Originally Posted: 11:56 PM - Feb 14, 2012

London can get up to 33°C in the middle of summer. The horrendous heat will make any of the city's denizens rife with irritation as they wipe buckets of sweat from their bodies. In Grace Brothers Department Store the feelings of contempt were even worse as the central air conditioner had gone off again. To make matters worse the maintenance department was on strike once more for better wages, shorter hours, and a new kettle for their kit down in the basement. As such the store was sweltering with no relief in sight.
On the first floor, the staff of the ladies and gents departments were dealing with the high temperatures as best they could given the circumstances. Shirley Brahms and Betty Slocombe had brought electric oscillating fans from home to keep the air circulating. Across the floor, Ernest Grainger was sipping from a bottle of ice water while his two subordinates, Claybourne Humphries and James Lucas, kept tugging at their collars and wiping their faces. The young junior even fanned himself with an old science and history magazine he had found in a drawer that was severely outdated. He stopped for a moment to rest and took a quick glimpse at an article on the inside.
"Did you know that before our ancestors settled here," Mr Lucas said to his co-worker, "London was nothing but humid, festering swampland?"
"Not much has changed in the last few centuries," Mr Humphries grumbled as he patted away the sweat that was threatening to roll beneath his collar. "Now put that away before Peacock sees it."
Mr Lucas shoved the magazine under the counter and loosened his tie. "Blimey! If that lot from maintenance doesn't hurry up and get back to work I think I may turn into one of those dehydrated meals what they send up with the astronauts!"
"You're thinking of freeze-dried food," Mr Humphries corrected him. "And I wouldn't mind being frozen right about now."
"Well, here comes Miss Brahms, back from her tea break," Mr Lucas said. "She's awfully cold. Wonder if she'd come over and freeze us with her words."
"You've gone off her quick," Mr Humphries remarked. "What happened?"
"I just decided she wasn't worth botherin' about," Mr Lucas replied sullenly. "I mean, let's face it, every time I've tried to be nice to her she's turned her nose up at me or made some sarky remark."
"And you've been a perfect gentleman?" Mr Humphries said, raising an eyebrow at the junior.
Mr Lucas had the audacity to appear shocked. "I don't know what you're talking about, Mr Humphries."
"My how the memory fades with age," Mr Humphries sarked. "I seem to remember an incident back in 1973, when you tried to send her a note saying 'Dear Sexy Knickers...'"
"Oh yeah," Mr Lucas frowned. "I'd forgot about that."
"...then there was the time we were stuck in the store during those transport strikes," Mr Humphries went on, "and you tried to persuade her to accompany you to the Bedding department..."
Mr Lucas frowned even more and started to look a bit guilty.
"...and I seem to recall an evening at the social club where you two were dancing to a Beatles tune," Mr Humphries said, "and when the song switched to Lay Down Sally by Eric Clapton, you took the lyrics to heart and-"
"All right!" Mr Lucas snapped. "I get the picture. I haven't exactly been Ashley Wilkes from Gone with the Wind, have I?"
"You're not even Rhett Butler," Mr Humphries chuckled. "Why don't you try a little visualisation experiment?"
"A what?"
"A visualisation experiment. I use them all the time when I'm trying to determine the possible consequences of my actions."
"Yet you still went to the club with that Scottish gymnast."
"I had no idea he was in training for the Olympics when we went out that night." Mr Humphries patted his face again with his handkerchief. "Mind you, he should have had the foresight to wear something besides his kilt if he knew he'd be turning those back-flips. I'm just glad no one recognised either of us." He tucked the handkerchief into his sleeve for the moment. "Anyway, try this. I want you to close your eyes and imagine you have a younger sister."
"I don't have a younger sister," Mr Lucas said. "I'm an only child."
"That's why I said to imagine you have a younger sister," Mr Humphries snapped. "Now pay attention! Imagine you have a younger sister. She's twenty-one, has long, blonde hair, blue eyes, and quite a lot of..." He held his hands out in front of his chest for a moment, then said, "...personality. Can you see her in your mind?"
Mr Lucas blinked a few times at his co-worker and closed his eyes. "Right. Yeah, I see her."
"Good," Mr Humphries said. "Now imagine that a suave, good-looking young man has come to chat with her. He's using all his charm on her. All of a sudden he begins groping her. She squeals out in fright and anger. He simply laughs, for he thinks it's just her way of being coy. Now, how would that make you feel if that was your sister being molested like that?"
