Appreciative.
Hey, what do you know, I finished it after all! Now, I'm not going tell you what it is, since it's a surprise, but I'll give you a hint: It's a fandom I've never written for before; in fact, I doubt many have written for it. I hope that piques your curiosity! It may be spoilery.
Richard Bucket trudged to his car, coat slung over one arm as he left work. A coworker waved at him. “Going home now, Richard?” the younger man with the graying temples called. “Yeah,” he responded unenthusiastically. The man crossed the street quickly, making Richard recalculate quickly. He eventually decided that she wouldn’t notice if he is a couple minutes late, as long as it didn’t exceed five.
The coworker noticed his expression and sighed. “Would you like to come down to the pub with some of the guys and me? Just one drink, that’s all.” He saw the hesitation in the Hen-pecked man’s eyes. “Ten minutes. One pint.”
Richard opened his mouth to turn down the invitation when he stopped abruptly. His coworker turned to see what caught his attention, looking back in confusion a moment later. “What, who is it?” he asked.
“Mind the pedestrian, Richard,” he said in a far-away voice, then shook himself. “Maybe I could use one. But just one,” he insisted as the guy clapped him on the shoulder. “Then I have to go home, Hyacinth will be waiting for me.”
“Ah, come on Dick, just let it go for a while. Live a little.” The man nudged him in the side. “I’ve heard rumors that the Catholic church is thinking of canonizing you upon death.”
He laughed weakly at the joke. “But they can’t, I’m Angelican,” he pointed out vainly. “Hyacinth wouldn’t hold with us being anything that would conflict with her aspirations of nobility,” he explained. “Still, I don’t miss Mass too much…”
“How can you stand living with her?” his coworker asked as he held open the door to the dimly lit pub. “No, offense,” he added hastily.
Richard was used to such questions, and just shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “I.. it’s… complicated.” He was going to elaborate when a handful of people he worked with noticed their arrival and hailed him with glasses of bitter. “You just don’t get it,” he said sadly before taking a drink.
A half hour later he stumbled slightly, coat slung over his shoulder, tie loose, cuffs open, and some of the stress lines gone from his forehead. Glancing at his watch caused his buzz to disappear abruptly as he ran to his car a block away. All the way home he rehearsed his story to the review mirror. “’Sorry Hyacinth, there was an accident’- no, that won’t work, she’ll know better. ‘I had to work ov-‘ no, this will never do, she knows when I’m lying.” He could smell beer and cigar smoke coming off his sweating body. It is hard to hide your doing from the woman who does your laundry he considered bleakly. He was so preoccupied with his own dreary thoughts that he missed the new installation on the street. Not that he would have noticed unless he was looking specifically for it, even though he had been inside once.
He trudged to the door, noticing an elderly pair of ladies - one being Mrs.Barker-Finch, he realized suddenly- hurry past the garden, avoiding looking in his direction. He shook his head and reached up to open the door, pausing for a moment to look at the steps.
A pair of shoes waited there, a sight that wasn’t altogether uncommon; his wife made everyone take their shoes off at the door. He was just fortunate enough to live there and thus get to leave his loafers inside. The bright red tennis shoes stirred a vague memory in the back of his mind, but was quickly forgotten when his wife suddenly pulled the front door open, obviously flustered. “Oh Richard, thank goodness you are here!” Hyacinth said quickly, relief evident on her face. She ran a hand over her flowered blouse, brushing, willing invisible dust and wrinkles off her person. “There’s a young man here who insists on my husband.”
Richard drew his eyebrows together. “Okay…” He hesitated, waiting for more. “That would be me, yes?” he finally asked.
“Don’t be silly, Richard, of course it is you. Don’t sound so unsure in earshot of the neighbors, dear.” Her familiar self reappeared quickly. “Come inside, Richard, we can’t let anyone see us talking on the front step, it’s unseemly.”
“Yes, Hyacinth,” he said as he made to hang up his coat. She grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him into the front room. “What are you doing? Nobody will see us in our own house!”
She bit her lip as she looked out into the hallway. “I can’t take any chances. This man says he’s from the [Organisation] but I don’t think he really is.” Noticing the questioning look on his face, she added, “He isn’t dressed like a laborer.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous? Have you called 999?”
