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“Gosh!” exclaimed Jonathan suddenly. He pointed towards the orchestra. “There’s Paddington’s onion!”
The Browns turned and looked at the orchestra. The saxophone player seemed to be having an argument with the conductor.
“How can I be expected to play properly,” he said bitterly, “when I’ve got an onion in my instrument? And I’ve a good idea where it came from too!”
The conductor followed his gaze towards the Browns, who hurriedly looked the other way.
“For heaven’s sake don’t tell Paddington,” said Mrs Brown. “He’ll only want it back.”
“Never mind,” said Mr Gruber, as the door leading to the kitchen opened. “I think my omelette’s just coming.”
The Browns watched as a waiter entered bearing a silver dish which he placed on a small spirit stove near their table. Mr Gruber had ordered an omelette flambée, which meant it was set on fire just before it was served. “I don’t know when I had one of those last,” he said. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“I must say it looks very nice,” said Mr Brown, twirling his moustache thoughtfully. “I rather wish I’d ordered one myself now.
“Come along, Paddington,” he called, as the waiter set light to the pan. “Come and see Mr Gruber’s omelette. It’s on fire.”
“What!” cried Paddington, poking his head out from beneath the table. “Mr Gruber’s omelette’s on fire?”
He stared in astonishment at the waiter as he bore the silver tray with its flaming omelette towards the table.
“It’s all right, Mr Gruber,” he called, waving his paws in the air. “I’m coming!”
Before the Browns could stop him, Paddington had grabbed his paw bowl and had thrown the contents over the tray. There was a loud hissing noise and before the astonished gaze of the waiter Mr Gruber’s omelette slowly collapsed into a soggy mess in the bottom of the dish.
Several people near the Browns applauded. “What an unusual idea,” said one of them. “Having the cabaret act sit at one of the tables just like anyone else.”
One old gentleman in particular who was sitting by himself at the next table laughed no end. He had been watching Paddington intently for some time and now he began slapping his knee at each new happening.
“Crikey!” said Jonathan. “We’re for it now.” He pointed towards a party of very important-looking people, led by the head waiter, who were approaching the Browns’ table.
They stopped a few feet away and the head waiter pointed at Paddington. “That’s the one,” he said. “The one with the whiskers!”
The most important-looking man stepped forward. “I’m the manager,” he announced. “And I’m afraid I must ask you to leave. Throwing water over a waiter. Putting onions in a saxophone. Ordering marmalade sandwiches. You’ll get the Porchester a bad name.”
Mr and Mrs Brown exchanged glances. “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” said Mrs Bird. “If that bear goes we all go.”
“Hear! Hear!” echoed Mr Gruber.
“And if you go I shall go too,” came a loud voice from the next table.
Everyone looked round as the old gentleman who had been watching the proceedings rose and waved a finger at the manager. “May I ask why this young bear’s being asked to leave?” he boomed.
The manager began to look even more worried, for the old gentleman was one of his best customers and he didn’t want to offend him. “It annoys the other diners,” he said.
“Nonsense!” boomed the old gentleman. “I’m one of the other diners and I’m not annoyed. Best thing that’s happened in years. Don’t know when I’ve enjoyed myself so much.” He looked down at Paddington. “I should like to shake you by the paw, bear. It’s about time this place was livened up a bit.”
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington, holding out his paw. He was a bit overawed by the old gentleman and he wasn’t at all sure what it was all about anyway.
The old gentleman waved the waiters and the manager to one side and then turned to Mr Brown. “I’d better introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Sir Huntley Martin, the marmalade king.
“I’ve been in marmalade for fifty years,” he boomed, “and been comin’ here for thirty. Never heard anyone ask for a marmalade sandwich before. Does me old heart good.”
Paddington looked most impressed. “Fancy being in marmalade for fifty years!” he exclaimed.
“I hope you’ll allow me to join you,” said Sir Huntley. “I’ve done a good many things in my life but I don’t think I’ve ever been to a bear’s birthday party before.”
The old gentleman’s presence seemed to have a magical effect on the manager of the Porchester, for he had a hurried conference with the head waiter and in no time at all a procession started from the kitchen headed by a waiter bearing a silver tray on which was another omelette for Mr Gruber.
Even the head waiter allowed himself a smile and he gave Paddington a special autographed menu to take away as a souvenir and promised that in future there would always be a special section for marmalade sandwiches.
It was a hilarious party of Browns who finally got up to go. Paddington was so full of good things he had a job to get up at all. He had a last lingering look at the remains of an ice-cream on his plate but decided that enough was as good as a feast. He’d enjoyed himself no end and after a great deal of thought he left a penny under his plate for the waiter.
