by Michael Bond
For more activities, games, books and fun visit: www.paddington.com
First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017
HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,
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Text copyright © Michael Bond 2017
Jacket illustration © Peggy Fortnum and HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017
Jacket Design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2017
Cover illustrations adapted and coloured by Mark Burgess from the originals by Peggy Fortnum
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
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Source ISBN: 9780008226190
Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780008226213
Version: 2017-03-22
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
1. Parking Problems
2. A Bird in the Hand
3. Curry’s the Name
4. Paddington’s Magical Moments
5. Dinner for One
6. A Visit to the Cleaners
7. Paddington’s Finest Hour
Keep Reading …
By the Same Author
About the Publisher
Chapter One
PARKING PROBLEMS
“IT’S NONE OF my business,” said the policeman, “but there’s an old codger in the back of your car and he’s got a sandwich on his head. Leastways, it was there a moment ago when he raised his hat – I don’t know where it is now.”
“He would hardly have a sandwich on top of his hat,” said Mr Brown, easing the driving-side window slightly shut in order to protect himself from the rain. “He isn’t English, and he has his funny little ways.”
“You mean he’s one of them illegal immigrants?” said the policeman.
“I wouldn’t call him that,” said Mr Brown cautiously. “He does have a Peruvian passport, so you could say he’s here on an extended holiday. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, but just to be on the safe side he keeps a marmalade sandwich under his hat in case he has an emergency.”
“Heaven help him if anyone from Health and Safety catches him at it,” retorted the policeman. “They’re going to blow a gasket and I wouldn’t blame them. I only hope it doesn’t catch on.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone else doing it,” said Mr Brown.
“And he certainly isn’t an old codger,” broke in Mrs Brown.
“Pardon me, ma’am.” The policeman lowered himself until he was level with the front passenger seat. “But he could do with a good shave whatever age he is. That’s all I can say.”
“In that case, if you don’t mind, I’ll close this window,” said Mr Brown, seizing the opportunity. “I’m getting soaked.”
“You’re getting soaked!” repeated the policeman. There was a rustle of oilskin. “Wait until you’re where I’m standing …” The rest of what he was about to say was drowned by the sound of rain beating against glass as Mr Brown beat him to it and wound the window tightly shut.
“Was that wise, Henry?” asked Mrs Brown. “He’s getting his notebook out now.”
“Good luck to him,” said Mr Brown. “Catch me getting out of the car in this weather, Mary. I haven’t even got a top coat. And the chances of him writing anything in his notebook are pretty remote.”
“But we are parked on a double yellow line,” said Mrs Brown. “On a bend.”
“Along with a dozen other cars,” said Mr Brown. “Goodness knows what’s going on ahead of us. There’s nothing coming the other way.”
Rummaging in her handbag, Mrs Brown removed a handkerchief, and having folded it carefully into a small pad, made use of it to wipe a hole in the steamed-up windscreen. She gazed mournfully at the spot where they had come to rest.
“I don’t remember it being quite so bad for a long time,” she said. “It’s still raining cats and dogs.”
Paddington peered over her shoulder. Although he couldn’t see any actual cats, or any stray dogs for that matter, he caught the general drift of the conversation and given the raindrops were literally bouncing off the pavement ahead of them like things possessed, he put two and two together and made five.
“I expect it would be worse in Darkest Peru, Mrs Brown,” he said. “They don’t have any pavements there, but it might even rain cats and bears.”
“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Mr Brown.
“Things said in jest often have a habit of turning out to be true, Henry,” warned Mrs Brown. “Are you quite sure you want to stop and post a letter? Can’t it wait a day or two?”
“Unfortunately, no,” said Mr Brown. “It’s the main reason why I came out in the first place.”
“In that case, why bring all the rest of us with you?” said Mrs Brown. “As things have turned out it would have been far better watching the rain through our living room windows instead of sitting in your car getting all steamed up.”
“Our car,” said Mr Brown. “And it seemed like a good idea at the time. The sun was shining and it felt like a typical Saturday afternoon with everybody at a loose end, so I thought we could combine things and kill two birds with one stone.
“I reckoned without the English summer weather.”
Reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket, he produced an envelope and held it up for all to see. Clearly it was important, for the address was printed in black.
“It’s my Income Tax Demand Note,” he explained gloomily. “It’s a last reminder that payment is due no later than Monday. I’m already in the Revenue’s bad books for being late with the money last year. Two years running and they’ll be putting a tag on me and we shall all suffer.”
“It would have been a help if we’d ended up somewhere within walking distance of a pillar box,” said Mrs Brown.
Mr Brown heaved a sigh. “On a day like today you might just as well say it would have been a help if the ‘powers that be’ had erected one right where we are, Mary, but they didn’t.
“It’s sheer lack of foresight. Remind me to write a letter of complaint when we get back home pointing out the error of their ways. They could put one every ten yards or so while they are at it.”