She scoffed. “I couldn’t have emergency vehicles pull up, someone may notice!”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Right.”
“I need you to throw him out, dear.”
“Me?!” his voice rose in pitch. “Why?”
“Because, Richard, he is most unseemly. I can’t have someone see him through the windows!”
“Have you tried asking him to leave?” he asked, exasperated.
“No, she hasn’t, actually,” a young man spoke from the couch, making them both jump. Turning to look, Richard couldn’t see much of the mystery guest beside the back of his neck and chestnut-colored hair.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Hyacinth and I were just talking.” He walked to the seated man, extending his hand. “I’m Richard, I hear you are looking for me, Mister…”
“Doctor,” he said, standing up and turning toward them in a one fluid motion, elongating into a tall thin figure that loomed over the husband and wife. Richard’s jaw disengaged at the sight of the other man. The last time they’d met had been when he was a much younger man, but except for the blue suit and sockless feet, the man looked exactly the same.
Hyacinth relaxed visibly despite her husband’s stunned silence, obviously impressed with having a degreed man in her house. “Doctor of what?”
“Just the-“ Richard said tonelessly.
“-the Doctor,” the stranger finished, beaming at the mustached man. “You remembered, Mr. Copper. I hope you’ve learned more about the battle between England and the turkeys.”
“What… why…” Richard babbled, trying to make sense of the unexpected twist his life had made suddenly. But as usual, his wife spoke up.
“Mr. Copper? You’re mistaken. He’s Richard Bucket, à la française. I won’t have you calling my husband some strange name in my own home.”
“Hyacinth,” Richard said quietly, not breaking eye contact with the Doctor. “Could please let me talk to this man alone?”
Despite his calm tone, she looked as though he had yelled at her. “But, Richard-“
He whirled on her suddenly. “Hyacinth, please!” He paused, changing tactics. “Why don’t you go make our guest some tea?”
She blinked, surprised. “Yes, I suppose,” she said primly, lips pressed into a thin white line. He knew he would hear about this tonight in bed. He mentally prodded himself and turned back toward the Timelord who was carefully examining his own shoelaces; if he was here, then the odds were that there wouldn’t be a tonight. Or an England, or an Earth, or even an Universe. That’s just how the Doctor seemed to work.
Richard motioned to the couch. “Go ahead, sit down, if she thinks you’re someone important she’ll take her time and arrange the biscuits on the platter nicely.” He eased himself into the chair, wincing from the pain in his bones.
“How long have you been here, Mr. Copper?” the Doctor asked, concerned.
Richard huffed into his mustaches. “A decade, two? Who can say. Well, technically,” he looked at a wall calendar and did some mental calculations. “I’ve been here negative a decade and a half.”
The Doctor chuckled, still standing beside the couch. “I wondered, I thought I had left you further along in time. How did you get back to-“ he glanced at the same calendar “- 1992?”
The smaller alien’s face registered several emotions before settling back to his usual calm expression. “It’s a long story. I realized that I needed to be here, that someone needed me. She needed me.” He stared pointedly toward the kitchen, where the quiet bustle of Hyacinth in her kitchen could be heard. “I met her in the future, and had to come back. Unfortunately the trip through the vortex I took severely limited my lifespan.” He sighed and rested his chin on his hand. “Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it.”
Unbidden, images of the poor destitute woman he had fallen for in an alternate timeline filled his mind. The Doctor reached over and patted his shoulder. “I can tell, your expression says it was. What happened to all your money? You were rich! But here you’re middle class. I don’t get it.”
Richard met his eyes wearily. “My folly. I thought she wouldn’t care, but I was wrong. I left it all behind. Mind you, I just have to wait fifteen years and I’ll be rich again. But by then I’ll be a tired old man. It’s no use.”
The Doctor searched for a change in subject; his eyes landed on a family portrait on the sideboard. “So your species and humans are compatible, then? He’s a fine young man, your Sheridan. Oh, your wife told me all about him before you arrived,” he added quickly when Richard made to protest.
“Likes his money,” Richard moaned, burying his face in his hands. “Or, rather, he likes my money.” The phone rang suddenly out in the hallway. “That’s probably him now, asking for more.”
“And how’s the rest of your family?” the Doctor inquired.
