The Fabulous Phartlehorn Affair Read online

  “What I don’t get,” he grumbled, “is how we’re supposed to compete with that?”

  Tilting back her hat, Grace scanned the terrace. It didn’t take her long to work out who Bruno was talking about. While the majority of their classmates were scattered about in little groups jotting down ideas, Humbert and Natasha had changed into their swimming things and were splashing about in the pool. Xanadu lay sunning himself on a neon pink lilo. He was wearing a pair of gold-spangled swimming trunks. His ice-white Mohican had been pushed forward into an Elvis-style quiff and he was sipping from a luridly coloured mocktail.

  “It’s not fair,” moaned Bruno. “All Natasha and Humbert have to do is point the camera at Xanadu and they’ll have their film in no time.”

  Grace rubbed at an angry patch of skin on her arm. “But life’s not fair, is it? I wouldn’t worry. Humbert and Natasha are way too big-headed to film just Xanadu. They’ll probably spend the whole time arguing about who gets the starring…”

  Grace broke off mid-sentence. Her mouth fell open in the shape of an “O”. In fact, a hush had fallen over the entire terrace. Guests stopped their conversations. Waiters stood rooted to the spot. Swimmers paused mid-stroke. Even the water in the fountains seemed to hang suspended in the air. Bruno looked about in confusion. Then, suddenly, he understood.

  Floating through this frozen world, like a mermaid carried aloft on a wave, came a woman so gorgeous she barely seemed real. She was dressed in a sheaf of purple chiffon. Her hair tumbled down her back like yards of golden silk. Bruno did a double take. It couldn’t be, could it? Surely not! Oh my goodness, it really was!

  Her name was Desiree Draws. Star of such blockbuster movies as Tarantulas Gone Wild, When Nuns Attack and Zombies in Bikinis: The Sequel. By Bruno’s calculations, she had to be one of the top ten most famous people on the whole planet!

  There are times in life when the opportunity we’ve been waiting for catches us unprepared to take it. Then we spend the next day kicking ourselves as to what could have been. Bruno was determined that this should not be one of those occasions. Snatching up the microphone and camera, he jumped down from his seat.

  “What are you doing?” asked Grace, snapping out of her trance.

  “I’m going to ask her for an interview!” cried Bruno.

  “You’re crazy!” said Grace. “She’ll never speak to us. She’s one of the most famous women in the—”

  But it was too late. Bruno was already tearing across the terrace towards Ms Draws. The ribbon of his straw hat fluttered as he ran, dodging this way and that between sun loungers and umbrellas. All he had to do was get her to answer a couple of questions on camera and they’d be sure to win the prize for the best documentary. Here was his chance to carry out the assignment and make his Grandpa Trevor proud.

  7

  The Great Producer

  Desiree Draws swept into the lobby of the Hotel Magnificent. Bruno followed just a few metres behind. He looked about in awe. The painted silk wallpaper, the onyx skirting boards and cabinets inlaid with mother-of-pearl were dazzling to behold, and the air was perfumed with lilies. Desiree had paused in the middle of the room and was checking a message on her phone. Bruno gulped. He racked his brains for something clever to say. Then, just as he was about to enter the star’s orbit, a most unexpected thing happened.

  A huge white dog appeared from nowhere, bounding across the lobby and skidding on the marble tiles. When it reached Bruno, the dog ran round and round his feet, sniffing excitedly at the hem of his shorts. At first it was as if the dog was painting a kiss with the brush of her tail. Then Bruno felt the wind knocked out of him. Two fat paws landed squarely on his chest and sent him toppling to the floor. Bruno struggled to get up again, but it was no use. The mighty mutt had him pinned firmly to the ground. All Bruno could do was watch helplessly as Desiree Draws disappeared out through a revolving glass door. He’d missed his chance.

  The dog’s breath was uncomfortably warm and meaty. Bruno closed his eyes as a glistening ribbon of drool detached itself from the slobbering jaws and fell slowly towards his face.

