Monsieur Pamplemousse (Monsieur Pamplemousse Series) by Bond Michael

Author:Bond, Michael [Bond, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9780749017811
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2015-01-22T05:00:00+00:00

6

WEDNESDAY EVENING

‘Merde! Sacrebleu! Nom d’un nom!’ Monsieur Pample­mousse gazed in frustration at the unwrapped contents of a parcel which littered his bed. He was not in a good mood.

For a start, the journey to Orange and back had taken much longer than he’d anticipated. At any other time it would have been a pleasant way of passing an afternoon. First the drive through the great lavender-growing area of the Vaucluse; at this time of the year the plants already cropped and looking for all the world like row upon row of freshly barbered hedgehogs on parade and ready for inspection. Then the drop down through the Gorge de la Nesque via the D942 to the melon country of Carpentras, with the opportunity of making a short detour in order to sample the delights of a glass or two of the delicious sweet Beaumes de Venise. It would have been a good way of combining business with pleasure, for as well as commenting on food Le Guide also offered advice on the best and most enjoyable ways of getting from one restaurant to the next.

But things had not turned out as planned. The rot had set in at Orange itself with the discovery that the TGV high-speed train didn’t stop there. Not only did it fail to stop, its specially laid track enabled it to ignore the city altogether and head straight for Avignon at a speed of something like 260 kilometres an hour.

Wondering what the Romans would have thought about this slight to a city they had helped to create and make beautiful, Monsieur Pamplemousse hurtled after the train in his 2CV, covering the first half of the thirty or so kilometres at a speed which would have caused M. André Citroën to gaze in wonder had he been alive and able to witness the event.

Unfortunately, wonderment was not one of the emotions shown by a gendarme when he came off the autoroute at Avignon Nord. The stern, implacable disapproval etched into his face left no room for other, finer feelings as he compared the entry time on Monsieur Pamplemousse’s card with that indicated by his watch.

The practice of holding spot speed checks on the autoroute was something Monsieur Pamplemousse was aware of but had never actually encountered before, and he wished it could have happened at any other time.

Arguing was a waste of time. He went on his way eventually with a wallet which was considerably lighter than when he’d first set out, and reached the gare at Avignon long after the train had arrived and gone on its way again. That, in turn, meant his parcel received rather more attention than he would have liked.

The discretion in the filing system about which Poupées Fantastiques had boasted obviously did not ex­tend to their labelling department. Either that or Oscar had deliberately tried to get his own back, for he’d seldom seen quite such a blatant advertisement on the outside of a package. An over-zealous official behind the counter refused delivery until it had been opened and its contents put on display for all to see.

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