I will consider it with sympathy.’
    â€˜I have a certainty.’
    â€˜Really?’
    â€˜An interior certainty – of a tie, a connection.’
    â€˜Explain yourself.’
    â€˜Sir – if a Dutch woman marries an Irishman, does she acquire Irish nationality?’
    â€˜I will inform myself. The frame of reference?’
    Van der Valk explained about the three lovely ladies of Belgrave Square.
    â€˜And with what is melodramatically known as his dying breath he spoke of “the girls”.
    Mr Sailer did not draw on his blotter or play with his paperknife; it wasn’t his style. He sat, immobile.
    â€˜Very well, Van der Valk,’ he said, simply. ‘Leave this to me.’
    So that when another summons came three days later from the Officer of Justice he was unsurprised.
    â€˜A compromise – diplomatically speaking – has apparently been reached. I am instructed that if, in pursuance of this inquiry, it is thought useful to interview Mr Martinez’ daughters, who are Dutch subjects by birth, there will be no obstacle placed in our path by the Irish Government, irrespective of their present legal status or domicile, all this of course without prejudice to any subsequent steps they may see fit to – uh –
    â€˜Etcetera. Quite. So the Irish police…?’
    â€˜Er – no. The Irish police, it is felt, have no role to play beyond a certain informal cooperation; not, put vulgarly, their pigeon. No, it is proposed that we send a Dutch officer.’
    â€˜Oh no,’ wailed Van der Valk. ‘Oh no.’
    â€˜Why not?’ startled. ‘You liked the idea.’
    â€˜And every conjectured, supposed, or alleged criminal on whom I ever look like laying hands always manages to commit suicide practically within the whatnot, precincts of the Court, and I get my head washed from here to kingdom come. Anyway I’ve never been to Ireland. I know nothing about the place, I talk no Irish. And if I discover naughty things about Senator Thingummy what then?’ – soprano – ‘then it’ll be don’t make a fuss, there’s a good chap, simply climb into this box we have here, the wet concrete’s all ready and the tide won’t serve all night.’
    â€˜Stop talking such nonsense, will you?’ said the magistrate irritably. ‘Even if I were disposed to listen I can’t do anything about it; I have formal instructions, I tell you. You are to proceed to Dublin, The Hague says so. You will contact Inspector Flynn at Dublin Castle – equivalent I gather of our Prinsengracht. You speak English, I suppose?’
    â€˜I can just barely make myself understood.’
    â€˜That’s all that’s needed – if you’re going to interview these women you speak Dutch to them. That’s the whole point; they are Dutch. Otherwise, if I may be permitted the expression, we wouldn’t get our toe in the door. Vulgar expression that.’
    What was there to say? With nothing on the whole but a soggy feeling round the socks – that would be the wet concrete, no doubt – he said nothing.
    â€˜You will report confidentially to – let’s see – Mr Slavenburg at the Netherlands Embassy, who will be responsible for any