Sorry this update has taken a while. I really hope you like it.

Joe did not have to wait until the Faculty Dinner to get a look at Peter. More than a look, really. And he wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

He'd half moved into Phyllis' office, that was the only reason he saw Peter at all, and he hoped that didn't look too dodgy. (He wasn't even sure if, in and of itself, it was dodgy or not. Christ knew what any of this was.) She'd made the offer casually, with half a smile on her face, telling him that the space was there if Thomas ever got on his nerves too much. He tried to tell himself that he took her up on the offer because Thomas really was that annoying as a person.

In fact, he was the only one in there when Peter turned up. And of course, he'd had no idea who he was and had turned around, irritated at being disturbed and asked, "Can I help you?"

"Sorry," the man in the door had said, "I must have the wrong place. Where has Phyllis Baxter moved to?"

"No, this is still her. I'm just sharing for a bit," Joe told him, still sitting at the spare desk, turned towards his laptop.

"Oh right," the man replied, "I see. Any idea what time she'll be back?"

"Not sure," Joe replied.

The man cleared his throat, just a touch.

"I'm Peter, I should say," he explained, "Her husband."

"Oh."

Joe allowed himself half a moment before turning back towards him.

"She's off lecturing the third years at the moment, but she's been gone a while, I'd have thought she'd been back by now," he explained, "So I'm not sure when she will be."

Peter was a good-looking man, there was no hopeful portion of his brain that could deny that; his hairline was depressingly assertive and, when Joe stood up, he found that he was a good few inches shorter.

"I'm Joe Molesley," he told him, offering his hand to him, "I'm new round here. I've moved in with Phyllis for a bit because I'm having a bit of trouble round at my office." It was no word of a lie.

Peter shook his hand briefly, just as Phyllis walked in.

She was him and a good deal of surprise registered in her face.

"Hello, Peter, what are you doing here?" she asked him, "I didn't know hell had frozen over."

Joe would have smiled at her joke had it not been for the edge in her voice. He decided to make himself scarce.

"I was about to pop to the coffee machine," he announced, "Anyone want anything?"

"Joe, you hate coffee machine coffee," Phyllis told him, "You don't have to go because Peter's here."

Joe sat meekly back now at his desk, making himself as scarce as possible nonetheless. He stared firmly at the laptop screen, trying to stop his ears from standing to attention.

"Have you forgotten?" Peter was asking her.

"No," Phyllis replied, "I hadn't." Her voice sounded cold. "I told you I couldn't make it."

"And I said it doesn't quite work like that, didn't I?" Peter asked. Joe thought he sounded tired.

"Yes, you did," Phyllis acknowledged plainly, "But I said then, and I'm still saying now, I'm up to my eyes in work and I can't make it."

"You know how important these company dinners are," Peter told her, "The investors don't think I'm worth their time if we're not both there, and then I'll be out on my ear and then where will we be?"

"Well, then we won't be harangued into going to these wankery dinners every few months, for a start," Phyllis responded, matching Peter's voice for tiredness and truly outstripping him for cold boredom. "One dinner won't make a difference."

"Don't be obtuse," he told her bluntly, "You're not stupid, Phyllis."

"No, I'm not," she agreed sharply, "Still doesn't mean I'm going to bloody go, though."

If Joe could have reasonably extracted himself from the room, he would have done so in a flash. But Phyllis, her stance faintly aggressive, was squarely blocking his path to the door, and he didn't dare cross her in this mood.

"Phyllis," Peter said tersely, "I don't think you're being reasonable. I make time to come to your faculty dinners."

"Oh, like you did last year?" she asked him, "And two years before that?"

"Well, I try," he amended, "You know it's bloody hard to find the time with my workload."

"Oh, I know," Phyllis snapped in reply, "And so does the rest of the faculty because I had to explain over and over again why my husband had ditched me and I was up at that bloody top table by myself. God, Thomas was unbearable-…"

"Thomas is a twat," Peter declared.

Well, Joe had to admit, at times there was a case for it.

"Don't be shit about Thomas," Phyllis reprimanded him, Joe mentally taking the reprimand too and flustering a little, "That won't get us anywhere. And it wouldn't matter if you'd been to every faculty dinner of my life, because that wouldn't change the fact that I'm too busy, I've not got a dress with me. I haven't got any make-up-…"

"I've brought you some," Peter told her, depositing the large Selfridges bag that he'd brought with him onto her desk, "I brought the black one you always where, and I think I've got the make-up right, I don't really know-…"

"I've got about ten black dresses," Phyllis murmured irritably to herself, peering briefly inside the bag, "Probably all of them would crease to hell in there. Peter," she said firmly, straightening up and looking at her husband, "I don't know which part of what I'm saying you don't understand, but the third year reports won't write themselves, and they have to have their feedback before they do their finals."

