Alistair Smythe and the Hawk’s Retribution |
Alistair Smythe
and the
Hawk’s Retribution
By Chuck Semenuk
Sir Alistair Smythe turned up his collar and pulled his bowler hat down low over his eyes in an attempt to keep out the cold London rain. As he approached the bank, he didn’t notice a rather portly man coming off the steps. They collided, knocking Smythe’s hat askew.
“What? Oh, excuse me sir,” said Smythe, straightening his hat.
“Certainly, my good man. As I live and breathe! It’s Alistair Smythe.”
“Good heavens! Lord Fairwood! Have you been visiting your money at the bank?” Smythe said with a chuckle.
“Of course, old chum. I don’t want to forget what it looks like,” Fairwood smiled. Lord Fairwood was filthy rich you might say, but he didn’t put on airs. He didn’t mind people joking about his wealth and was well known for helping the less fortunate citizens of the old town.
“What do you say we step into the café next door for a spot of tea?” asked Smythe.
“Jolly good idea,” said Fairwood looking at his pocket watch. “My chauffer won’t be by for a short while.”
The two men entered the café and found a table near the front window. A waitress quickly brought a pot of tea and two cups.
Smythe sipped his tea. “Ah. Nothing like a good cup of tea to chase the chill, I always say.”
“I agree, old friend,” said Fairwood. “I say, Smythe. Are you still keeping company with that young lady? I’m afraid that I’ve forgotten her name.”
“You mean Miss Fienbody. Amelia Fienbody. Yes, I don’t know what I would do without her.”
“I take it that you haven’t married. I thought you would probably have married her by now.”
“Heavens no, old chap. Our relationship is strictly platonic. No sense in mucking up a wonderful friendship by getting married, I always say!” said Smythe with a grin.
“Someday you’ll have to settle down with a good woman. You’re not getting any younger you know,” Fairwood laughed.
“Perhaps one day,” smiled Smythe.
