Paddington Races Ahead (9 page)

“In the winter they are very industrious. They make marmalade, knit sweaters and scarves, and make all kinds of other ethnic items. Then, during the summer months when the tourists arrive, they set up their stands in the market. They are said to drive a hard bargain.”

“That bit sounds familiar,” said Mr Brown.

“According to Fernando, provided he doesn’t go too much over budget, financing the film isn’t a problem.”

“Well I never,” said Mrs Brown. “I have often wondered how it all came about.”

“Such a charming man,” said Mrs Bird, bringing the conversation to an end as she went out into the kitchen. “A joy to be with.”

“I think she’s got the hots for him,” whispered Judy.

“What a dreadful expression,” said Mrs Brown.

“You don’t think, Mary…” began Mr Brown. “I mean, one thing leads to another…”

“The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence,” said Mrs Brown. “You should know that, Henry, and Mrs Bird certainly does.”

The possibility of losing both Paddington and Mrs Bird into the bargain was too awful to contemplate, so she hastily changed the subject.

“It’s a big upheaval,” said Mr Brown. “It could go on for weeks. I hope we’re getting paid for it.”

“
Señor
Fernando told Mrs Bird he is offering his services for a da love,” said Jonathan. “Except for the travelling expenses.”

“So shall we, won’t we, Henry?” said Mrs Brown.

“I, er…” Mr Brown had been about to say ‘I don’t know about that’, but he felt rather than saw everybody else in the room staring at him, so he changed his mind.

“Whatever you say, Mary,” he replied meekly.

Luckily Paddington arrived downstairs at that point.

“I’ve finished my postcard to Aunt Lucy,” he announced, “so I thought I would go and post it, but I can’t find my duffle coat anywhere. I wonder if we ought to ring for the police?”

The Browns exchanged anxious glances.

“I really shouldn’t worry, dear,” said Mrs Brown. “I’m sure it will turn up. You’re too late for the last post anyway.”

“You know what I think,” said Jonathan, coming to the rescue. “If you’re going to be famous, you ought to have a
nom de plume
.”

“I’ve never had one of those before,” said Paddington. “It sounds interesting. What is it?”

“It’s French for what’s known as a ‘pen name’,” said Judy. “Writers use them when they don’t want people to know their real name.”

“Film stars do it all the time,” agreed Mrs Brown. “Except they call it their ‘stage name’. Michael Caine was born Maurice Micklewhite. I heard him talking about it on television only the other day.”

“And Fred Astaire started life as Frederick Austerlitz,” said Jonathan. “That’s a famous French railway station.”

“I’m not surprised he changed it,” said Paddington. “I wouldn’t like to be called Austerlitz.”

“In fact,” said Mrs Bird, “come to think of it, you have a
nom de plume
already. If you remember, when you arrived over here you had a Peruvian name which you weren’t too sure about, so that’s how you came to be called Paddington, because that’s where Mr and Mrs Brown found you.”

“If you’re likely to be signing lots of autographs I should change it to Pad,” said Jonathan, mindful of how long it took Paddington to write a postcard. “It’ll save lots of time.”

But Paddington clearly had his mind on other things as he headed towards the kitchen.

“I would rather you didn’t go in there…” began Mrs Bird, but she was too late.

“It’s all right, Mrs Bird,” called Paddington. “Don’t worry. I’ve found my duffle coat. It’s underneath the tea towel. I wonder how it got there?”

“There are no flies on Paddington,” said Judy.

“That bear’s got his head screwed on the right way,” agreed Mrs Bird.

“My head’s screwed on!” exclaimed Paddington, as he came back into the room. “I didn’t know that!”

“There’s no need to worry about it, dear,” said Mrs Brown. “It won’t fall off in a hurry.”

“I hope it doesn’t fall off at all,” said Paddington hotly.

“I might have a nightmare and turn over quickly in my sleep,” he added darkly. “I dreamt I was being chased by a bumblebee the other night and I had to run all over the house before it flew out of an open window by mistake.”

“Changing the subject,” said Jonathan, “we’ve been wondering, supposing, just supposing the film is very successful and you become famous overnight, you might, well… we might not see quite so much of you again, except on the screen.”

“Not see quite so much of me?” exclaimed Paddington in alarm. “I can’t picture that…”

“That’s part of the trouble, Paddington,” said Mrs Brown, voicing the thoughts of the others. “Neither can we.”

At which point everyone agreed it was time for bed, although it was safe to say that for once sleep didn’t come easily, either that night, or for the next few nights as the tension began to mount.

The worst part was not so much being ignorant of what was going on, but with Paddington leaving early every day in a chauffeur-driven car and not arriving back until late in the evening, much too tired to talk, the house seemed unusually quiet.

It was left to Judy to voice their unspoken thoughts. “I can’t help feeling we’re being bypassed,” she said. “And without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“Nonsense!” said Mrs Bird in her down-to-earth manner. “It’s Paddington’s life. He must do as he thinks fit.”

Nevertheless, it was noticeable that she took particular trouble with his marmalade sandwiches before he left home in the mornings, often adding an extra one for good measure.