He shrugged. “I don’t have any aside from Sheridan and Hyacinth, and her family. They’re alright, I suppose.”
“The Bucket residence, lady of the house speaking!” was heard loudly through the partially open door. “Oh, it’s you, Violet!” she moved toward the front room. “It’s mah sister Violet, the one with a large house, a pool and room for a- oh,” she faltered when she reached the door, realizing the only people there were her husband and the mysterious guest who claimed to want to inspect her router. She didn’t even know what a router was, now that she thought about it, and a sinking feeling hit her stomach. Maybe it was something new; maybe the Barker-Finches had one? She became so distracted that she didn’t pay attention to what her sister said for a full half minute, until she was brought back to earth.
“He was wearing what?” the two men heard her shriek.
“Oh, now this would be the signal,” Richard said, levering himself to his feet.
The Doctor looked up at him in genuine puzzlement. “What signal? Bruce was wearing women’s clothing out in public. That doesn’t seem so bad- oh, he was wearing a red negligee. Now I can see why that would be embarrassing.”
Richard didn’t have time to puzzle over his astounding hearing; Hyacinth burst into the room, eyes wild as she babbled, insistent that it was time for the Doctor to leave. “I think I smell smoke!” she gasped, pushing the suited man toward the front door.
The men smirked at each other over her head. “I think I’ll show him out, dear,” her husband said genially, pushing her back toward her white slim-line telephone. He closed the door behind him, breathing in the early-evening breeze. It was early spring, and the garden was blooming. Soon he’d have to go out and- in a tie- deadheading flowers, but for now he could appreciate it from the comfort of his front step.
He then noticed how slowly the Doctor was moving. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he gasped for breath as he bent over to get his shoes. The door flew open behind them as Hyacinth hurriedly tossed out a brown overcoat before returning to the phone. By then the Doctor was seated on the ground, looking terrible.
He noticed Richard’s look of concern. “You know how you said you feel as though your time as at an end? Well, you are not the only one,” he spoke weakly. He waved the man worried man away. “It’ll pass, I’ll be okay in a second.”
“What’s wrong with you, Doctor? I may only have a few decades, but you look like you have hours!” He gasped as the Doctor pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket- it glowed with a sickly light. “What’s happening to you?”
“I’m… dying. Well, regenerating, actually. It’ll stop soon, look, it’s already stopped. I’ve got a few days yet.” He smiled weakly. “I better, anyway, there are so many more I need to say goodbye too.” He glanced up at the younger alien’s graying face. “I had heard from Jack Harkness that you seemed to encountered the Rift. I wanted to see if you had survived, and if you still wanted to stay here.”
Richard’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why would I leave this?” he asked in genuine confusion.
“Well, you do have to try and not perspire too much for fear of looking lower class in front of anyone,” the Doctor pointed out.
Richard sighed, understanding all to well what he was saying. “Yes, that is true. She can be a bit… overbearing. But you must believe me, she’s a good person. She’s got a good soul.”
The Doctor snorted. “So I’m not the only one who believes in lost causes.”
“No, it’s true. She’s a lovely woman and a great wife. So what if she dreams big and likes to spend my money? I love her.” His voice thickened with emotion with the last sentence.
The Timelord squinted up at him. “Yes, that is very true.” He bounded to his feet, swaying slightly; however, the spell had passed, and the color had returned to his face. He extended his hand. “Mr. Bucket, it’s- hold on, why the name Bucket?”
Richard shrugged. “Makes about as much sense as Copper, really.”
“Fair enough,” the Doctor responded, and shook the man’s hand. “Fair enough, I suppose. Well, goodbye, Mr. Bucket. Here’s to a long hand happy life.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Richard responded, smiling genuinely. “For everything.”
He nodded, a crooked smile on his face, and turned around, coat whirling behind him dramatically. Richard watched as he walked off to the- well, there was the TARDIS, how did he miss that the first time?- and with the sound of ancient engines roaring to life, watched as it disappeared for the second and last time.
Hyacinth came to the door. “Ri-CHARD! What was that noise?”
“Hmm? What noise?” he asked.
Her face clouded. “I... I thought I heard something.”
Shaking his head, he responded, “Just the wind.”
“Oh.” She paused, then flicked at a speck of invisible dust on his shoulder. “Well, come along Richard.”
