Monsieur Pamplemousse on the Spot by Michael Bond

Author:Michael Bond [Michael Bond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749017910
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2014-03-21T16:00:00+00:00

6

POMMES FRITES MAKES A DISCOVERY

Monsieur Pamplemousse seated himself in a chair of an open-air bar overlooking the port in Evian, unwrapped a piece of sugar, broke it in two, dropped the smaller of the two halves into a cup of café noir, then settled back in order to contemplate the world in general and his own immediate plans in particular.

The world in general consisted at that moment in time of a row of gulls staring back at him from a position of safety on the harbour wall, a small flotilla of sailing boats halfway across the lake towards Lausanne, two couples at nearby tables, some old-age pensioners waiting patiently for the arrival of a little rubber-tyred train which ran to and fro along the promenade, a few lorries on their way to Switzerland, and a sprinkling of late holiday-makers taking the morning air.

It was all very peaceful and ordered, reminding him that soon after his enforced early retirement from the Paris Sûreté, he’d once toyed with the idea of going there to live. All he’d wanted was to escape from it all. But Doucette, after one night of being kept awake by cowbells, had put her foot down and it had remained a pipe-dream. Doucette always woke at the first creak, or so she said, never the second. He’d consoled himself with the thought that for most people happiness lay in dreams of what might have been.

His own immediate plans were another matter and to some extent dependent on what fate and Fräulein Brünnhilde had in store. Of the two, he felt that fate could prove more reliable and predictable. Fräulein Brünnhilde had a slightly worrying gleam in her eye.

Alongside him stood two large plastic carrier-bags. One contained two bottles of Evian water, a bottle of red Mondeuse, and a long, heavy-duty cardboard postal tube. The other carrier-bag, with a second one inside it for safety’s sake, bulged with goodies culled that morning from the charcuteries, traiteurs and boulangeries of Evian. Saucisses de Morteau et de Montbéliard rubbed shoulders with pork and cabbage saucisses de chou, gâteau de foies blonds de volaille pressed against smoked mountain ham sliced from the bone and sachets of thicker ham stuffed with fresh pork meat – jambonnettes the like of which he hadn’t seen since he’d last visited Mère Montagne’s shop in Lamastre, on the other side of the Rhône valley.

The central layer in the bag was made up of a large wedge of Reblochon and a generous helping of Morbier which he’d been unable to resist; two thin layers of cheese coated with charcoal on their opposing sides before being squeezed into a rich, cake-like ball out of which oozed a thin black line.

A crisp baguette poked up through the middle of the bag like an over-fat flagpole, surrounded by other delicacies from the same boulangère; tarte aux myrtilles, galette de goumeau – brioche cakes topped with orange flower-water custard, and some freshly baked biscuits de Savoie, feather-light and covered with sliced almonds.

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