Paddington’s Finest Hour

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First published in hardback in Great Britain by HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2017 This edition published in 2018

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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: 9780008226206

Ebook Edition © 2017 ISBN: 9780008226213

Version: 2018-05-23

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 …

About the Author

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.”