Hyacinth Bucket (pronounced Bouquet) stood outside her front door, busily wiping the heart-shaped leaves of her evening primrose. She wore her usual boxy blue flowered housedress, yellow cleaning sponge in hand. She stood strategically positioned in the event her neighbor Elizabeth's divorcé brother, Emmet Hawksworth, should happen to pop out. Hyacinth would invite them over for coffee and then offer her services as a singer to Emmet in one of his upcoming amateur operatic society's presentations via belting out a show tune. Hyacinth tried to appear focused on the plant and picking invisible dead leaves from the vine, all the while, her eyes remained trained on Elizabeth's closed door.

Emmet peered out through the lace curtain covering the front door. Not seeing Hyacinth right away, he opened the door and slipped out. Hyacinth stepped from behind the cover of climbing vine and immediately burst into song, bellowing a show tune at twenty decibels and out of tune. Emmet slapped his hands over his ears but it was too late- she'd seen him! She waved excitedly.

"Emmet!" Hyacinth trilled, "Coffee in twelve minutes! Bring Elizabeth!"

Emmet's mouth gaped. Finally he found his voice, "Liz is not in, Hyacinth!" he stammered, "I'll have to miss your delicious coffee and a stroll through your photo albums. Oh, damn!" He feigned disappointment.

"Oh, that is a shame," she lamented, "No sense in coffee going to waste. Join me in say, ten minutes. La-la-la-la!" She sang gaily, her head teetering side to side as she disappeared into her house leaving Emmet speechless.

"How does she do it? How does she do it?" he groused, pounding his fist against the brick pillar, "I'm getting as bad as Liz. Why can't I just say no?"

His shoulders slumped and he trudged over to Hyacinth's, defeated and resolved to be at her beckon call.

Emmet stood on Hyacinth's doorstep, stepping on the backs of his shoes to remove them. He took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell button. The electronic Westminster chime greeted him mockingly. Emmet rolled his eyes as he heard Hyacinth singing through the house, coming closer.

"Coming, Emmet!" she called.

I could just run home, he thought.

The door swung open and Hyacinth smiled broadly and broke into song.

Emmet stood firm, "I shall not join you for coffee if you're going to sing at me the whole time!"

Hyacinth's wide cross-bite smile faded slightly, "Very well. Come in, come in…Emmet." She'd have plenty of time to sing at him.

He followed her to the kitchen, leaving his brown suede loafers on her doorstep, feeling a little uncomfortable without Elizabeth.

"Sit anywhere," she invited.

Emmet took a seat next to the cupboard. Hyacinth didn't attempt to make him change seats like she usually did to Elizabeth.

"Where's Elizabeth gone to this early in the morning?" Hyacinth asked, walking to the table carrying a tray of her fine Royal Doulton bone china with the hand-painted periwinkles and a plate of biscuits.

"She's gone on an errand," he shrugged matter-of-factly.

"What sort of errand?" she pressed, intrigued.

"She didn't say," he deflected, "I was in the shower when she'd left."

"Hmm…" she mused, sitting down, "Biscuit?" She held the plate to Emmet and he took one. He wasn't nearly as jumpy as he was when he was with Elizabeth. He put his brave face on.

"Thank you," he smiled demurely and set the cookie on the paper napkin in front of him. He was surprised at how comfortable he felt being alone in Hyacinth's kitchen. Usually he was on tenterhooks and his stomach flip-flopped. He glanced around at her spotless kitchen. He eyes met hers and he quickly diverted them to the canisters on the shelf.

"Emmet?" she began, "Why do you avoid my gaze?"

He shifted slightly in his chair and smiled nervously. He was surprised the phone hadn't rung yet. It was usually her sister Violet with the Mercedes, sauna, and room for a pony. Or it was her sister Daisy to report that her barmy father had gone off again. The phone remained silent and Hyacinth remained in the kitchen, sitting down, eyes riveted on him.

She's gearing up to sing at me. I know it! he thought to himself.

She took a sip from her cup, eyeing him over the rim, "I think you're attracted to me, Emmet."

He nearly choked, "Psss-sha!" he scoffed.

"It's true, Emmet!" she countered, "I see how I affect you."

He stood and collected himself, "I've got to go, Hyacinth. Thanks for the coffee."

"Wait!" she blurted, jumping up and grabbing his arm, knocking over his cup, coffee washing over the table in a caramel-colored wave.

