by Michael Bond
Monsieur Pamplemousse put his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘He seems to have forgotten all about the matter in hand.’
‘All of which,’ boomed Monsieur Leclercq, ‘leads me to the matter in hand. The things I have mentioned would be completely beside the point were it not for the fact that they are all too unusual to be simply coincidental. They must be tied in with Corby in some way.
‘Chantal has brought me up to date with all you told her last night and if the Mafia are involved it puts an entirely different complexion on the matter. Who knows what machinations are going on beneath the surface? The Mob will stop at nothing. It is no wonder he fears for his life.’
‘From Le Guide’s point of view,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, ‘it does mean that almost certainly he won’t be catching the next plane back to America. Also, if he is on the run, giving us a bad write-up will be the last thing on his mind. On the other hand, he won’t be giving us a good one either … With a little bit of luck it could be the last we shall hear of him.’
‘And the whole exercise will have been a wasted effort,’ broke in the Director. ‘That is what grieves me most, Aristide. It as an old saying of Pasteur’s, but a very true one: “Luck smiles on minds that are prepared”. I rather fear, Pamplemousse, that for whatever reason, your own mind would appear to be elsewhere at present.
‘If the worst comes to pass and the Mafia catch up with Corby, the press will have a field day with what is left of him. The reason for his being in France in the first place will make headline news all over the world. What is the name of that American press photographer who is notorious for always being on the spot when mayhem occurs? I remember seeing an exhibition of his pictures in Paris. Squeegie something or other?’
‘WeeGee,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘He is no longer with us, I fear, and when he was alive, more often than not he enjoyed the benefit of rather more inside information than I possess.’
‘Be that as it may, Aristide, we must stay with it for the time being. I shall not rest easy in my bed until we know what has happened to Corby.’
‘There is a distinct possibility,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, baiting the hook, ‘that he may be returning to a part of France where he was born … Alsace-Lorraine.’
‘Then you must go after him, Pamplemousse,’ said the Director. ‘No matter what the cost, no stone must be left unturned …’
Monsieur Pamplemousse felt a nudge. He had no need to look round.
‘There is one slight problem, Monsieur … The person I was dining with yesterday evening happens to be Monsieur Corby’s general factotum. You may not be aware of the fact, but she arrived not long before we left for the theatre. She is as worried as anyone about what has happened to him. Indeed, it is she who suggested that may be where he is heading for at this very moment.’
‘Excellent news, Pamplemousse,’ broke in Monsieur Leclercq. ‘She will be une bonne accessoire in your hunt. Women have an eye for detail.’
‘You did say whatever the cost,’ ventured Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘I am thinking of Madame Grante …’
‘I will take care of Madame Grante,’ broke in the Director sternly. ‘This is no occasion for her cheeseparing ways.’
‘In that case,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, ‘there is also the small matter of my car. It is parked outside the gare in Lisieux.’
‘Leave it to me, Aristide,’ said Monsieur Leclercq grandly. ‘Have no fear, I shall make all the necessary arrangements.’
‘I will leave the keys in the exhaust pipe,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse.
‘So?’ Amber looked at him expectantly as he terminated the call.
‘He said you would be a useful adjunct.’
‘I’ve been called a lot of things in my life,’ said Amber. ‘But an adjunct …’
‘All expenses paid.’
‘That’s different. It definitely has a nice ring to it.’
‘I have no wish to dampen your spirits,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, leading the way towards the ticket office, ‘but not to put too fine a point on matters, it could be a dead-end job.’
Amber made a face. ‘That aside, I still can’t believe all the headlines in the papers.’
‘They are blown up out of all proportion,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, ‘and I think I know the reason why.
‘It is a classic case of attack being the best form of defence, and someone must have friends in high places. Don’t forget today is Friday.’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘Husbands will be coming down from Paris for the weekend, their suspicions aroused. The wives are getting their side of the story in first with a vengeance.’
‘Don’t tell me their spouses will be coming after you as well?’
‘Suitably primed,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, ‘anything is possible.’
Producing his wallet, he paid for two tickets to Paris.
‘Shouldn’t you have bought one for Pommes Frites?’ asked Amber, as they made their way onto the platform.
‘If I had done that,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, ‘the woman who sold them to me would have wanted to see his muzzle. It is required by law for dogs above a certain size. He would have been mortified.’
The subject was hastily changed as they were waylaid by the Chef de Gare. He removed a slip of paper from his clipboard and handed it to Monsieur Pamplemousse. It was a printout of the TGV service between Paris and Strasbourg.
‘Do you think he’s like this with everyone?’ asked Amber, after they had been helped onto the train and safely seated. ‘He couldn’t have been more solicitous.’
‘If he is,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse, ‘and I rather suspect that is the case, it is no wonder Corby was twitchy. He was probably doing his best to slip onto the train unnoticed.’
Once they were on the move he excused himself and gave Doucette a quick call.
‘I’m heading back to Paris.’
‘How wonderful!’ said Doucette.