Sir Huntley Martin seemed very sad that it had all come to an end. “Most enjoyable,” he kept booming as they left the table. “Most enjoyable. Perhaps,” he added hopefully to Paddington, “you’ll do me the honour of visiting my factory one of these days.”
“Oh, yes, please,” said Paddington. “I should like that very much.”
As they left the restaurant he waved goodbye with his paw to all the other diners, several of whom applauded when the orchestra struck up ‘Happy Birthday to You’.
Only Mrs Bird seemed less surprised than the others, for she had seen Sir Huntley slip something in the conductor’s hand.
It had become really dark outside while they had been eating their dinner and all the lights in the street were on. After they had said goodbye to Sir Huntley, and because it was a special occasion, Mr Brown drove round Piccadilly Circus so that Paddington could see all the coloured signs working.
Paddington peered out of the car window and his eyes grew larger and larger at the sight of all the red, green and blue lights flashing on and off and making patterns in the sky.
“Have you enjoyed yourself, Paddington?” asked Mr Brown as they went round for the second time.
“Yes, thank you very much, Mr Brown,” exclaimed Paddington.
Altogether Paddington thought it had been a wonderful day and he was looking forward to writing a letter to his Aunt Lucy telling her everything about it.
After giving a final wave of his paw to some passers-by, he raised his hat to a policeman who signalled them on, and then settled back in his seat to enjoy the journey home with Mr Gruber and the Browns.
“I think,” he announced sleepily, as he gave one final stare at the fast-disappearing lights, “I would like to have an anniversary every year!”
“And so say all of us, Mr Brown,” echoed Mr Gruber from the back of the car. “And so say all of us!”
Contents
Title Page (#u4a25368c-4bf2-5a8b-ac95-67e8377afb25)
Chapter 1 (#u179703be-184b-56d9-9431-0a6f3cb39ad8)
Chapter 2 (#u5d1085ba-9751-569b-b099-eb5bb65d87fe)
Chapter 3 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
(#ulink_341d0166-68e1-5367-9355-5572ebfd1164)
Paddington was in a mess. As he was the sort of bear who often got himself into trouble he wasn’t really surprised – but as he stood up and looked round his bedroom even he had to admit that it was worse than usual.
There were maps and pieces of paper everywhere, not to mention several nasty-looking marmalade stains and a long trail of paw prints. The paw prints started on a map which was spread across the eiderdown on his bed. It was a large map of London and in the middle, by the first paw mark, there was a circle which marked the position of the Browns’ house at number thirty-two Windsor Gardens.
The trail led from the Browns’ house across the map in a southerly direction, over the end of the bed and on to another map which lay on the floor at the foot. From there it carried on, still going south, until it reached the English Channel, and yet a third map by the window which showed the north coast of France. There the trail ended in a soggy mess made up of old cake crumbs, a small pile of marmalade and a blob of red ink.
Paddington gave a deep sigh as he dipped his paw absentmindedly into the concoction. He tried kneeling on the floor and peering at his room through half-closed eyes, but if anything, the mess looked even worse because from so low down all he could see were the bumps and ridges.
Just as he was about to lie back and consider the matter he was suddenly brought back to life by the sound of clinking plates and footsteps on the stairs.
Jumping up with a guilty expression on his face, Paddington hurriedly began sweeping everything under the bed. Although he had some very good explanations for the mess he was in he felt sure neither Mrs Brown nor Mrs Bird would be very keen on hearing them – especially at breakfast time when everyone was usually in a great hurry.
“Are you awake, Paddington?” called Mrs Brown as she knocked on the door.
“No – not yet, Mrs Brown,” cried Paddington in a muffled voice, as he tried to push his marmalade jar under the wardrobe. “I think my lids are stuck.”
Being a truthful bear at heart, Paddington closed his eyelids and snored several times while he gathered up the rest of his belongings. Feeling around for the pen and ink, he hastily put them into his old hat which he pulled down over his head, and then, gathering up the last of the maps, he groped his way across the room.
“Whatever’s going on, Paddington?” exclaimed Mrs Brown, as the door suddenly opened and Paddington appeared.
Paddington nearly fell over backwards with surprise when he saw Mrs Brown standing there with his breakfast tray.
“I thought you were a cupboard, Mrs Brown,” he exclaimed, as he hurriedly put a pawful of maps behind him and backed towards the bed. “I must have gone the wrong way by mistake.”
“I should think you did,” said Mrs Brown as she followed him into the room. “I’ve never heard so much banging and crashing.”
Mrs Brown looked suspiciously round the room but everything appeared to be in its place so she turned her attention back to Paddington who was now sitting up in bed with a very odd expression on his face.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked anxiously, as she placed the tray in front of him. For one nasty moment Mrs Brown thought she saw a trickle of red running down Paddington’s left ear, but before she could look into the matter he had pulled his old hat even further down over his head. All the same she didn’t like the look of it at all, and she hesitated at the door in case something was wrong.
