Criminal Conversation by Nicolas Freeling Page A

all that carefully cultivated air of worldly wisdom. Not really surprising, since these schools are forcing-grounds of their development.
    â€œWas it through this artistic atmosphere that you met Mr Cabestan?”
    â€œNo – well, I should say not exactly.”
    â€œCan you tell me how it was?”
    â€œWe have an art appreciation class, you see, and we often get sent or taken to exhibitions. At one of these we were in a group with Dr Geyl, who’s one of our professors, and he introduced us to a lady who was there who knew him, and she was talking to me, and because of something she said – I don’t know how to explain – she took me to a house…”
    â€œApropos?”
    â€œYes, that’s it, apropos, well, a house where there were some pictures and I met Mr Cabestan there.”
    Never thought to see the old man being so patiently gradual, van der Valk told himself. Learn something new each day.
    â€œThe lady is called?”
    â€œMrs van der Post. She knows an awful lot of painters and dealers and – oh, everybody.”
    â€œThe house belongs to her?”
    â€œNo, a sort of dealer – present day stuff. A Mr Simons. Well – “in rather a hurry – “Mr Cabestan was there and he was making jokes about a picture they all thought good and he said was no good. And he asked me more or less as a joke whether I thought it good, but I wanted to be serious and I said no, to be honest, I couldn’t see it, and he laughed like anything and told me I had good taste. Mr Simons was rude and said he was about as far behind modern taste as Ary Scheffer – Mr Cabestan I mean. I rather liked him. And then Mr Simons gave us a drink and said I had a lot to learn and I shouldn’t listen too much to Dr Geyl and – ach – it just happened I got to know him so. I can’t really explain any more.”
    â€œYou don’t have to,” said Samson composedly. “That’s perfectly clear and reasonable. So you saw a bit of Mr Cabestan from then on.”
    â€œOh yes, he took me to a few places, and to see his own work, and was always amusing and funny, though I thought, to be honest, he talked awful nonsense about most things.”
    â€œUm. And do you think he was just anxious to teach you about art?”
    She laughed. Without affectation, perfectly naturally.
    â€œOf course not. Oh, he talked about art all day, but he wanted to make love to me, of course. He was always trying to get me to pose for him.”
    This directness in the rising generation disconcerted the old man a bit and van der Valk had to grin.
    â€œIn the nude?” he said a bit awkwardly.
    â€œWhat else? I didn’t, naturally. But I liked him in an odd way. He was a poor old fellow – nobody took him very seriously, I could see, but he had nice sides too. I thought he was even a pretty good painter once. He drank too much.”
    â€œAnd did you ever meet Mrs Post again?”
    â€œYes, outside his house: I was there three or four times. He used to get amorous but I used to sort of shake him loose. Later I found she lived there, downstairs I mean, it’s a big house. She said hallovery nicely and asked me to have coffee with her in town. And I met her once at a party.”
    â€œDid Mrs Post know Casimir? I mean she obviously knew him but was there a closer acquaintance?”
    She laughed again clearly.
    â€œHe couldn’t stick her. He called her the art whore. That was just spitefulness of course because she despised his work.”
    â€œYou liked her yourself, though?”
    â€œLike, like, I don’t know her well enough: she was always polite and nice to me, like I say,” a little impatiently, as though she found the old man a wee bit obtuse.
    â€œShe knew that you were friendly, or acquainted, with Cabestan, at least?”
    â€œOh yes, of course. There wasn’t any secret about it.”
    â€œSo your parents knew it