Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  “Hmm,” said Mrs Bird. “That’s as may be. But if you ask me that young bear’s mind is not the only thing he’s got something on.”

  Mrs Bird’s sharp eyes had noticed a momentary gleam from one of Paddington’s paws as he’d gone out into the sunshine. It was the second time within the space of a few minutes she’d spotted the strange phenomenon. The first occasion had been during the service itself, when the vicar had asked the assembly if anyone present knew of any good reason why Deirdre and Harold shouldn’t get married. Paddington had half raised his paw and then, much to her relief, he’d changed his mind at the last moment.

  Mrs Bird was good at adding two and two together as far as Paddington was concerned, but wisely she kept the result of her calculations to herself for the time being.

  In any case, before the others had time to question her on the subject a rather worried-looking churchwarden hurried up the aisle and stopped at their pew in order to whisper something in Mr Brown’s ear.

  Mr Brown rose to his feet. “I think we’re wanted in the vestry,” he announced ominously. “It sounds rather urgent.”

  Mr Brown was tempted to add that the churchwarden had also asked if Paddington could accompany them, but in the event he decided not to add to their worries.

  All the same, as he led the way into the vestry he began to look more and more worried, and if he’d been able to see through the stone walls into the churchyard outside, the chances are that he would have felt even more so.

  For Paddington was in trouble. Quite serious trouble. One way and another he was used to life having its ups and downs, but as he held his paw up to the light in order to examine it more closely even he had to admit he couldn’t remember a time when his fortunes had taken quite such a downward plunge.

  Sucking it had made no difference at all; jamming it in the rails which surrounded the churchyard only seemed to have made matters worse; and even the application of a liberal smear of marmalade from an emergency jar which he kept in his suitcase had been to no avail.

  As far as paws went, his own was looking unusually smart and well cared for. Apart from the remains of the marmalade it wouldn’t have disgraced an advertisement for fur coats in one of Mrs Brown’s glossy magazines. Even the pad had an unusual glow about it, not unlike that of a newly polished shoe.

  However, it wasn’t the pad or its surroundings which caused Paddington’s look of dismay, but the sight of a small gold wedding ring poking out from beneath his fur; and the longer he looked at it the more unhappy he became.

  He’d found the ring lying on the dressing table when he’d gone to Harold Price’s room in order to pick up the wedding list, and at the time it had gone on one of his claws easily enough. But now it was well and truly stuck, and nothing he could do would make it budge one way or the other.

  In the past he had always kept on very good terms with Mr Price. Even so, he couldn’t begin to imagine what his friend would have to say about the matter. Nor, when he considered it, could he picture Deirdre exactly laughing her head off when she heard the news that her wedding ring was stuck round a bend on a bear’s paw. From past experience he knew that Deirdre had a very sharp tongue indeed when even quite minor things went wrong with her bacon slicer, and he shuddered to think what she would have to say about the present situation.

  As if to prove how right he was, his thoughts were broken into at that very moment, as the sound of Deirdre’s voice raised in anger floated out through the open window above his head.

  By climbing on top of his suitcase and standing on tiptoe, Paddington was just able to see inside the vestry and when he did so he nearly fell over backwards again in alarm, for not only was Deirdre there, laying down the law to a most unhappy-looking Mr Price; but the best man, sundry relatives, the Browns and quite a number of other important-looking people were there as well.

  Indeed, so great was the crowd and so loud the argument, it gave the impression that more people were attending the signing of the register than had been present at the actual ceremony.

  Paddington was a hopeful bear at heart but the more he listened to Deirdre, the more his spirits dropped and the more he realised the only thing they had in common was a wish that he’d never been invited to the wedding in the first place, let alone act as an usher.

  After a moment or two he clambered back down again, took a deep breath, picked up his suitcase and headed towards a large red box just outside the churchyard.

  It wasn’t often that Paddington made a telephone call – for one thing he always found it a bit difficult with paws – but he did remember once reading a poster in a phone box about what to do in times of an emergency and how it was possible to obtain help without paying.