"I'd want to kill the guy," Mr Lucas growled.
"Exactly," Mr Humphries said. "Now stop being that young man and try treating her like a good friend instead of a sexual conquest. You'll be surprised at how she reacts."
Mr Lucas shrugged and started to take out his magazine again when Captain Peacock appeared at the end of the counter. He was wearing his usual look of contempt which he usually reserved for the junior salesman.
"Fix your tie, Mr Lucas," he said wearily, as if the effort of speaking was hardly worth it. "And wipe your face. You're dripping perspiration into your collar."
"I'm sorry, Captain Peacock," Mr Lucas said. "But I'm afraid there's not much I can do about my perspiration."
"I suppose it's only to be expected from one who has never served in the military," the floor walker sighed. "I was fortunate to spend all that time in the desert, learning to survive on very little food and water. Naturally my body grew accustomed to the heat. To this very day I rarely break a sweat, even during the sweltering summer months in London."
"Bully for you," Mr Lucas muttered under his breath.
"Any idea when maintenance will give in and come back to fix the air?" Mr Humphries asked hopefully.
"It will be quite a while," Captain Peacock replied. "Young Mr Grace refuses to give in to their demands. I'm afraid we'll just have to stick it out for the moment."
And with that he turned to walk toward the centre of the floor, whereupon both Mr Humphries and Mr Lucas noticed a very large, dark, damp area on the back of the floor walker's jacket. The two salesmen exchanged looks of utter glee and went back to their duties.

Across the floor Miss Brahms was standing in front of an oscillating fan that had been locked. The breeze it created was of great comfort to her. She even looked left and right before pulling her shirt open an inch or so to allow the cool air under the fabric.
"Watch what you're doing!" Mrs Slocombe hissed at her. "And shift over so I can have a go."
"We can't both be over 'ere," Miss Brahms argued, "or Cap'n Peacock'll come over an' start in with us."
"That's all we need," Mrs Slocombe sighed. "More hot air."
Just then the fan sparked and gave a sputter, then the blades slowed down. Both women groaned in disappointment as it stood still. Miss Brahms snatched the cord from the wall and stowed it away under the counter as a chubby, middle-aged woman approached the counter.
"Good morning, Madam," Mrs Slocombe said in her poshest voice. "Are you being served?"
"No, and I will definitely need an experienced assistant," the woman replied. "You'll do very nicely."
Miss Brahms repressed a giggle and Mrs Slocombe put on her best fake smile.
"I am delighted that Madam has such faith in me," she said. "Now, how may I assist you?"
"I'm looking for a bathing costume," the woman said. "My neighbour has a swimming pool and has asked my husband and myself to attend a party this coming week end. And I'm afraid my old bathing costume must have shrunk in the wash. It's just so small!"
Mrs Slocombe looked the woman up and down, taking in her ample girth. "Yes, I've had the same problem with my own. If Madam would like to step this way I believe we have some lovely one-piece selections on sale."
"Oh, I do like this one," the woman said, choosing a silvery swim suit from the peg. "Do you have it in my size?"
"Of course!" Mrs Slocombe said cheerfully. "I'll just have my assistant collect one from the stock room. Miss Brahms?"
"Yes, Mrs Slocombe?" Miss Brahms answered.
"Would you be so kind as to fetch a silver one-piece from the stock room?" Mrs Slocombe requested. Then, lowering her voice, she added, "From the Sea World Range."
Miss Brahms smirked and went to procure the garment.

Back at the men's counter, Mr Grainger had his water bottle tipped up all the way in order to drain the last drop. He lowered his arm with a sad sigh and hid the bottle back in his personal drawer. Then he reached inside and took out another. Checking all around to make sure no one was watching, he opened it and began sipping the cool water.
"Are you free, Mr Grainger?" Mr Humphries' voice trilled nearby.
The elderly salesman was startled and promptly spilled half of the bottle's contents upon himself. He swore and capped the bottle, replying, "I'm afraid not, Mr Humphries. I'm just off to check on some shirts."
Around the other side of the cabinet, Mr Lucas grinned mischievously and waited until Mr Grainger had stepped into the gents' stock room. He tip-toed over to the senior salesman's drawer and opened it, revealing a stash of cold water. He peered around just as Mr Grainger had, and pinched one of the bottles.