He walked in behind her. “Yes, Hyacinth.”
Richard Bucket trudged to his car, coat slung over one arm as he left work. A coworker waved at him. “Going home now, Richard?” the younger man with the graying temples called. “Yeah,” he responded unenthusiastically. The man crossed the street quickly, making Richard recalculate quickly. He eventually decided that she wouldn’t notice if he is a couple minutes late, as long as it didn’t exceed five.
The coworker noticed his expression and sighed. “Would you like to come down to the pub with some of the guys and me? Just one drink, that’s all.” He saw the hesitation in the Hen-pecked man’s eyes. “Ten minutes. One pint.”
Richard opened his mouth to turn down the invitation when he stopped abruptly. His coworker turned to see what caught his attention, looking back in confusion a moment later. “What, who is it?” he asked.
“Mind the pedestrian, Richard,” he said in a far-away voice, then shook himself. “Maybe I could use one. But just one,” he insisted as the guy clapped him on the shoulder. “Then I have to go home, Hyacinth will be waiting for me.”
“Ah, come on Dick, just let it go for a while. Live a little.” The man nudged him in the side. “I’ve heard rumors that the Catholic church is thinking of canonizing you upon death.”
He laughed weakly at the joke. “But they can’t, I’m Angelican,” he pointed out vainly. “Hyacinth wouldn’t hold with us being anything that would conflict with her aspirations of nobility,” he explained. “Still, I don’t miss Mass too much…”
“How can you stand living with her?” his coworker asked as he held open the door to the dimly lit pub. “No, offense,” he added hastily.
Richard was used to such questions, and just shrugged his shoulders resignedly. “I.. it’s… complicated.” He was going to elaborate when a handful of people he worked with noticed their arrival and hailed him with glasses of bitter. “You just don’t get it,” he said sadly before taking a drink.
A half hour later he stumbled slightly, coat slung over his shoulder, tie loose, cuffs open, and some of the stress lines gone from his forehead. Glancing at his watch caused his buzz to disappear abruptly as he ran to his car a block away. All the way home he rehearsed his story to the review mirror. “’Sorry Hyacinth, there was an accident’- no, that won’t work, she’ll know better. ‘I had to work ov-‘ no, this will never do, she knows when I’m lying.” He could smell beer and cigar smoke coming off his sweating body. It is hard to hide your doing from the woman who does your laundry he considered bleakly. He was so preoccupied with his own dreary thoughts that he missed the new installation on the street. Not that he would have noticed unless he was looking specifically for it, even though he had been inside once.
He trudged to the door, noticing an elderly pair of ladies - one being Mrs.Barker-Finch, he realized suddenly- hurry past the garden, avoiding looking in his direction. He shook his head and reached up to open the door, pausing for a moment to look at the steps.
A pair of shoes waited there, a sight that wasn’t altogether uncommon; his wife made everyone take their shoes off at the door. He was just fortunate enough to live there and thus get to leave his loafers inside. The bright red tennis shoes stirred a vague memory in the back of his mind, but was quickly forgotten when his wife suddenly pulled the front door open, obviously flustered. “Oh Richard, thank goodness you are here!” Hyacinth said quickly, relief evident on her face. She ran a hand over her flowered blouse, brushing, willing invisible dust and wrinkles off her person. “There’s a young man here who insists on my husband.”
Richard drew his eyebrows together. “Okay…” He hesitated, waiting for more. “That would be me, yes?” he finally asked.
“Don’t be silly, Richard, of course it is you. Don’t sound so unsure in earshot of the neighbors, dear.” Her familiar self reappeared quickly. “Come inside, Richard, we can’t let anyone see us talking on the front step, it’s unseemly.”
“Yes, Hyacinth,” he said as he made to hang up his coat. She grabbed his arm roughly and pulled him into the front room. “What are you doing? Nobody will see us in our own house!”
She bit her lip as she looked out into the hallway. “I can’t take any chances. This man says he’s from the [Organisation] but I don’t think he really is.” Noticing the questioning look on his face, she added, “He isn’t dressed like a laborer.”
“Do you think he’s dangerous? Have you called 999?”
She scoffed. “I couldn’t have emergency vehicles pull up, someone may notice!”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Right.”
“I need you to throw him out, dear.”
