Alberta Clipper

by Lambert, Sheena

  “Yes.”

  “You speak Danish?”

  “No, but when I told him that, he repeated it in English.”

  This time Mark couldn't hold a snigger.

  “So I make it a habit not to sit in hotel bars by myself.”

  “Fair enough.” Mark drained his drink. “I can't sympathise, I'm afraid. No one has ever tried to pick me up in a hotel bar.” He smiled, but the conversation seemed to make him uncomfortable. “Same again?”

  Christine had barely touched hers. A waitress appeared, and Mark ordered another gin and tonic, but Christine declined. They sat in silence for a moment. The music being piped in was slow and jazzy, some girl with a coffee voice singing about lost love. The bar was a little livelier than it had been when she'd arrived, but there was no hiding the feeling that they were in a hotel. It lacked soul. Mark checked his phone briefly before putting it back in his jeans pocket.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Just expecting Shay to call. He's working late.”

  It seemed to Christine that he had more to say, but had decided against it. She decided to let her nosiness get the better of her. They had to talk about something, after all.

  “So you were meeting Marcus today?” She took a sip from her drink, not removing him from her gaze.

  “Eh, yeah.”

  She said no more. He could tell her what was going on if he wanted to himself. She guessed he would feel the need to fill the silence, so she just took another sip and smiled across at him.

  “There's been a bit of hassle.” He looked straight at her. “Maybe you know? Craig has been suspended.”

  Christine slammed her glass down on the table in front of her. “What? Why? What the hell?”

  “Craig and Mick. Mick Dolan. There's an investigation being held into, into some unauthorised deals. They're suspended with pay until it's completed.”

  Christine sat there dumb. Mick Dolan wasn't a surprise. She had always thought him creepy. And not a little sleazy. She could easily believe him to be a cheat. But Craig?

  “I'm sorry. I presumed Craig would have told you over the weekend.” Mark looked genuinely surprised. “I know you two are close.”

  “Not that close,” Christine said quietly, but immediately felt disloyal. “Craig is a friend, but we don't talk about everything. At all.” She tried to choose her words carefully. “I didn't know anything was going on. Well, I suspected something when I saw Marcus in the office last week, but Craig said nothing.” She tried to read the blank expression on Mark's face. “I'm sorry. I'm sure this is all a large pain in the ass for you.” Stupid Craig. What was he thinking? She felt very let down. Then another thought struck her. “What about Shay? Is he in trouble over this?” She shook her head. “Idiots.”

  Mark shook his head. “Shay is blameless.” He took another swig from his drink.

  Wow, he can really put them away, Christine thought as she saw he was almost finished his second while she was still sipping her first.

  “But you're right. They've put him in a very difficult position. Allegedly,” he added. “We have to conduct a full investigation yet.”

  Christine eyeballed him. “But Craig admitted doing something wrong?” She knew Craig could be an idiot, well obviously he could be an idiot, but she doubted he would be stupid enough to deny something if he had been found out. Mark just shrugged his shoulders and crunched some ice from his otherwise empty glass. They were silent for a moment.

  “Look, let's not discuss it anymore. I'm sure it's awkward for you. And you've had enough of it all day, I've no doubt. Let's talk about something else.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that. Ready for another?”

  Before she could answer, her phone started to ring in her bag. A second later, Mark's started to ring in his pocket. They laughed. He looked at his, and then looked apologetically at Christine.

  “Shay.” He motioned to the phone. She shooed him off, and took the opportunity to look at her own. The screen read Dad Calling. Her heart sank, just a little.

  “Hey Dad.”

  “Well, how's the birthday girl? Are you out celebrating?”

  “Sort of.” She lowered her voice and turned in her seat so that there was less chance of Mark over-hearing her. “I'm just out for a drink with a colleague. How are things there?”

  “All good. Just ringing to wish you a happy birthday.” He paused. “I was up at the grave earlier.”

  The phone went quiet. Christine said nothing.

  “Were you there at the weekend, lovie?”

