A Crime in Holland by Georges Simenon

Author:Georges Simenon
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-11-04T16:00:00+00:00

7. Lunch at the Van Hasselt

When Maigret arrived back at the hotel, he realized that something unusual was happening. The previous day he had dined at the table next to Jean Duclos’s.

Now, three places were laid on the round table in the centre of the dining room. A dazzling white cloth, with knife-sharp creases, had been spread. And at each place stood three glasses, which in Holland is only done for a truly ceremonial meal.

As soon as he came in, Maigret was greeted by Inspector Pijpekamp, who advanced towards him, hand outstretched, with the wide smile of a man who has arranged a pleasant surprise.

He was in his best clothes: a wing-collar eight centimetres high! A formal jacket. He was freshly shaved, and must have come straight from the barber’s, for around him there still hovered a scent of Parma violets.

Less formally dressed, Jean Duclos stood behind him, looking slightly jaundiced.

‘You must forgive me, my dear colleague. I should have warned you this morning … I would have liked to invite you back home, but I live in Groningen and I’m a bachelor. So I have taken the liberty of inviting you to lunch here. Just a simple lunch, no fuss.’

And looking, as he pronounced the last words, at the cutlery and crystal glasses, he was obviously waiting for Maigret to contradict him.

He did no such thing.

‘I thought that since the professor is your compatriot, you would be happy to …’

‘Very good! Very good!’ said Maigret. ‘Would you excuse me while I go to wash my hands.’

He did so, looking grumpy, at the little washbasin in an adjacent room. The kitchen was next door, and he could hear much bustle, the clink of dishes and saucepans.

When he went back to the dining room, Pijpekamp himself was pouring port into the glasses and murmuring with a modest but delighted smile:

‘Just like in France, eh? Prosit! Your very good health, my dear colleague.’

His goodwill was touching. He was making an effort to find the most sophisticated expressions and show that he was a man of the world to his fingertips.

‘I ought to have invited you yesterday. But I was so … how would you say? So shaken about by this affair. Have you discovered anything?’

‘No, nothing.’

The Dutchman’s eyes lit up, and Maigret thought to himself:

‘Aha, my little man, you’ve got some prize exhibit to show me, and you’ll bring it out over dessert. If you have the patience to wait that long.’

He was not mistaken. The first course was tomato soup, which was served with a Saint-Émilion sweet enough to make you feel bilious, and obviously fortified for export.

‘Your health!’

What a good show Pijpekamp was putting on! Doing his very best or even better. And Maigret didn’t even seem to notice it. He showed no appreciation!

‘In Holland, you know, we never drink with the meal, only afterwards. In the evening, on special occasions a little glass of wine with a cigar. And we don’t have bread with the meal either.’

And he looked at the bread basket, which he had ordered specially.

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