by Michael Bond
“Thank you very much, Mr Brown,” said Paddington gratefully. He’d spent many happy hours browsing through the pages of Mr Hyde’s book and he put it away carefully in the secret compartment of his suitcase while he got ready to go out.
Duncan Hyde spent his time visiting restaurants all over the country, awarding them various shaped hats for their cooking, ranging from a very small beret for run-of-the-mill dishes to a giant-size bowler hat for the very best, and some of the dishes he described were very mouthwatering indeed.
Although no one had ever met him, for he preferred to remain anonymous, it was widely agreed that he must be a person of great taste, and when they arrived at Heather and Sons later that morning, Paddington peered through the restaurant window with interest in case there was anyone around carrying a hat.
As they trooped through the main entrance, the Browns were greeted by a man in morning dress.
“We’d like to fit this young bear out for a special occasion,” said Mrs Brown. “Can you direct us to the right department, please?”
“Certainly, Modom. Please step this way.” With scarcely the flicker of an eyelid, the supervisor turned and led the way towards a nearby lift. “Does the young… er, gentleman, have an appointment at Buckingham Palace?” he asked, glancing down at Paddington as the doors slid shut. “Or is he simply going out?”
“Neither,” said Paddington, giving the man a hard stare. “I’m coming in!” After the warmth of the underground, the air outside had struck particularly cold to his whiskers and he didn’t want to be sent out again.
“He’s going to a ball,” explained Mrs Brown hastily. “We want to hire some evening dress.”
“A ball?” The man looked slightly relieved. “One of the Spring functions, no doubt?” he remarked hopefully.
“No,” said Mrs Bird firmly. “One of the Christmas ones. It’s for tomorrow night, so there’s no time to be lost.”
“It says in the advertisement you fit anyone,” broke in Jonathan.
“While you wait,” added Judy imploringly.
“Er… yes,” said the supervisor unhappily. He looked down at Paddington again. “It’s just that the young… er… gentleman’s legs are a bit… ahem… and we may have to do some drastic alterations if it’s to be from stock.”
“My legs are a bit ‘ahem’?” exclaimed Paddington hotly.
He began giving the supervisor some very hard stares indeed, but fortunately the lift came to a stop before any more could be said. As the doors slid open and the man gave a discreet signal to an assistant hovering in the background, Mrs Brown exchanged glances with the others.
“I was wondering,” she said, “if it wouldn’t be better for the rest of us to carry on with our Christmas shopping? We can all meet again in the restaurant downstairs at one o’clock.”
“A very good idea, Modom!” The supervisor sounded most relieved. “Rest assured,” he continued, as he ushered Paddington from the lift, “we will use our best endeavours and leave no stone unturned. I’ll get our Mr Stanley to look after the young gentleman. He does all our difficult cases and there’s nothing he likes better than a challenge.”
“That’s as may be,” said Mrs Bird ominously, as the gates slid shut again, “but I have a feeling he’s going to have to turn over a good few stones before that bear’s fitted out.You mark my words!”
The Browns’ housekeeper didn’t entirely approve of leaving Paddington to the tender mercies of Heather and Sons, impressive though their shop was, but as it happened the supervisor’s confidence in his staff was not misplaced, for no sooner had the Browns departed than everyone sprang into action.
“I’ll put ‘Thimbles’ Martin on the job,” announced Mr Stanley, making notes as he circled Paddington with a tape measure. “He’s the fastest man with a needle and thread in the business. He’ll fix you up in no time at all.”
Looking suitably impressed, Paddington settled down to read his Duncan Hyde book while he waited, and indeed, it seemed only a very short while before Mr Stanley reappeared proudly carrying an immaculately pressed set of evening clothes.
“You’ll look a blade in these and no mistake, sir,” he exclaimed enthusiastically, as he led Paddington into a changing cubicle.
“Quite the young bear about town,” agreed the supervisor. “Mind you,” he continued, allowing himself a smile of satisfaction as he helped Paddington on with the jacket, “you’ll have to watch your p’s and q’s. There’s no knowing who you might not get mistaken for dressed like that. Will you be taking them with you, or shall we send them?”
