Paddington Complete Novels

by Michael Bond

  “One pound an hour!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “But your card said you pay top rates.”

  “That,” said Mr Marsh, drawing himself up to his full height, “is for professional models. We don’t give it to every Tom, Dick or bear who happens to drop in on the offchance. Anyway,” he added, “if you come every day for a week until the pictures are finished it’ll soon add up.”

  “Every day for a week!” Paddington stared at Romney Marsh as if he could hardly believe his eyes let alone his ears. It had been a bad enough experience until then, but the thought of it carrying on for another four days was hard to contemplate, and he decided to take matters into his own paws without further ado.

  But as he tried to bend down to pick up his bag Paddington made yet another discovery. Standing for a long time was one thing; trying to move off again afterwards was another matter again. What with the cold of the studio and the lack of circulation, his legs positively refused to co-operate. As he began to topple he clutched wildly at the nearest available object, and for a second or two it held him. Then it began to slide and a moment later everything in the room seemed to turn upside down and round about as he fell to the floor, with first the bowl of fruit, then the table on top of him.

  For a while Paddington lay where he was with his eyes tightly shut, hardly daring to breathe, and then gradually he became aware of voices as everybody crowded round to give assistance.

  “Perhaps you’d better give him the kiss of life?” suggested one of the students.

  Mr Marsh eyed the recumbent form distastefully as he removed the table. Although Paddington had managed to wipe most of the marmalade from his whiskers, there were still a few traces, and these had now been added to by a number of squashed grapes and the remains of a pear.

  “I’m afraid I’m not very good at first aid,” he said hastily. “I think perhaps I’d better have some volunteers.

  “All right,” he said crossly, when no one moved. “One volunteer. Surely there’s someone who knows about these things.”

  But Romney Marsh needn’t have bothered. Paddington wiggled himself several times to make sure he was still working, and having decided he was in one piece after all, he jumped to his feet and made off down the stairs as fast as he could go.

  His legs might not have been in peak condition, but they were still capable of a good turn of speed, and they didn’t stop until he arrived outside Mr Gruber’s and there they propelled him, still panting, on to the horsehair sofa inside the shop.

  If Mr Gruber was surprised by the sudden arrival of his friend he showed no sign, and while Paddington got his breath back and began relating the story of the morning’s events, he busied himself on the small stove he kept at the back of the shop, making the cocoa for their elevenses.

  “I daresay you could do with this, Mr Brown,” he said a bit later, when he arrived carrying two steaming mugs and set them down on the table in front of the sofa. “I know Mr Marsh’s studio of old and it’s one of the coldest spots in the Portobello Road.

  “I must say,” he continued, as he sat down alongside his friend, “making both ends meet can be a bit of a problem at times — especially if you don’t get your sums right.”

  “Oh, I’m always very careful with my accounts, Mr Gruber,” said Paddington. “I do them every night before I go to bed.”

  “I daresay,” said Mr Gruber, “and I’m sure you’re very good at it, Mr Brown. But then, it’s like saying ‘how long is a piece of string?’ or ‘what do two and two make?’. The answer is ‘it all depends’. You can prove almost anything by mathematics.”

  Mr Gruber stirred his cocoa thoughtfully. “Your story reminds me of an old music-hall joke in which it’s proved that a man can work for three hundred and sixty-five days in a year and yet, with holidays and weekends, work no time at all. It’s so long ago since I saw it I’ve forgotten the details, but in much the same way I could prove to you that you are actually better off now by three pounds ninety-nine pence than when you set out this morning.

  “The fact is, Mr Brown,” he continued, “if you had worked as a model at Mr Marsh’s studio for an hour a day at one pound an hour, in one week you would have earned five pounds, but you didn’t, so you are five pounds worse off, right?”

  Paddington nodded his agreement from behind a cloud of cocoa steam.

  “On the other hand, if you had sent Mr Brown his telegram it would have cost you eight pounds ninety-nine pence, but you didn’t, so you are eight pounds ninety-nine pence better off, right?”

  Paddington thought the matter over and then nodded his agreement yet again.