  When Bruno wiped away the drool and blinked open his eyes, he recognized only one of the two faces staring down at him. That face belonged to Grace Chalk. To Bruno’s annoyance, dimples had appeared in her cheeks and her skin was flushed red with laughter. The face he didn’t recognize belonged to a man with an enormous handlebar moustache. The man crouched down and clipped a heavy gold lead onto the dog’s collar. His oiled hair was dyed jet black and he spoke in a peculiar sing-song voice.

  “Oh my, oh my, I do apologize. It seems Trumpet has taken something of a shine to you. Perhaps we might call it love at first sniff!”

  Bruno watched in a daze as the man heaved on the lead. Strangely, given the heat, he was dressed in a three-piece suit and a polka-dot cravat. Tucked beneath his right arm was a gold and ivory tipped cane.

  At last the dog’s paws lifted from Bruno’s chest, her tail waving like a victory flag as she went to sit at her master’s side. Bruno waited until the air had returned to his lungs, then hauled himself to his feet. “Maybe you should try keeping your dog on the lead next time.” He knew he sounded rude, but the stupid dog had ruined everything.

  “Don’t be like that,” said Grace and bent down to ruffle the dog’s droopy white ears. “Trumpet was only trying to be friendly, weren’t you, Trumpet? Besides, a superstar like Desiree Draws would never have spoken to us anyway.”

  The man with the handlebar moustache looked worried. He twirled his cane about in little circles as if stirring the water in an invisible pond.

  “I do hope Trumpet’s display of affection hasn’t inconvenienced you somehow?” The dog rolled over on its back, offering Grace its tummy to tickle.

  “It was only a silly idea for a school project,” she said, rubbing Trumpet’s belly. “We’re supposed to be making a documentary about fame. Bruno thought he’d get an interview from Desiree Draws. As if that’d ever happen!”

  Bruno felt a wave of indignation. It wasn’t a silly idea, it was a good idea. And if it wasn’t for the blasted dog, they’d have won the film competition for sure.

  Grace was still stroking the dog’s tummy, chattering away happily to the strange man. Something about the dog’s presence seemed to help her overcome her shyness.

  “I’m not really supposed to touch animals. It sets my allergies off. But I don’t mind. Animals are a lot nicer than most humans, don’t you think? What kind of breed is Trumpet, anyway? Is she a kind of spaniel? I’ve always wanted one of those.”

  The man with the handlebar moustache let out a high-pitched squeaking laugh.

  “A spaniel? Heavens, no! Trumpet is the finest example of a Trumpenhund that you will ever meet.”

  “A Trumpenhund?” repeated Bruno. “I’ve never heard of one of those before.”

  “Oh, but they’re very rare,” explained the man. “Rarer than a carnivorous rabbit! And one hundred times more dangerous, too!”

  Bruno shivered as he remembered the sight of the dog’s slobbery jaws hovering above his face.

  “Only joking!” shrieked the man. “Trumpet’s as gentle as a newborn lamb.”

  He patted the dog’s head, then studied the children thoughtfully, as if something had just occurred to him. He caressed the waves of hair above his lip. “You’re doing a school project about fame, you said?”

  Grace nodded.

  “Ooh-la-la! This might just be your lucky day!” He tumbled forward into an elaborate bow. “Please allow me the pleasure of introducing myself…” Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat, the man pulled out a little white business card, which he handed to Grace.

  “Monsieur Zachary Zidler,” she read out loud. “Impresario.”

  Monsieur Zidler snapped himself back upright. “At your service!” he declared.

  Not quite sure what to do with the card, Grace shoved it into the inside pocket of her blazer.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she
said, shyly offering her hand to shake. “I’m Grace Chalk, and this is my friend Bruno Pockley.”

  “Im-pre-sa-rio?” said Bruno, struggling to pronounce the word. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s a posh name for someone who puts on concerts or plays,” explained Grace.

  “Oh yeah, of course.” Bruno blushed. “I knew that.”

  Monsieur Zidler bent down until his face was level with the children’s. Up close, his teeth were startlingly white and his moustache smelt of powdered violets.

  “My dears,” he whispered smoothly, “the word means so much more than that.”

  Bruno could see that Grace, who prided herself on having a large vocabulary, was a little put out at being corrected. Monsieur Zidler drew himself back up to his full height.

