This finally emerges after my several trips to the pub this week.

When he picked her up for dinner she wasn't wearing black, she was wearing red. Red lipsticks, red dress, black jacket, black shoes. By the look of her, she couldn't help but smile at the look on his face, which made the whole image of her even more incredibly sexy than it had already been.

"You look lovely," he managed to tell her as she stepped down the stairs, stopping beside him.

"Thank you," she told him softly, leaning forwards and giving him a gentle kiss on the cheek.

He tried not to think about the last time she'd kissed him, only a few feet away from where they were standing now.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked her, "London is your oyster, providing it's not too far from a tube station."

"There's actually a decent place just down the road from here," she told him, smiling, "A French place, and they can usually squeeze you in without a reservation."

"I think I might have walked past it," he told her, "Yeah, that sounds good."

They set off out of the garden and down the street.

"I know I'm meant to wait until we've had at least one glass of wine before I start with the depressing questions," he began hesitantly, "But how did it go with the lawyers?"

She smiled ruefully at his humour, but she smiled nonetheless.

"We haven't done much more than arrange to meet formally," she told him, "Once I'd outlined the situation."

"Oh," he replied, "When are you seeing them?"

"Saturday."

"Right," he answered, "Do you want anyone there? I mean," he added hastily, "Apart from a lawyer, obviously. Like me. For support?"

She smiled properly now.

"It's a tempting offer," she admitted, "But I feel like it makes a better impression if I see them alone."

"I could see you after," he offered, more hesitantly, "If you like. Only if you want, of course."

Her face was half turned towards him as they walked. She was bowing her head a little, but the corners of her mouth were pointing up.

"I'd like that," she told him.

He nodded almost nervously.

"Right, then, that's what we'll do," he told her.

"Thank you, Joe," she told him.

This time it was her who offered her hand to him, and he slipped his fingers gently against hers as they walked down Ladbroke Grove together in the darkening evening.

/

"Have you spoken to Peter since the other night?"

She looked up from her starter just a little sharply.

"One of us had to mention him," he told her apologetically.

"No, I've not," she replied, seeming to reach for her glass of wine almost by instinct, "What is there to say at the moment that we haven't said already?"

He shrugged, casting his mind around.

"Fuck you," he suggested lightly, "Bastard."

She snorted a little with laughter.

"It seems a bit harsh," she told him softly, "After the colossal favour he's done me by buggering off in the first place," she leant forwards a little, putting down her cutlery, "You know, I can't believe we're out together like this," she told him, "I've wanted to have dinner with you again since that first time, when we got horrifically drunk together."

He smiled.

"I can't believe I'm out with you," he told her, giving her what he hoped was a devilishly winning smile but which probably ended up a rather desperate looking gurn, "It wouldn't even begin to cover it to say you're miles out of my league!"

"Oh, shut up!" she told him, "That's just not true. You know what is true, though?" she told him confidentially, "What I think is true?"

"What?" he asked, leaning forward a little too.

"I think I've been half in love with you since I read your stupid essay," she confessed.

He sat there, in awe. He wondered for a moment if she was drunk. Her eyes were shining, but apart from that she seemed perfectly fine.

"What about the other half?" he managed to ask her.

Her eyes half-widened, a smile passed across her lips. For half a second she looked like was about to say something. But then she reached for her glass again and her eyes glittered enticingly.

"Wait and see," she murmured softly.

/

"Where did you have your holidays as a kid?" she asked him.

He pretended to roll his eyes.

"Of all the standard first date questions," he pretended to complain.

"Well," she said softly, "I had to make sure you knew we were definitely on our first date."

He smiled at the significance of it.

"But where did you go?" she pressed, "I want to know."

"We went to Bamburgh," he told her, "It's on the Northumberland Coast."

"I know where it is," she replied softly.

"There's a beach and a castle," he told her, "It's really nice."

"Yes, I can imagine."

"Bet it's a while since you had a date with a bloke who didn't go abroad until he was seventeen," he asked her.

"Well, that's an assumption you make," she said softly, "But it's a correct one. Peter's family had a villa in the south of France."

He titled his head a little, watched her thoughtfully playing with the corner of her napkin. He wondered how the changes, that were only just beginning, would hit her.

She looked up at him then.

"But it's not what you have, is it? It's who you have."

Without even knowing his concerns, she had heartened him.

"Yes," he replied, "Of course it is," he was quiet for a moment, "Where did you go? When you were younger?"

"We went to Italy," she told him, rolling her eyes a second later, "Every time. Because of daddy's research."

He could imagine her there, wandering around Florence, Rome, her dark hair drinking in the sun, reading about the places she went.

"At least you didn't have my sheltered existence," he told her gently, "Italy's lovely."

"Yes, it is," she agreed, "You don't appreciate it enough until you see other places too."

"Where's your favourite place?" he asked her, "In Italy?"

"Venice," she replied, without hesitation and then, after a moment's pause; "It's very romatic." Another little silence. "We should go there together."

/

"Phyllis."

She looked up from her food again.

"You're really gorgeous," he told her softly, thoughtfully, letting her know that he meant it in so many senses.

A look of surprise, and then she met his eyes and a smile beamed across her face.

"Do you have any idea how long it's been since someone has said that to me?" she asked softly.

He didn't want to wonder.

"It ought to be said," he replied firmly, "All the time."

She pushed her hair gently behind her ear. She was grinning like an idiot.

"Thank you," she murmured.

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