Monsieur Pamplemousse and the Militant Midwives by Michael Bond Read Free Book Online

he doesn’t ask to see Monsieur Chirac’s distinguishing features next time they meet,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘I would not care to be in his shoes if he does.’
    Ignoring the remark, Monsieur Leclercq crossed to his drinks cupboard on the far side of the room. Opening the door of a small ice-box inside he removed a bottle of Gosset champagne and two glasses.
    ‘I suggest a restorative is called for, Aristide,’ he said.
    From the angle at which he was holding the bottle, Monsieur Pamplemousse deduced it was by no means the first glass of the day.
    Gazing up at the portrait of Le Guide’s founder on the wall above the cupboard, he couldn’t help butfeel Monsieur Hippolyte Duval’s normally saturnine features would have looked even more forbidding had he still been alive and able to witness the current goings on.
    ‘I will have the whole sorry business decisionised by tomorrow,’ said Monsieur Leclercq, handing him one of the glasses.
    Monsieur Pamplemousse pricked up his ears at the Americanism. It was usually a sign the Director had been in contact with someone from the other side of the Atlantic. At such times he was fond of peppering the conversation with the latest jargon.
    He also liked nothing better than to lace it with references to what he called his ‘contacts in the Higher Echelons’ and his ability to pull strings when necessary, but clearly in this case the position was reversed; other people were pulling the Director’s strings and he wasn’t entirely happy with the situation. Given his other habit of playing his cards close to his chest, Monsieur Pamplemousse couldn’t help wondering how many he possessed, or more to the point, when he would reveal his hand.
    ‘Am I to assume that my P27 is the only reason you wished to see me, Monsieur ?’ he asked.
    ‘I fear not, Pamplemousse. That would be blue-sky thinking on your part.’
    There it was again!
    Monsieur Leclercq motioned him to sit down atlong last, and even went so far as to raise one of the blinds, letting in a stream of light.
    ‘We live in troubled times, Aristide,’ he said. ‘Unrest is rife in the world. Terrorism is everywhere. Hence my having to make sure you are who you say you are. I trust you are not offended.’
    ‘I doubt if the people we are up against go through the same rigmarole,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘In my experience many of them don’t even know who their father was, let alone if he had any distinguishing features.’
    ‘Countries of the so-called free world are surrounded on all sides by terrorism,’ continued the Director. ‘All nations have their soft underbelly. With America and 9/11, the twin towers, symbols of wealth and prosperity, were the target. Britain endured a similar attack on the London Underground railway. Russia continually finds itself embroiled with the Chechen rebels. In each case the enemy within strikes where it will hurt most. Over the years France has suffered at the hands of the Basque separatists …
    ‘Now, the target is the very heart of France itself. Intelligence has word from a reliable source that a terrorist group is planning to inject poison into the food chain. What that poison is, or into what part of the chain it will be injected, or even when it will happen, is not yet known.
    ‘As a nation we are caught between two stools.On the one hand every precaution must be put in place to safeguard the population. On the other hand, in order to avoid the kind of panic that would do untold harm to the farming industry, it has been decided to avoid at all costs admitting there is the remotest possibility that such a thing could happen. For that reason alone the need for the utmost secrecy is paramount. Before you leave I must ask you to sign a document to that effect.
    ‘In the meantime, in order to explore all possibilities, the powers that be are setting up a “think tank” made up of leading figures in the world of gastronomy. I have been asked to suggest a