How They Might Have Met
Oct. 1st, 2007 01:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
titusnowlThe year in which Roger Conway turned 21 proved to be momentous, for reasons only tangentially related to his having attained legal majority and hence full ownership of the pub in Devonshire which had been bequeathed him by an uncle; although, to be sure, had he not owned that pub, things would have been quite different.
That spring, Simon Templar happened to be enjoying one of his then-sporadic sojourns in his native land, in between personally-incited international crises; and it just so happened that he found himself in St. Marychurch and availed himself of the local hospitality. Ever gregarious, he struck up a conversation with a handsome lad he found at his elbow; and was very surprised to discover that the young Londoner - surely still of 'varsity age - was in fact the landlord. Now, there are two classes of people with whom Simon Templar always believed in cultivating acquaintance: good-looking blond(e)s, and bar-owners; and as Mr. Conway fit very neatly into both categories, that the duration of Simon's stay in Devon would generate a certain amity was nearly a foregone conclusion.
On Roger's part, the attraction was equally understandable. The Saint - for Simon bore the nickname even then, although it would not gain its notoriety in England for a few years to come - was charismatic, outgoing, and full of interesting stories from half a decade of globe-trotting; and it would be a dull boy indeed who was bored by his company.
At the end of a week, during which Simon took care of a few spots of business and maintained an appearance and lifestyle in keeping with his persona of a gentleman of leisure, they took rather reluctant leave of each other with a good bit of handshaking and toasts of "happy hunting;" and so far as they knew at the time, that was that - just exactly the sort of enjoyable but short-lived friendship that is so often formed amongst holidaymakers.
Roger discovered shortly thereafter that the business of actually running a pub interested him considerably less than the business of running a pub out of beer; and so it was left in the capable hands of the manageress he had inherited along with the license, and he returned to London.
Simon, meanwhile, was in Malaysia fighting pirates - but that's a story for another time.
That spring, Simon Templar happened to be enjoying one of his then-sporadic sojourns in his native land, in between personally-incited international crises; and it just so happened that he found himself in St. Marychurch and availed himself of the local hospitality. Ever gregarious, he struck up a conversation with a handsome lad he found at his elbow; and was very surprised to discover that the young Londoner - surely still of 'varsity age - was in fact the landlord. Now, there are two classes of people with whom Simon Templar always believed in cultivating acquaintance: good-looking blond(e)s, and bar-owners; and as Mr. Conway fit very neatly into both categories, that the duration of Simon's stay in Devon would generate a certain amity was nearly a foregone conclusion.
On Roger's part, the attraction was equally understandable. The Saint - for Simon bore the nickname even then, although it would not gain its notoriety in England for a few years to come - was charismatic, outgoing, and full of interesting stories from half a decade of globe-trotting; and it would be a dull boy indeed who was bored by his company.
At the end of a week, during which Simon took care of a few spots of business and maintained an appearance and lifestyle in keeping with his persona of a gentleman of leisure, they took rather reluctant leave of each other with a good bit of handshaking and toasts of "happy hunting;" and so far as they knew at the time, that was that - just exactly the sort of enjoyable but short-lived friendship that is so often formed amongst holidaymakers.
Roger discovered shortly thereafter that the business of actually running a pub interested him considerably less than the business of running a pub out of beer; and so it was left in the capable hands of the manageress he had inherited along with the license, and he returned to London.
Simon, meanwhile, was in Malaysia fighting pirates - but that's a story for another time.