"You're too kind, Mr Grainger," Mr Lucas said in a nearly perfect mimicry of Mr Humphries voice. With a chuckle he slipped away to his end of the counter and held the bottle so that it was hidden from Captain Peacock's sight. He twisted the cap, pretended to drop a pencil, and bent down to drink. It was liquid heaven!
"Blimey," he sighed. "That hit the spot!"
He started to cap the bottle when Mr Humphries crept up behind him and squeaked, "Mr Lucas!"
The junior cried out and in his shock he nearly dropped the bottle. Water splashed out onto the crotch of his trousers, causing him much embarrassment when he turned around to face his superior. Mr Humphries noticed the moist splotch straight away and clapped a hand to his mouth in amusement.
"Our Ada!" he laughed. "I didn't realise you were that desperate to beat the heat!"
"Oh, sod off!" Mr Lucas grumbled.
"Psst!"
Mr Lucas frowned. "Was that you?" he asked.
"No," Mr Humphries replied.
"Psst! Over here!"
Mr Humphries looked to his right and smiled when he saw what appeared to be a young man in his late twenties poking his head around the cabinet. The blonde salesman cleared his throat and called out, "Mr Lucas, would you assist me in the fitting room?"
"I would be glad to, Mr Humphries," Mr Lucas declared just loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. He knew the drill and followed both Mr Humphries and his friend into the fitting room.
"I was starting to wonder if you'd come," Mr Humphries said to the lad.
"Yeah, well, it wasn't easy getting away," was the lad's reply...in a somewhat feminine voice. The young man, it seemed, was not a man at all, but a very masculine woman in a waistcoat, tie, and trousers. She had a canvas bag slung over her shoulder and it was from this that she produced two bottles of very cold water. "I would have brought more but I had to use one on Mr Patterson. He just won't take no for an answer!"
"Mr Patterson from Accounts?" Mr Lucas said, disbelief tingeing his voice. "Isn't he in his late forties?"
"And thinks he's God's gift to the female gender," the woman said, rolling her eyes.
"Take no notice of him, Rowan," Mr Humphries said, and took a long pull from one of the bottles. "Oh, that is lovely."
"I'd offer you one," Rowan said, scrutinising Mr Lucas' unfortunate accident, "but it looks as if you've had more than enough!"
Mr Lucas mumbled something under his breath that made Mr Humphries cuff his arm.
"I'd best be off," Rowan said. "I told Mr Patel I was delivering some change to you lot. If he asks, we found a roll of ten p coins stuck in the back of your till when I arrived."
"Are we still on for tea tonight?" Mr Humphries asked, which made Mr Lucas do a double-take.
"Eight o'clock at your place," Rowan replied cheerfully. "See you then!"
Mr Humphries grinned fondly as he watched her exit the fitting room. He caught Mr Lucas staring at him and the grin was reduced to a polite smile. He left the fitting room as well, tucking the water bottles in his own personal drawer.
"Hold the phone," Mr Lucas said, following his superior back to their positions behind the counter. "Are you...and her...?"
"That is none of your concern, Mr Lucas," Mr Humphries said firmly.
"Now that's rubbish," Mr Lucas scoffed. "We tell each other everything!"
Mr Humphries looked very uncomfortable all of a sudden. "There's...well, there's nothing to tell. We're just friends. That's all."
"You could've fooled me," Mr Lucas said, "the way you were smiling at her just now. You fancy her, don't you?"
Mr Humphries shrugged and bent over his bill pad, pretending to do some figures. "I don't know. Perhaps."
Mr Lucas laughed and thumped his friend on the back. "And about bloody time! You know, you had me real worried for a while. So many times I thought to myself, 'Poor Mr Humphries. All alone there in that house in Notting Hill with only his mother for companionship. I wonder if he's ever even been out with a girl? Or is he...?'" Mr Lucas let his voice trail off and started to attend to some socks that had been left out of the drawer.
"Or is he what, Mr Lucas?" Mr Humphries demanded sternly.
"Nothing, nothing," Mr Lucas said, feigning innocence.
"No, out with it," Mr Humphries said, looking quite cross now. "I know what you're thinking. You're not the first, either."
Mr Lucas sighed and rubbed the back of his head in shame. "Yeah, you're right. I have thought it many times, especially when you talk about your mates Roger, Bobby, David, Greg...it makes people wonder, you know..."
