Monsieur Pamplemousse Hits the Headlines by Michael Bond Page A

alone…’
    He had an inkling of what she was going to say, but it all came out in a rush.
    It never rained but what it poured. It was the third time he’d been asked to take on the case in as many hours. It seemed to him that everyone wanted to use him for their own ends.
    In the case of the journal it was a straightforward business proposition; a desire to steal a march over their rivals along with the added bonus of all the publicity that would go with it. With Monsieur Leclercq it had been the reverse; fear of publicity was undoubtedly at the bottom of it; fear of the effect it would have on Le Guide and on his personal reputation should the photographs be revealed, not to mention the fact that his life at home wouldn’t be worth living.
    Madame Chantal Leclercq had a reputation for keeping her husband on a very short lead. There had been the occasion when he had indulged in a brief dalliance with an English au pair called Elsie. She had soon put a stop to that!
    And now came the third offer. It was understandable that Claudette should want to get to the bottom of her husband’s murder, but it was early days. Perhaps she was simply clutching at straws.
    He was saved giving an immediate answer by the arrival of the first course: chicken consommé , to which some well ripened chopped tomatoes had been added at the time of clarifying. The skins must have been left on, for it was a delicate pink colour. Served cold in a cup, it was deliciously refreshing; fully worthy of a Stock Pot in Le Guide .
    ‘Superb!’ Monsieur Pamplemousse signified his approval as he dabbed at his lips with the napkin.
    ‘ Merci . Yang is an absolute marvel. He came at the same time as Yin. I call them Yin and Yang because that is the way they are. Yin, as you have seen, is dark and can be very negative at times. Yang, the chef, is bright and positive . He helps… helped my husband with his recipes for the programme.’
    Created them more like it, if this soup is anything to go by, thought Monsieur Pamplemousse. There was a confidence about the dish that showed a master hand at work.
    Along with more champagne, a bottle of Chateldon water appeared.
    ‘And yesterday’s dish – the single oyster – that was Yang’s idea?’
    ‘No, that was entirely Claude’s doing. Normally the routine was that we would have lunch together and he would go to the studios later in the day. All the technical rehearsals and run-throughs took place with a stand-in during the morning and early afternoon. He was brought up in the tradition of the stage and he liked to keep things as fresh as possible. That was another reason for having an audience – he was at his best with a spontaneous reaction.’
    The first course was followed by lobster salad; the lobster  cut into small pieces and mixed in with equal portions of diced cucumber and brown rice.
    The cucumber was crisp, having been well salted and drained. Seasoned with an olive oil and vinegar dressing, it had been lightly peppered and sprinkled with finely chopped chervil. The brown Italian rice had been cooked in chicken stock and seasoned with grated nutmeg. The whole had been garnished with a sprinkling of chopped black olives.
    A white Meursault accompanied the dish. He tried to catch the label, but it was covered by a napkin. He guessed at a Lafon. Unrefined, yet splendidly elegant.
    ‘Is the wine your chef’s choice too?’
    Claudette nodded. ‘I shall be sorry to lose him,’ she said wryly.
    ‘Will that be necessary?’
    ‘I doubt if he will want to stay on just for me. Who knows? He may wish to open his own restaurant. I know someone who may be able to help him.’
    I bet you do, thought Monsieur Pamplemousse. ‘How long has he been with you?’
    ‘Long enough for me to know him as well as I know the next person.’
    ‘Did he have anything to do with the preparation of the oyster?’
    ‘He wouldn’t do such a thing if that’s what you are thinking. I would trust him with my