Paddington Races Ahead Read online

  “Filming?” repeated Mrs Bird, taking a firmer grip of her umbrella. “What do you mean, filming?”

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t been warned!” exclaimed Mervyn. “This is unforgivable. Hang on a moment; I’ll contact Head Office straight away.

  “Drop everything!” he called to the others.

  “Don’t you dare!” broke in Mrs Bird. “If anything happens to those begonias I shall hold you responsible.”

  Hastily producing a mobile phone, Mervyn began dialling a number.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a bit of a breakdown in communications,” he said, over his shoulder. “But take my word for it, you won’t recognise your house after we’ve finished, and you’ll be thanking us for it. If we don’t change the layout people will be ringing your door bell at all hours. Some don’t take no for an answer and that can be very tedious. We’ll paint the front door a different colour for the time being,” he continued, “but…”

  He broke off as a fourth figure dressed from head to toe in white: white suit, white shirt and tie, white shoes, floated in through the front drive. The only concession to colour was a single blue peacock’s feather stuck at a rakish angle in the band of his broad-brimmed, white hat.

  “Ah,” said Mervyn. “Here comes Fernando. He’ll sort things out.”

  The newcomer came to a halt before reaching them, and having formed a similar frame to Mervyn’s with his fingers, gazed intently through it as he pirouetted in a half-circle on one foot, and took in the situation at a glance.

  “It must be meant,” he said, addressing Mrs Bird. “I see you ina da part of the Fairy Princess. Unfurling your parasol and floating off into the sunset – just lika da Mary Poppins. Light as a feather, only much prettier of course. I kiss your hand in anticipation, señorita.”

  “Señora!” said Mrs Bird firmly.

  “I should be so lucky!” said Fernando. Taking her free hand in his, he raised it to his lips before turning to the designer. “Ringa da central casting, before isa too late.”

  “I think you had better come inside,” said Mrs Bird weakly.

  “Any chance of putting this pot down, mum?” called one of the men.

  “If you promise to do it very carefully,” replied Mrs Bird dreamily.

  Fernando and Mervyn followed her into the hall at the same moment as Mrs Brown emerged from the front room.

  “What is going on?” she said. “Whatever it may be, it isn’t convenient. I’m about to go shopping.”

  “And so you shall, señora,” said Fernando, having first made sure she was wearing a wedding ring. “So you shall. Please do not let us detain you a moment longer.”

  “The last thing we would wish is to cause you any inconvenience,” agreed Mervyn. “Provided you use the back entrance for the time being, you can come and go whenever you please. But if you could be a darling and keep your voice down, that would be wonderful.”

  “In the meantime…” Fernando produced a folded sheet of paper from an inside pocket and handed it to Mrs Brown, along with a crumpled piece of newspaper. “Here, señora, are our credentials.”

  “Home for Retired Bears…” began Mrs Brown, reading from the heading on the notepaper. She held it up for Mrs Bird to see. “I do believe it’s from Paddington’s Aunt Lucy…”

  But Mrs Bird had already caught sight of a familiar face in the piece of newspaper. “It’s that dreadful Sunny Climes!” she said. “It must be a cutting from the Evening Banner. If you remember, I said at the time we hadn’t heard the last of him.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Brown. “I wonder how it reached Peru?”

  “Bad news travels,” said Mrs Bird.

  She turned to Fernando. “If it’s Paddington you want to see, he’s upstairs. It’s the end of the month, so he’s probably doing his accounts. If that’s the case, I would rather you didn’t disturb him. Stopping halfway through the adding up might well mean his having to start all over again.”

  “A person of such importance,” said Fernando, “and he is doing his own accounts?” Clearly, it was a concept he had never encountered before. “Whatever next? Besides, it is not what you might calla da higher mathematics.”

  “It is if you happen to be a bear,” said Mrs Brown.

  Mrs Bird read the look on her face. “You carry on with your shopping,” she said. “I’ll deal with this.”

