Paddington Here and Now (7 page)

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.

E
NVELOPING
P
ADDINGTON 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.”

“I’m sure Paddington’s uncle will have it moved when you want to get yours out, Henry,” said Mrs. Brown, catching the look on her husband’s face. “Better that than have it towed away.”

“Too true it is!” agreed Uncle Pastuzo. “Rules and regulations! People invent the motorcar and make things so you can’t live without one. Then others come along and make it impossible to live
with
it! Poppycock!”

“Yes, well…” began Mr. Brown. “You try saying that to a traffic warden.”

“I did,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “One of them tried to give me a ticket when I came out of that oyster place. Only been in there two minutes.”

Producing a giant dagger from under his poncho, he ran his free paw along the length of the blade. “I tell him, ‘You want to watch it,
gringo
!’”

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Brown. “I hope you didn’t give him our address.”

Uncle Pastuzo chuckled. “Me? I was not born yesterday. Gave him your neighbor’s number.
Hombre
name of Curry. Heard all about him from Lucy. Seems you two don’t get on too well.”

“You are in touch with Paddington’s Aunt Lucy?” said Mrs. Brown, anxious to change the subject.

“First stop when I set out,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “There she was, large as life and twice as happy in the Home for Retired Bears. Knitting away in her rocking chair like there was no tomorrow. Could hardly hear myself think for all the needles clicking: tea cozies, bed socks, scarves…you call
that retirement?

“She tell me your address. Only thing is, I remember the number of your house but forget the name of the road. Not like Darkest Peru. Where I live we only got one. Straight up to the top of the mountain and straight back down again. Got the rest of the address from that oyster place. That was when I know it was meant.”

He turned to Paddington. “Spoke to man in there with bad twitch. Said he knew you well,
sobrino
. Seems like you are not the apple of his eye.”

“You will be staying, of course,” broke in Mrs. Brown. “We can make a room ready while you are having your breakfast.”

Uncle Pastuzo glanced out at the garden. “No need,” he said, pointing to the summer house. “Give me hammer and nail, and that will suit me just fine. Like a palace.”

“Are you sure?” asked Mrs. Brown. “Won’t you be cold?”

“You haven’t slept outside in the Andes in the middle of winter,” said Uncle Pastuzo.

“That’s true,” admitted Mrs. Brown.

“Wake up most mornings with icicles on your whiskers. Those that have them,” he added hastily, not wishing to offend.

“I’d better move the lawn mower,” said Mr. Brown.

He paused. “Er…forgive my asking, but why do you need a hammer and a nail?”

“Need somewhere to hang this.” Uncle Pastuzo reached for his hat. “Home is where you hang it.”

With a quick flick he sent his hat flying across the room. It hovered for a brief moment near the ceiling before landing gently on top of a standard lamp.

“Gosh!” said Jonathan admiringly. “I wish I could do that.”

“I teach you,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “Is what they call a knack.”

“It may be a knack,” said Mrs. Brown, fearing for her china, “but it might not be so easy with a school cap.”

“Meantime,” said Uncle Pastuzo, ignoring the interruption, “I give
Señora
Bird a hand. Make sure she does eggs the way I like. Over easy, sunny-side up.”

“May I come too?” asked Paddington eagerly.

The Browns looked at each other when they were on their own.

“What do you think he meant when he said home is where you hang your hat?” asked Mrs. Brown. “It sounded a bit permanent to me.”

“How long is a piece of string?” said Mr. Brown. “I know one thing; if breakfast is anything to go by, we’d better get some more supplies in before the shops close for Christmas.”

In the end it was Mrs. Bird who answered most of their questions. Clearly she couldn’t wait to unburden herself when she returned at long last.

“That should keep them quiet for a while,” she said, undoing her apron. “Besides, there is a lot of catching up to do. I’ve left Paddington in charge of the toast and marmalade.”

“Tell us the worst,” said Mr. Brown.

“Well…”—Mrs. Bird took a deep breath—“Paddington’s uncle lives high up in the Andes mountains in an area that is rich in all kinds of precious metals: copper, gold, silver…platinum. Now, who do you think benefits the most?”

“The people who dig for it?” suggested Jonathan.

“Wrong,” said Mrs. Bird.

“Their employers?” hazarded Judy.

“Wrong again,” said Mrs. Bird.

“If the car parked in our front drive is anything to go by,” said Mr. Brown, “Uncle Pastuzo.”

“Right,” said Mrs. Bird. “He has a little store at the top of one of the biggest mines, and when the workers come up at the end of their shift, hot, tired, and above all thirsty, he’s there ready and waiting with hot dogs and ice-cold drinks.

