Monsieur Pamplemousse Aloft by Michael Bond

could now see why so many postcards on sale in the local shops were shots taken from the air. Seen from ground level much of the countryside was flat and uninteresting; from some three or four hundred metres up, the Golfe du Morbihan was a wonderful series of creeks and inlets and the land behind it a maze-like pattern of fields and stone walls. With a bit of luck he would have enough pictures to warrant a whole series of articles in
L’Escargot – Le Guide
’s staff magazine.
    At first Leflaix came to see him from time to time, but gradually his visits became less frequent. He seemed more interested in the stewardess, who had joined the others on the flight-deck, peering over their shoulders at the view ahead.
    Carnac appeared on the starboard side, coinciding with a break in the clouds. The sudden burst of sunshine made the rows of menhirs look like lines of Roman soldiers forming up to do battle. As they flew over, the shadow cast by the airshipseemed strange, almost threatening.
    Having decided to save the rest of his film for the return journey, Monsieur Pamplemousse settled down at the table. Things had gone quiet in the cabin and it was time to start work.
    Feeling inside his jacket he removed a long white envelope which bore, on the back flap, an embossed reproduction of
Le Guide’
s symbol – two crossed
escargots
rampant. It contained the letter the Director had given him before he left, outlining his own plans for the inaugural flight.
    Knowing how long-winded the Director could be when he got his hands on a dictating machine, Monsieur Pamplemousse had put off reading it for as long as possible. The Director was inclined to write as he spoke; brevity was not his strong point.
    He skipped the first two pages, which were mostly a repeat of all that had been said in his office the day before. It read as though he had been interrupted in mid-sentence by the telephone, not once, but several times. It wasn’t until the middle of page three that he got to the heart of the matter.
    ‘… in short, Pamplemousse, my suggestion, and it
is
only a suggestion, but a good one, I think, nonetheless, is that we should confine ourselves to no more than six courses; simple peasant dishes of the kind one might find in any little café or bistro in the area over which the dirigible will be flying. Dishes that reveal the true glory of France – its food. If there is sufficient time, we might even produce a special souvenir
carte
on the cover of which, inscribed in gold leaf, are those very words:
Les Six Gloires de la France.
Underneath one could add the symbol of
Le Guide;
two
escargots
rampant. There is no reason why we should not profit from the occasion.
    ‘Now, to start with, one might have some of those little pastry delicacies – their correct name escapes me – but they are stuffed with
foie gras
and served alongside raw oysters. The two go particularly well together, especially when accompanied by a glass of very cold Château d’Yquem – Iwould suggest the ’66. You may if you wish, leave that to me. I have a particularly good source.
    ‘After that, how about some
Oeufs Pochés aux Moules
? Eggs poached in the juice in which some mussels have been cooked. I had it the other evening. The eggs and the mussels should be served with
Hollandaise
sauce. I am told that for the dish to be at its best the eggs should be as fresh as possible …’
    Suddenly aware that a gust of wind was blowing them sideways, Monsieur Pamplemousse looked out of the window. They were now flying inland. It was hard to make out where they were. He peered at the scene through his binoculars and immediately wished he hadn’t. All he could see was endless fields of artichokes. They looked rather sad, as though they, too, felt they had seen the best of the day. He wondered when the Director had last eaten in a simple Breton bistro. The menu might also account for his being on a diet; a sad state of affairs for the editor of the most prestigious