  It had seemed very good value at the time and as far as he could make out it would be difficult to think of a situation which was more of an emergency than his present one.

  His brief appearance at the window didn’t go entirely unnoticed, but fortunately the only person who saw him was Judy, and by the time she’d passed the message on to Jonathan he’d disappeared again.

  “Perhaps it was a mirage,” said Jonathan hopefully.

  “It wasn’t,” said Judy. “It was Paddington’s hat.”

  “Paddington!” echoed Deirdre, catching the end of Judy’s reply. “Don’t mention that name to me.”

  “Look!” she announced dramatically, holding up her wedding finger for what seemed to her audience like the hundredth time. “A curtain ring! A brass curtain ring!”

  “I thought it would be better than nothing,” said the best man, hastily cupping his hands under Deirdre’s in case the object of her wrath fell off. “I was hoping you might have big fingers.”

  Deirdre gave the best man a withering glare and then turned her attention back to the unfortunate Harold. “Don’t just stand there,” she exclaimed. “Do something!”

  “Look here,” broke in Mr Brown. “I still don’t see why you’re blaming Paddington.”

  “My room’s on the fifth floor,” said Mr Price, briefly. “And there are only two keys. Paddington had the other one.”

  “Fancy asking a bear to be an usher,” said Deirdre, scornfully. “You might have known something would happen. I shall never be able to show my face in the shop again. Practically all our best customers are here.”

  The new Mrs Price broke off as quite clearly above her words there came the sound of a siren, at first in the distance, and then gradually getting closer and closer.

  The vicar glanced nervously out of his vestry window. Quite a crowd seemed to have collected outside the church and even as he watched, a large, red fire engine, its siren sounding furiously, screamed to a halt and several men in blue uniform jumped off, their hatchets at the ready.

  “That’s all I need,” said Deirdre bitterly, as the vicar excused himself and hurried off to investigate the matter. “A fire! That’ll round off the day nicely!” The room fell silent as Mr Price’s bride, having exhausted the topic of the things she would like to do, embarked on a long list of the things she wasn’t going to do under any circumstances until she got her wedding ring back; including signing the register, having her photograph taken and going on her honeymoon.

  It was just as she reached the last item, and Mr Price’s face had fallen to its longest ever, that the door burst open and the vicar hurried back into the room closely followed by a man in a fireman’s uniform, and behind him, Paddington himself.

  “There you are, Paddington,” said Mrs Brown thankfully. “Where have you been?”

  “Having a bit of a sticky time of it, if you ask me, ma’am,” began the fireman, “what with one thing and another.”

  “My ring!” broke in Deirdre, catching sight of a shiny object in Paddington’s outstretched paw.

  “I’m afraid it got stuck round a bend, Mrs Price,” explained Paddington.

  “Stuck round a bend?” repeated Deirdre disbelievingly. “How on earth did that happen?”

  Paddington took hold of
the ring in his other paw in order to demonstrate exactly what had gone wrong. “I’m not sure,” he admitted truthfully. “I just slipped it on for safety and when I tried to take it off again…”

  The fireman gave a groan. “Don’t say you’ve done it again!” he exclaimed. “I only just got it off.”

  “Bears!” groaned Deirdre. “I’m not meant to get married.”

  “What I can’t understand,” said Mr Price, “is why you put it on your paw in the first place, Mr Brown.”

  “You said you were going to give Mrs Brown a ring,” said Paddington unhappily. “I thought I’d save you the bother.”

  “I said I was going to give Mrs Brown a ring?” repeated Harold, hardly able to believe his ears.

  “I think you did,” said Mrs Brown. “Paddington probably didn’t realise you meant a ring on the telephone.”

  “Quite a natural mistake,” said Mrs Bird in the silence which followed. “Anyone might have made it in the circumstances.”

  “Never mind,” said the fireman. “What goes on must come off – especially the second time.