In the event, although it seemed to take forever, the filming came to an end much sooner than anyone had expected.

Fernando arrived back with Paddington early one evening, and he was carrying a small parcel.

“
Olè
,” he said. “I have everything ona da disc so that you can watch it on your television. I see you have a player.”

It took only a moment or two for Jonathan to load it, and as soon as everyone was ready and the curtains were drawn he pressed the button.

Mr Brown nearly leapt out of his seat as the opening shot of their front garden filled the screen, revealing a bare patch of paving overlaid with the titles. “Someone has moved my begonias!” he cried. “What’s happened to them?”

“Shhh, Henry,” hissed Mrs Brown. “They’re back in their proper place now.”

“That’s me!” exclaimed Paddington excitedly, as the film dissolved into a shot of a green area somewhere in London. The camera zoomed in on a group of some dozen or so hurdles lined up one after the other, and carried on zooming until it reached a familiar figure at the far end.

There was a moment’s pause allowing Paddington time to raise his hat to a small group of spectators. Then, as the scene changed to a wide shot, a gun went off, galvanising him into action. From being a small figure in the distance, he ended up some seconds later filling the screen in close-up. Whereupon, breathing heavily, he raised his hat again; this time to camera.

The Browns sat in silence for a moment or two.

“I must say he was going very fast,” ventured Judy. “I see now why they’re called ‘rushes’.”

“I can’t wait for the real thing,” agreed Jonathan.

Señor
Fernando looked put out. “Whata you mean, da real thing?” he demanded. “They are nota da rushes. That is it… the whole caboodle… the finished film.”

“We did over thirty retakes,” said Paddington. “I lost count in the end.”

“Er… I don’t wish to sound over-critical,” said Mr Brown, “but…”

“You no like?” asked Fernando. “You are upset about your begonias?”

“Well, it’s not exactly that,” said Mr Brown. “What little we saw is beautifully made, I grant you, but it does seem to me it has what one might call a basic design fault.”

“The film? It hasa da basic design fault?” repeated Fernando. “What you mean,
señor
? A basic design fault?”

“Well,” said Mr Brown, taking a deep breath. “Shouldn’t Paddington be jumping
over
the hurdles rather than going underneath them.”

“Ah,” exclaimed Fernando. “You English. I knew when I first set eyes on you,
Señor
Brown, you are a da perfectionist at heart.”

“I didn’t bang my head once, Mr Brown,” said Paddington. “I kept my hat on all the time, just in case.”

“Well,” said Mr Brown. “It isn’t so much that, but I strongly suspect other people may notice it too.”

“Just as a matter of interest,” said Judy. “What made you choose the hurdles?”

“Mr Gruber told me he was good at them when he was young,” said Paddington. “So I thought I might have a go.”

“Ask a silly question…” said Jonathan.

“All the same, it does seem a bit of a let down,” said Mrs Brown.

“The film is nota for general release,” said Fernando.

“Thank goodness for that,” murmured Mr Brown.

“It is for the inhabitants of the Home for Retired Bears in Lima,” explained Fernando. “Most of them have no idea whata da hurdle race is, let alone set eyes ona da moving picture. Over them… under them… who is to care? It is all the same. And after all, they are paying for it. To them it will be a moment of great excitement that will last for the rest of their lives.”

He turned to Mrs Brown.

“
Señora
, you will remember the first time a moving picture was shown in Paris. Those neara da screen ran for cover when a train appeared and headed straight towards them. They thought their end hada da come.”

“I’m afraid I don’t,” said Mrs Brown. “It was before my time.”

“1895,” said Jonathan knowledgeably. “It was an early Lumière Brothers film.”

Fernando looked at him. “You should goa da far,” he said.

“What bothers me, Paddington,” broke in Mr Brown hastily, “meaning no disrespect, but what made Sunny Climes think you were such an athlete in the first place? I mean, talk about getting hold of the wrong end of the stick, but doing something like a mile and a half in under four minutes beggars belief.”

“I meant to tell him, I was in your car at the time, Mr Brown,” said Paddington. “We were going to meet Jonathan at the station. But then I thought you might be in trouble for going so fast, and I didn’t want you to be arrested, so I kept it to myself.”

“How about the one hundred metres in five seconds?” asked Jonathan.

“If the buns are just out of the oven,” said Paddington simply, “you need to do it as fast as you can. Especially if you’ve only got paws.”

“You know something,” said Fernando, breaking the silence that followed. “That bear, his head is what you might call screwed on a righta da way. It has been a da pleasure working with him!”

“There you are, Paddington,” said Mrs Bird. “I told you so.”

“I’m sorry the film isa no longer,” said Fernando, “but as you say in your country, ‘good things come ina da small parcels’.”

“It may be a small film to you,” said Mr Brown, “but I must say it’s a big relief to all of us.”

“I give you the disc asa da present to remember me by,” said Fernando.

Brushing aside all offers of refreshment, he left as smoothly as he had arrived. First he reached for Mrs Bird’s hand in order to bestow a kiss, then he bowed to the rest of the family.