Free Monsieur Pamplemousse and the French Solution by Michael Bond

certain parallels can be drawn between the picture you are holding in your hand and Michelin’s recent problem with the ex-member of staff we were talking about earlier.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse wondered if the same person could be responsible for the latest picture, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
    ‘Clearly, monsieur,’ he said, handing it back, ‘there are problems that need to be addressed.’
    Monsieur Leclercq’s face cleared. ‘I’m glad you are of like mind, Aristide. With that end in view I have engaged outside help.’
    ‘So I am given to understand,’ said Monsieur Pamplemousse warily.
    ‘Speaking personally, I was fully prepared to put your case on the back boiler for the time being, but my adviser makes the very valid point that should the picture ever be published, your own anonymity, so precious when working for Le Guide , will be blown.
    ‘In short, I fear Pommes Frites will have to go.’
    Having finally made his point, Monsieur Leclercq busied himself with some papers on his desk.
    For the second time that day, the principal subjectof his words gave vent to his feelings. Seeing the picture of the chicken portions after the prolonged absence of any kind of food whatsoever since breakfast, was bad enough. Now, having caught sight of the look on his master’s face, he simply couldn’t help himself. His long drawn-out howl captured the prevailing mood in a way that mere words could never have achieved.
    As for Monsieur Pamplemousse; he was temporarily struck dumb.
    Monsieur Leclercq was quick to take advantage of the silence. ‘It only serves to confirm the wisdom of the old adage, Aristide,’ he said gently. ‘There is no point whatsoever in buying a dog and then barking yourself.
    ‘There is nothing more to add. Pommes Frites has said it all.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse took a deep breath as he rose to leave. ‘In that case, monsieur,’ he said, enunciating his words slowly and distinctly, thus leaving no room for doubt, ‘you will have no further need of my services either. As I see things, it spells the end of the road for both of us. If monsieur would be kind enough to say when he wishes us to leave …’
    Reaching for a notepad and pen, Monsieur Leclercq scribbled a few hasty words before glancing at his watch.
    ‘I think now is as good a time as any, Pamplemousse,’ he said, handing the scrap of paper across the table. ‘Before you leave the building I suggest you clear your IN tray.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse pocketed the paper. ‘That will not be necessary monsieur,’ he said stiffly. ‘I went through it when we arrived. There is nothing outstanding.’
    ‘That being the case,’ said Monsieur Leclercq, ‘I can but wish both of you bonne journée .’

CHAPTER FOUR
    ‘Is anything the matter, Aristide?’ asked Doucette. ‘You’ve hardly touched your dinner. After all that rich food you’ve been eating over the past few weeks, I thought you might be glad of something more down to earth.’
    Monsieur Pamplemousse raised his eyes heavenwards. It was one of the hazards of his occupation. In much the same way as an author renders himself an object of deep suspicion in the eyes of the tax authorities if he enters ‘visits to the Folies – Bergère x 4’ on his tax return while researching a book on folk dancing, so the commonly perceived view of anyone working as an inspector for Le Guide was that life must be one long gastronomic holiday.
    Even one’s nearest and dearest took it for granted you were living it up all the time, completely ignoringthe simple fact that the ten thousand or so entries in Le Guide represented the cream of French cuisine. Reporting on the many others who, for one reason or another didn’t make the grade, was the downside of the job.
    Many small hotels, once the backbone of the business, had fallen on hard times. The bedrooms, with their worn-out carpets and mattresses sporting a permanent dip in the middle, remained ice-cold in winter and