"Well, let me put your fears to rest right now," Mr Humphries said, slamming his pencil onto the counter. He winced a little and rubbed his knuckles, then gathered his disdain once more and said, "I am not, as you and so many others assume me to be, a virgin!"
Mr Lucas nodded, then his eyes widened. His jaw dropped and he stared at his co-worker, who was standing with his arms folded defiantly across his chest. This was not what he was expecting at all.
"You're…you're not…you mean…with a woman?" Mr Lucas stammered.
"Not that it is any of your business, James Lucas," Mr Humphries said, "but yes, I have known a woman before...in the biblical sense."
"And?!" Mr Lucas practically squeaked.
Mr Humphries let his arms fall to his sides. "And what? You know what it's like."
Mr Lucas thought of all the times he had been asked to fetch a glass of water for Mr Grainger. Now he felt as if he could use one himself. He shook his head to clear the jumble of thoughts that had collected there and composed himself. Mr Humphries' statement still had not quite sunk in and taken root. It just seemed impossible. It seemed...wrong?
"You've really been with a woman before?" he asked, doubt creeping into his voice.
"Is it so hard to believe that I could land a date with a lovely young woman?" Mr Humphries asked, clearly exasperated by the conversation.
"Well...I don't know...maybe?" Mr Lucas said lamely. "I just can't see you as the type who beats them off with a stick."
"On the contrary, Mr Lucas," Mr Humphries said, "quite a lot of women have thought twice about me."
Mr Lucas shrugged and nodded.
"Trouble is," Mr Humphries added with a frown, "it's usually the second thought that puts them off."
Mr Lucas blinked a few times. "So, what about Adams, then?" he asked. "Does she fancy you?"
"I don't know," Mr Humphries replied. "I've not asked."
"Why don't you ask her, then?"
"Oh, I couldn't do that."
"Why not?"
"What if she doesn't?"
"What if she does?"
"Oh, I don't know what would be worse," Mr Humphries whimpered. "If she did or if she didn't!"
"There's only one way to find out," Mr Lucas said. "Ask her tonight when she comes over for tea."
"Perhaps," Mr Humphries said weakly.
Just then Mr Grainger returned from changing his shirt. The phone rang as he walked by and he answered it in his gruff voice.
"Gents' Ready-Made? Oh, hello Miss Adams. Er, yes he is. I'll just...oh…oh dear. I see. Yes. Yes, I'll tell him."
He replaced the receiver and toddled over to the two younger assistants. "Mr Humphries, are you free?"
"I'm free!"
"I've just spoken to Miss Adams from Accounts," Mr Grainger said. "She asked me to pass a message along to you. She said that she's very, very sorry, but she has to cancel the appointment you two had for this evening. Apparently she has to work late this evening and cannot attend."
"Oh no," Mr Humphries said softly, looking very disappointed. "And I was going to make Coq au Vin tonight!"
"Cheer up, Mr Humphries," Mr Lucas said, feeling sorry for his friend. "Tell you what, I'll come have your Coq tonight."
Mr Humphries pressed his palm to his face and groaned, "That's very kind, Mr Lucas, but I really don't think it would be quite the same..."

For once the staff were looking forward to their lunch as the Canteen was selling ice cream, lollies, and other frozen novelties at half-price. Kitchenware had even been kind enough to lend a few of their blenders so that cold milkshakes could be whipped up as well. Mr Lucas ordered six of these in vanilla and chocolate, which he carefully brought to the staff's table on a tray.
"Good thinking, Mr Lucas," Captain Peacock praised the junior as he reached for a glass.
"They're fifty p each," Mr Lucas said. "And I'm skint, so cough up!"
The floor walker scowled at him before placing a coin on the table. The others did the same and Mr Lucas collected the money. He noticed there were two left on the tray and glanced down the table. The women were sipping theirs through straws with looks of sheer delight on their faces while the two older men were practically turning theirs vertical. Only Mr Humphries seemed to have neglected to take one.
"Aren't you having one, Mr Humphries?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
Mr Humphries looked up from his cock-a-leeky soup, which he had barely touched, and shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm trying to watch my figure."
"You're nothin' but skin an' bones, though," Miss Brahms said.
Mr Humphries started to retort when Mr Grainger cried out in pain. The staff watched him snatch his glasses from his face and clap his hand across his eyes. Then they heard incoherent growls and mumbling coming from him.
