Felicity fumed about her basement studio, working through the residual irritation of Gavin's cavalier nomination. He new how busy she was right now, and she was anxious to start her new project. She wasn't the least bit interested in joining some silly committee. When Patty had called, the previous morning, and explained what the committee would be doing, and that they would like to schedule a meeting, Felicity had impulsively suggested they all come to her place for lunch.

If she could show them firsthand, her demanding schedule, her refusal wouldn't sound as intentional. She considered the time investment worthwhile. Besides, she felt, having everyone away working on their silly parade left her opportunity to continue her pursuit of Peter.

The Jeep Cherokee rolled onto the lock stone driveway and rocked to a halt in front of the double garage doors. Gavin cut the engine, tossed off the seat belt and hopped out, slamming the door and swinging his briefcase as he performed a nasty two-step around the vehicle and up the front walk.

"Hey Filly, guess who's home early!" He pushed the door closed and dropped his jacket and case in the front hall, peering into the living room and then the library on his way to the kitchen, still calling. "Filly, you downstairs?"

Silence.

"Hoo, hoo, look who's home!" He bounded down the stairs and stopped with a dramatic pose. "Tah, tah!"

"Gavin! What are you doing home?"

"The boss is playing hooky, sweetheart." He kissed her cheek and flopped down on the stool beside her easel.

"Fantastic! We can work on the painting and get ahead of schedule." Gavin slumped inside. The one day he was able to steal away from work, and she expected him to spend it in drag for her damned painting.

"Fil, I thought maybe we could... do something... together. I don't get many chances like this."

"Neither do I. Working from photographs takes a lot longer than the real thing. This way, it'll go faster and we will have some time to spare."

Resigned, he went to her, stroked her hair, and gave her a kiss. "Babe, if that's what's needed then let's get to it."

"You'll have to get all dressed up again."

"Hey! Hey... okay, if that's what you need, we'll do it. C'mon now." They walked together out to the hall and upstairs to the bedroom.

"What do you need?" He asked, stripping off his shirt.

"The works... face, hair, gown, shoes..." She threw her arms around him and hugged tightly. "Thanks Gavin, you're the best."

*****

Nigel sat in front of the computer staring at the flashing cursor. His idea bank empty. What did he know about Disco, and the 70's? Through the window he could see Victoria's neighbour working her way along the rows of fruit trees and vegetables, snipping here, poking there. Grouper, her old hound, trailed slowly after her, snuffling at each twig and clump of earth she touched. The dog looked a lot older than he remembered.

He sighed and shoved his fingers through his hair, emitting a despondent moan. Being coerced into emceeing the Jubilee was certainly the easiest of what could have been a very bad deal, he reasoned. Considering Susan's penchant for trying to involve him in everything, he'd gotten off lightly. The problem now was coming up with a script of suitable remarks. He jerked involuntarily as Victoria entered the room carrying a tray of snacks.

"Sorry, nephew. Were you miles away in a distant galaxy?" She set the tray beside him and sat on the edge of his bed.

"Just trying to dream up a suitable speech," he shrugged.

"Well have some of these," she said, pushing the tray toward him, "they're salmon crackers. Brain food." He smiled, popping one in his mouth.

"Have you decided about when you want to have Susan for dinner?"

Nigel cocked an eyebrow. "Would you care to rephrase that?" She looked blank, then tilted back, giggling.

"How about tomorrow night? I'll have to call her first."

"Tomorrow's fine. Do you want anything special?"

He lowered his head and gazed sternly. "Don't start getting ideas, Victoria. This is not a date, nor is it a prelude to things to come. She just needs to talk some stuff out, and I agreed to listen."

"Fine. Fine. Don't get you knickers in a knot. I only asked."

"Right."

******

Amanda placed the copies on Milo's desk and waited for him to get off the phone. All morning he had been grim mouthed, snapping at every comment she made, and being a general pain in the ass. He picked them up and dropped them again, responding to the caller with a terse goodbye.

"What are these?"

"Minutes from the meeting last night, as well as a list of committees, their duties and an approximate timeline." She glared at him.

He flipped through the pages, huffing noisily. "I don't see a listing of who will be riding where, in the parade."

"Maybe because that hasn't been decided yet." She snapped.

He gave her his stern father look. "Don't use that tone with me, young lady."

"It's the one you've been using with me all day." She countered defiantly. "Just because your wife didn't like the fact that I was there—"

"Leave my wife out of this." He flipped the pages shut and sat back. "You're always putting your own spin on situations."

Amanda's face reddened and she leaned forward threateningly. "You know what, Milo, spin on this!" She showed him a rigid, erect middle finger, and stormed out of the office.

He picked up his pen and hurled it against the far wall, leaving an ugly splotch of blue on the cream paint. "Bloody women!"