"For fuck's sake, they can wait a night for them-…"

"They shouldn't have to," she cut him off swiftly, "They've worked hard and I've worked hard, and I don't see why any of us should have to be delayed by a bunch city dickheads."

"Those dickheads keep you in vodka and your precious fucking black dresses," Peter snapped.

Joe could tell they had both forgotten he was here, and ventured a look at Phyllis' face. Her expression betrayed no notion that the atmosphere in that office could have been cut with a knife.

/

He'd been at the cleaners getting his dinner shirt back before the Faculty dinner when he realised his invitation was on his desk in Phyllis' office. They would have probably let him in without it, everyone knew him, but he didn't want to risk looking like a fool so he nipped back to the office.

Even though it was her office, Phyllis was the last person he expected to see there. Sitting at her desk with a collapsable mirror, she seemed to be putting the last bits of her make-up on. She seemed surprised to see him too, as he halted a little in the door.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him pleasantly, looking at him in the mirror, "I thought I was going to be the last one there."

"Forgot my invite," he told her.

"Ah," she said, smiling as he crossed to his desk to find it and she put her mascara back in her bag.

"What are you doing getting ready here?" he asked her.

"There wasn't much point lugging all the way home," she replied, "I didn't really want to. Bit far."

"Right," Joe agreed briefly.

She turned to look at him at his tone.

"What's that for?" she wanted to know. She was more curious than accusing, but her tone was firm, she wanted to know what he was thinking.

"I just thought-…" he said after a moment, "I was worried that Peter was giving you a hard time about tonight. After-…"

"Oh god," she murmured.

He watched her closely as she rested her forehead for a moment against her fingers.

"Well," she told him, looking up again, "You're not to be blamed for thinking that, after last time."

He didn't dare ask her whether or not it was true.

"I'll tell you one thing though," she told him, checking her appearance in the mirror, a fierce expression on her face, "If he doesn't show up tonight, then it's over."

He did a double take, he was hard-pressed to stop himself exclaiming. She saw his face, and must have read disbelief there.

"I mean it, you know," she told him firmly.

"I know," he replied hastily, "I've no doubt you do."

"And," she hesitated for a moment, "Do you think I'm wrong? Do you think I'm over-reacting?"

"No," he had replied before he could check himself and make himself sound more measured.

He caught her smile in the mirror just before she stood up. Her black dress fell to its full and glorious length as she turned round to him. Her dark hair fell gently down over her shoulders. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

"Good," she told him softly, "Because I don't care if I am. I've had enough."

He didn't question her, he only told her:

"He's an idiot if he won't come for you. You look wonderful."

She smiled radiantly. Even grimly angry, half-depressed, he thought, she was transcendent.

"Thank you," she told him softly, her red lips turning gently upwards.

/

It wasn't only Peter who was conspicuous by his absence half way through the dinner though, Joe thought he hadn't seen Phyllis for a good half an hour. She was there throughout the dinner, sitting quietly beside Peter's empty chair, looking radiant, smiling bravely. But when the dancing started, all of a sudden she was gone. She was probably worried that he was going to ask her to dance with him, he thought ruefully. Well, she was probably right, he probably would have done, and it was probably right of her to pre-empt him and get away. He kept casting anxious glances over to the table where Thomas sat, wondering if he knew anything.

"Will you come and dance with me? I want to talk to you."

He was so busy looking towards the door for her that she completely took him by surprise, approaching him from behind, laying a tentative hand on his shoulder over his jacket. He complied immediately and followed her.

Most of the students had gone by this point, and the faculty members were mostly taking advantage of the bar. No one was paying attention to them.

As she took hold of his hands and stood closer to him he tried not to think of the fact this was the most he'd ever touched her, the closest he'd ever stood to her.

"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly, "I didn't know where you'd gone."

"I know, I'm sorry," she apologised quietly, her head bowed and her voice lowered, "Peter called me up. He said he wanted to talk."

"He's got a bit of bloody nerve," Joe commented quietly, "To not turn up and then expect you to talk to him."

Her head raised and she looked at him.

"He's left me, Joe," she murmured.

"He's-… what?" he asked incredulously.

He nearly dropped her hands he was so shocked, but instead he seemed to hold her tighter.

"He's been seeing someone else."

"What? That bastard!" he hissed under his breath.

"I've been so stupid," she told him softly, her eyes closed.

"No," he insisted quietly to her, "You've not-… You've done nothing wrong!"

"No, I mean I should have said yes when you asked me to come to this with you, and to hell with him."

He couldn't think of anything to say for a moment. He was so angry he could spit.

"He's a bastard," he told her quietly, "He's an utter wanker. He doesn't deserve you."

She gave an appreciative sniff and said nothing else. He looked down at her face, still floored by shock.

"Are you alright?" he asked her softly.

"I feel a bit funny," she told him.

"Do you want to get out of here?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

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