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Authors: Michael Bond
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who was winning. Short, fat, her immaculately coiffeured head barely reached above the counter, but what she lacked in height she made up for in volume.
‘Doesn’t anyone here speak plain English?’ she demanded. ‘I want you to know I’m having it removed. You know why? It’s going to be exhibit ‘A’ in the lawsuit I’m bringing just as soon as Melvin and I get back home.’
The thought of having whatever it was removed brought a fresh murmur of protest.
‘Forget it. I got pictures. Just you wait until you get the bill from Melv’s orthodontist!
And
I’m taking you to the cleaners for stress, loss of dignity, loss of amenities through having to cut short ourholiday … you name it. And that’s without the phone bill. You won’t know what hit you …’ A peremptory call for the bell captain brought the diatribe to an end as she ran out of fingers.
An almost audible sigh of relief went up round the room. Two anonymous men in dark overcoats – local bankers or businessmen by the look of them; they might even have been tax collectors – rose to their feet and eyed Monsieur Pamplemousse as he went past, hastily circumnavigated a trolley piled high with Louis Vuitton luggage, then wormed his way between three police officers, two in uniform, one in plain clothes, who had been standing well clear of the argument.
Their leader, short, stocky, greying hair cut short in military fashion, was a typical detective of the old school. He looked as though he might have been about to say something, but then thought better of it when he heard Monsieur Pamplemousse checking in under the name of Blanc.
Monsieur Pamplemousse held his breath while the receptionist made an impression of his CIC credit card. It wouldn’t be an ideal moment to have her spot his deliberate mistake, but he needn’t have worried. She clearly couldn’t wait to talk to her colleagues on the other desk.
‘
Pardon, Monsieur
.’ Pressing a button to summon help, she handed back his card. ‘I will have Shinkodirect you to your room. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.’
Expecting someone of Asian extraction, a Japanese girl perhaps, since Dulac had not long ago returned from one of his Far Eastern excursions bearing a blushing bride, Monsieur Pamplemousse was taken by surprise when a tall, dark-haired girl, elegantly dressed in a black trouser-suit and bow tie, materialised by his side. She took a key from her colleague and looked at him enquiringly.
‘My valise is still in the car,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse by way of explanation, as he led the way outside. ‘Shinko? You are from Japan?’
‘No,’ said the girl. ‘Knightsbridge, actually.’
‘Ah, so you are English.’
The girl nodded as she climbed in to the passenger seat. ‘It was Mummy’s idea.’
‘Mama’s have such ideas the world over.’ Monsieur Pamplemousse started the engine and followed her directions along the ring road.
‘Shinko means “a growing girl”. It was in memory of Daddy. He fell in the Yangste soon after I was born and he was never seen again. They say he trod on a crocodile.’
Monsieur Pamplemousse gave the girl a sideways glance. It was hard to tell if she was being serious or not. That was the trouble with the English. They treated everything as though it were some kind ofjoke. Did they have crocodiles in the Yangste? He decided to drop the subject.
‘So what was all the trouble about? And what is being removed as exhibit “A”?’
‘There’s been a nasty ax in the gym.’
‘An ax in the gym.
Qu’est-ce que c’est
?’
‘Sorry. An accident in the Physical Tuning Centre. There was a spot of bother with one of the velos – the cycling machines. She’ll have a job taking it away. It’s bolted to the concrete.’
‘And that brought the police in?’
‘It isn’t the first time the jinx has struck. Except it isn’t a jinx. Jinxes don’t saw through …’ She seemed only too eager to discuss the matter. ‘I’m sorry, I
‘Doesn’t anyone here speak plain English?’ she demanded. ‘I want you to know I’m having it removed. You know why? It’s going to be exhibit ‘A’ in the lawsuit I’m bringing just as soon as Melvin and I get back home.’
The thought of having whatever it was removed brought a fresh murmur of protest.
‘Forget it. I got pictures. Just you wait until you get the bill from Melv’s orthodontist!
And
I’m taking you to the cleaners for stress, loss of dignity, loss of amenities through having to cut short ourholiday … you name it. And that’s without the phone bill. You won’t know what hit you …’ A peremptory call for the bell captain brought the diatribe to an end as she ran out of fingers.
An almost audible sigh of relief went up round the room. Two anonymous men in dark overcoats – local bankers or businessmen by the look of them; they might even have been tax collectors – rose to their feet and eyed Monsieur Pamplemousse as he went past, hastily circumnavigated a trolley piled high with Louis Vuitton luggage, then wormed his way between three police officers, two in uniform, one in plain clothes, who had been standing well clear of the argument.
Their leader, short, stocky, greying hair cut short in military fashion, was a typical detective of the old school. He looked as though he might have been about to say something, but then thought better of it when he heard Monsieur Pamplemousse checking in under the name of Blanc.
Monsieur Pamplemousse held his breath while the receptionist made an impression of his CIC credit card. It wouldn’t be an ideal moment to have her spot his deliberate mistake, but he needn’t have worried. She clearly couldn’t wait to talk to her colleagues on the other desk.
‘
Pardon, Monsieur
.’ Pressing a button to summon help, she handed back his card. ‘I will have Shinkodirect you to your room. I hope you enjoy your stay with us.’
Expecting someone of Asian extraction, a Japanese girl perhaps, since Dulac had not long ago returned from one of his Far Eastern excursions bearing a blushing bride, Monsieur Pamplemousse was taken by surprise when a tall, dark-haired girl, elegantly dressed in a black trouser-suit and bow tie, materialised by his side. She took a key from her colleague and looked at him enquiringly.
‘My valise is still in the car,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse by way of explanation, as he led the way outside. ‘Shinko? You are from Japan?’
‘No,’ said the girl. ‘Knightsbridge, actually.’
‘Ah, so you are English.’
The girl nodded as she climbed in to the passenger seat. ‘It was Mummy’s idea.’
‘Mama’s have such ideas the world over.’ Monsieur Pamplemousse started the engine and followed her directions along the ring road.
‘Shinko means “a growing girl”. It was in memory of Daddy. He fell in the Yangste soon after I was born and he was never seen again. They say he trod on a crocodile.’
Monsieur Pamplemousse gave the girl a sideways glance. It was hard to tell if she was being serious or not. That was the trouble with the English. They treated everything as though it were some kind ofjoke. Did they have crocodiles in the Yangste? He decided to drop the subject.
‘So what was all the trouble about? And what is being removed as exhibit “A”?’
‘There’s been a nasty ax in the gym.’
‘An ax in the gym.
Qu’est-ce que c’est
?’
‘Sorry. An accident in the Physical Tuning Centre. There was a spot of bother with one of the velos – the cycling machines. She’ll have a job taking it away. It’s bolted to the concrete.’
‘And that brought the police in?’
‘It isn’t the first time the jinx has struck. Except it isn’t a jinx. Jinxes don’t saw through …’ She seemed only too eager to discuss the matter. ‘I’m sorry, I
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