“Me?!” his voice rose in pitch. “Why?”
“Because, Richard, he is most unseemly. I can’t have someone see him through the windows!”
“Have you tried asking him to leave?” he asked, exasperated.
“No, she hasn’t, actually,” a young man spoke from the couch, making them both jump. Turning to look, Richard couldn’t see much of the mystery guest beside the back of his neck and chestnut-colored hair.
“Ah, I’m sorry, Hyacinth and I were just talking.” He walked to the seated man, extending his hand. “I’m Richard, I hear you are looking for me, Mister…”
“Doctor,” he said, standing up and turning toward them in a one fluid motion, elongating into a tall thin figure that loomed over the husband and wife. Richard’s jaw disengaged at the sight of the other man. The last time they’d met had been when he was a much younger man, but except for the blue suit and sockless feet, the man looked exactly the same.
Hyacinth relaxed visibly despite her husband’s stunned silence, obviously impressed with having a degreed man in her house. “Doctor of what?”
“Just the-“ Richard said tonelessly.
“-the Doctor,” the stranger finished, beaming at the mustached man. “You remembered, Mr. Copper. I hope you’ve learned more about the battle between England and the turkeys.”
“What… why…” Richard babbled, trying to make sense of the unexpected twist his life had made suddenly. But as usual, his wife spoke up.
“Mr. Copper? You’re mistaken. He’s Richard Bucket, à la française. I won’t have you calling my husband some strange name in my own home.”
“Hyacinth,” Richard said quietly, not breaking eye contact with the Doctor. “Could please let me talk to this man alone?”
Despite his calm tone, she looked as though he had yelled at her. “But, Richard-“
He whirled on her suddenly. “Hyacinth, please!” He paused, changing tactics. “Why don’t you go make our guest some tea?”
She blinked, surprised. “Yes, I suppose,” she said primly, lips pressed into a thin white line. He knew he would hear about this tonight in bed. He mentally prodded himself and turned back toward the Timelord who was carefully examining his own shoelaces; if he was here, then the odds were that there wouldn’t be a tonight. Or an England, or an Earth, or even an Universe. That’s just how the Doctor seemed to work.
Richard motioned to the couch. “Go ahead, sit down, if she thinks you’re someone important she’ll take her time and arrange the biscuits on the platter nicely.” He eased himself into the chair, wincing from the pain in his bones.
“How long have you been here, Mr. Copper?” the Doctor asked, concerned.
Richard huffed into his mustaches. “A decade, two? Who can say. Well, technically,” he looked at a wall calendar and did some mental calculations. “I’ve been here negative a decade and a half.”
The Doctor chuckled, still standing beside the couch. “I wondered, I thought I had left you further along in time. How did you get back to-“ he glanced at the same calendar “- 1992?”
The smaller alien’s face registered several emotions before settling back to his usual calm expression. “It’s a long story. I realized that I needed to be here, that someone needed me. She needed me.” He stared pointedly toward the kitchen, where the quiet bustle of Hyacinth in her kitchen could be heard. “I met her in the future, and had to come back. Unfortunately the trip through the vortex I took severely limited my lifespan.” He sighed and rested his chin on his hand. “Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it.”
Unbidden, images of the poor destitute woman he had fallen for in an alternate timeline filled his mind. The Doctor reached over and patted his shoulder. “I can tell, your expression says it was. What happened to all your money? You were rich! But here you’re middle class. I don’t get it.”
Richard met his eyes wearily. “My folly. I thought she wouldn’t care, but I was wrong. I left it all behind. Mind you, I just have to wait fifteen years and I’ll be rich again. But by then I’ll be a tired old man. It’s no use.”
The Doctor searched for a change in subject; his eyes landed on a family portrait on the sideboard. “So your species and humans are compatible, then? He’s a fine young man, your Sheridan. Oh, your wife told me all about him before you arrived,” he added quickly when Richard made to protest.
“Likes his money,” Richard moaned, burying his face in his hands. “Or, rather, he likes my money.” The phone rang suddenly out in the hallway. “That’s probably him now, asking for more.”
“And how’s the rest of your family?” the Doctor inquired.
He shrugged. “I don’t have any aside from Sheridan and Hyacinth, and her family. They’re alright, I suppose.”
