Michael Bond - Paddington Complete Novels

“Oh dear,” said Mrs Bird. “And it doesn’t look as if you’re going to now. Look!”

She pointed to the screen where an announcement had just been flashed on to say that Mr Reginald Clove was indisposed.

“What!” cried Paddington hotly as the words sank in. “Reginald Clove indisposed!”

“That means he’s ill, dear,” explained Mrs Brown. “So he won’t be playing after all.”

“How very disappointing,” said Mr Brown. “It’s a long time since I heard an organ. I was really looking forward to it.”

While the rest of the Browns watched the advertisements on the screen Paddington sank back into his seat and listened to Mr Brown explaining what the organ would have looked like had it come up through the floor. Mr Brown liked organs and he went on for a long time about it.

“Henry,” said Mrs Brown when he had finished. “Where’s Paddington?”

“Paddington?” exclaimed Mr Brown. “Don’t tell me he’s disappeared again. He was here a moment ago.”

“I do hope he isn’t long wherever he’s got to,” said Mrs Brown. “We shall never hear the last of it if he misses the start of the big picture.”

But Paddington was already almost out of sight. He was hurrying up the aisle and out through the door marked EXIT. There was a purposeful expression on his face, one which the Browns would have recognised at once had they been able to see him.

Paddington wasn’t the only one with a purposeful expression on his face at that moment. As he hurried down the stairs on one side of the cinema the manager of the Podium strode up the stairs leading to the projection box on the other.

There was something unusual going on in his theatre and he intended finding out what it was. He prided himself that the Podium was normally a very well run cinema but on this particular evening things had gone wrong from the beginning.

First of all the lady in the cash desk -usually a most reliable person – had complained of a fishy smell and mysterious voices saying they were accompanied coming from underneath her counter. Then Reginald Clove had caught his hand in a swing door and had announced the fact that he couldn’t play the organ. Something to do with his not being able to work the stops and turn the music with only one hand.

As if that wasn’t enough there had come news of ‘goings on’ in the circle. It was most unusual to have ‘goings on’ in the circle. Occasionally he had a spot of bother in the cheaper seats downstairs – but never in the circle.

There had been complaints of bear’s boos coming from the front row during the cowboy film, and as he’d passed through the stalls he’d also noticed several people immediately underneath the balcony with ice-cream stains on their hats. It was all very disturbing and he wasn’t in the best of moods as he burst into the projection room waving a piece of paper.

“I want this notice flashed on the screen,” he said crossly. “At once!”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Mrs Brown a few moments later. “What on earth can that mean?”

Mr Brown adjusted his glasses and stared at the screen, “WILL THE OWNER OF THE YOUNG BEAR IN THE CIRCLE KINDLY REPORT TO THE MANAGER’S OFFICE IMMEDIATELY,” he read.

“I don’t know, Mary,” he said, as he made to get to his feet, “but I’m certainly going to find out.”

“Owner indeed!” snorted Mrs Bird. “As if anyone owned Paddington.”

“The boot’s on the other paw, if you ask me,” began Mr Brown. “Paddington owns us.” As he was speaking, a strange expression came over his face.

“Well, Henry,” said Mrs Brown, staring at her husband, “aren’t you going to do something about it?”

“I… I… can’t get up,” exclaimed Mr Brown, feeling his seat. “I seem to be stuck to something… Nougat!” he said bitterly. “Paddington’s nougat! No wonder the manager wants to see me in his office.”

Unaware of all the excitement that was going on, Paddington pushed open a door and made his way down the aisle of the stalls until he came across a girl selling ice-cream.

“Excuse me,” he said, climbing up on to a seat and tapping her on the shoulder, “can you tell me where the indisposed man is?”

“The indisposed man?” repeated the girl.

“That’s right,” said Paddington patiently. “The one who’s supposed to come up through the floor.”

“Oh, you mean the organist,” said the girl. “Mr Reginald Clove. He’s through that little door there. The one under the stage.”

Before she could explain that no one was allowed through it without permission Paddington had disappeared again.

Mr Reginald Clove looked quite startled when Paddington came through the door. He had been expecting someone to come, but he certainly hadn’t expected it to be a bear.

“Are you from the first aid?” he asked, looking at Paddington rather doubtfully.

“Oh, no,” said Paddington, politely raising his hat. “I’m from number thirty-two Windsor Gardens and I’ve come about the organ.”

Mr Clove stepped back a pace. “You’ve come about the organ?” he repeated, trying to humour Paddington.

“Yes,” said Paddington. “I wanted to see it come up through the floor.”

“Oh!” Mr Clove’s face cleared. “Is that all?”

“All!” exclaimed Paddington hotly. “It’s very important. Mr Brown was looking forward to it.”

“Oh dear,” said Mr Clove, idly sorting through a pile of music with his good hand. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could oblige. But I’ve hurt my hand, you see, and I’ve no one to turn the music for me, and…” He looked thoughtfully at Paddington. “Do you like music, bear?” he asked suddenly.

“Oh, yes,” replied Paddington. “But I don’t really play anything except the comb and paper and I’m not very good at that because I get my whiskers caught in the comb.”

“Do you think you could turn the music for me?” asked Mr Clove.

“Well,” said Paddington doubtfully, “it’s a bit difficult for bears because of their paws, but if you could tell me when to do it I could try.

Mr Clove came to a decision. “You’ll do,” he said briskly. “Come with me.”

“Goings on!” exclaimed Mrs Bird, waving her handbag at the manager. “They weren’t ‘goings on’. He was only enjoying himself.”

“Bear’s boos,” said the manager sternly. “In the Podium circle. And nougat on one of my best seats.”

“Then you shouldn’t sell it,” replied Mrs Bird. “It’s asking for trouble.”

“Well, where is he now?” demanded the manager. “Tell me that. I want to start the big picture. We’re five minutes late already.”

The Browns exchanged anxious glances. Knowing Paddington, he might be anywhere, but before they had time to reply they were all startled into silence by a loud rumbling from the front of the cinema which grew and grew in volume until the whole place began to shake.

“Good heavens!” exclaimed the manager as a burst of applause swept through the audience. “It’s Reginald Clove playing ‘Rule Britannia!’ And with one hand, too!”

They all stared over the balcony as the lights dimmed and the organ rose into view bathed in a pink spotlight.

“Mercy me,” cried Mrs Bird, clutching her seat. “And there’s that bear—what on earth is he doing now?”

Paddington felt most important as he rode up on the organ and he wished he could turn and wave to the Browns to let them know where he was, but he was much too busy carrying out Mr Clove’s instructions.

Even so, there was one nasty moment when, in his excitement, he turned over two pages of music at once by mistake. Mr Clove looked most surprised when he suddenly found himself playing a selection from The Gondoliers instead of ‘Rule Britannia’ but he quickly recovered and in the general excitement no one seemed to notice.