Paddington, in his turn, rather wished Mrs Brown would hurry up and go. In his haste to clear up the mess he had forgotten to put the stopper back on the bottle of ink and the top of his head was beginning to feel quite soggy.
Mrs Brown sighed as she closed the door. She knew from past experience that it was hopeless trying to get an explanation out of Paddington when he was in one of his difficult moods.
“If you ask me,” said Mrs Bird, when Mrs Brown joined her in the kitchen and told her all about Paddington’s strange behaviour, “that young bear isn’t the only one in this house who’s acting in a funny manner. It’s all to do with you know what!”
With that Mrs Brown had to agree. Things had been very much upside down in the Brown household ever since the previous evening.
It had all started when Mr Brown arrived home carrying a large pile of maps and brightly coloured pamphlets and announced that he was taking them to France for their summer holiday.
In a matter of moments the normal peace and quiet of number thirty-two Windsor Gardens had disappeared completely, never to return.
The holiday had been the one topic of conversation from dinner time until last thing at night. Old beach balls and bathing-costumes had been searched for in disused cupboards, plans had been discussed, and Mrs Bird had already begun washing and ironing a small mountain of clothes ready for the big day.
Paddington in particular had been most excited at the news. Since he had been a member of the Brown family they had taken him on a number of day trips which he had enjoyed no end, but he had never before been away for a real holiday and he was looking forward to it. To add to his excitement Mr Brown, in a generous moment, had put him in charge of all the maps and a thing called an itinerary.
At first Paddington hadn’t been at all sure about being in charge of anything which sounded so important as an itinerary, but after Judy had explained to him that it was simply a list of all the places they would visit and the things they would do he had quickly changed his mind. Paddington was keen on lists and a ‘doings list’ sounded most interesting.
“Mind you,” said Mrs Bird darkly, as she discussed the matter with Mrs Brown over the washing-up, “if that young bear’s going to be in charge of the maps we shall need all of a fortnight. It’s asking for trouble. There’s no knowing where we might end up.”
Mrs Brown sighed again. “Oh, well,” she said, turning her attention to other things, “at least it keeps him happy. You know how keen he is on writing things.”
“H’mm!” said Mrs Bird. “It’ll be all over the sheets if I know anything. Itineraries indeed!”
She snorted and cast a dark glance up at the ceiling in the direction of Paddington’s room on the second floor.
Mrs Bird knew from past experience and much washing of sheets that ink and Paddington were two things best kept apart. But as it happened for once she needn’t have worried for Paddington had just that moment stopped writing. In fact he was sitting up in bed carefully studying a large sheet of drawing-paper which he held in his paws.
At the top of the paper in big, red capital letters was the heading:
EYETINNERY BY PADINGTUN
followed by his special paw mark to show that it was genuine.
Paddington wasn’t quite sure about the spelling of itinerary, but though he had looked through all the ‘E’s in Mr Brown’s dictionary the night before he hadn’t been able to find it anywhere. On the whole, Paddington wasn’t surprised. He didn’t think much of dictionaries and he often found that when he wanted to look up a particularly difficult word it was nowhere to be found.
The first item on the list was:
7 oh clock – Large Breckfast
and then came
8 oh clock – Leave Home (32 Windsor Gardens)
9 oh clock – Snak
11 oh clock – Elevenses
Paddington read through the list several more times and then, after adding the words 12 oh clock – arrive at Airplane – Lunch, he folded the paper and packed it away in the secret compartment of his suitcase. Planning a holiday – especially a holiday abroad – was much more complicated than he had imagined, and he decided the only thing to do was to consult his friend Mr Gruber on the subject.
A few minutes later, after a quick wash, he hurried downstairs, collected the shopping list from Mrs Bird and his basket on wheels, and disappeared out of the house with a purposeful gleam in his eyes.
Pausing only to call in at the baker’s, where he had a standing order for freshly baked buns, Paddington soon rounded the corner into the Portobello Road and made his way in the direction of Mr Gruber’s shop with its familiar windows bursting at the seams with antiques of every shape and size.
Mr Gruber shared Paddington’s liking for cocoa and buns, and they often had long chats together over their elevenses. He had travelled a great deal in his younger days and Paddington felt sure he would know all there was to know about holidays abroad.
Mr Gruber was as excited as Paddington when he heard the news and he quickly led the way to the horsehair sofa at the back of the shop which he reserved for all their important discussions.
“What a nice surprise, Mr Brown,” he said, as he busied himself at the stove with a saucepan of milk. “I don’t suppose there are many bears able to take their holidays abroad, so you must make the most of it. If there’s anything I can do to help, you must let me know.”
Mr Gruber listened carefully to all Paddington’s explanations while he made the cocoa and his face took on a serious expression.