  “In that case,” said Mr Gruber, “even if you take away the five pounds you are still three pounds ninety-nine pence better off.” He reached over and held up a bun to Paddington with one hand while tapping his open duffle coat pocket with the other. “To prove I’m right, Mr Brown,” he said with a twinkle in his eye, “try feeling in there.”

  Paddington did as his friend suggested and then nearly dropped his cocoa with astonishment as his paw touched some coins. They certainly hadn’t been there that morning, and yet when he took them out and counted them they came to exactly three pounds ninety-nine pence. It was all most mysterious.

  Mr Gruber chuckled when he saw the look on Paddington’s face. “Sometimes mathematics has to do with conjuring as well,” he said.

  “Perhaps I could send Mr Brown a very short telegram?” exclaimed Paddington excitedly.

  Mr Gruber shook his head. “If I were you I would keep it, Mr Brown,” he said. “Besides, I have a much better idea. One which I’m sure will be appreciated even more. It has to do with something I came across years ago when I was in America, and if you like I will tell you all about it. “

  “Cats!” exclaimed Mr Brown bitterly. “Why is it they always wait until you’re fast asleep before they make a din?” He switched on the bedside light and focused his eyes on the alarm clock. “One minute past twelve! Anyone would think they’ve been waiting for midnight. Right outside our front door, too!”

  Mrs Brown sat up rubbing her eyes. “Where are you going, Henry?” she called.

  Mr Brown paused at the bedroom door. “To fetch a jug of cold water,” he said grimly. “It happens to be my birthday today and I want to make the most of it.”

  “Just listen!” he exclaimed, as he came back into the room. “Have you ever heard anything like it?”

  Mrs Brown hesitated. Now that it had been mentioned there was something vaguely familiar about the noise outside. It had a kind of rhythm to it, a beginning and an end, which reminded her of something.

  “Careful, Henry,” she called, as Mr Brown started to open the window. “I don’t think that’s a cat. I think it’s someone singing.”

  “Singing?” echoed Mr Brown. “Singing? I’ll give them singing if I catch them. Don’t tell me it’s carol singers already. I know they get earlier and earlier each year, but this is ridiculous.”

  Mrs Brown gave a sigh as her husband’s voice disappeared down the stairs. Then she got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and joined the rest of the family on the landing as they too appeared, wakened by all the noise.

  Paddington looked most upset when Mr Brown flung open the front door and he heard what he’d been mistaken for.

  “I’m not a cat, Mr Brown,” he exclaimed. “I’m a singing telegram boy. They used to have them in America and they kept them for very special occasions.”

  And to show what he meant he launched into yet another verse of ‘Happy Birthday’.

  Mr Brown went quite pink about the ears. “Er … yes, well … thank you very much, Paddington,” he said. “It’s very kind of you, I’m sure. Most unusual.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t really my idea,” admitted Paddington. “It was Mr Gruber’s. He told me all about it.”

  “Mr Gruber’s idea it may have been,” said Mrs Bird briskly, as she took charge of the situation. “But I doubt very much if he intended you delivering your telegram toni
ght, so upstairs with you. It’s time certain bears were tucked up in bed. And that goes for the rest of us, too.”

  “Er … before you go,” Mr Brown called after the retreating figure of Paddington, “you might like to know I’ve decided to put you on my birthday honours list.”

  Paddington peered down at the others over the top of the banisters. “Your birthday honours list, Mr Brown?” he exclaimed in surprise. “I thought only the Queen had those.”

  “Well, I’m having one this year,” said Mr Brown grandly. “I’ve decided to give you a rise in your pocket money. I’m told you haven’t had one since you came, so there’s a lot to be made up. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  “Henry!” said Mrs Brown some while later, as a very excited Paddington at last made his way up to bed. “How awful! Fancy us forgetting a thing like that. What ever made you think of it?”

  “A little bird told me,” said Mr Brown vaguely.

  “A little bird?” chorused Jonathan and Judy.

  “Well, maybe it’s not so little,” admitted Mr Brown. “It’s called the Gruber bird. Wise as an owl, knowledgeable as a Secretary bird, and very good on the telephone. He rang me earlier this evening and mentioned it to me. Very politely, of course, and full of apologies. But he’s absolutely right.”