Paddington examined his reflection in the mirror – or rather, since there were mirrors on all four walls, what seemed like a never-ending line of reflections stretching away into the distance.
Although he felt very pleased to get his evening dress so quickly he was looking forward even more to the thought of carrying out Mr Brown’s suggestion and investigating some dishes for the guide.
“I think,” he announced at last, “I’ll wear them, thank you very much.” And disregarding the anxious expressions he was leaving behind, he picked up his belongings and headed for the lift.
As Mrs Brown had forecast, not many people knew about Heather’s restaurant and what with that and the early hour, it was still practically empty when Paddington entered.
Just inside the door there was an enormous sweet trolley and his eyes nearly popped out with astonishment as he took in the various items. There were so many different shapes, sizes and colours he soon lost count, and it was while he was on his paws and knees examining the mounds of chocolate mousse and the oceans of fruit salads on the bottom shelf that he suddenly realised someone was talking to him.
“May I be of assistance?” asked one of the waiters.
Paddington stood up and raised his hat politely. “No, thank you very much,” he said sadly. “I was only looking.” Holding up the Duncan Hyde book he ran his eye over the trolley again. “I was hoping I might be able to do some testing later on. I think some of your dishes might be worth a bowler.”
To Paddington’s surprise, his words seemed to have a magical effect on the waiter. “Pardon me, sir,” he exclaimed, jumping to attention. “I didn’t realise who you were. If you care to wait just one moment, sir, I’ll call the manager.”
Bowing low as he backed away, the man disappeared from view, only to return a moment later accompanied by an imposing figure dressed in a black coat and striped trousers.
“I can’t tell you,” boomed the second man, rubbing his hands with invisible soap, “how delighted we are that you’ve decided to honour us with your presence. It’s just what our restaurant needs.” Taking in Paddington’s dress suit, hat and whiskers he gave a knowing wink at the book. “I see you’ve been hiding your light under a bushel!”
“I have?” exclaimed Paddington, looking more and more surprised at the turn the conversation was taking.
“We’ll put you in the window, sir,” announced the manager, leading the way across the floor. “We have some very special dishes on today,” he confided with another wink, as he helped Paddington into a chair. “I’m sure we can find something to titivate your palate.”
“I expect you can,” said Paddington, politely giving the man a wink in return. “But I’m not sure if I can afford them.”
“My dear sir.” The man raised his hands in mock horror as he whisked the menu away. “We don’t want to bother ourselves with mere money.”
“Don’t we?” exclaimed Paddington excitedly.
The manager shook his head. “You need only sign the bill,” he explained. “Let’s think about food first. That’s much more important. We want you to feel perfectly at home.”
“Oh, I do already,” said Paddington, grasping his knife and fork. “When can I start?”
“That’s what I like to see,” replied the manager, beaming all over his face. “Well,” he continued, rubbing his hands in anticipation, “I can certainly recommend our avocado pear filled
with sea-fresh prawns and cream sauce.
“After that,” he said, “may I suggest either pot-fresh lobster, Dover-fresh sole, farm-fresh escalope of veal, or oven-fresh steak and kidney pudding?”
All the talk of food was beginning to make Paddington feel hungry and it didn’t take him long to make up his mind. “I think I’d like to try some of each,” he announced rashly.
If the manager was surprised, he concealed his feelings remarkably well. In fact, a look of respect came over his face as he handed Paddington’s order to a waiter who was hovering nearby. “I must say,” he remarked, “you take your job very seriously, sir. There aren’t many people in your position who would take the trouble to try everything on the menu. Would you care to test one of our rare old wines?”
Paddington thought for a moment. “I think I’d sooner test some of your tin-fresh cocoa,” he said.
“Tin-fresh cocoa?” For one brief moment the manager’s calm seemed to desert him, then he brightened. “I have a feeling you’re trying to catch us out,” he said, wagging his finger roguishly.
“Perhaps,” he added, waving in the direction of the trolley, “you would care to contemplate the sweets over the cheese.”
