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

will be for France. I know you won’t let our beloved Marianne down. I can only wish you bonne chance !
    ‘Always remember, Claye Beardmore is a very influential person in the United States; arguably second only to Patricia Wells in the realm of food, and the world famous wine guru, Robert Parker. If we upset Claye, sales of Le Guide in America may suffer.
    ‘And now, before you go I must ask you to sign the document I mentioned earlier. As far as the outside world is concerned, this meeting never took place …and that applies to any future activities too! From now on, secrecy is paramount.’
    Having escorted Monsieur Pamplemousse and Pommes Frites to the door, Monsieur Leclercqhesitated, as though about to say more, then had second thoughts.
    ‘Before you leave, Aristide, I strongly recommend you do up the zip on your trousers. And if you want my advice I should ensure it stays that way for as long as possible.’
    For the time being at least, there was nothing more to be said.
    Largely on account of a mass demonstration by Parisian motorcyclists over the installation of a second speed camera on the Périphérique , Monsieur Pamplemousse took rather longer to reach the Pommes d’Or hotel than he’d intended, but in fact it served him well.
    It was early evening by the time he arrived there and the foyer was crowded. The reception desk was awash with new arrivals and their luggage; residents heading for a night out on the town vied for use of the revolving doors with outsiders arriving for dinner. Add in a private function or two for good measure and the confusion was such that his own and Pommes Frites’ progress across the black-and-white marble floor to a bank of elevators on the far side failed to cause the raising of a single eyebrow.
    Nor did the lift girl pass any comment as they entered her domain. As far as she was concerned, bloodhounds weighing in at around forty-seven kilos wanting to use the lift might have been a daily occurrence. The hotel could be full of them.
    It might well be the case, of course, reflected Monsieur Pamplemousse. Times changed. For all he knew, the Pommes d’Or could have joined the growing band of hotels who were suffering a drop in the tourist trade following what Americans referred to as ‘9/11’. Many establishments now offered four-legged residents special facilities provided they were accompanied by a bona fide master or mistress.
    It was a reversal of what had been the generally accepted norm. Once upon a time it was the French who’d had a reputation for cosseting their pets and treating them as human beings, much to the disgust of visitors from across the Atlantic.
    According to one of his colleagues, Truffert, who had contacts in America dating back to his time in the Merchant navy, the Starwoods hotel chain had set the ball rolling with its ‘Love That Dog’ programme. With an estimated canine population of over sixty-five million and a thirty-one-billion-dollar pet product industry, dogs suddenly had a voice in the land and they wanted to be first in on the act.
    Now France was following suit. He had read somewhere that the Trianon Palace at Versailles was offering a Heavenly Pets package deal where a pooch was able to share a de luxe double room with its owner and enjoy round the clock room service.
    And it wasn’t simply hotels that were cashingin. Dial 45 85 1274 and you reached Taxi Canine, which also ran a special ambulance service for chiens , perhaps aimed at those who had been living it up not wisely, but too well.
    He wondered what the Pommes d’Or might have had on offer to tickle Pommes Frites’ fancy; a generous helping of boeuf bourguignon perhaps, to make up for the one he had been done out of at lunch time, followed by a scoop or two of vanilla ice cream? He should have checked beforehand.
    ‘Suite 704?’ he enquired of the girl as the lift doors opened.
    ‘ À droite, Monsieur .’
    Although she didn’t actually convert the movement into a