Paddington Races Ahead by Michael Bond

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