Monsieur Pamplemousse Afloat Read Online Free Page B

vocabulary he had at his disposal. Coupled with his powers of sensitivity towards the reactions of others and his singular ability when it suited him to puttwo and two together in a remarkably short space of time, he often got the gist of things long before his human counterparts.
    He had been giving the Director some rather pointed looks for quite a while. Now he seemed to be hanging on his every word.
    Any feeling of disappointment Monsieur Pamplemousse might have harboured initially on his own behalf, soon gave way to one of pride on behalf of Pommes Frites; pride coupled with unease and apprehension at the mammoth task in hand. He wondered how he would break the news. It would be impossible to explain about the logo. Logos were not Pommes Frites’ strong point. Along with most other Parisian chiens , he treated the doggy shapes painted at intervals along the boulevards by the City Council to indicate their preferred areas of defecation with a lack of recognition bordering on contempt. Nor would it be possible to demonstrate by example what was required of his friend; quite the reverse. Monsieur Pamplemousse sighed. He could see difficult times ahead.
    Realising he was being addressed, he pulled himself together.
    ‘I see there is a theatrical entertainment laid on tomorrow evening,’ continued the Director as he scanned the brochure. ‘A candlelit pageant in the vaults of one of the oldest firms of négociants in Beaune. By a strange coincidence the owner,Madame Ambert, is a distant relation of Chantal – one of her many aunts. You may care to introduce yourself. I will warn her you will be coming.
    ‘I might mention that she also owns a vineyard which is well worth a visit.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse felt tempted to say ‘Only one?’ The Director had married into relatives. His wife, Chantal, had them everywhere. Doubtless many of them boasted a vineyard or two. Loudier, doyen of all the Inspectors, having carried out some research into the subject, reckoned listing them all would fill a sizeable book. It was one of the factors that had led to Monsieur Leclercq’s ownership of Le Guide .
    ‘It is a delightful part of France,’ said the Director. ‘Chantal and I have stayed there many times. The hospitality is boundless.’
    He returned to the brochure. ‘The following evening Gay Lussac – an American wine correspondent of some renown – is giving a talk on how to avoid cellar gridlock caused by over-enthusiastic buying.’
    ‘I cannot wait, Monsieur ,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse dryly. ‘That makes two pieces of good news in one day. To have the cocktail cabinet in my deux chevaux repaired is one thing, but to be told how to solve the problem of gridlock in my wine cupboard is an undreamed of bonus.’
    The Director drained his glass. ‘ Au revoir , Aristide,’he said firmly. ‘ Au revoir , and bonne chance! ’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse rose to his feet and signalled Pommes Frites to do likewise. ‘There is nothing else you wish to tell me, Monsieur ?’ he enquired casually.
    The Director paused. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that is all you need to know for the time being, Pamplemousse. Doubtless we shall be in touch.’
    Had Monsieur Pamplemousse’s thoughts not been concentrated on other matters, he might have registered a certain over-casualness about the last remark; over-casualness coupled with what others less closely involved might have construed as an indecent show of haste in saying goodbye.
    Only Pommes Frites, his ears attuned to picking up any stray titbits that were going, registered the slight change in rhythm.
    As they left the room he paused and looked back over his shoulder in order to make one final assessment of the situation. There was barely time to catch more than a passing glimpse before Véronique closed the door firmly in his face, but it was more than enough.
    What with one thing and another, putting the various bits and pieces together and viewing them from all angles, it