  “Some people call me The Great Producer,” he announced grandly. “But you should think of me as a kind of talent scout. In fact, it might just interest you to know that I’m here at the festival looking for children to cast in my next production. Forget about school projects! Forget about Ms Draws! If I choose, I can make you the most famous children in the universe!”

  Bruno and Grace looked at each other in astonishment. Could the man be serious?

  “Just imagine it!” cried Zidler, pointing his cane at the ceiling. “Your faces beaming out from the cover of every magazine! Your names in lights on billboards twelve metres high!”

  Bruno was starting to like the sound of this. “You could really arrange all that?” he asked.

  Monsieur Zidler’s smile was almost as broad as his moustache. “That’s nothing!” he declared. “Stick with me, and I shall have you blasted into the stars!” By now, even Trumpet was panting with excitement. Then Monsieur Zidler’s expression became serious.

  “There is, of course, the small matter of an audition in front of my associates. But details-shmetails! For two such charming children as yourselves the audition should prove no problem. What do you say we meet outside the front of the hotel at half past five tomorrow morning? I’ll take you on a journey that’ll put an end to life as you know it!”

  Bruno did not need to think about his answer. “Sounds great! We’ll see you there.”

  Grace was tugging on the sleeve of his shirt.

  “What?” he asked, a little impatiently.

  She pointed out to the terrace, where Miss Goodwin was sitting with her nose wedged between the pages of a book.

  “We’re not supposed to leave the hotel. It’s the one thing Miss Goodwin asked us not to do. She’s trusting us.”

  Bruno pulled a face. Did Grace always have to be so sensible? “You don’t think Humbert and Natasha are going to play by the rules, do you?”

  “I guess not,” Grace admitted. “Still, it doesn’t feel right.”

  Monsieur Zidler took a step back. His face was all sympathy and understanding.

  “Perhaps I should leave you to discuss this little matter between yourselves. I have no desire to put any pressure upon you.”

  He gave another extravagant bow, then turned on his heel and sauntered away through the lobby. The Trumpenhund trotted along at her master’s side. Like a pair of windscreen wipers on a rainy day, the dog’s tail and the man’s gold-tipped cane seemed to move together in perfect time.

  Just before they disappeared out of earshot, Bruno called after them. “We’ll be there. I promise!”

  The next thing that happened was that Bruno and Grace had their first argument. In fact, it was the only true quarrel they would ever have. I won’t go into the details of who said what to whom, for that would be really quite boring. As in most arguments, they simply went round and round, each repeating their point of view over and over, getting more and more frustrated that the other wouldn’t see sense. In a nutshell, their disagreement was this: Bruno thought that they should meet Monsieur Zidler in the morning. Grace didn’t.

  “We’ll get expelled,” she protested. “I’ll lose my scholarship.”

  “Don’t be such a goody two-shoes,” Bruno retaliated. “Forget school! We’re going to be famous!”

  “Famous for what?” demanded Grace.

  Bruno just about resisted the urge to stamp his foot. Why did Grace have to be so pernickety?

  “Who cares?” he burst out. “It’s the being famous that counts! Do you really want to stay a nobody for ever? Don’t you want to make your parents proud?”

  Parents. Bruno felt a rush of sadness as he said the word. It was too late for him to impress his mum and dad. Still, it would mean so much to Grandpa Trevor if Bruno was to become a star.

  In the end, it was Grace who caved in. She still had her doubts, of course, but she hated arguing.

  “All right,” she conceded. “I’ll come with you to the audition. But we’d better be back before anyone notices.”

  “I swear on my grandpa’s life, if we get caught, I’ll say it was all my fault and that I made you do it,” promised Bruno. “And anyway, they’d never expel you. You’re Miss Goodwin’s star pupil. The worst you’d ever get is a Saturday detention.”

  Later, Bruno would come to wish he’d listened to Grace. For as you will know, it is a golden rule never to go off with strangers. Monsieur Zidler may well have been an impresario with a fancy business card and an even fancier moustache, but he was a stranger nonetheless.

