by Michael Bond
“Quite a large party,” said the manager, looking suitably impressed. Taking a closer look at Paddington, he revised his first impression. Clearly he was dealing with a seasoned traveler, and an important one at that. Although the customer had arrived on foot, he wondered for a moment if he could be dealing with a television personality planning a forthcoming program, or perhaps some kind of foreign dignitary—a slightly eccentric Indian prince down on his luck, for example. He had never met one wearing a duffle coat before, but there was a first time for everything, and one never knew these days. It paid to be careful.
“I know it’s a little early in the day,” he said, “but would you care for a glass of champagne while we go through the possibilities?”
“No thank you,” said Paddington. “I had one once and it tickled my whiskers. I would sooner have a cup of cocoa.”
The manager’s face fell. “I’m afraid we shall have to wait until our Miss Pringle arrives,” he said, looking at his watch. “She usually collects the milk on her way in. We were rushed off our feet yesterday,” he explained, “what with everyone wanting to make a quick getaway for the Christmas holiday. I told the staff they could come in half an hour later than usual.” He reached out toward a rack laden with colored brochures.
“Have you ever thought about visiting South America? The Peruvian Andes, for example? We have a tour that includes a boat trip on Lake Titicaca. As I’m sure you know, it’s the highest one in the world.”
“If we go to Peru,” said Paddington, “I would sooner visit the Home for Retired Bears in Lima. I haven’t seen my Aunt Lucy for a long time, and it will be a nice surprise for her.”
The manager scanned through the brochure. “I’m afraid it doesn’t mention anything about a Home for Retired Bears,” he said, “but I’m sure our tour guide will be more than willing to offer advice when you get there.
“Alternatively”—he reached for another brochure—“how would you feel about visiting India?” He held it aloft for Paddington’s benefit. “Have you ever seen the Taj Mahal by moonlight?”
Paddington peered at the picture. “No,” he said, “but last year I was taken to see the Christmas lights at Crumbold and Ferns.”
“If I may be so bold,” said the manager, “there is simply no comparison. In fact, the two can hardly be mentioned in the same breath.”
“I didn’t have to wait for a full moon to see Crumbold and Ferns’s lights,” said Paddington firmly. “They were on day and night. And they kept changing color. Besides, I usually go to bed early.”
“If you spend more than two nights in India,” said the manager, not to be outdone, “I could make sure you get a free elephant ride thrown in.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Bird would be very keen on that,” replied Paddington. “She likes a wheel at all four corners.”
“I can see I am dealing with a young gentleman of taste and discernment,” said the manager, trying to mask his disappointment. “Perhaps I might tempt you with something nearer home. How about a visit to Italy and the Leaning Tower of Pisa?”
“I don’t think Mrs. Bird would like that very much either,” said Paddington. “She was very worried last year when Mr. Brown found a crack in the kitchen ceiling.”
“Perhaps before you reach a final decision, you might care to bring the lady in?” suggested the manager. “I shall be more than happy to go through the itinerary with her.”
“It’s meant to be a surprise,” said Paddington, “and Mrs. Bird doesn’t like surprises.”
“Oh, dear,” said the manager through gritted teeth. “I trust she doesn’t object to flying.”
“When we went to France by airplane,” said Paddington, “she kept her eyes closed during takeoff and landing. She said if God had meant us to fly, he would have given us wings.”
“Ah,” said the manager, looking slightly dazed. “I suppose the dear lady does have a point.”
He tried dipping his toes in the water again. “Would Sir be thinking of traveling first or club class?”
“Whichever you think is best,” said Paddington. “I want it to be a special treat.”
“It depends a little on the overall cost,” said the manager, trying to sum up his client.
“I’m not worried about the money,” said Paddington.
“Then undoubtedly first class is best,” said the manager. “I can thoroughly recommend it. It’s much more restful.”
“We shall need five separate rooms,” said Paddington.
“They aren’t exactly what you might call rooms,” said the manager. “Not even on the biggest planes, unless you happen to be traveling as a guest of the United States president. But these days the seats do fold right back, and apart from the noise of the engines, once they turn the lights out you can almost believe you are in a room.”
“Mrs. Bird would like that,” said Paddington. “Especially if they switch the lights off.”
The manager breathed a sigh of relief. “In that case,” he said, washing his hands with invisible soap again, “it sounds as though our Gold Star, Top of the Range Round the World Special’ would suit you down to the ground.You will be fully escorted all the way and you will stay at all the best five-star hotels, even Mrs. Bird would be hard put to find fault with the service—”
“It sounds very good value,” broke in Paddington. “I think I would like one of those, please.”
“In which case,” said the manager, “if you intend traveling over the Christmas period, we had better strike while the iron is hot before everything gets booked up. Excuse me for a moment.”
Handing Paddington some brochures to read while he was waiting, the manager turned to a nearby computer and began running his hands over the keys with practiced ease. Several minutes passed before he pressed a button, and almost immediately a long roll of paper began to emerge.
“There you are,” he said, holding the end of it up for Paddington to see. “The wonders of science! Everything you want has been confirmed. It is all down in print, including the grand total.”
