Monsieur Pamplemousse and the French Solution Read Free

back soon, it’s only a short step to outsourcing the whole of the Accounts Department to India.’
    Listening to the others talk, Monsieur Pamplemousse began to feel it was a good thing he hadn’t made it to Michel Bras after all.
    ‘“Outsourcing” is the latest key word,’ explained Truffert. ‘According to the grape vine there’s a distinct possibility of doing the same thing with the canteen.’
    ‘Not to India as well I hope,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse.
    ‘At least the curry would be hot,’ said Loudier. ‘Even when it’s cold, if you see what I mean.’
    ‘Pommes Frites won’t take kindly to it, that’s for sure,’ said Truffert. ‘He’ll be bringing his own if that happens. I can’t see him missing out on Tuesday’s cassoulet .’
    ‘Think of the alternative,’ persisted Loudier. ‘Can you imagine … the staff of France’s premiere food guide reduced to eating microwaved quiche Lorraine off plastic trays.’
    ‘It’s either that or portion control,’ said Glandier. ‘Take your pick.’
    ‘You know what that means,’ said Loudier. ‘Less all round. You don’t have portion control when people can have as much as they like.’
    ‘It’s like the old Woody Allen joke,’ said Glandier. ‘Not only is the food terrible, but it comes in such small portions.’
    ‘When did all this come about?’ asked Monsieur Pamplemousse.
    ‘Over the last couple of weeks,’ said Guilot.
    ‘Who hasn’t been phoning in?’ asked Truffert pointedly.
    Monsieur Pamplemousse had to admit he had been unusually lax in that respect.
    Mobile phones had their uses, but losing the use of his own had felt like a luxury and he had made the most of it, especially while meandering across the Auvergne, where communication wasn’t exactly on the cutting edge of technology at the best of times. It had been blissful.
    ‘Monsieur Leclercq is allowing all this to happen?’
    ‘That’s the odd thing,’ said Truffert. ‘Ever since he arrived back from the States he’s been a different person. Locking himself away with some high-flying time and motion consultant for hours on end; refusing to see anyone else.’
    ‘If you want my opinion,’ said Loudier, ‘he’s flipped. It’s bad enough trying to get into the place as it is. As for eyeball recognition … they’ll be installing passport control next. I shan’t be sorry to say adieu to it all.’
    Loudier had been coming up for retirement for as long as Monsieur Pamplemousse could remember. He had stayed on through a series of short-term contracts, but he sounded in earnest this time.
    ‘You know what the next item on the agenda will be? VipChips! Have one implanted in your arm and you get keyless entry just by waving it at the lock.’
    ‘That’s not the only thing they can do,’ said Truffert. ‘In Africa they use them to keep track of wild animals.Mark my words … they’ll end up being able to keep tabs on your comings and goings via a satellite. Think of that!’
    ‘Talking of which,’ said Loudier, ‘has anyone heard from Madame Grante? I tried ringing the entry bell on her apartment in the rue des Renaudes, but there was no answer. To all intents and purposes she seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.’
    ‘That’s what comes of bringing in outsiders,’ said Glandier. ‘The founder must be turning in his grave. They didn’t have business efficiency experts in his day. Can you imagine?’
    ‘Péage by name,’ said Loudier gloomily. ‘Péage by nature.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse pricked up his ears. He wondered if it had anything to do with the graffiti on the back of the car.
    ‘It isn’t the first time it’s happened,’ explained Loudier. ‘That honour goes to Monsieur Leclercq’s car. It’s at the dealers being attended to. Meantime his space is being used by our new business efficiency guru.’
    ‘What’s the betting the name was changed for the job?’ said Guilot. ‘It probably sounds better.’
    ‘Very