Monsieur Pamplemousse and the French Solution Read Free Page A

Hollywood,’ said Glandier. ‘Like Fred Astaire started out as Frederick Austerlitz.’
    Having been brought up in the Savoy region where there wasn’t much else to do during the winter months, Glandier was a dedicated cineaste and seldom let pass an opportunity to air his knowledge.
    ‘And Doris Day was born Doris von Kappelhoff,’ said Loudier.
    ‘That’s nothing.’ Glandier sounded slightly piqued. ‘Kirk Douglas began life as Iussur Danielovitch Demsky.’
    ‘That sounds a pretty good reason for changing it,’ said Guilot. ‘Think of the trouble he would have had signing autographs if he hadn’t.’
    ‘I’ll tell you something for nothing,’ broke in Loudier. ‘I looked Peáge up in the Paris phone book and there isn’t single one listed.’
    ‘Perhaps it started off as Plage,’ said Guilot. ‘It doesn’t have to be major, one letter is often enough. People are always doing it with their kids. Adding a letter on, even simply taking one away. Then they have to go through life spelling it out.’
    ‘There are laws in France about that kind of thing,’ said Loudier.
    ‘It happens,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse.
    He was reminded of the time he’d had cause to investigate the Director’s family plot in the Père Lachaise cemetery.
    Monsieur Leclercq’s family name was Leclerc. He must have decided at some point there were too many listed, so he’d added a ‘q’ to set himself apart. Knowing it was probably a sensitive point, Monsieur Pamplemousse decided not to mention the fact. It would create too much of a diversion.
    His spirits sank still further as the conversation returned to the subject in hand: the future of Le Guide . Clearly, things were even worse than he had anticipated. He wondered if he should mention the summons he had received to return to headquarters, but decided to hold back for the time being, at least until he knew more about what was going on.
    Leafing through the small pile of papers that had accumulated in his tray while he was away, Monsieur Pamplemousse reached for his pen …
    ‘ Zut alors !’ He could have sworn he had it with him when they checked out of the hotel that morning.
    ‘Here … use this.’ Glandier tossed a Biro across the table.
    Monsieur Pamplemousse eyed the object. Compared to his Cross writing instrument it didn’t have the right feel at all, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
    Initialing the first few papers, he made his excuses and continued on his way up to the Director’s office on the 7 th floor.
    Hoping to catch Monsieur Leclercq’s secretary for long enough to get the low-down, he was disappointed to find Véronique emerging from the inner sanctum just as he entered the outer office.
    She looked as though she had been crying, and her whispered ‘ bonne chance ’ as she squeezed past struck him as being not so much a casual pleasantry as a heartfelt expression of some inner anguish.
    Expecting to find the Director seated in the usual chair behind his desk, he was surprised to see it was empty.
    Glancing round the room, he noted a small workstation in one corner; a laptop, mobile phone and desk-lamp neatly arranged on top, a plush office chair pushed into the kneehole. He assumed it must belong to the new advisor. It all looked very efficient.
    A pair of sliding glass doors in the vast picture window were open, and despite the chill air, the Director was outside on the balcony encircling the whole of the mansard floor.
    He appeared to be gazing into the middle distance, and it wasn’t until Monsieur Pamplemousse and Pommes Frites drew near that he became aware of their presence and turned to face them.
    It was several weeks since Monsieur Pamplemousse had last seen him, but during that time he appeared to have lost weight, visibly ageing in the process. He was also wearing dark glasses. It must be catching. No wonder Véronique looked worried.
    ‘Ah, Pamplemousse!’ he exclaimed. ‘At long last. I have been looking out for