"I'm so sorry, Hyacinth!" he stammered and began mopping the mess with his napkin.

"Never mind that," she reassured him and walked over to the sink to retrieve a dish cloth. She wiped the table feverishly, determined to be the ideal hostess.

"Sit, please," she said, indicating his seat.

Obediently he sat down.

"More coffee?" she asked.

Not wanting to seem ungrateful, he reluctantly agreed, "Yes, please." Hyacinth went for the carafe and poured him another cup.

"Thank you, Hyacinth."

"Oh, you're very welcome, Emmet," she smiled.

He nursed his coffee, wondering when she was going to ask him for a part in his amateur operatic society's upcoming performance of Me And My Girl. She smiled wryly and cleared her throat.

Here it comes, he thought, bracing himself.

"Emmet, I have a proposal," she said finally.

I knew it! he said to himself.

She chose her words carefully, "Emmet, you and I have been friends quite a while now," she began.

"I wouldn't exactly say friends, Hyacinth," he clarified, "More like acquaintances. Casual acquaintances."

"Nonsense!" she waved her hand, "You've been to several of my candle-light suppers. That makes us friends."

As if one has a choice, he thought to himself, It's almost like being conscripted!

"Anyway," she said, resuming control of the conversation, "I would like to become closer friends."

His breath caught in his throat, "What's that supposed to mean?" All of a sudden he got the distinct feeling she wasn't talking about an acting part in his play.

She moved in closer as if there were someone else in the room who might hear, "You may have noticed, I have a lot of free time on my hands."

He moved back a bit, "Yes," he said carefully.

"Well, I think you and I should spend more time together. Get to know each other better."

He felt his face flush hot. Was she chatting him up?

"What did you have in mind?" he squeaked, his throat tight and dry.

She scooted her chair right next to him so her knee was resting against his. His heart was pounding in his chest so loud he thought she might hear it. She smiled widely, her eyes dancing, as she moved even closer.

"I thought maybe you and I could get together for a little afternoon tête-à-tête once in a while. Just you and I. Nothing formal. As a matter of fact, very informal!" she winked conspiratorially.

She was chatting him up! He had to get out of there. Now! But he felt as if he was glued to his seat and he could not extricate himself from the situation. He felt repulsed by the notion, yet he was interested in what she had to say. Usually he was not interested in anything having to do with Hyacinth Bucket, but for some reason, he wanted to hear her out.

"What about Richard?" he asked.

She put her hand on Emmet's forearm and smiled, "Richard never comes home during the day. He won't be home from the office until five. That gives us all afternoon."

Emmet's licked his suddenly-dry lips as Hyacinth's hand slid to his thigh. It had been quite some time since he'd had a serious relationship or an offer of sex. Hyacinth's sister Rose rode on his lap in the back of Onslow's car, awakening a long-dormant desire, but she never furthered the advance, leaving him quite dejected. He thought wistfully of Rose's bum grinding him on the way to Debenham's department store and he bit his lower lip.

"But, Hyacinth," he protested, "You're happily married. To Richard!"

"Oh, yes," she said as if remembering her husband, "We are happy. But I must confess…"

"Hmm?" he arched an eyebrow.

"Richard is unable to keep up with my insatiable appetite," she confided.

Emmet burst out laughing, "What? You?"

"Oh, yes," she whispered, "He can't keep up with me. Never could. He knows I have a few lovers."

Emmet couldn't believe his ears. Hyacinth Bucket…a woman philanderer? When did she find the time? Who was she involved with? Emmet was intrigued. Maybe beneath the hats and under the cloak of the candle-light supper, Hyacinth was a wild woman.

"How long has this been going on?" he managed, his eyes intense.

"Oh, it's been going on since before he and I were married," she said quietly.

"He knows?" Emmet asked incredulously.

"Oh, yes," she said and waved with flair.

Emmet was afraid to ask, but did anyway, "Who?"

"A lady never divulges," she teased. She leaned in and brushed her lips against his cheek and he did not pull away. She moved her hand a little higher up his thigh and he gulped hard. He felt himself reacting to her and silently chastised himself.

"When?" he exhaled.

"Right now if you'd like," she flirted.

"I mean, when do you find the time?" he clarified.

"Oh, sometimes right after a candle-light supper. The first time was a few years ago. I was going upstairs to retrieve the Major's coat from our bedroom and he followed me. He cornered me and then he took me right there on top of the pile of coats on the bed!" Emmet's eyes went wild with shock and disbelief.

