Sebastian Read Free

and off we went - much faster than the bus.
    We arrived at last at Géraldine’s house. Well, it wasn’t a house at all. It had no front garden like Amanda’s, only an enormous door set in the wall right next to the pavement, and over it a metal plate with the number seventeen in blue and white enamel. Geraldine pressed the bell, and ‘click!’ the door opened.
    Just like Aladdin’s cave. Being very fond of mysteries and secret passages, I began to get excited. We went up a flight of stone steps, and then round a landing; and up some more steps, and round again; and up even more steps. When at last we stopped I was quite dizzy.
    We were right at the top of the building and through a skylight I could see clouds floating along. What was it Amanda used to sing? ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star ...’ Perhaps at night I should be able to see them more clearly from here. Then I could tell Diddy what they were made of.
    I was just about to think of something else when ‘Woof!’ or ‘Pow!’ I was squeezed from both sides at the same time. If you’ve ever been squashed on opposite sides like a sock in a wringer you’ll know what I mean. It was Géraldine’s mother. She grabbed Géraldine and I happened to be in between. There were lots of smacking kisses and both of them talked at once, and it was ages before they noticed me.
    â€œAaaaaaah?” said Géraldine’s mother, holding me out at arm’s length.
    â€œIt’s Sebastian,” said Géraldine by way of explanation. Her mother didn’t seem in the least convinced, and tried out all my joints in turn - very painful some of them, particularly my neck as I’m not in the habit of rotating my head round and round without stopping, even though I can do it, of course.
    â€œIt’s a bear,” she said at length. Well, after all that scrutiny I expected a more intelligent remark. But I suppose foreigners have never heard of bears and I would have to think of myself as a sort of missionary come to educate these people in the ways of bears.
    â€œI expect he’s hungry, Maman,” said Geraldine. “He always had his tea at four o’clock in England.”
    â€œAh yes. The English tea,” said Maman in an amused sort of voice. “I’ll make some specially for him and we can all have a cup.”
    We went into the dining room, which was very pleasant with big windows overlooking the street. There was an old brass clock on the sideboard and lots of dark furniture. On a corner table there was a collection of photographs in silver frames. Géraldine grabbed the thickest book she could find from the shelf (it was a dictionary), and plonked me on top of it on the nearest chair. Then I had to suffer an enormous stiff serviette being tucked into the top of my jersey and spread all over me like a duvet. Although I only pretended to drink the tea, I can’t say I liked the look of it. In the first place you could see the bottom of the cup - even with the tea in it - and in the second place there was a slice of lemon floating on the top. I could have just imagined what Auntie Vi would have to say; and Uncle Alec, who regularly used to make his spoon stand up in the cup to test the strength. Still, making tea was another thing I would have to teach them.
    â€œYou won’t be able to see Papa tonight,” Géraldine said, “because he’s gone to prison,” and looked sideways at me to see if I was shocked. “Actually,” she went on after a pause to crunch a biscuit, “he’s taking someone there. He’s a sergeant in the Paris police, you see.”
    Well, that was an interesting occupation at least.
    â€œSo,” she went on, “we’d better send a telegram to say you’ve arrived safely.” She took a red-covered notebook and wrote down Amanda’s address in beautiful pale blue ink. “Now, what shall we say? I know