Giles inhaled the drink and closed his eyes, fluttering his eyelashes.
“A hint of dark oak definitely.”
“Perhaps a deeper bouquet like a rusty copper,” Lynton replied.
Giles cradled his cigar lovingly, and crunched on some spare ribs.
“Why would you call a a fine cigar a Cuban he mused? The Cubans were incredibly common
and impoverished. I mean it’s a symbol. It stands for something more.”
“Why would you call a decrepit decaying old bat a Queen?” Lynton replied, that’s the English
language Giles, cut a vowel here twist a syllable there; it’s a kind of phonetic prostitution,”
he concluded.
“At Least the Cubans can sing eh? I read somewhere that Fidel Castro sang like a nightingale.”
“Fidelio Castro,” Algernon chortled.
“Have you been reading the gutter press again Giles? Sensationalism; caviar for the common
man, Lynton chided. I mean what’s she the Queen of anyway? Not hearts anyway. I for one
have always found her incredibly detached and aloof.”
“Tarts perhaps?” Giles interceded, “give Lynton a bone and he will chew upon it eh
Algernon?”
“Blasphemy, treachery; Giles, you should both be taken to the tower of London and clapped in
irons.”
They all lauged heartily. Old friends like a bunch of wide eyed school kids on a holiday outing.
Time may have ravaged their bodies, but their lust for life was truly undiminished.
“We really should this more often,” Giles said wistfully.
“Well after they ban fox hunting what will we be left with,” Lynton sighed.
“I must admit we was a little concerned when I read the menu Giles, but the chopped liver was
a revelation. I had feared it was going to be the gastronomic version of a Dan Brown novel,
quick and tasty but lacking any real substance.”
“Ye of little fate,” Giles scolded playfully,” I sourced the liver personally and traced it to a
quant farm in the Eden Valley, their motto on products is “From farm to fork.”
“Highly appropriate given the nature of the menu,” Lynton enthused.
“Hear, hear,” gushed Algernon, “no preservatives to spoil the flavor. At last real quality fresh
British meat.”
“Would anyone like some more red?” inquired Giles.
“If only I had the will to resist,” Lynton replied, patting a well rounded tummy.
“A personnel favorite of yours then Lynton a Bloody Mary ?” Giles smirked as poured the
liquid slowly into the silver goblet.
“Why are we called the breakfast club anyway, we never eat breakfast anyway.
“That’s the point Giles, we celebrate the play on words; and after all the great British breakfast
is the standard bearer of our long and illustrious eating tradition,” Lynton responded.
“Splendid idea old boy, devilishly cunning. No pruning of the lexicon like the riff-raff eh,”
Algernon enthused.
Lynton checked his pocket-watch and adjusted his spectacles.
“I really have to call it an evening I’m afraid dear boys. As ever Giles you have been the
consummate host.”
“I’ll second that Lynton,” Algernon agreed warmly.
They all embraced in the study, a great sense of nostalgia sweeping over them.
The snow petered down lazily making little windmills on the cobbled pavement, as Lynton and
Algernon limped reluctantly into the gathering gloom.
The sound of Christmas carols drifted across from the market at Canterbury lane.
The two old men became misty eyed for a moment.
“The sands of time are ebbing away for us Lynton. I fear this could be our last Christmas
together.”
A small fresh faced newsboy cried out into the night air.
“Extra, extra, read all about it. Heiress remains found.”
Lynton pressed a sovereign into the little boy’s hand.
“Gee thanks mister,” the kid replied eyes shining brightly.
The two men paused and digested the stark text.
The body of the Heiress to Eden Valley Pork Empire has been discovered.
It is feared Mary Bentley was eaten alive and some of her vital organs removed
for consumption later. The self –style group called ‘The Breakfast Club,’
have claimed responsibility for the heinous crime..
It is also feared that the young lady’s sister was also subjected to this barbaric act of
cannibalism. The hunt goes on for her body.
“So what did you think of the vegetables then Lynton,” Algernon probed as they wandered
happily through the snow.
“The humans were vegetables Algernon,” Lynton concluded dryly.