Read Monsieur Pamplemousse on Probation for Free Online

southbound
camions.
Out of respect for someone else’s new car he stayed where he was for a while before pulling out into the middle lane where he settled down to a steady 90kph. He had no wish to spend the journey stuck between lorries in the slow lane; on the other hand, neither did he want to be caught in the fast lane doing less than the statutory 80kph minimum. He checked the time with his Cupillard Rième wristwatch. All being well, he should be in Roanne just after 14.00 as instructed.
    And in Roanne it would be goodbye Twingo. Without feeling in any way disloyal, he had to admit to rather more than a passing pang of regret. When his old car finally reached retirement age the present one would be high on his list of possible replacements. Pommes Frites clearly approved of it. He was fast asleep again, a look of bliss on his face. One could wish for no better recommendation.
    The message from the Director was precise and,as was his wont, couched in terms he might well have used had he been addressing a congenital idiot: ‘Leave the car in the parking area in the Place des Promenades Populle near the
gare
. If you can find a suitable space where the rear end is facing a brick wall, so much the better. I suggest you try and find a spot near to where I am told there is the statue erected to the poor. Make sure the engine is immobilised, the doors are locked, and that you are not overlooked, then leave the keys in the exhaust pipe, making sure they are out of sight. Above all, remember,
anonymat
must be maintained at all costs.’
    Given that the note was written in Monsieur Leclercq’s own hand, he could have said it all in his office, or even over the phone the night before. Perhaps Doucette was right. It bore all the hallmarks of hasty planning. He wondered what would have happened had he still been in Boulogne. And why so much cloak and dagger stuff about the simple act of delivering a new car?
    Monsieur Pamplemousse tried to shrug the whole thing off, but he was conscious of a growing sense of unease the further south he went.
    Perhaps it was the thought of going back to the scene of his childhood; something he’d always avoided doing. Life had been hard when he was a boy and part of him had no wish to return. It wasno wonder mass emigration to Paris had helped the capital earn its reputation for being the Auvergne’s largest city.
    That apart, there had been the war. It was impossible to explain to anyone who hadn’t experienced it what it had been like; it had brought out the best and the worst in people, but after a fashion life had gone on. Most people had no wish to be heroes or to try and change the course of history. They were content to let things take their course, and who could blame them?
    Another thing about the present situation. It was
Le Guide’s
policy not to have their Inspectors report on establishments too close to their home territory in case they were recognised. Not many people connected his present job with the years he had spent in the
Sûreté
, but there was always the risk. The last time he had been within a hundred kilometres of the area was when he’d spend a few days in Vichy with the American, Mrs Van Dorman. That, too, had been at the behest of the Director and look how it had ended up. She’d been lucky to escape the electric chair.
    Not that many people would remember him, of course. He’d been away too long.
    Soon after entering the Soanne Valley, Mâcon came into view, the flat pink-tiled roofs of the houses marking the transition between north and south.Then a series of
panneaux marrons
in between trees thick with mistletoe, displayed signs welcoming visitors to Beaujolais, its
monts
and its
vignobles
, and his mood began to oscillate again as memories of happier times came flooding back.
    There had been good things, too. Nature compensated for its shortcomings in other directions. Spring was always late arriving, but when it did there were wild daffodils in profusion,