Monsieur Pamplemousse Aloft Read Online Free PDF

didn’t expect you to jump out from nowhere. What happened?’
    ‘We are on our way to Port St. Augustin. We were making a detour as it happened …’
    ‘Port St. Augustin! But that is where I am going. I can take you all the way. Where are you staying?’
    ‘The Ty Coz.’
    ‘I do not know the name. I know only the Hôtel du Port, but we can look for it. The town is not large.’
    As he settled back in his seat, Monsieur Pamplemousse suddenly felt warm and comfortable and at peace with the world. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Pommes Frites felt the same way too. Dog-like, he had already assumed the proprietorial air of an owner-driver, gazing out of the window at the passing scene as if he did it every day of his life. Perhaps it was their presence in the car, not the accident leading up to it, that had been pre-ordained by the giant computer in the sky. Now there was a thought.
    He stole a sideways glance at the girl. Obviously she was not a local. He doubted if she was even French. Although she spoke the language well, she sounded foreign. Italian, perhaps. Or Greek. She had a dark, olive-skinned complexion which suggested the southern Mediterranean. She was gypsy-like. Her hair was long and jet-black. In a few years it would probably be too long, but time was still on her side. Her skin was smooth and unwrinkled. She drove quickly and with precision, taking advantage of every bend and camber in the road. He felt safe with her and changed his mind about the ‘incident’. Perhaps, he told himself, he had been at fault for not giving her more warning.
    By now they were almost out of the marshes and the giant sardine canneries of La Turballe loomed into view. They were preceded by a row of modern-looking shops and flats. He wondered about getting out there and then in the hope of finding a garage, but the first one they saw was alreadyclosed. He gave up the idea. He had no wish to be stranded with all his luggage.
    Almost as quickly as it had begun, the rain stopped. Out to sea the sun was shining. Any moment now it would be shining on them too. He found himself looking for the inevitable rainbow. Keeping her eyes on the traffic ahead, which was beginning to build up, the girl switched off the wipers and leaned across to adjust the demister. Her hands looked strong, almost masculine, and yet well cared for – the nails short and business-like. If she wore any perfume it didn’t register, and yet there was a curious, indefinable scent of something which stirred memories in the back of his mind. Make-up was minimal. With her looks it would have been an unnecessary embellishment.
    He allowed himself a longer look while her attention was otherwise engaged.
    She was wearing a loose-fitting jump suit. Dark green, the colour of her eyes. She might have been a garage mechanic for all it did for her figure, but as she leaned forward he was very conscious that what was underneath was the whole person and nothing but the person. Only someone confident enough to know the effect that would have could have got away with wearing it. Or perhaps she didn’t care.
    ‘Well, do I pass?’
    He came down to earth with a jerk. ‘I’m sorry. To be truthful, it is very rude of me, I know … but I was wondering what you do for a living.’
    ‘And?’
    ‘You don’t look as though you are on holiday and you are not a housewife. At least, you do not drive like one.’
    ‘You can tell a housewife by the way she drives?’ She was mocking him, and yet it was done with good humour.
    ‘Not exactly. But it is a process of elimination.’ He felt he might be on dangerous ground. ‘Housewives who own a BMW 325i are in the minority. If it is their husband’s car, then they usually drive with care – they are frightened of scratching it.’
    ‘Being married doesn’t necessarily turn you into a housewife, nor does it stop you doing something you enjoy doing well.’
    Outside La Turballe they met a long line of traffic. She