  Christine clenched her teeth. Of course she had been there at the weekend. She went there every weekend. “Yeah. I popped over, eh, Saturday I think.” Mark was pacing the floor some distance from her, his phone to his ear, talking animatedly and gesticulating with his right hand. She sank further down into her chair.

  “Right.” Her father spoke gently.

  She really didn't want to hear this. Not right now.

  “Christine, are you okay?”

  “Yes Dad,” she hissed. Immediately she felt sorry for snapping. She closed her eyes. “Dad, I'm fine.” When she opened them again, Mark was sitting quietly back down on the chair opposite her. “Dad, I have to go.”

  “Okay. Sure.”

  She knew he'd have to call him later and reassure him, but she couldn't get into it now. “I'm back tomorrow. I'll talk to you then. Okay?”

  “Okay. Enjoy your evening anyway. Happy birthday, lovie. I popped something in the post for you. Sure you'll get it when you get back.”

  Christine looked at Mark who seemed to be trying not to eavesdrop. “You shouldn't have Dad. Thanks though. I'll talk to you tomorrow.” She pressed the end call button and took a deep breath. Before she had a chance to put her phone back in her bag, it rang again.

  “My, but we're very popular this evening.” Mark raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Well actually,” Christine glanced at the phone to see Emily's name illuminated. She diverted the call and the ringing stopped. “Actually, it's my birthday. Hence the phone calls.”

  Mark looked a little shocked. “It's your birthday, and you're spending it in a hotel bar with your boss? Oh God. I'm so sorry.”

  She shook her head. “It's fine! Better than my original plan of a bath and room service. And infinitely better than a second night on the town with my lovely analyst colleagues.”

  Mark just sat there with a strange look on his face. Christine felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze. “I'm serious, Mark. It's fine. Let's just get another one of these.” She lifted her empty glass. He turned and caught the attention of the only waitress in the place.

  “Can you put these on my room? 304.”

  “Certainly sir. Just give me one second.” The waitress went over to the bar.

  Mark stood up. “Come on. We're leaving.”

  “We are?” Christine was genuinely puzzled, but she stood anyway and lifted the strap of her bag over her shoulder. “Where are we going?”

  “You're not spending your twenty-”

  “Ninth.” Christine looked glum.

  “Twenty-ninth birthday in,” he paused to sign the receipt held out to him by the waitress. With a toothy smile she turned and walked back to the counter. He lowered his voice to a whisper, “the Berry Bar. Come on.” But then he suddenly stopped and looked at her feet. “Okay to walk a few blocks?”

  “Sure.”

  “Then let's go.”

  ~

  Mark's stomach felt like it was edging its way up his oesophagus and towards his throat. He could hear himself jabbering on about something completely inane to do with the bank, but his mind was having a whole other conversation with itself. What was he doing? He was walking a very fine line here, and he could easily fall off it and into a harassment charge. He knew where he wanted to bring her, he had decided it in a split second after she had told him it was her birthday, but now, as they walked along Curzon Street in the evening sun, he started to worry about what she might be thinking. He
observed her as she walked. She seemed to be okay. She was chatting away, looking around her, seemingly enjoying the London summer evening. As he looked at the people walking past them, he guessed that they would appear to them like any ordinary couple walking along. Just not holding hands. A first date, maybe. After a few moments of silence, she looked at him questioningly.

  Mark had the sensation of being slightly hypnotised, her eyes were so blue. “Just up here.”

  As the Dorchester came into view, Christine turned to him with a smile. “Here?”

  “That okay?” He searched her face for some sign that it was okay. “More appropriate for a birthday drink, no?” He tried to sound breezy.

  Christine laughed, and Mark couldn't tell if she was happy about how the evening was turning out, or if it would be a source of water-cooler chat back at the office. But he knew she was classier than that. He hoped.

  “I've never been here. I've always wanted to come.” She looked genuinely impressed. “Thanks, Mark.”

  “No problem.” Mark hoped his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. “I was here a couple of years ago. It's nice.” Although, he couldn't remember much about that weekend now. It had been a supposedly romantic city break with Jennifer. She hadn't really liked the Dorchester when they had come in for dinner. She had said it was too fussy. Mark had liked it. The staff had been very pleasant, and they had spotted a few American movie actors in the foyer. He had wanted to come back and stay ever since, but the occasion had never presented itself. “Maybe we can get something to eat? They might even have a candle for you to blow out.” They entered through the grand doors.

