Floodgate

Van Effen waved a hand. ‘A loose translation, shall we say?’

‘Very loose.’ Wisely, de Graaf did not pursue the subject. ‘And what in heaven’s name, is a girl like you doing in a job like this.’

‘I thought it was an honourable profession?’

‘Yes, yes, of course. But what I meant was—well—’

‘What the Colonel means,’ van Effen said, ‘is that you should be an international stage or screen star, presiding over a Parisian salon, or married to an American oil millionaire—billionaire, if you like—or a belted English earl. Too beautiful, that’s your trouble. Isn’t that it, Colonel?’

‘Couldn’t have put it better myself.’

‘Dear me.’ Anne smiled. ‘Doesn’t say much for your Amsterdam girls. You mean you only employ ugly girls?’

De Graaf smiled for the first time that evening. ‘I am not to be drawn. The Chief of Police is famed for his powers of recovery. But you—you—among those dreadful Krakers and dressed like a—like—’

‘Harlot? Hussy?’

‘If you like, yes.’ He put his hand on hers. ‘This is no place for a girl like you. Must get you out of it. Police is no place for you.’

‘One has to earn a living, sir.’

‘You? You need never earn a living. That, Anne, is a compliment.’

‘I like what I’m doing.’

De Graaf didn’t seem to have heard her. He was gazing at some distant object out in space. Van Effen said to the girl: ‘Watch him. He’s at his most cunning when he goes into a trance.’

‘I am not in a trance,’ de Graaf said coldly. ‘What did you say your surname was?’

‘Meijer.’

‘You have a family?’

‘Oh, yes. The usual. Parents, sisters, two brothers.’

‘Brothers and sisters share your interest in law and order?’

‘Police, you mean. No.’

‘Your father?’

‘Again police?’ She smiled as a person smiles when recalling someone of whom they are very fond. ‘I couldn’t imagine it. He’s in the building business.’

‘Does he know what kind of business you are in?’

She hesitated. ‘Well, no.’

‘What do you mean, well, no? He doesn’t, does he? Why?’

‘Why?’ She seemed to be on the defensive. ‘He likes us to be independent.’

‘Would he approve of what you are doing? And that was no answer you gave me. Would he approve of his darling daughter mingling with the Krakers?’

‘Is this what it’s like to be a suspect, sir, and to be grilled? Am I supposed to have done something wrong?’

‘Of course not. Would he approve?’ The entranced Colonel of a few minutes previously could have belonged to another world.

‘No.’

‘You put me in a quandary. I don’t like you being in this. You, apparently, do. Your father wouldn’t. To whom should I listen—you or your father?’

‘The question hardly arises, sir. You don’t know my father.’

‘Child!’

‘What does that mean. I don’t understand.’

‘I know your father. Very well. We’ve been friends for over thirty years.’

‘Impossible! You can’t know him. You’ve only just met me and you didn’t even know me.’ She was no actress and was visibly upset. ‘This is—this is a trick of some kind.’

‘Annemarie.’ Van Effen touched her arm. ‘If the Colonel says he’s a friend of your father, then he is. Come on, sir.’

‘I know. When next you write or phone, Anne—if you ever do—give my warmest regards to David Joseph Karlmann Meijer.’

Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again and turned to van Effen. ‘I think it’s my turn for a jonge jenever.’

De Graaf looked at van Effen. ‘My old friend David—we’ve gone sailing, fishing, skiing, hunting over the years—we were even up exploring the Amazon before this young lady here was born—owns a huge construction company. He also owns one of the biggest cement factories in the Netherlands, oil refineries, tankers, an electronics firm and God knows what else. “One has to earn a living, sir,”’ he mimicked. ‘Earn a living! Cruel, cruel landlord throwing the poor orphan out into the snow. Ah!’ He turned to look at the maître d’ at his elbow. ‘Good evening. The young people will choose for me. But, first, another jonge jenever.’ He looked at Annemarie. ‘Must have something to cry into. They say gin is best.’

After the orders had been taken and the maître d’ and his minions departed, van Effen said: ‘You have a scenario, sir, and you don’t like what you see.’

‘I don’t like it at all. Two things. If anything happens to this young lady—well, David Meijer’s wrath is fearful to behold—and it’s considerably worse to be the object of it. Secondly, disguise or no disguise, Anne’s identity may be discovered. It can happen, as you know all too well, Peter: a slip of the tongue, an unguarded reference, some careless action, there are too many possibilities. What a windfall for a penniless Kraker or even worse, a professional kidnapper. Her father would pay five, ten million guilders to get her back. Do you like it, Peter?’

Van Effen made to speak, then glanced at the waiter who stood by his side.

‘Lieutenant van Effen. Phone.’

Van Effen excused himself. De Graaf said: ‘Well, do you like it?’

‘Not the way you put it but—I don’t want to seem impertinent, sir, to disagree with my boss, but I think you put it too strongly. I’ve been doing this kind of work for some months in Rotterdam and nothing has ever happened to me there. And while there may be no Krakers down there, the criminal element are a great deal tougher than they are here. I’m sorry, Colonel, but I think you exaggerate the dangers. I’m rather good at disguises—you as much as said so yourself. I have a gun. Best, of course, is that no one in Amsterdam knows me.’

‘I know you.’

‘That’s different. Peter says that you know everyone—and you must admit that it was a very remote chance that you knew my father.’

‘I could have found out easily enough. Peter knows?’

‘Only my name. Not who I am, not until you spoke about it just now. I must say he didn’t seem particularly surprised.’ She smiled. ‘He could, of course, have been unconcerned or uninterested.’