“The Bucket residence, lady of the house speaking!” was heard loudly through the partially open door. “Oh, it’s you, Violet!” she moved toward the front room. “It’s mah sister Violet, the one with a large house, a pool and room for a- oh,” she faltered when she reached the door, realizing the only people there were her husband and the mysterious guest who claimed to want to inspect her router. She didn’t even know what a router was, now that she thought about it, and a sinking feeling hit her stomach. Maybe it was something new; maybe the Barker-Finches had one? She became so distracted that she didn’t pay attention to what her sister said for a full half minute, until she was brought back to earth.
“He was wearing what?” the two men heard her shriek.
“Oh, now this would be the signal,” Richard said, levering himself to his feet.
The Doctor looked up at him in genuine puzzlement. “What signal? Bruce was wearing women’s clothing out in public. That doesn’t seem so bad- oh, he was wearing a red negligee. Now I can see why that would be embarrassing.”
Richard didn’t have time to puzzle over his astounding hearing; Hyacinth burst into the room, eyes wild as she babbled, insistent that it was time for the Doctor to leave. “I think I smell smoke!” she gasped, pushing the suited man toward the front door.
The men smirked at each other over her head. “I think I’ll show him out, dear,” her husband said genially, pushing her back toward her white slim-line telephone. He closed the door behind him, breathing in the early-evening breeze. It was early spring, and the garden was blooming. Soon he’d have to go out and- in a tie- deadheading flowers, but for now he could appreciate it from the comfort of his front step.
He then noticed how slowly the Doctor was moving. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he gasped for breath as he bent over to get his shoes. The door flew open behind them as Hyacinth hurriedly tossed out a brown overcoat before returning to the phone. By then the Doctor was seated on the ground, looking terrible.
He noticed Richard’s look of concern. “You know how you said you feel as though your time as at an end? Well, you are not the only one,” he spoke weakly. He waved the man worried man away. “It’ll pass, I’ll be okay in a second.”
“What’s wrong with you, Doctor? I may only have a few decades, but you look like you have hours!” He gasped as the Doctor pulled his hand out of his jacket pocket- it glowed with a sickly light. “What’s happening to you?”
“I’m… dying. Well, regenerating, actually. It’ll stop soon, look, it’s already stopped. I’ve got a few days yet.” He smiled weakly. “I better, anyway, there are so many more I need to say goodbye too.” He glanced up at the younger alien’s graying face. “I had heard from Jack Harkness that you seemed to encountered the Rift. I wanted to see if you had survived, and if you still wanted to stay here.”
Richard’s eyes widened in surprise. “What? Why would I leave this?” he asked in genuine confusion.
“Well, you do have to try and not perspire too much for fear of looking lower class in front of anyone,” the Doctor pointed out.
Richard sighed, understanding all to well what he was saying. “Yes, that is true. She can be a bit… overbearing. But you must believe me, she’s a good person. She’s got a good soul.”
The Doctor snorted. “So I’m not the only one who believes in lost causes.”
“No, it’s true. She’s a lovely woman and a great wife. So what if she dreams big and likes to spend my money? I love her.” His voice thickened with emotion with the last sentence.
The Timelord squinted up at him. “Yes, that is very true.” He bounded to his feet, swaying slightly; however, the spell had passed, and the color had returned to his face. He extended his hand. “Mr. Bucket, it’s- hold on, why the name Bucket?”
Richard shrugged. “Makes about as much sense as Copper, really.”
“Fair enough,” the Doctor responded, and shook the man’s hand. “Fair enough, I suppose. Well, goodbye, Mr. Bucket. Here’s to a long hand happy life.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Richard responded, smiling genuinely. “For everything.”
He nodded, a crooked smile on his face, and turned around, coat whirling behind him dramatically. Richard watched as he walked off to the- well, there was the TARDIS, how did he miss that the first time?- and with the sound of ancient engines roaring to life, watched as it disappeared for the second and last time.
Hyacinth came to the door. “Ri-CHARD! What was that noise?”
“Hmm? What noise?” he asked.
Her face clouded. “I... I thought I heard something.”
Shaking his head, he responded, “Just the wind.”
“Oh.” She paused, then flicked at a speck of invisible dust on his shoulder. “Well, come along Richard.”
He walked in behind her. “Yes, Hyacinth.”