All Good Things Come To An End

Emmet had begun to look forward to his afternoons with Hyacinth. As overbearing and aggravating as she was in public, he found her enchanting when they were alone. Even when she bragged on endlessly about Violet with her Mercedes and villa in Ibiza or Sheridan's rebuilding of Romania with his friend Tarquin or Richard's highly important position at the firm, he realized she must be incredibly lonely.

He decided that if she was going to insist on singing at him the least he could do was help her. So some afternoons they would have coffee and retire to the lounge where he would sit poised at the spinet and take her painstakingly through her scales. She was never going to be a virtuoso, but at least her off-key serenade wasn't fraying his nerves or causing the dogs in the neighborhood to bark. She also discovered, sitting on his knee, the other use pianists had for their long, nimble fingers. It was then that she hit her highest, most beautiful, crescendos.

Some afternoons were simply coffee and piano; Hyacinth seemed to thrive during those afternoons with Emmet at the keyboard. She basked in the attention and his compliments of how well she was improving. Anything was an improvement compared to her usual off-key warbling.

In order to not attract attention to themselves, Hyacinth would leave her home on a charity volunteer obligation and then after about an hour she would rush out for an unexpected "emergency", much to the relief of the other volunteers.

She made advanced arrangements with Emmet, who would post watch at the door awaiting her arrival home or she would just ring him on the phone to come over for coffee if she didn't see him standing there. They never conducted their trysts at Elizabeth's home, which was also Emmet's home in actuality, as Hyacinth felt it was so lower middle class for a lady to go to a man's home. The prospect of a hotel was also out of the question, lest she be spotted by Mrs. Councilor Nugent, or Mrs. Thorgunby, or Mrs. Fortescue, or any of Richard's colleagues, going to or coming from a hotel- even a 5-star stately bed and breakfast- with a man not her husband. No, Hyacinth's house was the perfect place for them to engage in a leisurely afternoon of fornication. So it went, once a week, Hyacinth would carve out a quiet afternoon of coffee and passion in addition to once a week of flower arranging and passion at Major Wilton Smythe's conservatory. It chafed Emmet to have to share her with the Major, but he didn't grouse. He had no rights of exclusivity. If anyone should have a right to whinge, it would be Richard.

And so it happened on one rainy afternoon. Emmet and Hyacinth were basking in the aftermath of a particularly vigorous session of lovemaking. Exhausted and dreamy, they lay, legs entangled, softly kissing and cuddling. A car door closed outside and they both jumped.

Richard walked across the tarmac and spotted Emmet's brown suede shoes on the doorstep. He hesitated, looking down at the shoes, and shook his head. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, pausing to listen for a moment, and then slammed the door.

"Shit!" Emmet exclaimed, whispering, disentangling himself and looking at his watch panicked, "It's Richard! He's not supposed to be home for four more hours! What do we do?"

"Shh-shh," Hyacinth put her finger to Emmet's lips, "Leave it to me." She pulled the covers over their heads.

Emmet's eyes were wild as a trapped rabbit's; his breath became erratic, "That's your plan?" He was frantic. He just knew Richard was going to bludgeon them with a fireplace poker or a something heavy and solid.

She placed her hand on his chest reassuringly, "Shh-shh." His heart was beating wildly under her hand; she gently stroked his chest and smiled.

Richard stomped up the steps, more to warn them of his arrival than anger. He faltered at the bedroom door in order to give them the chance to conceal themselves; he did not want a repeat of the time he walked in on Hyacinth and the Major in the lounge.

"I do hope he hasn't tracked up my wood block," she murmured,"I've just had it polished!"

Emmet gaped in disbelief.

"Hyacinth, what if he comes in?" Emmet whispered wordlessly.

