Monsieur Pamplemousse Takes the Cure Read Online Free
Author: Michael Bond
reached Monsieur Pamplemousse as if through a haze. ‘I am assuming that to all intents and purposes your régime has already begun. There is, I believe, a restaurant car on the Morning Capitole .However, I shall not expect to see any items from its menu appear on your expense sheet. It will be good practice for you and Pommes Frites, and it will put you both in the right frame of mind for all the optional extras at Château Morgue – such things as massages and needle baths. Make full use of everything. Do not stint yourselves. I will see things right with Madame Grante.
‘And now,’ the Director held out his hand, donning his official manner at the same time, ‘ au revoir , Aristide, and … bonne chance. ’
Although the handshake was not without warmth, the message that went with it was icily clear, delivered in themanner of one who has said all there is to say on the subject and now wishes to call the meeting closed.
The Director believed in running Le Guide with all the efficiency of a military operation, and clearly in his mind’s eye Monsieur Pamplemousse was already but a flag on the map of France which occupied one entire wall of the Operations Room in the basement; a magnetic flag which on the morrow would be moved steadily but inexorably southwards as the Morning Capitole gathered speed and headed towards Toulouse and the Pyrénées-Orientales.
As Monsieur Pamplemousse made his way slowly back down the corridor towards the lift, he turned a corner and collided with a girl coming the other way. She was carrying a large tray on which reposed an earthenware pot, a plate, bread, cutlery, napkin and a bottle of wine: a Pommard ’72.
‘ Zut !’ The girl neatly recovered her balance and then made great play of raising the tray in triumph as she recognised Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘ Alors ! That was a near thing. Monsieur le Directeur would not have been pleased if his cassoulet had gone all over the floor. Nor would the chef – he made it specially. Monsieur le Directeur said to me when he phoned down a moment ago how much he was looking forward to it. I think he has had a bad morning.’
‘ Cassoulet !’ Monsieur Pamplemousse repeated the word bitterly as the girl hurried on her way. ‘Cassoulet !’ He had a sudden mental picture of the Director clutching his apple sanctimoniously while he laid down the law. The mockery of it all! The hypocrisy!
He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should snatch a quick bite to eat before visiting Madame Grante, and decided against it. His digestive tracts were in a parlous enough state as it was without adding to their problems.
Besides, if he was to catch the early morning train there was work to be done. His desk would need to be cleared of outstanding papers, the contents of Le Guide ’sissue suitcase would have to be checked. He had a feeling some of the items might come in very useful over the next two weeks – the portable cooking equipment for a start.
The thought triggered off another. He might try and persuadeold Rabiller in Stores to let him borrow a remote control attachment for his Leica while he was away. He’d heard there was one in stock awaiting field trials. With time on his hands he might try his hand at some wildlife photography. An eagle’s nest, perhaps? Or a mountain bear stirring after its long winter rest. He would take the precaution of stocking up on film.
Then he would need to be home early in order to break the news to Madame Pamplemousse. She would not be pleased. He had promised faithfully to decorate the kitchen before the spring. That would have to wait now, and in his weakened state after ‘the cure’ who knew when he might be fit enough to start work on it?
Pommes Frites, too. Pommes Frites liked his set routine. They would need to be on their way by half past six at the very latest, which would mean doing him out of his morning walk. There was also the little matter of getting him used to his new harness
‘And now,’ the Director held out his hand, donning his official manner at the same time, ‘ au revoir , Aristide, and … bonne chance. ’
Although the handshake was not without warmth, the message that went with it was icily clear, delivered in themanner of one who has said all there is to say on the subject and now wishes to call the meeting closed.
The Director believed in running Le Guide with all the efficiency of a military operation, and clearly in his mind’s eye Monsieur Pamplemousse was already but a flag on the map of France which occupied one entire wall of the Operations Room in the basement; a magnetic flag which on the morrow would be moved steadily but inexorably southwards as the Morning Capitole gathered speed and headed towards Toulouse and the Pyrénées-Orientales.
As Monsieur Pamplemousse made his way slowly back down the corridor towards the lift, he turned a corner and collided with a girl coming the other way. She was carrying a large tray on which reposed an earthenware pot, a plate, bread, cutlery, napkin and a bottle of wine: a Pommard ’72.
‘ Zut !’ The girl neatly recovered her balance and then made great play of raising the tray in triumph as she recognised Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘ Alors ! That was a near thing. Monsieur le Directeur would not have been pleased if his cassoulet had gone all over the floor. Nor would the chef – he made it specially. Monsieur le Directeur said to me when he phoned down a moment ago how much he was looking forward to it. I think he has had a bad morning.’
‘ Cassoulet !’ Monsieur Pamplemousse repeated the word bitterly as the girl hurried on her way. ‘Cassoulet !’ He had a sudden mental picture of the Director clutching his apple sanctimoniously while he laid down the law. The mockery of it all! The hypocrisy!
He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should snatch a quick bite to eat before visiting Madame Grante, and decided against it. His digestive tracts were in a parlous enough state as it was without adding to their problems.
Besides, if he was to catch the early morning train there was work to be done. His desk would need to be cleared of outstanding papers, the contents of Le Guide ’sissue suitcase would have to be checked. He had a feeling some of the items might come in very useful over the next two weeks – the portable cooking equipment for a start.
The thought triggered off another. He might try and persuadeold Rabiller in Stores to let him borrow a remote control attachment for his Leica while he was away. He’d heard there was one in stock awaiting field trials. With time on his hands he might try his hand at some wildlife photography. An eagle’s nest, perhaps? Or a mountain bear stirring after its long winter rest. He would take the precaution of stocking up on film.
Then he would need to be home early in order to break the news to Madame Pamplemousse. She would not be pleased. He had promised faithfully to decorate the kitchen before the spring. That would have to wait now, and in his weakened state after ‘the cure’ who knew when he might be fit enough to start work on it?
Pommes Frites, too. Pommes Frites liked his set routine. They would need to be on their way by half past six at the very latest, which would mean doing him out of his morning walk. There was also the little matter of getting him used to his new harness
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