"Whatever's the matter, Mr Grainger?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
"Brain freeze, I'll wager," Mr Humphries said. "You drank too fast, didn't you, Mr Grainger?"
Mr Grainger whimpered painfully. "I don't drink milkshakes that often, so I forget and drink them too quickly. Oh! Fortunately, the pain does not last very long."
"I have the same problem," Mr Lucas said. "I get so excited that I suck them as hard and fast as I can. Goes right to my head."
Mr Humphries blinked curiously at the junior. "You know, I would never have expected that from you, Mr Lucas."
Mr Lucas shrugged and sipped his milkshake carefully. As he did Rowan walked into the Canteen and snuck up behind Mr Humphries. She clapped a hand on his shoulder in a brotherly fashion, causing him to jump and upset his soup spoon.
"Sorry, mate," she said, and crouched down to pick up the utensil. "I'll get you another. I just wanted to come over and apologise again about tonight."
"It's quite all right," Mr Humphries said, taking the spoon from her and wearing his most charming smile, which he normally only reserved for the most snobbish customers that came into the store. With her, however, there was quite a lot of obvious sincerity behind it. "I understand. We'll have to try again another night."
"Definitely," Rowan agreed. "And we'll need lots of vodka, too. Guess who's offered to stay late and help me."
"Who?"
"Patterson."
"Pull the other one!"
Rowan shook her head slowly. "I think I may pop 'round to the off-licence next door for a small bottle and hide it in my desk for tonight. I swear, if he tries to put his hands on me one more time-"
There was a loud snap and the staff were shocked to see that the spoon in Mr Humphries' hands had broken in half. He placed the pieces on the table and pretended nothing had happened. Rowan, on the other hand, looked worried.
"Are you all right, Clay?" she asked.
"What?" Mr Humphries said, his voice a bit higher than usual, which was saying something. "I'm fine. I'm just concerned about Mr Patterson's blatant disrespect for you, not to mention his utter disregard for your personal space and…and…"
"Calm down, mate," Rowan said. "The old fool still hasn't sussed it yet that I'm taking tiger-style kung fu. If he tries anything I'll use this new technique they taught us last week. It's called 'Wrath of the Moody Tigress'."
"'Ow does it work?" Miss Brahms asked.
"It's really simple," Rowan said, and took Mr Humphries hand in her own. "When the bloke goes to grope your goods, you grab his wrist like this..." She put her hand on Mr Humphries' wrist, causing him some excitement that she did not notice. "And you twist it as fast and hard as you can, like this." She rolled his arm outward, causing him to topple out of his chair. "Then you give a quick punch to the sternum, just to knock the wind out of him. But I won't demonstrate that one."
"Thank heaven for that," Mr Humphries whimpered from the floor.
"Sorry, mate," Rowan apologised, and literally hoisted him up and into his chair. "I'll ring you later. Have a good lunch!"
Mr Humphries massaged his wrist and smiled fondly at the accountant as she walked away. He caught the others watching him and stood up quickly. He started to gather up his broken spoon when Mrs Slocombe's hand snatched at his jacket and pulled him back down to his chair.
"What was that about?" she said in a low, curious voice.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mr Humphries said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need another spoon."
"I know what I saw," Mrs Slocombe said, holding his shoulder in her vice-like grip. "You're keen on that one, aren't you?"
Captain Peacock snorted derisively until Mr Lucas piped up, saying, "He is."
"Ha!" Captain Peacock laughed. "Our Mr Humphries? With that...woman?"
"Maybe he likes 'em butch," Miss Brahms shrugged. "It would explain why none of the other girls 'ave 'ad much luck with 'im."
"She does have a certain masculine charm that you don't find in a lot of women," Mr Humphries said, a faraway look coming over his façade. "And I must admit, when she came over and repaired some leaky pipes for us last week I did get a little thrill watching her grip her spanner."
"Is she your girlfriend, then?" Miss Brahms asked.
Mr Humphries was brought crashing back to Earth with that question. "No, we're only friends," he said, the smile fading from his lips. "I'm not even sure if she fancies me."
"And I'm telling you, you just have to ask," Mr Lucas said.
"I can't just walk up to her and say, 'Hello Rowan. I'm curious, do you fancy me?'" Mr Humphries shook his head sadly.
"What if one of us asked her for you?" Miss Brahms said.
"How juvenile!" Captain Peacock said. "We're not in school any more, Miss Brahms. And it is none of our concern what goes on in Mr Humphries' love life."