"Oh, yes. That snooty Mrs. Barker-Finch's mink coat was most luxurious for what we used it for!" she snickered haughtily.

Emmet mock-scolded her, wagging his finger, "Naughty, naughty!" he laughed. He liked this side of Hyacinth Bucket...oops! Bouquet!

She was proud of that encounter. A houseful of guests and a bit of naughty nookie right upstairs from them. Publicly she would put on airs that she was put off by Major Wilton Smythe's blatant and lustful flirtations, but secretly behind closed doors they were white-hot lovers. He might have had a hitch in his step from an old war injury, but his plumbing worked perfectly and he knew how to make Hyacinth come out of herself. Secretly she liked his ribald and tawdry comments and his hands all over her. As much as she tried to distance herself from her common-as-muck family, she was one of them. She envied Rose's devil-may-care attitude and freedom. Hyacinth had to keep this side of herself hidden. She was, after all, Keeping Up Appearances.

Emmet's mind wandered and he was a bit curious. Was Hyacinth serious or was she taking the mickey? He decided to play ball. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to hers. Hyacinth's arms flew around his neck and she began passionately kissing him in return. Her tongue curled around his and he ran his fingers through her hair. Emmet could not remember the last the last time he had been kissed like that and his hands went to Hyacinth's waist. She let out a little moan as he tugged at the hem of her blue and green flowered dress.

"Not here," she panted, "Not in front of my Royal Doulton with the hand-painted periwinkles!"

He laughed to himself.

"OK, then, where?" he asked.

"Upstairs of course!" she trilled breathlessly.

"Of course," he nodded slowly, "In your bedroom?"

"Oh, yes!" she said as if stating the obvious, "I tried taking a lover in Sheridan's old room, but I couldn't help thinking he would be appalled if he knew his Mummy was entertaining other men in his bed. It ruined the mood."

"What about Richard? Wouldn't he be appalled?" Emmet couldn't believe he was actually entertaining the idea.

"No."

What the hell? he thought, Poor sod has no idea.

Hyacinth took Emmet's hand and led him upstairs. The stairs creaked as they trod.

Last chance to back out, the voice in Emmet's head warned. He continued.

Hyacinth's bedroom was impeccably clean. The comforter on the bed matched the wallpaper and the carpeting- it was all incredibly pink. Emmet looked around guiltily as Hyacinth's fingertips grazed his neck. He smiled uneasily. His eyes stole around the room and he settled on her vanity. Bottles of lotions, perfume, hairpins, and makeup. Powders, potions, a comb, a brush, a hairnet, a large oval mirror. The Hyacinth Bucket Command Center! He imagined many a candle-light supper being planned out at this very spot. He chuckled to himself.

"It's OK, Emmet. Richard knows about my lovers," she reassured him.

"Does he know you bring them here?" he asked nervously, "Is he going to find out and then come and kill me?"

"He won't find out. But if he does, he will be fine with it. We have a strong marriage. Stop worrying!" She placed her hands on his chest and leaned in again. This time Emmet took her face in both hands, caressed her lips with his thumbs, and kissed her deeply, pressing himself against her. If Richard was alright with his wife having it off with other men, who was he to question it? He figured he'd better get on with it before she changed her mind or laughed and said it was all a joke. Truth be told, he hadn't been laid in so long that even a proposal from Hyacinth Bucket was better than he'd had in the two years he'd lived with Elizabeth. Several blind dates left him empty-handed. Well, all he was left with was his hand. Maybe Hyacinth could hook him up with her sister Rose. Maybe he could talk them into a threesome. He smiled mischievously at the thought.

"That's better," Hyacinth crooned, thinking he was smiling at the prospect of bedding her. She began to loosen his brown tie and unbutton his light tan Oxford shirt. He stood there allowing her to slowly undress him. He licked his lips as she slid his vest up and gently scratched his belly. He arched an eyebrow and gathered her skirt up, slipping the whole dress over her head, and tossing it onto a nearby chair. Hyacinth stood in her stocking feet and slip and extra-supportive brassiere. Emmet surveyed the scene. She was round-bodied, abdomen streaked with stretch marks, hair perfectly coiffed, and vulnerable. He could not get over the idea of her being a sex pot, demanding more than Richard could oblige. Poor man. Well, here was Emmet to take up the slack. The understudy.