“Sarcasm won’t get you off the hook, Henry,” said Mrs Brown. “If your letter is so important you had better put a brave face on things and make a run for it.”
“And get my new jacket sopping wet,” said Mr Brown. “I should cocoa!”
From his position in the back of the car Paddington caught the word ‘cocoa’ and pricked up his ears.
“I didn’t know we were having a picnic, Mr Brown,” he called excitedly. “I’ve never had a picnic in a car before. It’s a good job I put a fresh marmalade sandwich under my hat before we came out.”
“Shh!” hissed Judy. “We’re not having a picnic now. You heard what Dad said. We’re marooned and it’s all a fault of the weather. Nobody is to blame.
“We are victims of circumstances,” she continued dramatically. “The sun was shining when we left home, so we’ve all come out without our waterproofs. If it doesn’t ease
off we could be sitting here for the rest of the afternoon.”
“All except Paddington,” broke in Jonathan.
“What do you mean?” said Judy. “All except Paddington?”
“Well,” said Jonathan. “At least he’s wearing his duffle coat, and Mrs Bird was saying only the other day it was in need of a clean. If Paddington goes out in this downpour to post the letter it will amount to him killing two birds with one stone – Mrs Bird and Dad will both be happy.”
He lowered his voice. “And I daresay Paddington himself will be rewarded.”
“Undoubtedly!” came a voice from the front of the car. “Good deeds should never go unrewarded. And when it’s raining as hard as it is at the moment it deserves twice as much. What a splendid idea.”
“It sounds very good value, Mr Brown,” said Paddington. “But I’m a bit worried about my whiskers. When it rains very hard the water runs down to the ends and it’s got nowhere else to go.”
“Don’t let that worry you, Paddington,” called Mr Brown. “We can’t allow that to happen. The boot of the car is unlocked. If it’s of any help whisker-wise you can take one of the umbrellas.”
Without further ado he handed the all-important letter over his shoulder.
“Whatever else you do, promise faithfully to guard it with your life.”
“Thank you very much, Mr Brown,” said Paddington gratefully. “I will.” And having made up his mind at long last, he followed Mrs Brown’s example and rubbed a hole in the nearest steamed-up window with the back of the paw to see if the weather was as bad at his end of the car as it was at the front.
As he pressed his nose against the glass he nearly jumped out of his skin with alarm when he found himself face to face with a man wearing a helmet.
He was only inches away from the glass but there was no mistaking a figure of the law.
He must have been trying to see inside Mr Brown’s car, and he clearly felt unhappy at being caught out, so Paddington felt obliged to raise his hat in order to make him feel better. He received a salute in return.
Unaware of what was going on, Mr Brown called out another warning. “Whatever you do, Paddington, don’t get my letter mixed up with your marmalade sandwich. That’s something else the Inland Revenue won’t take kindly to – a sticky cheque. And I know who would get the blame.”
“If I were you, Paddington,” said Jonathan, as the policeman backed further away, “I’d use the door on the other side of the car otherwise he’ll keep you talking and you’ll never get going. Besides, if Dad’s letter gets sopping wet bang goes your reward for doing a good deed.”
Paddington needed no second bidding. One way and another, he was only too pleased to make good his escape, and having put Mr Brown’s letter under his hat for safekeeping he was out of the car like a streak of lightning.
Jonathan and Judy heard the sound of rummaging going on behind them, followed by a clunk as the door to the boot slammed shut. Moments later what looked for all the world like a large, brightly coloured tent went past the window.
“Oh, dear,” said Judy, “Dad won’t be too pleased. That’s his best golfing umbrella.”
“At least with all those red, white and blue stripes we shan’t lose sight of him,” said Jonathan.
“Perhaps it’s just as well,” said Judy. “With it only half open he looks like an upside-down Knickerbocker Glory. Let’s hope he doesn’t open it fully. In this weather he’s just as likely to get blown off his feet and end up like Mary Poppins.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth when they heard a loud knocking on the driver’s side at the front of the car.
“That’s torn it,” said Jonathan. “It’s the copper who was lurking round the back. The one Paddington just raised his hat to. Dad’s really not going to like it.”
They both fell silent as their father wound his window down in response to the latest arrival.
“Are you aware, sir,” said the man, “you have a bear in the back of your car?”
“A bear?” repeated Mr Brown, playing for time. He looked over his shoulder. “What makes you think that? I can’t see one.”
“I know what I saw,” said the policeman stubbornly. “Wearing a red hat, it was. Made a gesture towards me, he did. Like he was trying to raise it. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind getting out of your car for a moment, sir …”
“Yes, I would mind,” said Mr Brown. “Apart from the fact that it’s patently obvious there isn’t a bear in the back of the car, even if there were it isn’t a crime.”
