Episode 2: PMT at the PMU

We left the DS and The Driver looking for coffee, a croissant and an alternator in a French town near the city of Poitiers. The Driver found all three, and lots more besides… (Bonus “DS-Vinci Code” historical treasure hunt: readers may like to look for three hidden dates in the story, and suggest a link to do with battles in the province of Poitou…)

The Driver parks Madeleine, the sleek white D Spéciale, next to the seventeenth-century oak-framed market hall of Délymèle-sur-Grogne. A signpost indicates in dark blue enamel letters on a rusting ivory background that Poitiers and Limoges are an hour away in opposite directions.

The alternator stops screaming Morse code as he turns off the ignition and applies the foot-operated parking brake.

He sits for a moment in his armchair behind the mono-branche steering wheel.

Madeleine sighs as her owner alights, and the hydropneumatic suspension’s green liquid makes silent compensation for the change in ballast.

He’ll go to the Mairie first, and ask for a list of garages in the town.

This is a working day, and with two hours to go until the Mairie opens, breakfast beckons. He buys a croissant from the boulangerie near the halles du marché. The pastry purchase takes twenty minutes, because the boulangère tells him that she is from Le Mans, four hours’ drive to the north, and insists on giving her recipe for rillettes.

The church clock shows 7.32 as he walks across the square to the PMU.

The PMU sells a selection of poverty-related items: betting slips; scratch-cards; cigarettes. Early morning is usually a good time for a quiet décafféiné, because the other clients are invariably engrossed in hangovers, the first Gauloise of the day, and the racing pages of Paris Turf.

The lady behind the counter is wearing a trowelful of make-up and a scowl: Brigitte Bardot circa 1979 on a bad hair day. The red illuminated PMU sign behind is partly obscured by her ample bosom, and by the rear quarters of her German Shepherd companion. It seems to read: “PMT”. The Driver takes the half-hidden advertisement as an avertissement, and does not attempt conversation. Instead, he passes un moment agréable being enlightened by two matinal and threadbare Stella Artois-drinking habitués, on the subject of all of the money they’ve won over the years. He shouts them their drinks, and receives 5.07 Euros in change.

An hour or so later, he is pushing open the creaking door of La Mairie.

There are over 36 000 Mairie doors in France, and all of them creak. Fortunately, this one is no exception.

There is a rhythmic, urgent shuffling emanating from the council chambers on the first floor. The sound has the unmistakable timbre of soft leather on wooden floorboards….