Monsieur Pamplemousse and the French Solution Read Free Page B

you.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse resisted the temptation to say they would have arrived a quarter of an hour ago if they hadn’t been locked out.
    ‘We came as speedily as we could, monsieur.’
    ‘I suppose the traffic was bad?’ said Monsieur Leclercq.
    ‘Not when we left,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘There wasn’t a car to be seen on the road at 5.30 this morning.’
    ‘And you drove straight here?’
    ‘We had a brief break stop at the Aire la Briganderie south of Orleans for Pommes Frites’ benefit …’
    ‘So that he could stretch his legs, I presume?’
    ‘It was more urgent than that,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse loyally. ‘He was badly in need of a pipi . As it was he only just made the silver birches in time. I also wanted to see if they had any string …’
    ‘String!’ boomed the Director.
    ‘The passenger door had developed a rattle,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘I was worried in case Pommes Frites fell out when we were cornering at speed.’
    Monsieur Leclercq emitted a sigh. ‘Ah, Aristide, I do wish you would pension off that old 2CV of yours and use a company car instead. Although, in the circumstances …’ He broke off, dismissing whatever it was he had been about to say and instead glanced nervously at his watch.
    Waving towards the visitor’s chair, he followed them back into the room.
    Pressing a button to trigger off the automatic closing of the sliding doors, there was a faint, but luxurious hiss of escaping air from his black leather armchair as he seated himself.
    Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on the desk in front of him, forming a steeple with his hands as he gathered his thoughts.
    It may have been the result of wearing dark glasses,but it struck Monsieur Pamplemousse that the overall effect was more suggestive of the Leaning Tower of Pisa than the upright spire of Sainte-Chapelle.
    Happening to glance to his left during the pause that followed, he saw the door to the drinks cupboard was open. A bottle of Monsieur Leclercq’s favourite cognac, Roullet Très Hors d’Age, was standing alongside an empty glass, and he couldn’t help wondering if it were a case of cause and effect.
    Also, it might have been his imagination or simply a trick of the light, but the heavily framed portrait above the cupboard appeared to show the sitter looking even more forbidding than usual. On second thoughts ‘strained’ might be a better description.
    Perhaps Glandier was right and even now Le Guide ’s founder, Monsieur Hippolyte Duval, was in the process of turning over in his grave.
    In much the same way that the subject’s eyes in many portraits had a disconcerting habit of appearing to follow the viewer round a room, so the founder’s portrait never failed to reflect the prevailing mood; his steely eyes acting like the mercury in a barometer as they moved up and down according to the prevailing temperature.
    Monsieur Pamplemousse couldn’t help but glance surreptitiously at his own watch. The hands showed 13.45.
    Following whatever was on the menu for the main course at Michel Bras, poached fois gras with beetrootperhaps, or his renowned filet of Aubrac beef, they might have been rounding things off with a chocolate coolant : another ‘signature’ dish, inspired, so it was said, by a family skiing holiday. The warmth of a hollowed-out sponge, sometimes filled with fruit, at other times with chocolate or caramel, the whole capped with a scoop of frozen double cream, was intended to give the effect of a snow-covered mountain peak.
    As he remembered it, the latter truly was the icing on the cake; much imitated, but never surpassed. It was no wonder the restaurant boasted three Stock Pots in Le Guide .
    The thought reminded him of how hungry he felt, and he knew someone else who would be even more upset if he knew what was passing through his mind.
    Except the ‘someone else’ in question, blissfully unaware of his master’s thought processes, was making full use of the