“Thank you very much,” said Paddington as he got up to leave. “I shall always come here in the future whenever I want to go anywhere.”
He reached out to take the roll of paper, but the manager kept a firm hold of the other end.
“Call me old-fashioned,” he said, choosing his words with care, “and I sincerely hope you won’t mind my mentioning it, but we at Oyster Travels believe in treating our customers as though they were part of one big happy family.
“To put it another way, if I may make so bold, there is the small matter of a payment in advance. You will see the total amount at the end of the form.”
Paddington nearly fell off his stool as he gazed at the figure on the sheet. Far from being a small matter, it struck him as very large one. In fact, he couldn’t remember ever having seen quite so many zeroes in one long line before, and he was glad he didn’t have to find the money.
Reaching into his duffle coat pocket, he produced the note the man conducting the survey had given him and handed it across the counter.
The manager stared at it for several seconds, hardly able to believe his eyes. Meanwhile, the smile on his face became fixed as though it had been etched in stone.
“An air mile!” he exclaimed at last. “One air mile! They won’t even let you on the airport bus for that! Have you not read the small print on the back?”
“I tried to,” said Paddington, “but it was a bit too small, even with my magnifying glass.”
Gazing heavenward, the manager placed both hands together to form a steeple. He closed his eyes, and his lips began to move as though he was very slowly counting, although no sound emerged.
After the speed at which he had operated the computer, it struck Paddington as very strange, and he wondered if the man was having trouble with all the zeroes.
“Can I help?” he asked. “Bears are good at sums.”
The man’s lips stopped moving, and he sat very still for a m
oment or two longer before opening his eyes.
“I have been counting up to ten,” he explained, staring glassily at Paddington as though examining something the cat had brought in. “Having got as far as five, I am now going to close my eyes and begin again. If you are still here when I open them, I shall not be responsible for my actions. I hope I make myself clear. On your way!”
Paddington didn’t wait to hear any more. Without even asking for his voucher back, he made for the door.
On his way out he bumped into a lady about to enter. Raising his hat politely, he held it open for her, and as he did he saw she was carrying several cartons of milk.
“If I were you, Miss Pringle,” he said, “I wouldn’t go anywhere near the man in charge. I don’t think he’s in a very good mood this morning.”
Once he was outside, Paddington disappeared back down the hill as fast as his legs would carry him. He was vaguely aware of the sound of a car horn and someone shouting, but he didn’t slow down until the green front door of number 32 Windsor Gardens had slammed shut behind him. Even then he slid one of the bolts across, just in case.
“Where have you been?” said Judy, as she helped him off with his duffle coat. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
While he was getting his breath back Paddington did his best to explain.
“Oh, dear,” said Judy. “Poor you! But never mind. It was a lovely thought, and that’s what counts the most. Besides, if we had gone away, you’d have missed Mrs. Bird’s turkey. Who knows what we might have ended up eating instead?”
“Anyway”—she handed Paddington a half-opened package with a Peruvian stamp on it—“it’s your Christmas parcel from Aunt Lucy, and I’m afraid it got stuck in the letter box.”
Paddington stared at a battered Advent calendar inside the paper. It was resting on top of some table mats.
Every Christmas without fail, a parcel arrived from the Home for Retired Bears in Lima containing presents for all the family. It was one of the many ways in which the residents whiled away their time. If it wasn’t jam making, it was knitting hats or weaving table mats.
Mrs. Bird would never have said anything for fear of hurting Paddington’s feelings, but the mats were nothing if not long wearing, and over the years she had filled several kitchen drawers with them.
In any case, the most important item was always the calendar specially made by Aunt Lucy herself for Paddington.
“All my doors have come open!” he exclaimed hotly.
“It wasn’t the postman’s fault,” said Judy. “For some reason there were more mats than usual, and when he tried getting it through the letter box it stuck halfway.”
“Perhaps I could glue them shut,” said Paddington hopefully.
“You’ll never get them open again if you do,” said Mrs. Bird, joining in the conversation. “Leave it with me. I’ll give it a good going-over while I’m doing the ironing.”
“In the meantime,” said Jonathan. “No peeping.”
As Mrs. Bird disappeared into the kitchen, taking the Advent calendar with her, Paddington hurried to the front door and peered through the letter box to see if by any chance the postman was still doing his rounds, but all he saw instead was a long black car driving slowly past. It was the longest one he had ever seen. In fact, it was so long he didn’t think it was ever going to end, and he went back to the living room to tell Jonathan and Judy.
“It sounds like a stretch limo,” said Jonathan knowedgeably.
“It was a very slow one,” said Paddington. “It tried to stop, and then it went on again. I think the man driving it was looking for somewhere to park.”
“I bet you couldn’t see anyone in the back,” said Jonathan.
Paddington shook his head. “The windows were all dark.”
“That was a stretch limo all right,” said Jonathan.
“It must be someone very important,” said Judy.
A thought suddenly struck her. She turned to her brother. “You don’t think…it isn’t someone looking for you-know-who?”