Hyacinth's arm snaked around him. Emmet buried his face in the crook of her neck. She did smell nice and he kissed her tenderly.

This might not be so bad, he rationalized, As long as she doesn't sing during it! I shall go mad if she starts singing during it.

"Ever since that day I first saw you retrieve the milk draped in a towel, it's all I could think about. Every time after that that I saw you, my mind was transported back to that morning I saw you on Elizabeth's doorstep draped in a towel. I knew I wanted to find out what was under that towel. I knew I wanted you. That's why I was always trying to get your attention, trying to get you to give me a part in one of your plays or operatic presentations," she gushed like a school girl.

He was flummoxed, "So you didn't want to sing or act in a performance?"

"That wasn't entirely out of the question. But honestly, I wanted to be near you, Emmet," she confessed, tracing a finger along his belly and waistband of his trousers.

Oh, what the hell? his brain rationalized It's just sex, after all, isn't it?

He unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his trousers. The whole lot fell to the floor and he stood there in his boxers, hard and ready. Hyacinth's eyes were drawn to his boxers and she surmised he was adequate.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed with the same enthusiasm she had when she stood in the jeweler's surveying the gold cufflinks for Onslow's birthday, "That will do nicely!" She stepped out of her slip and unhooked her stockings from her suspender belt, letting them fall to the floor. Emmet reached for the waistband of her knickers and suspender belt and peeled them down.

"Last chance to back out," he offered, glancing down at her navel and below. The carpet did indeed match the drapes; she was a true auburn!

"Do you want to back out, Emmet? I shall be disappointed!" she pouted, "I hope you didn't come up here with me just to disappoint me."

"No, I'm fine," he said, trying to reassure himself. She turned away from him to pull down the bedclothes. He eyed her bum- big and round and creamy white- and tugged at his own underwear. He moved right up behind her, his hardness slipping between her legs and she jumped, startled. He pulled her back against him, pressing urgently.

"It's alright," he purred.

"Mmmm," she moaned softly.

He kissed her shoulders and reached up to unhook her brassiere, unfettering her large breasts. His hands hefted them gently, thumbs rubbing her pencil eraser-hard nipples. She turned in his embrace and he kissed her waiting mouth, easing her onto her back.

What are you doing? the voice in Emmet's head screamed. He suppressed that inner voice as soon as he was inside. His breath hitched and he let out a little yelp, pushing all the way in. His body shuddered in sheer delight; he was surprised how wonderful this was. Who knew the staunch, snobby, uptight neighbor could be such a great lay? Maybe it was because he hadn't had any in such a long time. Best not to over-analyze these things. She was warm and wet and willing.

Hyacinth gasped as he entered her, a bit awkward and clumsy at first; her eyes went wide with desire. She dug her nails into Emmet's back and pressed her face to his chest. All of those times singing at him and smiling at him had finally paid off.

Her eyes scanned the ceiling, The ceiling could do with a fresh coat of emulsion she thought.

He finally found his guttural fortitude, buried his face in the pillow, and began to work himself in and out. Hyacinth full thighs cushioned him as he rode her comfortably. She moaned softly.

"Oh, oh," he grunted. He was gentle, resisting the urge to take his revenge in this manner. He thought of all those times being forced to endure coffee at fourteen past nine, endless piles of photo albums, tea and light refreshments, indoor-outdoor barbeques with finger buffets. He refrained, instead choosing to enjoy the macabre irony of it. Besides, if he enjoyed it well enough, this could prove to be a nice distraction from his mundane life. It could also prove to be a source of endless blackmail possibilities. He grinned at the thought and put a little more effort into his performance. A true actor.

Her hands cupped his skinny bum as he got his rhythm going, the bed creaking and groaning with each stroke. His thighs quivered and he dug his toes into the mattress. Hyacinth's huge, globe-like breasts jiggled as he rocked her, her nipples scraping against his pale chest, driving him mad. A bead of sweat ran down Emmet's nose and hung from the tip. He shook his head sharply, sending the droplet flying. Hyacinth hadn't noticed. Emmet wondered if she was going to criticize every aspect of their coupling. He hoped not.

Her thighs tightened around him and she began to whimper, only in the most discreet fashion, of course. She felt dizzy and warm and she glistened as she felt her climax building within her. Driven wild by her restraint, Emmet began pounding her fiercely. Hyacinth threw her head back, biting her lower lip, her face contorted and red.