  “I tell you what,” he continued, sizing up the situation as he got to work on Paddington’s paw with a pair of pliers, “if the happy couple would like to sign the register while I do this, I’ll get my crew to form a guard of honour outside the church.”

  “A guard of honour!” exclaimed Deirdre.

  “With axes,” said the fireman.

  The new Mrs Price began to look slightly better pleased.”Well, I don’t know really…” she simpered, patting her hair.

  “It’s a bit irregular,” whispered the fireman in Paddington’s ear, “and we don’t normally do it for people outside the service, but we’ve a big recruiting drive on at the moment and it’ll be good publicity. Besides, it’ll help calm things down a bit.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Paddington gratefully. “I shall ask for you if ever I have a real fire.”

  “It’ll make a lovely photograph,” said Harold persuasively, taking Deirdre’s hand and leading her across the room. “And it’ll be something to show the girls back in the shop.”

  “If the ring won’t come off, perhaps I could come on the honeymoon with you, Mrs Price,” said Paddington hopefully. “I’ve never been on one of those before.”

  Deirdre’s back stiffened as she bent down to sign the register.

  “I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” said the fireman hastily, as he removed the ring at long last and handed it to Mr Price for safe keeping.

  “Tell you what, though,” he added, seeing a look of disappointment cross Paddington’s face. “As you can’t go on the honeymoon perhaps we’ll give you a lift to the wedding breakfast on our way back to the station instead.

  “After all,” he continued, looking meaningly at Mrs Price, “if this young bear hadn’t had the good sense to call us when he did he might still be wearing the ring and then where would you be?”

  And to that remark not even Deirdre could find an answer.

  “Gosh!” said Jonathan, as the Browns made their way back up the aisle. “Fancy riding on the back of a fire engine!”

  “I don’t suppose there are many bears who can say they’ve done that,” agreed Judy.

  Paddington nodded. A lot of things seemed about to happen all at once, and he wasn’t quite sure which he was looking forward to most. Apart from the promised ride he’d never heard of anyone having their breakfast in the afternoon before, let alone a wedding one, but it sounded a very good way of rounding things off.

  “If you and Mrs Price ever want to get married again,” he announced, as Harold led Deirdre out of the church and paused for the photographers beneath an archway of raised fire axes, “I’ll do some more ’ushing for you if you like.”

  Deirdre shuddered. “Never again,” she said, taking a firm grip on Harold’s arm. “Once is quite enough.”

  Mr Price nodded his agreement. “It’s as I said in the beginning,” he remarked, from beneath a shower of confetti, “young Mr Brown has a habit of bringing people closer together in the end, and this time it’s for good!”

  “I KNOW IT’S none of my business,” said Mrs Bird, pausing for a moment as she cleared the breakfast table, “but do you think Mr Curry’s suddenly come into some money?” She nodded towards the next-door garden. “He’s out there practising with his golf clubs again this morning. That’s the third time this week.”

  “I must say it’s very strange,” agreed Mrs Brown, as the clear sound of a ball being hit by a club greeted her housekeeper’s remarks. “He seemed to be turning his lawn into a putting green yesterday and he’s got some plus-fours hanging on the line.”

  Paddington, who until that moment had been busily engaged in finishing up the last of the toast and marmalade before Mrs Bird removed it from the table, suddenly gave vent to a loud choking noise. “Mr Curry’s plus-fours are hanging on the line!” he exclaimed when he had recovered himself.

  He peered through the window with interest, but Mr Curry’s clothes line seemed very little different from any other day of the week. In fact, apart from a tea towel and jerseys the only unusual item was a pair of very odd-looking trousers which hung limp and bedraggled in the still morning air.

  “Those are plus-fours,” explained Mrs Brown. “They’re special trousers people used to wear when they played golf. You don’t often see them nowadays.”

  Mrs Brown looked just as puzzled as her housekeeper as she considered Mr Curry’s strange behaviour. Apart from having a reputation for meanness, the Browns’ neighbour was also noted for his bad temper and unsportsmanlike attitude generally. The idea of his taking up any sort of game was hard to picture and when it was an expensive one like golf then it became doubly so.