Paddington gave him an odd look. “I’d sooner eat them,” he said. “But I think I’d better leave a little bit of room. I’m having lunch with someone at one o’clock.”
A look of renewed admiration came over the man’s face. “Well,” he said, bowing his way out as the first of the dishes began to arrive, “I’ll leave you to your task, but I do hope you’ll see fit to mention us when the time comes.”
“Oh, yes,” replied Paddington earnestly. “I shall tell all my friends.”
Paddington still wasn’t sure why he was being treated in such a Royal manner, but he wasn’t the sort of bear to look a gift horse in the mouth and as everyone obviously wanted him to enjoy his meal, he was only too willing to oblige.
Already quite a large crowd had gathered on the pavement outside Heather’s. In fact, the window was black with faces and it was getting darker with every passing moment.
Paddington’s every move was watched with increasing interest and as he settled down to his gargantuan meal, the applause which greeted each new course was exceeded only by the one which followed.
But if the vast majority of the audience viewed the goings-on inside the restaurant with wonder and delight, there were five newly-joined members who stood watching with horror and dismay on their faces.
The Browns had arranged to meet outside the shop, but like most of the other passers-by, they had been drawn to the crowd gathered around the window, and now, as they pushed their way to the front, their worst fears were realised.
“Mercy me!” cried Mrs Bird. “What on earth is that bear up to now?”
“I don’t know what he’s up to,” said Mr Brown gloomily, as a loud groan rose from the audience. “But whatever it is, I think it’s coming to an end.”
A sudden change had indeed taken place on the other side of the glass, and the Browns watched with sinking hearts.
It all began when a waiter arrived bearing a large sheet of folded paper on a plate. Handing Paddington a pen, he stood over him with a deferential smile on his face while he signed his name. Then gradually the smile disappeared only to be replaced by an expression which the Browns didn’t like the look of at all.
“Come on,” cried Judy, grabbing her mother’s arm. “We’d better do some rescuing.”
“Oh, Lord!” groaned Mr Brown, as they pushed their way back into the crowd. “Here we go again.”
Unaware that help was on its way, Paddington stared at the waiter as if he could hardly believe his eyes let alone his ears. “Eighty pounds and sixty-two pence!” he exclaimed. “Just for a meal?”
“Not just for a meal,” said the waiter, eyeing all the stains. “About ten meals if you ask me. We thought you were Duncan Hyde, the famous gourmet.”
Paddington nearly fell backwards off his chair at the news. “Duncan Hyde, the famous gourmet?” he repeated. “I’m not Duncan Hyde. I’m Paddington Brown from Darkest Peru and I’m a bear.”
“In that case,” said the waiter, handing back the bill. “I’m afraid it’s cash. It includes the ‘cover-charge’,” he added meaningly, “but not the tip.”
“A cover charge?” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “But I didn’t even have one. It was all open.” He peered at the piece of paper in his paw. “Ten pounds and seventy pence for a bombe surprise!”
“That’s all part of the surprise,” replied the waiter nastily.
“Well, I’ve got one for you,” said Paddington. “I’ve only got twenty pence!”
Paddington felt most upset about the whole affair, especially as he hadn’t intended eating in the first place. Apart from putting his signature on the bill as he’d been asked, he’d even added his special paw print to show it was genuine, and he looked very relieved when he caught sight of the Browns heading in his direction.
Since he’d arrived, a great change had come over the restaurant and it was now full almost to overflowing. The Browns had to weave a tortuous path in and out of the other diners and before they were able to reach Paddington’s table, they found their way barred by the manager.
“Does this young gentleman belong to you?” he asked, pointing in Paddington’s direction.
“Er… why do you ask?” queried Mr Brown, playing for time.
“Henry!” exclaimed Mrs Brown.”How could you?”
“I’ve never seen you before either, Mr Brown,” called Paddington, entering into the spirit of things.
Mr Brown heaved a deep sigh as he reached for his wallet. “Since you ask,” he said, “I’m afraid he does.”