"Oh, let it out, Hyacinth!" he commanded, "No one expects decorum in the bedroom!"

She shook her head violently in protest; her eyes pressed tightly together and she breathed erratically through her nose. Emmet was relentless in his quest to make her scream. He long-stroked and short-stroked. Fast and slow, he teased until she could stand it no longer. Her whole body quaked and she held fast as he continued. She arched her back and her mouth gaped wordlessly. She let out a thunderous cry from deep within, her head thrashed back and forth. Finally, she began to nod quickly.

"Yes! Yes! Oh, that's it! Yes!" she yowled, wrapping her legs tightly around him, her heart drumming wildly.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, "Well done! See, wasn't that better than bottling it up?"

She nodded again, panting. He continued for a few more strokes and then slammed his face into the pillow, thrusting in and out forcefully.

"Oh, feck!" he hollered, his hair sweat-drenched and matted to his head, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath came in wide, open-mouthed gasps. Oh, God! How long had it been since his last encounter with a woman?

He collapsed on top of her, spent. She rested her hands on his shoulders. He smelled musky and Hyacinth tried not to be disgusted by this sweating, panting, musky-smelling man in her bed. But she wanted him out, but how to tactfully remove a lover from one's sheets?

"Emmet, you have to get out!" she said firmly.

"Now? I've not even caught my breath!" he chuckled, "What's the hurry? You said Richard's not due back until five. It's only three now."

She made a face, "Yes, now! You're getting my Laura Ashley sheets all sweaty and man-smelling."

He had to laugh. Always trying to maintain a sense of dignity and control. He ignored her request and slipped his tongue between her parted lips, taking advantage of her labored breathing. She could not resist his kisses and reciprocated. She regained her composure and pushed him off of her.

He rolled onto his back, "Oof! Hyacinth! What's gotten into you?"

"Emmet you have to get out of this bed right now!" she insisted, panic creeping into her voice.

"What's the rush? You're not regretting this, are you?" he asked, "I rather enjoyed it myself." He smiled like the cat that swallowed the canary. The Great Hyacinth Bucket…

"I-I-I-I need to change the sheets before Richard comes home," she stuttered, her face going into paroxysms.

"I thought you said he was fine with this," Emmet said agitatedly, pulling his trousers on.

"He is. He is," she said reassuringly, "I just like to keep it on the down-low. He works all day and when he comes to bed at night, he has a right to his bed not smelling of another man. Don't be cross with me, Emmet. I shall not bear it if you're cross with me."

"I see. I'm not cross, Hyacinth. Perhaps next time we should go to a hotel," Emmet suggested, slipping his vest over his head and tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. He pulled his shirt on and buttoned it up as Hyacinth gathered the sheets and stuffed them into the hamper in the adjoining bathroom. He tucked his shirt in neatly.

Emmet chuckled at the spectacle of Hyacinth running around naked and cleaning up the evidence of their tryst. Her hair was still impeccably coiffed. How does she do that? He smiled again, seeing her in a new light.

He hurriedly dressed and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her. She held a can of air freshener over her head and sprayed, waving her arm around vigorously. The aroma of gardenia filled the room, giving Emmet a headache.

"Sit down!" he ordered her.

She joined him and he slipped his arm around her. He curled a finger under her chin and lifted her mouth to his, kissing her deeply.

"No regrets?" he whispered.

"No," she sighed, shaking her head. She'd done this many times. She could get things straightened out in ten minutes.

"Alright. I'll let myself out so you can compose yourself and put the room back together. I had a lovely afternoon, Hyacinth. Thank you for the coffee." He stood and checked the room to ensure he wasn't leaving anything like his wallet or a stray handkerchief. Once he'd secured his personal belongings, he kissed her once again and left, exiting through the kitchen door and leaving through the back garden.

Elizabeth was already home from her errand-running and appointment in town. She sat in the lounge mending a doily when Emmet strode in.

"And where've you been?" she said, looking up from her needlework.

"Next door, having coffee with Hyacinth," he said, trying to suppress his cheese-eating smile. His hair was unkempt and he was shoeless, having left them on Hyacinth's doorstep.

"All this time?" she said looking at the mantle clock. Three-thirty.

"Well, coffee and a bit of crumpet!" he winked and his mouth split into a crooked, revealing smile.

"Emmet!"