  “That reminds me,” she continued, turning away from the window. “Henry asked me to get his golfing things out for him. There’s an ‘open day’ at the golf club on Saturday and he wants to go. They’re expecting quite a crowd. Arnold Parker’s putting in a special appearance and he’s judging one or two competitions. I don’t know whether Henry’s going in for any of them but apparently there are some quite big prizes. There’s a special one for the person whose ball travels the farthest and…”

  “Hmm,” said Mrs Bird as Mrs Brown’s voice trailed away. “There’s no need to say any more. That’s one mystery solved!”

  Although she wasn’t in the habit of interesting herself in other people’s affairs Mrs Bird liked to get to the bottom of things. “Trust Mr Curry to be around when there’s a chance of getting something for nothing,” she snorted as she disappeared towards the kitchen with her tray.

  As Mrs Brown picked up the remains of the crockery and followed her housekeeper out of the room Paddington climbed up on to his chair and looked hopefully out of the window. But Mr Curry was nowhere in sight and even the sound of shots being practised seemed to have died away, so he climbed back down again and a few minutes later hurried out into the garden in order to investigate the matter more closely.

  In the past he’d several times come across Mr Brown’s golf clubs in the cupboard under the stairs, but he’d never watched the game being played before and the possibility of seeing Mr Curry practising on his lawn and being able to take a closer look at his plus-fours into the bargain seemed an opportunity too good to be missed.

  Crouching down to the ground behind Mr Brown’s shed he put his eye to a special knothole in the fence which usually gave a very good view of the next-door garden, but to his surprise there was nothing to be seen but a wall of blackness.

  Looking most disappointed Paddington picked up one of Mr Brown’s old bean sticks and poked it hopefully through the hole in an attempt to unblock it. As he did so a loud cry of pain suddenly rang out and he nearly fell over backwards with surprise as the familiar figure of the Browns’ neighbour suddenly rose into view on the other side of the fence.

  “Bear!” roared Mr Curry as he danced up and down clutching his right eye. “Did you do that
on purpose, bear?”

  Hastily letting go of the stick, Paddington jumped back in alarm. “Oh, no, Mr Curry,” he exclaimed. “I was only trying to unblock the hole. If I’d known you were there I’d have done it much more gently. I mean…”

  “What’s that?” bellowed Mr Curry. “What did you say?”

  Paddington gave up trying to explain what he meant as the face on the other side of the fence turned a deep purple.

  “I wanted to see your sum trousers, Mr Curry,” he said unhappily.

  “My what trousers?” repeated Mr Curry.

  “Your sum trousers, Mr Curry,” said Paddington. “The ones you play golf in.”

  Mr Curry gave Paddington a searching look with his good eye. “If you mean my plus-fours, why don’t you say so, bear,” he growled. Removing his hand from the other eye he glared suspiciously across the fence. “I was looking for my golf ball. It went over into your garden.”

  Anxious to make amends, Paddington looked around Mr Brown’s garden and almost immediately spied a small white object nestling among the tomato plants. “Here it is, Mr Curry,” he called. “I think it’s broken one of Mr Brown’s stems.”

  “If people don’t take the trouble to build their fences high enough they must expect these things,” said Mr Curry nastily as he took the ball.

  He examined it carefully to make sure it wasn’t damaged and then looked thoughtfully at Paddington. “I didn’t realise you were interested in golf, bear,” he remarked casually.

  Paddington returned his gaze doubtfully. “I’m not sure if I am yet, Mr Curry,” he said carefully.

  On more than one occasion in the past he’d been caught napping by a casual remark from the Browns’ neighbour and had no wish to find himself agreeing by mistake to build a golf course for ten pence.

  Mr Curry looked over his shoulder in order to make sure no one else was around and then he signalled Paddington to come closer. “I’m looking for someone to act as caddie for me in the golf competition tomorrow,” he said, lowering his voice. “I have some very expensive equipment and I need someone reliable to take charge of it all.