  8

  A Ride into the Country

  That night, Bruno could barely sleep a wink. The bed was the softest he had ever lain on. The pillows were the fluffiest he had ever touched. Yet still the hours of darkness seemed to drag on for ever. As soon as the bedside clock read 05:00, Bruno was out of his bed and into his school uniform. Thinking it might be good to make a bit of an effort for the audition, he sprinkled some water onto his mop of brown curls. But no matter how often he wrestled it down, his hair just sprang straight back up again.

  As satisfied as he could be with his appearance, Bruno crept out into the corridor and went to knock for Grace. When there was no answer, he paced back and forth, itching with impatience. From a nearby room came the sound of a toilet flushing. Somewhere, someone switched on a television. For some strange reason, a few of the other children seemed to be stirring. Bruno couldn’t wait much longer. If Grace didn’t appear soon, he’d have to go to meet Monsieur Zidler on his own.

  Just as Bruno was about to give up on her, Grace popped her head out into the corridor. Her eyes were as round as golf balls as she looked to the left and to the right to check that no one was coming.

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she whispered, shutting the door quietly behind her. “We’re going to get in so–o–o–o much trouble.”

  “You worry too much,” Bruno dismissed. “Now, come on, quick!”

  The lift doors pinged open. Save for a night porter snoozing behind the reception desk, the lobby was empty. Being careful not to wake him, Bruno and Grace crept out through the revolving glass door. Outside, a street sweeper was hard at work cleaning up the rubbish left over from last night’s film parties. Champagne corks and broken glass littered the pavements. A gaggle of seagulls fought over a discarded feather boa, thinking it might make a nice lining for a nest. There was no sign of Monsieur Zidler.

  Grace glanced anxiously at her watch. The sun had not yet warmed the sky and her arms were bristling with goosebumps.

  “We are a bit early,” she said with a shiver. “I just hope he gets here before anyone spots us leaving the hotel.”

  Though he didn’t admit it, Bruno was nervous too. What if Monsieur Zidler had forgotten about their meeting? What if he’d found some other children to make famous?

  The seconds ticked by.

  At last they heard the swish of a revolving door behind them. Bruno felt a wave of relief. Yet when the door swung round, it wasn’t Monsieur Zidler who tumbled out, but Humbert, Natasha and Xanadu. Even at this ungodly hour, Xanadu was wearing his shades.

  “Wassup, dudes?” he yawned, before wandering off to admire his reflection in the
bonnet of a shiny red Ferrari.

  The other children eyeballed each other with suspicion.

  “What are you two doing here?” asked Natasha. She couldn’t have sounded more disgusted if she’d found two pieces of chewing gum stuck to her shoe.

  “Hanging around like a bad smell as usual,” Humbert sneered.

  Bruno puffed out his chest like a pigeon. “Well, if you must know, Grace and I are here to— Ouch! What did you do that for?”

  For some reason Grace had decided to step on his foot.

  “I thought we agreed to keep it a secret,” she whispered.

  “A secret.” Natasha rolled the word about on her tongue. “Hmm, let me guess, what could it be? I know! The scholarship kids are here to earn some extra money by helping to clean the streets. That’s what your dad does, isn’t it, Grace? Isn’t he a dustman?”

  Grace’s green eyes narrowed. It was the first time Bruno had ever seen her look angry.

  “So what if he is,” she said, clenching her small white fists. “At least he isn’t killing penguins and fouling up the seas with his dirty great oil rigs.”

  It seemed that although she was quite happy to laugh at Grace’s father, Natasha did not appreciate it when the tables were turned. She began to swear violently in her mother tongue. Bruno had no idea what she was saying, which is just as well, since the insults streaming from his classmate’s pursed pink lips were far too rude to reprint here. Grace, on the other hand, seemed to understand perfectly. The boys looked on in astonishment as the two girls squared up to each other, cursing in Russian. Bruno couldn’t believe it. This was not the shy, retiring Grace Chalk he knew.

  Just in time to stop a full-blown fight from breaking out, Monsieur Zidler screeched up in a pea-green sports car. The car looked very expensive, with a fold-down roof and a red leather interior. Trumpet was perched on the passenger seat, and when she caught sight of the children, she let out a yelp of joy. Monsieur Zidler seemed equally pleased to see them.