“They may have spent their time underground looking for precious metals, but Uncle Pastuzo has his own gold mine at the top. In any case, there is nowhere else to spend their earnings.

“Having grown wealthy over the years, he now wants to see a bit of the world while he can. As he
says, you can’t take it with you.”

“He told you all that while you were cooking his breakfast?” said Mrs. Brown.

“And a lot more besides,” said Mrs. Bird. “There’s nothing like getting together over a kitchen stove to make people open up.”

“Er…while you were chatting, did you get any idea of how long he plans to stay?” asked Mr. Brown.

“As far as I’m concerned,” said Mrs. Bird, “he can make it as long as he likes.

“He has the same big brown eyes as certain others I could name,” she added dreamily, “and he’s very polite. You can see where Paddington gets it from—along with his Aunt Lucy, of course.”

“So what more can you tell us?” asked Mrs. Brown.

“Just you wait and see,” said Mrs. Bird mysteriously. “It’s his idea and I wouldn’t want to spoil it, especially as it’s meant to be a surprise for Paddington.”

And there, for the time being, matters rested.

After his mammoth breakfast, Paddington’s uncle
went outside to his car and returned carrying a suitcase. Laying it down in the middle of the floor, he opened the lid and pressed a button, and a small folding bed began to erect itself. It was followed by a whirr and a hiss of air as a mattress took shape.

“Bought it in Hong Kong,” he said briefly.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something bigger?” asked Mrs. Brown.

Uncle Pastuzo shook his head. “They say that to me when I stay at the Ritz hotel in Paris, France. They no like it when I say I prefer my bed to theirs. I tell them, if they no let me use my bed, then I camp out in front of their hotel and hang my washing out to dry. They like that even less.”

“It’s a wonder they didn’t have you arrested,” said Mr. Brown.

Uncle Pastuzo jingled some coins in a trouser pocket. “Not so as you would notice…
buenas noches
.”

Having said good night, Paddington’s uncle opened the French windows, gathered his belongings together, and headed toward the summer house.

“I’d better move the lawn mower,” said Mr. Brown.

“Don’t forget the hammer and nails,” called Mrs. Brown.

“It must be nice to be so independent,” she continued, closing the door after them. “But it is rather unsettling for the rest of us. I wonder when he wants to be woken?”

“I should leave him be for the time being,” said Mrs. Bird. “It’s best to let sleeping bears lie.”

“Perhaps he’s hibernating,” suggested Jonathan.

“Our geography mistress says bears don’t hibernate in the true sense of the word,” said Judy. “On the other hand, some of them do go to sleep for months at a time. Perhaps we should ask Paddington?”

“Don’t put ideas into that bear’s head,” warned Mrs. Bird. “He has more than enough in there already.”

As things turned out, however, they were all wrong about Uncle Pastuzo. The next morning he was up bright and early, and after announcing he “had matters to deal with,” disappeared soon after breakfast and didn’t arrive back until late that afternoon.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” said Mrs. Brown, “what do you picture doing for the rest of the day?”

“You mean, what are
we
doing?” said Uncle Pastuzo.

There was a toot from the limousine outside.

“Better hurry,” said Uncle Pastuzo. “Otherwise we miss flight.”

“Miss the flight?” echoed the Browns.

“That is what they call it,” said Uncle Pastuzo, ushering everyone out of the door.

Climbing into the front seat, he settled down alongside the driver and began issuing instructions. But they were lost on the Browns as they entered via the rear doors.

Paddington nearly fell over backward with surprise when he climbed inside. The last person he expected to see was Mr. Gruber, seated in an armchair at the far end.

“It is a small world, Mr. Brown,” said his friend. “And as I think I once said to you, it gets smaller all the time. I feel very honored to have been invited.”

“It’s very James Bond,” said Judy, eyeing a bank of television screens.

“Everything except a nuclear warhead,” agreed Jonathan.

“I don’t think I could live with those curtains,” said Mrs. Bird, casting an expert eye over the furnishings. “They’re far too grand, and they don’t go with the carpet.”

“I hope we don’t come across anyone we know,” said Mrs. Brown, settling herself down in another armchair. “Perhaps we’d better draw them just in case.”

“They won’t be able to see us,” said Jonathan, pointing to the tinted glass, “but if you like…” Running his eyes over a control console in front of them, he pressed a button and the curtains slid together.

“Do
you
know what’s happening, Mr. Gruber?” asked Paddington.