  “I have come a longa da way,” persisted Fernando. “In Peru, his fame as an athlete has spread lika da wildfire. Isa da talking point wherever you go.”

  “That’s as may be,” said Mrs Bird. “But may I suggest you tell us exactly what it is you want to see him about.”

  Fernando reached out for her hand again and clasped it in his. “I have been commissioned, señora,” he said grandly, “to make a film of his exploits. At alla da costs they must be preserved for posterity.

  “Perhaps, if Señor Paddington is engaged, I will telephone his manager and make an appointment?”

  Mrs Brown let go of her shopping bag. “I think I had better stay after all,” she said.

  “Do you both take milk?” asked Mrs Bird. “I’ll put the coffee on.”

  To say the Brown family were rocked to their very foundations by the news that Paddington was about to star in a film, would have been putting it mildly.

  Fernando spent some time in the kitchen with Mrs Bird explaining matters, while Mervyn devoted his time to Mrs Brown, Jonathan and Judy, and latterly Paddington himself when he came downstairs to see what was going on.

  Long after Fernando and Mervyn had departed in search of a suitable location for what they called the ‘nitty-gritty’, and Paddington had gone back upstairs to write a postcard to his Aunt Lucy, the rest of the family talked of little else.

  “What are we going to do?” said Mrs Brown.

  “If that bear’s going to be in a film,” said Mrs Bird, “his duffle coat had better go to the dry-cleaners. If I take it first thing tomorrow morning he’ll get it back the same day.”

  “He won’t like it,” said Judy. “He’s very fond of his stains. Each one tells a story.”

  “I can’t help that,” said Mrs Bird firmly. “Needs must.”

  The discussion carried on through lunch and continued until the evening, when Mr Brown arrived home from the office.

  “Has anyone ever wondered how the Home for Retired Bears came into being?” asked Mrs Bird.

  “I can’t say it’s kept me awake at night,” said Mr Brown. “I’ve always assumed it had something to do with the Lima Borough Council.”

  “It’s a fascinating story,” continued Mrs Bird. “Señor Fernando told me all about it. Apparently it dates back to the time when the Peruvians were building a huge boat on Lake Titicaca.”

  “The Yavari,” broke in Jonathan. “We’ve been learning about it at school. All 210 tonnes were shipped to Peru as a kit of parts. Most were made in Birmingham, but the sections for the hull were made in London by a firm called Thames Ironworks and Shipbuilding, who also founded West Ham Football Club. Which is how they came to be nicknamed ‘The Hammers’, because of all the hammering of the iron plates that went on at the time.”

  “I was beginning to wonder how you remembered all that,” said Judy. “I might have known it had something to do with football.”

  Jonathan gave her an aggrieved look. “It wasn’t just that,” he said. “Our geography master has got pictures of all the problems they had transporting everything.

  “Lake Titicaca is 12,500 feet above sea level, and for the last 350 kilometres it all had to be loaded on to mules. They could only cope with a small amount at a time.”

  “I don’t see why they needed to have a boat that size up there in the first place,” said Judy.

  “It’s like the old joke,” explained Jonathan. “Why did the chicken cross the road? Answer: To get to the other side. Lake Titicaca is the biggest landlocked stretch of water in South America. It’s like an inland sea and there was no other means of communication in thos
e days.”

  “Anyway,” broke in Mrs Bird, unable to contain herself a moment longer, “going back to the Home for Retired Bears. Apparently the whole operation took years rather than months to complete, and a rich English industrialist who happened to be exploring Peru at the time was so mortified at the way bears were being uprooted from their natural habitat, he took pity on them and set up a trust fund. At the same time he purchased a large property in Lima to take care of the older ones who had nowhere to go.”

  “What a kind thought,” said Mrs Brown. “Is he still around?”

  Mrs Bird shook her head. “It all took place well over 150 years ago. But before he died he made sure everything was taken care of. The occupants live rent-free, but they are expected to work for their living and in fact they have quite a steady income from all the things they make.

  “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 e
nded 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.