‘It isn’t quite as simple as that, Couscous. I’m simply passing through on my way to Strasbourg and I thought you would like to know—’
‘Don’t tell me Monsieur Corby is mixed up in all the troubles I’ve been reading about?’
‘It is in the Paris papers too?’
‘Headline news! And on this morning’s radio. I think a lot of the press must have stayed on after your play and picked up on it. That’s not the only thing. Just you wait until you see the reviews …’
‘It is the so-called silly season for news …’ began Monsieur Pamplemousse.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a uniformed figure approaching. ‘Look, Couscous, it is not the best time to talk. I will ring again in a little while …’
Terminating the call, he was just in time to cue Pommes Frites, who let out a minor growl to begin with, ending up as though relishing a particularly succulent bone.
Studiously ignoring him and having checked their tickets, the man disappeared back down the coach the way he had come.
‘Is Pommes Frites trained to do that automatically?’ asked Amber, looking impressed.
‘Would you ask a bloodhound for his ticket?’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘Especially one without a muzzle. It is a simple case of “C’est interdit! Mais toléré.”’
‘It is forbidden, but it is tolerated,’ repeated Amber. ‘Trust you French to have a phrase for it.’
‘It is less devious than the English equivalent,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘“What the eye doesn’t see the heart doesn’t grieve for.”’
‘Touché!’ said Amber. ‘Does he know any other useful tricks?’
‘It was not for nothing that he won the Pierre Armand Sniffer Dog of the Year Award,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse fondly.
‘Sniffing is one thing,’ said Amber. ‘Those growls were something else again.’
‘Monsieur Armand was one of the greatest animal trainers ever known,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘Nothing was beyond him.’ Re
aching for his wallet again he felt inside one of the compartments and produced a faded sepia photograph.
‘Coincidentally, he is not unlike the stationmaster at Lisieux. Sadly, they don’t make them like that any more.’
‘But he only has one arm,’ said Amber.
‘The picture was taken soon after he first started,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘He was working in a circus and he was teaching a lion to eat out of his hand. It was a salutary lesson, but from that moment on he knew where his destiny lay—’
‘I think I would have known where mine lay if it had happened to me,’ said Amber. ‘And it wouldn’t have had anything to do with the circus.’
‘In Monsieur Armand’s case, it acted as a spur,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse.
‘So, how did you get Pommes Frites to growl?’
Monsieur Pamplemousse touched his right ear and Pommes Frites automatically obeyed the command.
‘When it comes to an audible display of emotions,’ he said, ‘growling and barking to order is fairly easy; it’s much harder teaching a dog not to bark when danger threatens. It goes against their natural instincts. It is second only to going off on their own assignments, yet remaining true to their handler’s wishes. Pommes Frites received maximum marks in both; growling and barking when he was called upon to do so and acting with the utmost stealth of his own accord when the occasion demanded it.’
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ said Amber. ‘But what happens if you touch your left ear?’
‘Stand clear everybody,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘Or, as your Monsieur Corby might say, “Donner und Blitzen”.’
‘His name is Korbinian,’ said Amber, taking the hint. ‘His father was born in Southern Germany, near München. He married a girl from Alsace and they eventually settled near Strasbourg, which was where Jay was born. The pet form of Korbinian is Körbl, so when he first emigrated to America he decided to take the plunge and make it Corby. Eventually, he assumed it along with the first name – Jay.
‘How do I know all this? For the same reason that you asked me about Donner und Blitzen in the first place.’
Lost in thought, Monsieur Pamplemousse gazed out of the window.
‘You have gone very quiet, Aristide,’ said Amber after a while. ‘Is it something I said?’
‘No,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘Quite the reverse. It was a remark someone else made.’
‘Do I get to know who it was?’
‘The Chef de Gare at Lisieux. If you remember, he said that when he helped Corby onto the train he appeared reluctant to go, almost as though he were having second thoughts.’
‘It was hard to resist him,’ said Amber. ‘If you remember, he even waved us goodbye as the train pulled out.’
‘Precisely,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘If he was anything like half as solicitous as he was with us, there would have been no question of Corby not getting on the train. It could have been the last thing he wanted to do.
‘Add to that the fact that, from knowing nothing about his plans, we suddenly have a surfeit of information, I smell a rat.’
‘What do you think brought it on?’
‘A garbled message perhaps. Or a simple misunderstanding. Akin to someone asking the time off another person with a digital watch and having been told it is 22.11, they go on their way happy in the belief that it is only twenty minutes to eleven and they have all the time in the world, when in fact they haven’t.’
‘A chain reaction gone doubly wrong?’
‘Exactement! It might even be that the concierge at the hotel where Corby was staying told him someone had been enquiring after him.’
‘That would be enough—’
‘Do you still have the timetable I gave you?’
Amber flipped open the concertina. ‘If what you are saying is right, he’ll be getting off at the first station we stop at and doubling back … Bernay can’t be far now … In fact …’
She broke off as the train entered a tunnel and they began to lose speed.
Known facts or instinct: which to obey? Monsieur Pamplemousse closed his eyes and mentally tossed a coin.
