A Long Silence by Nicolas Freeling

Dicky. But it will be very valuable for you. She’ll tease you, persecute you, cut you off and on again, wait for you to lose your temper, make scenes – she enjoys that. That other calf is too stupid to be vicious but Daisy is for real and that’s what I want. Come through that for a week or two, and I’ll give you a present. To help you – look at her as though she were a work of art. Her movements, her laugh, the way she eats – watcn her when she’s dressing, or putting on make-up, and you’ll see her studying her art. You got that stuff cleaned up?’
    â€˜Lot of dusty old tat,’ distastefully.
    â€˜I don’t mind you saying that,’ said Saint in his dryest voice, ‘as long as you don’t start to think you know what you’re talking about.’
    â€˜Sorry.’
    â€˜Yes. Let’s get it straight. You’ve heard me make remarks about this place being a good old moo-cow, and you add that to other scraps of conversation you overhear, and you conclude that I’m milking this business for purposes of my own. That’s one thing. Then I tell you an elementary fact or two about markets, and you realize that I’m interested in the young, and after adding that to the obvious fact that the young do not spend money in antique jewellers you think you can behave in a contemptuous fashion. An exceptionally stupid attitude. Talking of youth, there’s mayonnaise all over the window again – get that cleaned up, Dick boy, and make sure while you’re at it no dogs have been looking for lamp-posts.’
    It was a continual grievance. The clientele of the snackbar strolled along the street refreshing themselves with things in paper bags. They stopped to look at shop windows, and covered the glass in greasy finger-marks. Richard, realizing this to be a rap on the knuckles, went obediently to get the little bucket and sponge. Larry and his goddam discipline. He hoped Daisy didn’t take that moment to come strolling along the pavement. That would be humiliating.
    Mr Saint was also thinking of Daisy – along other lines – when the stupid boy came hurtling in as though a bull was chasing him and rushed through into the back of the shop.
    â€˜Forgot the shammy-leather,’ he muttered confusedly. Mr Saint was considering this uncontrolled behaviour with raised eyebrows when the door swung open afresh and Van der Valk walked in with a pleasant imbecile smile tacked all over his face.
    â€˜Good morning, sir,’ said Saint with his invariable politeness.
    â€˜Good morning, good morning. A lamentable occurrence – I’ve broken my watch. Irreparably I fear.’
    â€˜We’ll see what we can do. Perhaps you’d like to sit down.’ Van der Valk had decided that his ‘personal investigation’ wasdragging a little, and having come from another of his boring meetings in the Overtoom had thought of improving the hour. Leaning upon Mr Saint a tiny bit was obviously the next stage.
    â€˜It was very sad,’ he burbled. ‘I dropped it in the tramline of all things, right there in the Koningsplein; I never would have thought it possible, would you?’
    â€˜A very unhappy accident,’ agreed Saint gravely. ‘There is of course nothing we can do here. A new watch is the one solution to your problem, I’m afraid.’
    â€˜I fear so, I fear so,’ shouted Van der Valk. ‘Something quite simple – er – classic.’
    He was amused. He had been studying a window full of shirts – blimey, King Charles the First got up to dance the Lilac Fairy – when he had seen his idiot boy come trotting out with his bucket to clean the window. He stood grinning a dozen yards along the pavement, wondered what the reaction would be, and was delighted when the boy caught his eye suddenly while gawking about, stared in open-mouthed consternation, and bolted.
    Saint came sliding over with a