“Who’s that?” asked Paddington.
Judy put a hand to her mouth, but before she had time to answer, there was a ring at the front doorbell.
“I was right!” she cried. “What are we going to do?”
Taking hold of one of the long curtains at the French windows, Jonathan signaled to Paddington.
“Quick! Hide behind here.”
Paddington had no idea what the others were talking about, but he could tell by the tones of their voices that it was urgent, and by then his knees were shaking so much he didn’t wait to ask.
As soon as Paddington was safely hidden Jonathan turned back to his sister. “I told you we should have done something about making a trapdoor in the floorboards for him.”
Before Judy had time to answer, there was a loud sneeze.
“Pardon me!” called Paddington.
“Ssh!” said Judy.
“The curtains are tickling my nose, and I can’t find my handkerchief,” cried Paddington. “I think it must be in one of my duffle coat pockets.”
“Too late!” groaned Jonathan, as the sound of voices drew near and the door handle began to turn.
“Guess who’s here!” said Mrs. Bird.
Scanning the room, her eagle eyes immediately spotted movement behind the curtain. “You’d better come out, Paddington. There’s someone to see you.”
Both Jonathan and Judy stared at their visitor in amazement. Much to their relief, anything less like a government inspector would have been hard to imagine. He was much too short for a start—not a great deal taller than Paddington.
His clothes also had to be seen to be believed. Topped by a round black-brimmed hat worn squarely on his head, the bottom half, or the little of that could be seen beneath a multicolored cloak, was a mixture of styles.
The top half appeared to be a black dinner jacket that looked as though it had seen better days, while the khaki trousers, full of bulging pockets, looked more suited to the jungle.
On the other hand, his boots were so highly polished you could have seen your face in them.
When the stranger spoke, it was with a mixture of accents, none of which they could immediately place.
“Remember me, sobrino?” he called. “Caught up with you at long last.”
At the sound of the voice, Paddington emerged from behind the curtain and hurried across the room, paws outstretched.
“Uncle Pastuzo!” he exclaimed.
“Thank goodness for that!” whispered Judy, taking her brother’s hand.
“Who would have thought it?” said Jonathan. “Wonders will never cease.”
All of a sudden it felt as though the cloud that had been hanging over their heads had disappeared of its own accord.
Chapter Seven
PADDINGTON’S CHRISTMAS SURPRISE
ENVELOPING PADDINGTON IN his poncho, Uncle Pastuzo gave him a huge hug. “Thought I would never find you, sobrino. You ask me how? Is another story. I tell you sometime.
“Been twice around the world since last July.”
“You must be dying for a cup of tea,” said Mrs. Brown.
Along with Mr. Brown, she had arrived on the scene rather later than the others, and they were both trying to catch up on events.
Letting go of Paddington, their visitor produced a large watch on the end of a chain. “Gone ten of the clock, and I no have breakfast yet!”
“Mercy me!” exclaimed Mrs. Bird. “I’ll get you something straightaway.”
Uncle Pastuzo kissed her hand. “Gracias, beautiful señora,” he said. “That is music to my ears.”
“We have several kinds of cereal.” Mrs. Bird went quite pink as she began ticking off various alternatives on her fingers. “There’s porridge…kippers…bacon and eggs…sausages…black pudding…fried potato…toast and marmalade…”
“Sounds great to me, señora!” said Uncle Pastuzo, smacking his lips.
The Browns exchanged
glances. From the back view of Mrs. Bird as she bustled off toward the kitchen it was hard to tell what she was thinking, and they feared the worst, but a moment or so later they relaxed when they heard the sound of pots and pans being put to work.
“You know something about travel?” said Uncle Pastuzo. “It makes you hungry.”
“However did you find us?” asked Mrs. Brown.
“It was written in the stars. Heard tell on the grapevine there was a bear living in London. Had a railroad station named after him.”
“I think,” said Mrs. Brown gently, “you will find it was the other way around.”
“That is not how it was told to me, señora,” said Uncle Pastuzo, “so when I reach London, I head for the station, and there I see a newspaper headline. Knew at once who they were talking about.”
He turned to Paddington. “Began cruising the area. Next thing I know, you are coming out of a shop that has big globe in the window.”
“Oyster Travels,” said Paddington.
“Right in one. So what happens? I get out of my limo and shout your name, but by then you had vanished into the crowd.”
“I was hoping to take everyone around the world too,” said Paddington sadly, “but I only had one air mile.”
“Sobrino, when I get back home, you can have all mine,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “By now there should be enough to take you anywhere you wish.”
“I don’t know anyone who’s been around the world once,” said Jonathan, “let alone twice.”
“Took wrong path in Africa,” said Uncle Pastuzo simply. “Turned right instead of left. Went back on myself. Thought everything was beginning to look the same.”
“How about your car?” asked Mr. Brown. “I wouldn’t want it to get towed away. They’re rather hot on that kind of thing around here.”
“No problem,” said Uncle Pastuzo cheerfully. “Fits your front drive like a dream; all ten meters of it! Could have been made to measure.”