“Afraid?” The manager stared at the Browns. “Did you say afraid?” He waved an all-embracing hand round the restaurant. “Why, this is the best thing that’s happened to us since we opened. That young bear’s attracted so many new customers we don’t know whether we’re coming or going. There’s certainly no charge.”
He turned back to Paddington. “I wish we could have you sitting in the window every day of the week. You may not be a Duncan Hyde, but you’re certainly worth your weight in Lobster Souffle…”
The manager broke off and looked at Paddington with concern. For some reason or other, his words seemed to be having a strange effect.
“Are you all right, sir?” he asked. “Your whiskers seem to have gone a very funny colour. Let me help you up. Perhaps you’d like to try some of our bean-fresh coffee with cream.”
Paddington gave another groan. If he’d had to make a list of his needs at that moment, getting up would have figured very low while food and drink would have been lucky to get a mention at all.
Dropping his guidebook, he sank back into the chair and felt for the buttons on his jacket. “I’d rather not do any more testing today, thank you very much,” he gasped.
Apart from all his other troubles, Paddington had noticed a rather ominous tearing sound whenever he moved, and although he’d minded his ‘peas’ during lunch he had a feeling that both Mr Stanley and ‘Thimbles’ Martin were in for a busy afternoon dealing with his q’s.
All the same, he had to admit he’d never had quite such a meal in his life before.
“I think,” he announced, “that if I was a food tester, I would award Heather’s one of my uncle’s hats!”
Mr Brown smacked his lips in anticipation. “It must be good then,” he said, reaching for the menu. “I shall enjoy my lunch.
“After all,” he continued, amid general agreement, “one of Paddington’s hats must be worth a whole wardrobeful of Duncan Hyde’s bowlers any day of the week!”
MR BROWN HUNG his dressing gown on the bedroom door and then sat on the bed rubbing his eyes.”Three times I’ve been down to the front door,” he grumbled, “and all the time it was Paddington banging about in his room!”
“I expect he’s practising his dancing,” said Mrs Brown sleepily. “
He said he was having trouble with his turns last night.”
“Well, I’m having trouble with my sleep this morning,” said Mr Brown crossly. “I’ve put my foot down.”
“I can see you have,” replied Mrs Brown, eyeing her husband’s slippers as he took them off. “Right in the middle of Paddington’s rosin! I think you’d better scrape it off. He’ll be most upset if there’s any missing. He bought it specially to stop his paws slipping on the linoleum. He had several nasty falls yesterday.”
Mr Brown looked at his soles in disgust. “Only a bear,” he said bitterly, “would want to do the tango at half past six on a Saturday morning. I only hope they don’t have a bear’s ‘excuse me’ at the ball tonight. Anyone who lands Paddington as a partner is in for a pretty rough time.”
“Perhaps he’ll have improved by then,” said Mrs Brown hopefully. “It can’t be easy rehearsing with a bolster.”
Mrs Brown turned over and closed her eyes, though more in an effort to blot out the mental picture of events to come than with any hope of going back to sleep. For although one half of her was looking forward to Mrs Smith-Cholmley’s ball that evening, the other half was beginning to have grave doubts about the matter, and recent events only served to tip the scales still further on the side of the doubts.
But daylight lends enchantment to the gloomiest of views and some, at least, of Mrs Brown’s worst fears were relieved when Paddington arrived downstairs a little later that morning looking unusually spick-and-span despite his disturbed night.
“I must say you look very smart,” she remarked, amid murmurs of approval from the others. “There can’t be many bears who sit down to breakfast in evening dress.”
“There’ll be one less,” said Mrs Bird, striking a warning note, “if certain of them get any marmalade down their front!”
Mrs Bird had suffered from ‘bumps in the night’ as well, and with Christmas looming large on the horizon, she didn’t want her kitchen turned into a bear’s ballroom.
Paddington considered the matter for a moment while he tackled his bacon and egg. He was the sort of bear who believed in getting value for money, and having heard how much Mr Brown was paying for the hire of his suit, he wanted to make the most of it. All the same, if the Browns were having second thoughts on the subject of dancing, he had to admit that he was having third and even fourth ones himself.