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"So, let me get this straight. Conflict arises in the drama of the twentieth century on purely intellectual grounds alone, because of fundamental differences in the characters' perceptions of key ideas, mainly love. And this is the only factor which consistently prevents resolution in the texts of the period?"

Joe didn't take his eyes off the laptop at all as Thomas spoke.

"That's about the size of it," he confirmed, "You know you could always degrade yourself to the point of actually reading my essay."

Thomas did not need to voice his contempt, by the time he did Joe had already imagined it.

"Even if I had time, I wouldn't," he assured him, "It sounds like utter bollocks to me."

"That's because you've spent your career focusing on literature which functions on an entirely different basis," Joe told him, not bothering to disguise his boredom.

"Hope I'm not interrupting," they both turned to see Phyllis' face peering round the door, "You still got time for coffee?"

"Yes," he told her straight away, getting up, taking his jacket from the back of his chair, "I could really do with it."

She waited for him just outside the door, she arms folded tightly against her black sweater.

"Be careful," Thomas called wryly after them, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

The door closed behind them.

"I've just been defending my life's work to him," Joe explained.

"What to Thomas?" Phyllis asked incredulously, "I wouldn't strain yourself over that."

"No, I didn't," he told her, "What have you been up to today?"

Phyllis made a face.

"A lot of shit," she murmured, "Mainly admin shit. They don't tell you how much of that comes with the top job. Today it was for Faculty Dinner."

"Now I've heard that's actually worth going to here," he told her.

"Bloody better be," she told him, "If I can't get any articles written I should at least be able to throw a damn good party instead. You'd better come, by the way," she informed him, "If you're not there, I'm leaving you marooned in that office with Thomas. Forever."

He smiled ruefully at the thought.

"Oh, I'll be there," he told her softly.

There was a moment's pause.

"Would you like to go together? As a sort of-…." he didn't quite know how to conceptualise them, "Team?" he finished hopefully.

Another pause. They had stopped in the street by this point. At least she was smiling, even if she was also looking awkward.

"Joe, I don't know if you know, but at the Faculty dinners here the staff get a plus one from outside the department. And-…"

"And you're bringing Peter," he finished for her, "Shit. Sorry."

"It's alright," she told him consolingly, "You weren't to know."

"I know," he replied, "But it's a new low even for me; asking out a married woman to something she's already going with her husband to."

She laughed properly now.

"Don't worry about it," she assured him, touching his arm softly, nudging him along, "Come on, let's go and have some coffee."

…..

"Didn't you think of going into the Ancient Greeks? And there seven definitions of love?"

She sat down opposite him, bearing two cups of coffee and two questions. He concentrating on the wrong part.

"When?" he asked stupidly.

"In your essay," she prompted him.

"Oh god," he murmured, "I've spent this morning defending it to Thomas. Not you as well. I thought you liked it?"

"Just because I liked it doesn't mean I don't get to ask questions," she told him, "The more I like it the more questions I have."

She looked at him for a moment, smiling expectantly.

"Why would I go into the Ancient Greeks?" he asked her, "What could be further from modern drama?"

"But any notion of defining love must draw on that sense of multiplicity-…" she protested.

He smiled wryly.

"Why?" he asked calmly, and when she didn't answer immediately he pressed another one on her, "Does an ordinary person think about the Ancient Greeks when they think about love?"

She raised her eyebrow at him.

"You're twisting what I'm saying," she told him.

He smiled back at her.

"Well, maybe a little," he conceded, "But the point still stands. People don't consciously define their feelings, let alone relate them to antiquated definitions."

"My family did," she interjected, a little indignantly, though he couldn't tell in which direction her indignation was intended.

"I'm not talking about people like us, like your family" he told her, correcting himself a little, "I don't know what your house was like, true, but you don't know how mine was either and I think mine is probably more what I'm talking about. I'm talking about ordinary people. Not unintelligent people, not careless people, but people who-…. get on with their feelings rather than dissecting them and writing essays about them. People who get plays written about them."

She was quiet for a moment.

"Nobody's ordinary," she said at last.

"Well, you're probably right about that," he conceded, "I just meant in this one respect."

She lapsed into thought again and he let her for long moments.

"Your coffee will get cold," he reminded her gently.

…..

He sat back at his desk later that afternoon, staring blankly at his laptop screen. A half drunk cup of coffee was beside him. "One for the road," Phyllis has said to him, handing him another coffee in a takeaway cup once he'd drunk his first one. He'd smiled his defeat, and reflected that this was probably how she'd become a genuine caffeine addict. The tips of her fingers had touched the side of his as he took the cup from her. Her cheekbones were so high when she smiled.

"Lecture notes aren't going to write themselves."

God, he hadn't realised Thomas could let himself in so quietly.

"Do you have to?" Joe asked him tiredly. The desired effect of the coffee had long worn away.

"No," Thomas replied, depositing his jacket on the back of his chair, "I enjoy it."

Joe didn't turn around.

"What's made you so fucking chipper then?" he asked, not bothering to disguise his mood.

The half-beat Thomas took made him think he'd even given him pause.

"What's turned you into such a moody wanker all of a sudden?" Thomas wanted to know, "Don't tell me. I know who you had your lunch with."

Joe said nothing, because he thought if he did he'd shout his fucking head off.

"Look," Thomas' tone wasn't jibing now. It was halting and awkward, "I know you and Phyllis-…. Well, actually I don't know you and Phyllis- I haven't got a clue what's going on between you, but I know there's something! But you need to watch yourself. If you think something is going to happen. Not just because her husband's a bloody rich man- which he is by the way. I don't think that cuts much ice with her-… They're not happy," As much as he hated himself for it, Joe was listening now, he was listening at that. "You're right," Thomas conceded, "She's not had her ring on for weeks now that I've noticed. But you need to be careful still. Just because he can't make her happy doesn't mean that you can."

Joe realised his jaw was clenched very tightly. He only noticed when he tried to unclench it to speak.

"Why would it?" he asked as lightly as he could, still not turning to look at Thomas, "When you think about it."

"I've known her a long time," Thomas told him.

"Are you saying she's difficult?" Joe queried.

"No," Thomas replied, "Anything but. But she's been hurt before, hurt a 've got to think about, hard, before you do anything. Think about if it's worth risking her getting hurt again. Right?"

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