  “We can sit and play spot-the-celebrity if nothing else,” he said quietly to her as they were guided by a smiling hostess into the bar.

  ~

  It was almost eleven the next time Christine looked at her watch. She couldn't believe it. They had been at the bar talking, drinking red wine, eating olives and other tiny little savoury treats they couldn't decipher, for over two hours. As she checked her face in the ladies’ room mirror, it struck her how it had been one of the better birthdays of the past few years. Mark had surprised her. Big time. It was hard to believe that the interesting, relaxed guy in the bar was the same broody, unsmiling man she worked for. Nina had always raved about what a great guy he was, but Christine had never really understood why. He had until this evening just been her, somewhat difficult, boss. But she could see that he clearly loved CarltonWachs. They had talked about the place for most of the evening. The whole mess with Craig and Mick had genuinely upset him, although they hadn't gone into the detail of it. It was also obvious that he cared a lot for Nina and Shay, and Christine respected that. He had told her how himself and Shay had worked for the same small Irish bank in their early twenties, and had both remained on when the business had been bought by the Chicago-based CarltonWachs. They had been friends and colleagues for over fifteen years.

  Christine couldn't imagine staying with one firm that long. As she patted her slightly shiny nose with a small sponge, she tried to imagine herself, forty-something, still working on the fourth floor in Clarendon Square. She stood still with the sponge on her nose, struggling with the visualisation. Surprisingly, the thought of working for CarltonWachs for another decade didn’t disturb her at all. But the vision was dark and shady when she tried to imagine what sort of life she would be living outside of the office. What sort of home she would return to each evening. She tried to force Gavan into the picture but just like every other time she tried to imagine her future, Christine could see nothing. Like staring into the blackness of a television that had been switched off.

  The sound of a toilet being flushed behind her shook her from her reverie, and she put the powder-puff back in its case in her bag. She was not going to do this.

  Not now.

  She smiled exaggeratedly at the glamorous lady who had materialised at the mirror next to her and turned to go back to the bar.

  Eleven PM on her twenty-ninth birthday in the Dorchester powder-room was not the time nor the place for facing reality.

  EightChristine couldn't concentrate. She repeatedly looked up from her computer, through the glass wall of her office and towards the door of the meeting room to see if anyone came out. She had a fair idea of what was going on in there, although there hadn't been much more than a few whispered comments made in the coffee room that morning. Craig would be sitting on one side of the table opposite Mark, Shay and Melanie from human resources. Like a job interview. Which she supposed in some ways it was. An interview for his own job. She had seen him arrive on the fourth floor half an hour before. Shay had met him at the reception desk and ushered him straight into the meeting room, away from his colleagues on the trading desk. There had been rumour that they had already met with Mick Dolan, and that he was out. But no one seemed to know if Craig was to suffer the same fate.

  The sound of a door being opened and multiple footsteps on the floor made her jump up from her desk and run to her office door. As she stood purporting to arrange some papers in her arms, she saw Mark walk back to his office, and Shay accompany Craig to the lift in silence. They didn't shake hands as Craig got in, but Christine could see Shay speaking quietly and Craig nodding earnestly.

  “Christine.”

  Christine jumped as Petra suddenly appeared right in front of her.

  “I need a copy of your report for Monday's meeting. Could you email it to me, so I can combine it with Harry's? Mark wants the total presentation to run more -”

  “Sorry Petra. Back in a sec.” She'd have to run if she was going to catch him. With her head down, she walked straight to the fire escape and skipped down the four flights of stairs to the lobby. She got to the lift door just as Craig was walking through, and linked arms with him, steering him abruptly into a small vacant meeting room.

  “Christine -”

  “Why haven't you been answering my calls? Or texts? What the hell, Craig?” She lowered her voice and sat down on a chair, suddenly deflated. “What have you done?”