The policeman looked pained. “I had your best interests at heart,” he said. “It could have escaped from the zoo for all you know.”
“Careful, Henry,” whispered Mrs Brown. “He’s only doing his job. Besides he can’t be from the local brigade. They all know Paddington by now.”
“He’s probably been drafted in to help with the Portobello Market,” Jonathan hissed. “It’s in all the papers. The traders are holding a gigantic all-day carnival.”
“We’re holding one must be the word by now,” broke in Judy. “That’s probably why all the roads are blocked.”
“That’s as may be …” began Mr Brown, and then paused as the policeman, clearly intending to try his luck elsewhere, pocketed his notebook, and set off with a determined air, only to collide head-on with Paddington going in the opposite direction.
By now the windscreen was sufficiently clear of moisture to accommodate a view of the encounter, but it was only momentary. A split second later and it might never have happened as they toppled out of sight.
Despite frantic cleaning with anything that came to hand, moments passed before the side windows of the car were clear enough to see through, and although it revealed a grim-faced policeman talking into his mobile phone, Paddington was nowhere to be seen.
“Would you believe it?” said Jonathan. “Mrs Bird’s favourite motto is ‘Bears always fall on their feet’. He must have done it again.”
“He didn’t have your father’s envelope in his paw at the time, thank goodness,” said Mrs Brown.
“He had it under his hat to keep it dry,” said Judy. “And I bet that survived the accident. There’s a lot to be said for an old Government Surplus bush hat.”
“All he’s got to do now is find the nearest pillar box,” said Jonathan.
The Browns fell silent. From time to time a policeman or two floated past like phantoms, until suddenly the chatter of raised voices broke the monotony.
“Typical!” said Mr Brown. “The rain’s easing off.”
“Shh!” hissed Mrs Brown. “I think they are arguing about something.”
“I said I don’t like the sound of it,” repeated a voice, almost as though he was doing it for her benefit. “You know that vertically challenged foreign guy who wanted to post a letter …”
“The one who couldn’t reach the slot to drop it in so you offered to do it for him,” shouted another. “Bit rude I thought. Making you lift him up just so he got to drop the letter in himself. He wouldn’t let go of it.”
“Oh, he was polite enough,” said the first speaker. “Raised his hat and even said ‘thank you’ when I put him down. It was what he said afterwards that bothers me … ‘I had to do it myself because I promised to guard it with my life’!”
There was a pause while the words sank in, followed almost immediately by a stream of voices anxious to climb on the bandwagon. “It struck me he was a bit suspect,” said one.
“He told me he used to belong to an outfit in South America called The Home for Retired Bears,” agreed another. “It sounds like some kind of gang.”
“Run by a woman called Aunt Lucy,” broke in a third. “Sounds like a nasty piece of work. He had to report to her regularly.”
“The word ‘marmalade’ kept cropping up,” added someone else. “It could be a code word of some kind.”
“Maybe we could get the Post Office to retrieve the envelope,” suggested someone else.
Mr Brown�
�s groan was barely complete when to his relief the idea was quashed as being too time consuming.
“We need to move in as speedily and quietly as possible,” said an authoritative voice. “Now, here’s what I suggest …”
His words were a cue for the general lowering of voices, and try as they might the Browns had to admit defeat.
“You can say one thing for Paddington,” said Mr Brown. “Shyness isn’t his middle name.”
“He’s certainly made his presence felt on this occasion,” said Mrs Brown. “I don’t know what his Aunt Lucy will think if she gets to hear she’s been classed as the leader of a gang …”
She paused as two members out of a small group of policemen broke away from the others and headed in their direction.
“Meanwhile, it looks as though we may have company.”
“Two is not good news, I’m afraid,” said Mr Brown.
“I bet there will be a nice one to keep Dad talking,” said Jonathan, “while the other one does his best to find something wrong with the car.”
“Lesson number one in the Brown School of Motoring,” murmured Judy, as her father opened his door in readiness for their arrival.
As it happened, when they arrived they were clearly intent on getting down to work straight away. “This is the car the bear was in,” said the leader, “and this gentleman was denying all knowledge of it.”
“I was doing no such thing,” said Mr Brown. “I simply said he wasn’t sitting in the back seat of our car any longer.”
“Another thing,” said the policeman, ignoring Mr Brown’s response, “we would like all the windows open.”
“Certainly not,” said Mr Brown. “I have my family to think of, and it’s getting cold in here. As I’m sure you are only too well aware, it’s against the law to leave your engine running when you are parked for any length of time …”
The two policemen exchanged glances.
“I’m afraid it’s an order,” said the policeman. He took out his notebook. “Talking of things being against the law, you do realise, I suppose, that you are parked on a double yellow line. Not only is that forbidden at any time of the day or night even if there are no upright signs, but I could have you down for loitering with intent.”