By the time they emerged from the tunnel and they were entering the station, it had come down in favour of instinct.
Hastily following the others out onto the deserted platform only seconds before the train went on its way, he couldn’t help but wonder what Pasteur would have had to say about it all. Not a great deal in its favour, he suspected. Seldom had his mind been quite so ill-prepared for what lay ahead.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘Bad news?’ asked Amber, as Monsieur Pamplemousse returned after a brief chat with a member of staff at Bernay Station. From the look on his face, it was a self-answering question.
‘You win some,’ he said, ‘you lose some. Corby did indeed get off the train here. It arrived at 10.20 and he was the only passenger to do so.’
He glanced at his watch. ‘That was approximately an hour ago.’
Amber took in her immediate surroundings. ‘At least Bernay is nowhere near the size of Deauville. If he’s anywhere around we’re almost bound to come across him.’
‘Looks deceive,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘In terms of population, Bernay is roughly three times the size of Deauville. It happens to be more concentrated. Anyhow, that’s academic. The bad news is he went straight out of the station and got into a taxi.’
‘And they have no idea where he was going to?’
‘None whatsoever, but I doubt if it was anywhere local. The first man I spoke to offered to help him with his bag, but he got short shrift. He simply got pushed aside without a word of thanks.
‘All the man could say was he might have been heading back the way he came. He seemed in a hurry and he wondered if perhaps he had left something important behind. On the other hand, apparently a little way along the road there is a roundabout with multiple exits, so by now he could equally well be forty or fifty kilometres away in any direction you care to name.
Amber looked downcast. ‘At least we know three things for sure,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘He isn’t making for Alsace-Lorraine, nor is he heading for Paris or the Channel Tunnel. Even if he originally intended to catch another train at Lisieux, he wouldn’t want to go back there now for fear of meeting up with the Chef de Gare. Not much got past that gentleman.’
‘What are his possible options?’
‘From Lisieux? From Lisieux he could have picked up a train to Caen or Cherbourg. Opinions are divided, but the general consensus seems to come down in favour of Caen. Don’t ask me why, apart from the feeling I have that unless you have a boat to catch, who would want to go to Cherbourg? They were beginning to clam up, wanting to know why I wanted to know … that kind of thing. Once a policeman always a policeman. I wasn’t going to waste another €50 note on that one so, using my best bedside manner, I beat a hasty retreat.’
‘You have one?’ asked Amber in mock surprise. ‘Beside manner, I mean?’
‘Treating that remark with the contempt it deserves …’ began Monsieur Pamplemousse.
Amber did her best to look contrite. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just that … all this “so near and yet so far” is getting me down. How about Caen? Do you think it’s worth a shot?’
‘You’re forgetting one major problem,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘My car is outside Lisieux Station. Ideally, we need to pick it up before we go anywhere else.’
Amber opened her handbag. ‘This is beginning to feel like a trainspotter’s day out.’
While she was unfurling the timetable, Monsieur Pamplemousse consulted his copy of Le Guide.
‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘your friend Corby isn’t the only one who has multiple choices. We may have missed out on the tractor-pulling contest – that takes place every June. Market day is on a Saturday – so that’s out. But while we are here we could visit the museum and view their collection of old Norman furniture or, failing that, there is the Château de Baumesnil. It is
said to be a masterpiece of the Louis XIII style, housing an extensive collection of seventeenth and eighteenth century books – some of the bindings of which are exquisite …
‘On the other hand, if neither of those options appeals to you, why don’t we take Pommes Frites for his morning constitutional? It will help clear our minds, and while we are at it we can look for somewhere to eat and plan our next move.’
‘By the time we get back the taxi driver may have returned and we can find out where he went to,’ said Amber.
‘Exactement.’
‘Masterly! But supposing he’s got back and gone out again with another fare?’
‘I slipped €50 to my first contact, asking him if he would keep an eye out for the driver and find out where he went to. He was feeling a bit anti-Corby anyway, so I’m sure he won’t let me down. As an insurance policy, if he has to use his 50 for the driver, I’ve promised him another. We can also leave our bags here. He said he would look after them.’
Refolding the timetable, Amber slipped it back into her handbag, then bent over her travelling case.
‘It just so happens I brought these with me,’ she said, removing a pair of Nike trainers.
‘You know,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse thoughtfully, ‘you are the nearest thing to the mother in The Swiss Family Robinson I have ever met.’
Privately he doubted if Madame Robinson had ever looked anywhere near as ravishing as Amber did when she bent over her duffel bag. It may have contained an answer to every eventuality likely to be encountered on a desert island, but even as a boy she had always struck him as being too good to be true. Certainly the thought had never kept him awake at night. Whereas, when Amber was bending over her case …
‘That’s something else no one has ever said to me before,’ she said, using his shoulder as a prop as she began changing her shoes.
‘First you praise my carbon foot print, then your boss says I’m a useful adjunct, now you liken me to a holier than thou white Swiss castaway of the female persuasion …’ She offered him a cheek to kiss. ‘If you’re not very careful I shall be overwhelmed by it all, and then who knows?’