  Craig looked away. After a moment, he sat down on the only other chair in the room. His face was red, and he had bags under his usually sparkly eyes.

  Christine's anger was turning to pity. “Are you out?” she asked quietly.

  “No.” The lack of bravado in his voice made Christine mellow even more. “I was a total idiot. But I'm staying. Minus my Christmas bonus,” he looked up from under a raised eyebrow, “but I'm staying.” They sat in silence for a moment. “Mick's out.”

  “Wow.” It was shocking news, even if the guy deserved it. “Craig, what were you thinking?”

  “I know, I know. I shouldn't have got involved. I should have told him to shove it.” He looked down at his tie and started flipping it over and back with his hand. “But it wasn't illegal or anything.”

  “It was against the rules.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “I thought you were smarter than that Craig. Smarter than Mick Dolan. You've got a good thing going here. Why would you rock the boat?”

  “Okay, Mom, I get it.”

  He glared at her. She took a deep breath. They regarded each other for a moment. “Look, I'm sorry, okay? But I've accepted my punishment. And I won't do it again.”

  “You could have got Shay into a lot of trouble.”

  Craig sat back in his chair. “I know.” He looked sincere. But Christine wasn't totally convinced. Craig pushed at the cuticles on his thumbnails. “Shay's been great, actually. If it weren't for him, I'd say I'd have been gone. That bastard Mark sure as hell wanted me out.” Christine felt a flush of indignation in her cheeks. “He wanted Shay to take some of my best clients from me. My highest earners. Wanker.”

  Christine stood up abruptly. “You're lucky you have a job. He could have kicked you out. You might have found it difficult getting work anywhere else, under the circumstances.”

  Craig seemed shocked at her reaction. “I know, I know. You're right. Anyway,” he stood up,
pushing his chair back under the little table between them. He really looked terrible. “I'm to take some time off. I have annual leave due. They're insisting I take it now. Three weeks.” He buttoned his jacket. “So I guess I'll be taking an impromptu holiday.”

  “Maybe that's not such a bad idea,” Christine said.

  “And I won't be seeing you at the morning briefings anymore. Mark insisted one of the other lads take that over.”

  “Right.” Christine was feeling piteous again. She found it impossible to stay angry with him. “Well, maybe we'll do lunch when you get back from your, holiday, okay?”

  “Okay.” He smiled at her, and stretched out his arms. She reluctantly let him give her a hug. “Thanks for being a pal.” He squeezed her until she had to break free for air. “And I really am sorry, Chris.”

  “I know. Just don't be an ass again if you can help it.”

  He held open the door, and they returned to the lobby. Christine pressed the button for the lift.

  “How's things with you anyway?” Craig said as he turned to go. “How's the fellah? Gavan? Still in love?”

  “None of your goddamn business,” she smiled at him as the lift door started to close, and he winked at her, and turned to leave the building with a grin that didn't quite reach to his eyes.

  NineSomething unusual woke Christine the following morning. Something was different. Uncomfortable. For a moment she couldn't think what it was, but then she put her hand to her neck and felt the gold chain. It was digging into her skin, and she had to lift her head gently and adjust it so as not to break it. She lifted the pendant it carried, and blinked the sleep from her eyes in order to focus on it. A cornflower blue sapphire surrounded by tiny little diamonds in a white gold setting. She smiled at it. Without uttering a word, this birthday gift had said a lot. It was definitely expensive, but not outrageously so – the diamonds were pretty, but very tiny. It was a classic setting – the buyer had taste. Nothing too modern that would date. There was no particular significance to it. It wasn't an heirloom, sapphire wasn't her birthstone, he probably hadn't put weeks of thought into it. It was more likely that he had just seen it in a store window and had thought it was a nice piece. Classic, tasteful. Christine loved it. She didn’t own much jewellery. She had a heavy gold choker that had once belonged to her mother and that she was unlikely to ever wear unless to an eighties-themed party, and she still had a silver cross and chain given to her by her late grandmother on her confirmation. But that was all. Now, she had this. The first real piece of jewellery she had ever been given. She was lying there looking at it when the bedroom door opened, making her jump.