"What about a letter?" Mr Grainger offered.
"What, you mean a love letter?" Mr Lucas said.
"Yes, exactly," Mr Grainger said. "I remember when I was courting Mrs Grainger I was too nervous to approach her myself, so I wrote her a note."
"What did it say?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
"I don't remember the exact words," Mr Grainger replied. "But I believe it went something like, 'Dear Sandra, It's me, Ernest Grainger. I don't half-fancy you. If you're keen on me as well then send this note back with your reply. Sincerely yours, Ernest.'"
"And they say romance is dead," Mr Lucas snickered.
"Well, we were only eight years old at the time," Mr Grainger chuckled. "But it worked! She sent the note back with her answer straight away."
"And what was her reply?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
"'Boys are gross!'" Mr Grainger said. "'Get knotted!' Like I said, we were only eight."
"I should hope that Rowan is a bit more tactful when she replies to my note," Mr Humphries said, taking pencil and paper from his pocket.
"You're going to write her, then?" Mrs Slocombe said.
"I suppose it's worth a try," Mr Humphries said. "Only I've no idea what to say."
"How about this?" Mr Lucas said. "'Dear Sexy Knickers...'"
"We're not going down that road again," Mrs Slocombe said warningly.
"All right, then," Mr Lucas said. "'Dear Sexy Calculator...'"
Miss Brahms gave him a hard pinch. Then she turned to Mr Humphries and said, "What if you wrote it as a secret admirer?"
"That's not a bad idea," Mrs Slocombe said. "You can say whatever your heart wishes to convey and then wait for her to reply with her own message of passion. Ooh, it's ever so romantic!"
"What if she recognises 'is 'andwriting?" Miss Brahms pointed out.
"I'm glad you said that," Mr Humphries said, putting down his pencil at once. "She does know my handwriting."
"Then I'll write it," Mrs Slocombe said, picking up the paper and pencil.
"Good thinking," Mr Humphries said. "Now, how's this: Dearest Rowan..." He stopped and frowned. "That's as far as I've gotten."
"What about something poetic?" Miss Brahms suggested. "Something like, 'I write this from the shadow, to hide my heart from your eyes. If you would truly have me, then I will remove my disguise.'"
"That's quite good, Miss Brahms," Captain Peacock said. "I had no idea you were so 'well-versed', as it were." He chuckled at his own pun while the others rolled their eyes.
"Right, put that lot down," Mr Humphries said. "Now, what else?"
"Let me think," Miss Brahms said. "Hmmm...I've got it! 'Meet me in the Canteen, no later than half one. We'll talk a bit over lunch...'"
"'Then back to my place for some fun!'" Mr Lucas grinned.
Mr Humphries picked up his broken spoon and threw it at Mr Lucas.

Mr Lucas volunteered to deliver the note to Rowan Adams the very next morning. He arrived earlier than usual and snuck down to Accounts. There he found her desk and taped the letter to her chair. His mission accomplished, he darted back to the lifts and went up to the first floor.
"You're early, Mr Lucas," Captain Peacock remarked as he finished signing his name to the time book. "What's the occasion?"
"Just helping out a friend," Mr Lucas smiled as he signed in as well.
The lift dinged and Mr Humphries bounded out and down the stairs. As soon as he signed in he followed Mr Lucas into the stock room and whispered, "Well?"
"Signed, sealed, delivered," Mr Lucas replied.
"Oh my," Mr Humphries said softly. His hands began to shake, then his legs. Sensing danger, Mr Lucas helped him to a stepping stool.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I just feel so...so..." Mr Humphries swallowed hard and began chewing at his knuckles.
"Ah, you'll be fine," Mr Lucas said, thumping his back in a brotherly fashion.
Mr Humphries coughed from the manly affection and looked down at his hand where his teeth had left a very unique impression on his skin. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves.
"You're right," he said, and got up to hang his hat and coat. "I'm being silly." He went out to the counter and began removing the dust cloths. "She's probably arriving right now and has found it. She'll read it and wonder who sent it. Of course, as we're so close, she'll come to me and ask if I recognise the handwriting. And of course I'll say I haven't a clue."
He stopped folding the cloth in his hands as a horrified expression overcame his features.
"I can't lie to her," he whimpered. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no! What have I done!"
"Calm down, Mr Humphries," Mr Lucas said.
The lift doors dinged and Mr Humphries cried out.
