Monsieur Pamplemousse on the Spot (19 page)

‘At least Madame Grante will appreciate that life in the field is not all roses.'

The Director chuckled. ‘She will not be querying your P39s for some while to come. Do you think she is all right?'

‘I think she will recover.' Monsieur Pamplemousse decided against any further explanations. He'd had quite enough for one morning.

The Director joined him at the cupboard. ‘Shall I open something else? I have a Beaumes-de-Venise. I am told that locally they drink it as an apéritif.'

Monsieur Pamplemousse shook his head. ‘If you will forgive me,
Monsieur,
I must go. I have to get back to Montmartre. I may watch a little
boules
on the way while Pommes Frites enjoys the fresh air. I must not be late. Despite his troubles Jean-Claude has promised to prepare a
Soufflé
Surprise.
Madame Pamplemousse is taking his mind off things in the kitchen.'

‘I admire your stamina, Pamplemousse. I must say I have been quite put off my
déjeuner.
Besides …' The Director hesitated. ‘I have another matter to deal with. One which requires a certain amount of delicacy in its handling. A complaint has been lodged.'

‘A complaint,
Monsieur
?'

‘Yes, Pamplemousse, a complaint. You are exercised by what happened at the Institut des Beaux Arbres. I am exercised about something that happened at Les Cinq Parfaits on the night of your arrival. It seems that one of the advance guard – a lesser wife of the
Grosse
Légume,
mother, nevertheless, of twins – was attacked by a fetishist of the very worst kind. A fetishist whose bizarre tastes defy classification.

‘Picture the scene, Pamplemousse. It is night in a strange country. This poor, defenceless woman, knowing not a single word of the language, decides to take a stroll in the woods, her two infants suckling at her breasts. Suddenly, when she reaches the darkest part of the forest, she is pounced upon by a pervert. A pervert, Pamplemousse, who not content with waylaying her, begins to gloat over the innocent,
down-covered
heads of her charges, pawing at them like an
homme
possessed. It is scarcely credible the lengths to which some people will go in order to assuage their base desires.'

‘Was she able to provide a description of this man,
Monsieur
?'

‘No, Pamplemousse. It was a very dark part of the woods.' The director gazed at him. ‘But it seems there was a dog involved. A very large dog.'

Monsieur Pamplemousse returned the gaze unblinkingly. Pommes Frites did likewise. ‘Perhaps,
Monsieur,
it was a case of mistaken identity. As you so wisely said earlier, sometimes things get blown up out of all proportion.'

The sun was shining as he came out of the offices of
Le
Guide.
There was, nevertheless, more than a hint of autumn in the air. Pommes Frites paused to leave his mark on a tree. He was obviously back to his old self. More Muscadet than Château d'Yquem.

Monsieur Pamplemousse stopped to call in at a
charcuterie.
It was good to be back again on his own territory. As with Holmes at the end of
The
Hound
of
the
Baskervilles,
he was about to turn his thoughts into more pleasant channels. He ordered a selection of cold meats for lunch; a
saucisson
or two for the first course. Doucette was preparing a
blanquette
de
veau.
Then it would be Jean-Claude's turn. Afterwards, if the others went out, he might show him his record collection.

A little further along the rue de Babylone he called in at a
fleuriste
and bought a bouquet of freesias for the girl, suddenly realising as he did so that he didn't even know her name. In his mind she would be for ever Diana. He bought another small bunch for Fräulein Brünnhilde and a bunch of red roses for Doucette; it would establish demarcation lines.

Pommes Frites waited outside the shop for a while and then ran on ahead and waited by the car. He, too, was pleased to be back home. It signalled a return to normality, to walks at set times and his own basket at night. Given a day or two to settle down, his master might even stop calling him Watson.

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M
ICHAEL
B
OND
was born in Newbury, Berkshire in 1926 and started writing whilst serving in the army during the Second World War. In 1958 the first book featuring his most famous creation, Paddington Bear, was published and many stories of his adventures followed. In 1983 he turned his hand to adult fiction and the detective cum gastronome par excellence Monsieur Pamplemousse was born.

Michael Bond was awarded the OBE in 1997 and in 2007 was made an Honorary Doctor of Letters by Reading University. He is married, with two grown-up children, and lives in London.

Monsieur Pamplemousse

Monsieur Pamplemousse and the Secret Mission

Monsieur Pamplemousse on the Spot

Monsieur Pamplemousse Takes the Cure

Monsieur Pamplemousse Aloft

Monsieur Pamplemousse Investigates

Monsieur Pamplemousse Rests His Case

Monsieur Pamplemousse Stands Firm

Monsieur Pamplemousse on Location

Monsieur Pamplemousse Takes the Train

Monsieur Pamplemousse Afloat

Monsieur Pamplemousse on Probation

Monsieur Pamplemousse on Vacation

Monsieur Pamplemousse Hits the Headlines

Monsieur Pamplemousse and the Militant Midwives

Monsieur Pamplemousse and the French Solution

Monsieur Pamplemousse and the Carbon Footprint

Monsieur Pamplemousse and the Tangled Web