She was calm and collected. How did she do it? The floorboard outside the bedroom creaked and Emmet's heart was in his mouth. Richard was so close. The doorknob screeched slightly as Richard turned it and the door swung open. Richard glanced over at the mound of covers and concealed bodies as he strode past. There came a rustling noise as Richard shuffled through a stack of papers on his dresser and then stuffed them into his attaché case; he opened and closed drawers noisily, a clinking sound as Richard moved things around on Hyacinth's vanity.

"Hello, Emmet," Richard acknowledged his friend. Emmet's blood froze. A sick feeling filled his stomach.

"Hello, Richard," Emmet's muffled voice managed to respond.

"Hello, Hyacinth," he said, his voice soft and sad.

"Hello, Richard!" she trilled as if she were calling him from the kitchen over a cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry, Richard," Emmet said, his voice choking.

"Don't be. At least I know she's in good company, Emmet," Richard said, his voice level, "I'd rather prefer it be you than the Major."

Emmet cringed. He felt bad for Richard and he felt guilty. Richard turned and left the bedroom and shutting the door firmly; he stomped back down the stairs and out the front door, slamming it behind him on the way out. Emmet flinched with each stomp and slam.

They heard the loud slam of the car door outside. Richard cranked the engine, gunning it. He squealed the tires as he sped out of the driveway; they heard the screech of tires and the sound of a car horn on the street in front of the house. Hyacinth smiled and laughed uncomfortably. Emmet winced.

He threw the covers off, "I can't do this anymore," he stormed.

"Oh, Emmet, he's fine," she said, wrapping her arms around him, trying to smooth things, "He's just upset that he forgot those papers for an important meeting. He hates to have to leave the office during the day; they rely on him for everything!"

"He didn't sound fine!" Emmet sat up, his head in his hands, his forehead furrowed, "Hyacinth, he's my friend. I cannot and will not betray that friendship any longer. This was a stupid idea!" Guilt washed over him.

"Emmet, Richard knows about us. He's resolved that it is going to be like this." She rested her hand on the middle of his back. She liked the sprinkling of freckles on his back and the soft curls on the back of his neck.

"He seemed angry, Hyacinth! He didn't seem resolved in his position as the blind husband."

"He's not blind," she countered, "He knows full well. Always has."

"Has he ever come home in the middle of one of your…encounters?" he said for lack of a more tactful word.

"Yes, once," she said, her face reddening, "I was entertaining in the lounge and lost track of time. It was after five and he walked in from work. He walked into the lounge and walked right back out again. He must have realized that he had left whatever he was looking for in the kitchen!" She chuckled and nodded, so unaware of how insensitive she sounded.

"What did he do?" Emmet asked.

"He put the kettle on and made us all tea!" she said happily.

Emmet's eyes went wide and he did a double-take, "I am not about to sit down to a tea party with Richard! Hell, I don't know if I can ever face him again!"

"And then afterwards he ordered us a new three-piece suite!" He could not believe she was so relaxed and calm talking about this. She said it so comfortably. Emmet could not help feeling pity for Richard; Richard should be sainted.

"He isn't going to have to order a new bed, is he?" Emmet asked.

"No, this is why I make sure to change the linens! You're really making too much of this. He admires and respects you, Emmet."

"Hyacinth," he said, his voice serious, "Do you even love your husband? I mean, do you love Richard?"

"Of course I love Richard. He's my husband. What a silly question, Emmet. Really!" she huffed.

"Then you need to put a stop to this. You are hurting him, Hyacinth," he urged, his dark eyes pleading.

"Oh, dear Emmet. I do wish you would just learn to relax a little. You're so uptight, dear," she said as if she hadn't heard him at all.

Emmet's mouth went suddenly dry.

"Seriously," he held her by the shoulders, "We have to stop. I can't continue to do this to my friend."

She squared her shoulders, maintaining her stiff upper lip, "Very well, Emmet. I shall miss our afternoons and our private coffee times. I did so look forward to a part in one of your amateur operatic society performances."

"I'll let myself out," he said sliding out of bed.