  He glanced up the stairs, but Paddington had already disappeared from view in the direction of his room. He had a lot on his mind and he wanted to write it all down in his scrapbook before it disappeared. As for his rise; that demanded a very special postcard indeed to his Aunt Lucy in Peru — one of the giant ones from the stationer’s in the market.

  “I still can’t think how it ever came about,” said Mrs Brown.

  “Perhaps,” said Mrs Bird, as she joined the others at the foot of the stairs, “it’s because we often take for granted the things that mean the most to us.

  “Something we should never, ever do,” she added, amid general agreement, “especially when it comes to bears.”

  On the morning of Mr Brown’s birthday Paddington overslept, which was most unusual. When he did finally emerge from his slumbers it was to the sound of a strange knocking noise. At first he thought it was to do with a dream he’d been having; all about a woodpecker which had accidentally got trapped inside his hat. But his hat was still lying on the dressing table where he’d left it the night before, and when he felt his head it didn’t show any signs of having been pecked.

  In any case, having rubbed his eyes several times to make doubly sure he was properly awake, he discovered the noise hadn’t stopped. If anything it seemed to be getting worse, and it appeared to be coming from somewhere outside.

  Paddington hurried to his bedroom window and peered out. As he did so he nearly fell over backwards with surprise, for while he’d been asleep a strange-looking wooden hut had appeared in the garden. It was standing in the middle of the snow-covered cabbage patch, and as far as he could make out it had no windows at all, although it made up for this by having a short chimney, out of which rose a thin column of steam.

  The noise was being caused by two workmen who were busy putting some finishing touches to the flat roof, and as one of them paused in order to rest from his hammering he looked up and caught sight of Paddington.

  “You wait till this ’eats up properly, mate,” he called. “It’ll take the cobwebs out of your whiskers and no mistake.”

  Paddington had never heard of a hut for removing cobwebs before, so he put on his duffle coat and after a quick look at his own whiskers in the bathroom mirror, hurried downstairs in order to tell the others.

  Mrs Brown and Mrs Bird exchanged uneasy glances as he burst into the dining-room. Knowing how keen Paddington was on trying things out, they had been hoping to keep the whole matter a secret until the last possible moment.

  “It’s Daddy’s birthday present,” explained Judy. “It’s what’s known as a sauna.”

  “It’s meant to be a surprise,” added Jonathan. “That’s why the workmen are in such a hurry. We want to get it ready and working by the time he gets home.”

  Paddington listened carefully while the others explained all about saunas and how they worked.

  “You see,” said Judy, “you have lots of large stones which you stand on a special place inside the hut. You heat them up and then pour cold water over them and it turns into steam. It’s supposed to be very good for you. It opens up all the pores.”

  “In some parts of the world they even beat you with birch twigs afterwards,” added Jonathan. “It gives you a nice glow. Dad keeps on about wanting to lose weight — that’s why we’ve bought it for him.”

  Paddington considered the matter for a moment. He’d never heard of anyone having stones as a birthday present before, and although he was quite sure Mr Brown would be surprised by it all, being soaked in steam and then beaten by birch twigs didn’t seem a very good way of celebrating the occasion.

  All the same, it definitely sounded worth investigating, even if he didn’t actually test it out.

  “Perhaps,” he announced, “I’ll just have a look through the keyhole, otherwise my whiskers might go soggy.”

  “Very wise,” said Mrs Bird. “Not that a sauna mightn’t do certain of those amongst us some good,” she added meaningly, as Paddington donned his Wellington boots. “Mr Brown isn’t the only one who could do with losing a few pounds.”

  Paddington looked most offended at this last remark, but as he hurried out into the garden he quickly forgot about it in his excitement.

  By the time he reached the hut the workmen had already left, but they had obviously got the stones in a state of readiness for Mr Brown’s homecoming. Steam was billowing out through the chimney and from odd cracks in the woodwork. In fact, the whole thing looked rather like some primitive space machine a few moments before launching.