"It's her!" he squeaked.
He bolted to the end of the counter and shook out the dust cloth then threw it over his head.
"What are you doing?" Mr Lucas demanded.
"If anyone asks, I'm a dummy," Mr Humphries replied. "I certainly feel like one!"
Mr Lucas shook his head and turned to find Mr Grainger signing the time book. Miss Brahms and Mrs Slocombe were right behind him. He took the elderly salesman's hat and coat, gave them a shake, and as he walked by to put them away he whispered to Mr Humphries, "False alarm."
"Oh good," Mr Humphries said, exhaling in relief.
"Hey Clay!" Rowan said, sneaking up behind him.
Mr Humphries cried out again and threw the dust cloth over his head once more. Rowan raised an eyebrow and bent over to pick up the edge of the cover. She lifted it and peered inside, whereupon she grinned and chuckled.
"Hello Nervous Nelly," she tittered.
Mr Humphries pulled the dust cloth off. "Very funny," he snorted.
"Are you cross with me about last night?" Rowan asked.
"Not at all," Mr Humphries said, trying to keep his tone conversational. He gave her his charming smile and asked, "How did it go last night?"
Rowan groaned. "Patterson kept bugging me to go out with him. I finally got so fed up I told him I would if he'd shut up and let me work."
Mr Humphries' smile disappeared to be replaced by a mixture of disappointment, anger, and confusion. "You what?!"
"Yeah, I know," Rowan sighed. "It gets worse, though." She held up the note Mr Lucas had delivered. "I found this taped to my chair this morning. It's a cheesy secret admirer note. And I know exactly who it's from."
"D-do you?" Mr Humphries whimpered.
"Yeah," Rowan replied. "Mrs Slocombe."
Mr Humphries did a double-take. "From...from Mrs...what?!"
Rowan unfolded the note and tapped it with her finger. "I know nearly everyone's handwriting in this store. This is Betty Slocombe's penmanship, I'm sure of it. I just never would have guessed that she...you know..."
Mr Humphries face-palmed. He let his hand slide down his face, tugging at his skin slightly. Nearby he heard Mr Lucas sniggering and hoped he would shut up.
"Makes you wonder about her and that Mrs Axelby she talks about," Rowan said, frowning slightly. She gave a shrug. "Anyway, I'd best be off. I'm going to try to avoid Patterson until I figure out a way to renege on my promise. Wish me luck!"
"All the luck in the world," Mr Humphries muttered.
Rowan saw Mrs Slocombe walking toward the men's counter and gave her a nervous smile. The senior saleswoman grinned and waved. Rowan returned the wave reluctantly, then headed toward the lifts as quickly as possible.
"How did it go?" Mrs Slocombe asked Mr Humphries when she got to the counter.
"Not as well as I'd hoped," he replied, his lip starting to wobble.
"Does she know it's from you?" Mrs Slocombe inquired further.
"No," Mr Humphries said, and pressed his handkerchief to his face. "She thinks it's from you!"
Mrs Slocombe's jaw dropped and her eyes widened. "Oh bloody hell," she groaned.

That afternoon the staff crowded around their usual table and sipped cold water. The air conditioner was still out of commission and some of the staff were complaining that they were losing commission. To make matters worse the Canteen had run out of ice cream and frozen novelties. The only ice lollies left where the raspberry flavoured ones that turned your tongue and lips bright blue. Mr Lucas bought several of these and slurped them greedily.
"Disgusting," Miss Brahms remarked, giving him a sour look.
"What?" Mr Lucas said.
"You look like you've been kissin' a Smurf," Miss Brahms said.
Mr Lucas rolled his eyes and started on another ice lolly. Down the table Mr Humphries was picking at his spaghetti. He rolled one of the faggots around as his mind wandered.
"Cheer up, Chuck," Mrs Slocombe said consolingly. "We'll try it again. Only this time we'll type it out."
Mr Humphries shrugged and continued toying with his food.
"It's no use sitting there like that feeling sorry for yourself," Captain Peacock said gruffly. "This is just a minor drawback. You can't give up just yet."
"I've not given up," Mr Humphries said, and watched the faggot fall off his plate.
Mrs Slocombe stabbed the faggot with her fork. "And neither have I!"
"We're all behind you, Mr Humphries," Miss Brahms beamed.
"Some of us not so closely," Mr Grainger muttered.
