Monsieur Pamplemousse Takes the Train by Michael Bond

Author:Michael Bond [Michael Bond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749018023
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2015-08-15T04:00:00+00:00

6

THE OLDEST PROFESSION

‘Pamplemousse! I fear I have bad news. I did not sleep at all well last night …’

Monsieur Pamplemousse stared at the telephone receiver in disbelief. Was it possible? Had the Director really woken him up simply to announce that he hadn’t had his full quota of rest? Was there no limit to the chief’s self-centredness? Indignation welled up inside him. Responses had to be choked back for fear he might say something he would afterwards regret.

He looked at his bedside clock and then relented slightly. It was almost nine-thirty. He must have slept like a log. Although it wasn’t altogether surprising after all that had happened the day before, such a thing hadn’t happened in years. Doucette must be wondering why he hadn’t phoned.

Controlling his emotions with difficulty, Monsieur Pamplemousse held his fire in order to allow Monsieur Leclercq time to continue with a resumé of cause and effect. He hadn’t long to wait.

‘There is worse to come, Pamplemousse.’

‘Worse, monsieur?’ Monsieur Pamplemousse made a half-hearted attempt to keep the sarcasm from his voice. ‘The hot water was running slightly cold, peut-être? Your morning croissant was perhaps not quite as fresh as it might have been? The jus d’orange a trifle acidic?’

A hissing sound indicated that the Director was using his car telephone, so any immediate response was obliterated. As the car emerged from the other side of the tunnel or whatever else it was that had conspired to interrupt their conversation, it became apparent that he was on to another tack, and from his dolorous tones it was clearly one which was causing him considerable alarm.

‘… pened this morning, Aristide. I received a postcard through the mail …’

Monsieur Pamplemousse experienced a momentary pang of conscience. ‘Not bad news from Madame Leclercq, I trust?’

‘No, Pamplemousse. Much, much worse. The message was in graphic form. The card bore a simple motif; that of a bière. A black bière!’

‘A coffin?’ Suddenly all ears, Monsieur Pamplemousse struggled into a sitting position. This was indeed bad news. He tried to strike a cheerful note. ‘Perhaps it was a local entrepreneur mortician in Viroflay seeking extra business, Monsieur? Times are hard.’

‘Times are never hard in the funeral business, Pamplemousse,’ said the Director gloomily. ‘Certainly not as far as the Mafia are concerned. In Italy they make sure business is booming.’

‘But this is France, Monsieur.’

The Director was not to be consoled. ‘If it is a genuine offer of service,’ he continued, ‘why did the company not append their name and address? Besides it had been hastily drawn by someone using a felt-tipped pen. No, I detect the hand of the Cosa Nostra. It is part of their tradition. They always warn their intended victim so that he knows exactly where he stands – or falls – and meets his death fully aware of who is responsible. It is what is known as “job satisfaction”. Otherwise, when their victims are hit in the back by a bullet, they may die thinking it is only a passing sportsman with an unsteady aim.

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