  Paddington approached it gingerly and was about to apply his eye to a knothole which was low down in the door and looked slightly less steamy than the rest, when he heard a familiar voice bark out his name.

  He jumped to his feet and as he turned round he saw to his dismay that Mr Curry was gazing at him over the top of the fence.

  “What’s going on, bear?” demanded Mr Curry. “Was that you making all that noise just now?”

  “Oh, no, Mr Curry,” said Paddington hastily. “It woke me up. I was asleep, too.”

  “Asleep!” exclaimed Mr Curry. “I wasn’t asleep. I never sleep.” He gazed suspiciously across the fence. “What’s that monstrosity? And what’s all that smoke doing? It ought not to be allowed. I’ve a good mind to report it.”

  “Oh, that isn’t smoke, Mr Curry,” said Paddington knowledgeably. “That’s steam. It’s a special birthday surprise for Mr Brown. It’s what’s known as a sauna.”

  “A sauna, eh?” Mr Curry took a closer look at the hut.

  “It’s supposed to be very good for you,” said Paddington, warming to his subject as he went on to repeat all that he’d been told about the matter.

  “Very interesting, bear,” said Mr Curry when he’d finished. “Very interesting indeed. You say it’s all ready to use?”

  Paddington nodded. “They’ve heated the stones specially,” he explained. “And they’ve put some cold water on to make the steam. Look …” and he opened the door slightly to show the Browns’ neighbour what he meant.

  “Thank you very much, bear,” said Mr Curry unexpectedly. “That’s very kind of you. I’ve always wanted to try one. I’ll go in and change now.”

  Paddington’s jaw dropped as the Browns’ neighbour disappeared from view. He was used to Mr Curry’s habit of twisting other people’s words to suit his own ends, but never in his wildest dreams had he meant to invite him over.

  “The cheek of it!” exclaimed Mrs Bird when she heard the news. “That’s typical of Mr Curry — always poking his nose in and wanting to get something for nothing.”

  “He’ll get steam up his nose if he pokes it in there,” said Jonathan, glancing out of
the window.

  “I hope he doesn’t let it all out,” said Judy. “Daddy must be the first one to try it. After all, it’s his present.”

  A feeling of indignation ran round the Browns’ dining-room. They had gone to great lengths to keep Mr Brown’s present from him until it was ready, even to the extent of persuading him to go into work that morning instead of taking the whole day off as he usually did, and they had no wish to spoil his homecoming by indulging in an argument with Mr Curry.

  “We should have put a padlock on the door,” said Mrs Brown. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it at the time.”

  While the others were talking a thoughtful expression gradually crept over Paddington’s face. Opening up his suitcase he felt inside the secret compartment and withdrew a small parcel done up in brightly-coloured wrapping paper.

  “Perhaps,” he announced, “you could use my present to Mr Brown?” And to everyone’s astonishment he unwrapped the paper and held up a small silvery object.

  “I was going to send a telegram as a surprise,” he said, “but I had a bit of trouble, so I bought this instead. It was really meant for his tool shed, but I expect it will look much better on a sauna — especially a new one.”

  “Gosh!” said Jonathan enviously, as he examined Paddington’s present. “It’s a special combination lock. I bet Dad’ll be pleased.”

  “Just so long as he doesn’t forget the number,” said Mrs Brown nervously. “You know what he’s like when it comes to things like that. It would be awful if he couldn’t get the door open on the first day.”

  “It’s all right, Mrs Brown,” said Paddington. He looked round carefully to make sure no one else could overhear. “The man in the shop adjusted it specially so that it used my birthday date. He said that way we would never forget.”

  “A good idea,” said Mrs Bird approvingly. “And if you want my advice you’ll put it on the door straight away. It’ll stop Mr Curry taking advantage.”

  Paddington needed no second bidding and a few seconds later he hurried back down the garden path again as fast as his legs would carry him. There was already a hasp on the door and it was a moment’s work to push the flap home and slip the padlock into place. As he squeezed the two halves together they met with a satisfying click. He twiddled the various sets of numbers several times with his paws, just as the man in the shop had shown him, and then stood back breathing heavily, before testing it once more to make sure all was well.