Mrs Slocombe pushed the faggot back onto Mr Humphries' plate. "Now sit up straight and quit playing with your meat like that. You'll give the first floor a bad name!"
Mr Humphries smirked at her. "You know, you're right. I've just got to..."
Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by a sudden din of voices. A moment later Rowan stomped into the Canteen, followed closely by a middle-aged man. He was practically shouting at her as they entered the dining area, whereupon Rowan whipped around to face him.
"I don't get it," he snapped. "Do you do this to every man you meet? Promise them a good time then go back on your word?"
"I don't remember making a blood oath that I'd go out with you," Rowan snarled at the now presumed Mr Patterson. "I didn't want to go out with you to begin with! I just wanted to finish my work so I could go home. I missed havin' tea with Mr Humphries because of that lot last night."
"Oho!" Mr Patterson said. "So you're seeing the poof, are you?"
Rowan's eyes narrowed to tiny slits. She shoved Mr Patterson against the wall of the Canteen and pointed at him warningly.
"Don't you ever call him that," she growled in a very dangerous tone, then released him. "Mr Humphries is ten times the man you'll ever be."
Mr Humphries heard all of this and beamed until he heard Mr Lucas mutter, "She must not know a lot of men."
"Belt up!" Mr Humphries said. He started to get when he and the others saw Mr Patterson grab Rowan's arm.
"Don't you walk away from me," he barked at her.
"Let go!" she demanded.
"Not 'til you say you'll have me," Mr Patterson said.
"Get your damn hands off me," Rowan said, and reached for his wrist.
"Let her go, damn it!" screamed a voice no one had ever expected.
Everyone in the Canteen stopped what they were doing and stared in wonder at Claybourne Humphries, who had stood up quickly from his chair, overturning it in the process, and crossed the room in two steps. He shoved Mr Patterson back and placed himself between him and Rowan. Both looked completely shocked by his behaviour. He glared up at Mr Patterson, who was several inches taller, and gave him an ultimatum even though his voice shook.
"If you ever lay a hand on her again I'll...I'll..."
"You'll what?" Mr Patterson chuckled. "Stammer at me? Let's go, Rowan."
He grabbed Rowan's arm again. She started to execute the 'Wrath of the Moody Tigress' until Mr Humphries beat her to it. He snatched Mr Patterson's wrist and twisted it as hard as he could. When the accountant went down Mr Humphries went to one knee and reached back as far as he could. Then he punched Mr Patterson in the stomach, putting all his weight and muscle into it. The accountant moaned in agony and rolled over, clutching his abdomen painfully.
"I don't believe it," Rowan said, offering her hand to Mr Humphries. "That was brill, mate!"
"Rowan, I need to tell you something," Mr Humphries said. "I...I'm rather fond of you and...well, I..."
"Go on!" Mr Lucas shouted.
"Tell her!" Miss Brahms cried out.
Mr Humphries swallowed hard. "I...I was wondering if I could have the pleasure of your company one evening to...to..."
Rowan blinked a few times, then smirked. "Claybourne Humphries, are you asking me out?"
He swallowed again and nodded.
Rowan's smirk turned to a kind smile. "I think I'd like that very much," she said.
Mr Humphries sighed with relief. "Tea at my place?" he said.
"Eight o'clock," she replied. Then she moved closer and kissed him sweetly on his cheek. "I've got to run. I only came down for a coffee and ended up with something much better. See ya tonight, Ducky!"
Mr Humphries watched her go and his hand touched the spot where she had kissed him. He practically floated back to the table where he was getting a round of applause from his co-workers. As he sat down his appetite came flooding back and the spaghetti on his plate suddenly looked like the most magnificent thing in the world. Then the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins must have worn off, because he clutched his hand and began massaging his fingers, wincing painfully. He picked up one of the ice lollies and pressed it to his knuckles.
"Well done, Mr Humphries!" Captain Peacock praised him.
"Congratulations, my boy!" Mr Grainger said proudly.
"I knew you had it in you," Miss Brahms said.
"We all did," Mrs Slocombe added. "So, what are you going to cook tonight?"
"I still have that chicken marinating in the refrigerator," Mr Humphries replied, shifting the frozen novelty on his hand. "Perhaps I'll offer her my coq tonight and see if she likes it!"
Mr Lucas sprayed sugary ice lolly all over the table.
Miss Brahms grinned as she passed over a napkin. "Bib for Mr Lucas," she quipped.

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?