Alberta Clipper (4 page)

“Chris?  Have I upset you?  I’m sorry.  If you’d rather I didn’t -”

“No.  Dad I think that’s great.  What’s she like?  Twenty-year-old blonde looking for a sugar daddy?”  As soon as she had said the words, she held her breath. 

“'Fraid not.  Not too many of them at computers for dummies.  No, she’s a widow herself.  She’s got two grown-up children and a couple of grandchildren.  I actually don’t know how old she is.  It’s not the kind of thing you ask.”

“A glamorous granny so.  Nice one Dad.  Well, the cookery lessons will come in handy now.  She’ll be very impressed.”

“And you don’t think Aggie would mind?”

Christine wasn’t sure whether her sister would mind or not.  But her sister was on the other side of the globe, so there was little point in involving her.  “Of course not.  You don’t have to ask our permission you know Dad.”  Christine looked up to see
Shay
at her office door,
silently tapping his watch
.  She nodded at him.  “Dad, I’ve got to go. 
I’ve got a lunch meeting. 
I’m thrilled for you.  Enjoy it.  Let me know when she’s coming over, and I’ll make sure to pop in unexpectedly to give her the once over.”

“Eh, no thanks Chris.  Maybe another time.  First date and all, ha ha.”

Christine detected a note of nervousness in his voice.  “You’ll be great, Dad.  You’re entitled to have friends you know.  And fun.”

“I know Chris.  But well, you know yourself.”

“I know Dad.  I know.”

It was almost eight that evening when
Mark turned the key in his Georgian front door, grateful the house was empty.  Jennifer was
usually
home befor
e him, but today she had a
drinks
reception
at the college where she taught
English literature,
so she would be late.  He threw his keys in
to
the bowl on the hall table and walked down the steps into the kitchen.

The house was very tidy – evidence that it was Monday and that
their
cleaner had bee
n.  Not that the house was ever
really untidy.  Sometimes Mark imagined himself arriving home to a house full of clutter and mess, and being greeted enthusiastically by a small child of no specific gender for whom he would hunch down as the child ran into his arms screeching ‘Daddeee’.
Of course he knew that this fantasy had been imported into his subconscious from countless TV shows and movies.  He was under no illusion that most fathers of small children went home to tired, cranky children, and tired, cranky wives. 

But Mark never went home to either.  Jennifer had never wanted children in her twenties, and had never wanted them in her thirties either.  And now, unlike most of her friends who had fallen foul of their hormones along the way, she was heading for forty still perfectly content in her life choices. 
And
Mark had been okay with that.  It wasn’t something he had ever given any major thought to, he supposed.  If Jennifer had wanted babies, they would probably have had babies, but Mark had no regrets.  He wasn’t one of those men who needed to procreate.  He hadn’t such a high opinion of himself that he felt the world needed his genes.  And he supposed he had enjoyed the freedom being childless offered. 
It had allowed him to really focus on his career.  And he had a great career.  And Mark didn’t really believe that you could have it all. 
Either way, there were no kids. 

Nor was there a marriage.  Again, that was more to do with Jennifer than Mark.  Jennifer had been engaged in her mid-twenties before she had met Mark, and it had ended badly.  Well, actually it had ended with her fiancé making another girl pregnant, and the girl tracking Jennifer down to make sure that she was aware of it.  Which
, of course,
she hadn’t been.  So the engagement had ended, and Jennifer had made it clear to Mark when they met that she had zero interest in a second attempt.  Ever since he had known her, she had worn her father’s signet ring on the fourth finger of her left hand as if to confirm that there was no room for any other jewellery there, so back off.  Again, Mark hadn’t really minded.  His mother had occasionally hinted at wanting a day out while she was still alive, but when she had died, there had been no one else to care.  So they had never married.  They had bought this house, but that was really all they had to show for ten years together.  A house.  A nice house, but just a house, with two empty bedrooms. 

Mark sloshed some red wine from an open bottle into a big glass.  He closed his eyes as he felt the alcohol sedate his stressed body.
 
It had been a shitty day
. 
He hated having to start all over again with a
new PA. 
H
is previous one had known him inside out.  Now he would have to get to know Petra and she him.  Although she was certainly easy on the eye. 
When she had walked into the first round interview a little over a month ago, he had almost done a double-take, and he was fairly sure
Shay
had had to lift his own jaw up off the meeting room table.  And it wasn’t just her physical attributes.  Petra had a confidence that was impressive, formidable. 
But then that type was often trouble.  He’d have to
watch
her, make sure she was coping with the very masculine dynamic of the fourth floor. 
Although s
omehow, Mark thought she would manage the boys just fine.  It could be
the girls she might have trouble with.  Mark had noticed her coldness towards Christine.  He
gazed out the patio doors and
took another mouthful of wine.  Sometimes managing
office personalities expended more of his energy
than the bank’s actual business.  And it nev
er ceased to amaze him how women
could be so hard on each other.

He noticed a pair of high-heeled shoes on the floor next to the
dresser
, shoes that had been discarded in discomfort the previous evening.  The whole evening had been an exercise in painful experience. 
Standing there,
Mark tried to rem
ember when he and Jennifer
last had a
fun
night
out
. 
One that would have ended with their returning
to this very kitchen for a night-cap,
laughing, dissecting the
night’s events
. 
W
hen t
hey
would
have
listen
ed
to Leonard Cohen and chat
ted
over a brandy
before falling into bed.  He knew he hadn’t imagined
them
, but he struggled to recollect
a recent one
. 

Last night should have been
easy
.
  Relaxing.
 
Casual d
inner in their local bistro with neighbours they had known for years, just a few drinks and a nice meal on a Sunday evening.
  But Mark knew he had been sullen and
preoccupi
ed.  Jennifer had even commented on it.  And he was fairly sure that their friends had
observ
ed
the coolness that now seemed to be
commonplace
between them.  The whole evening had felt strained, and they had returned to the house in silence, apart from some expletives
from Jennifer
which had been directed at the affronting footwear. 

Mark sighed. 
Maybe it was
just
a rough patch. 
Maybe they would be okay.  M
aybe they could
drift
over the current lull in their relationship,
until
things
got
back to normal.
  But Mark couldn’t deny
how
he felt. 
And h
e knew he wasn’t being honest with Jennifer.  Or with himself. 
And the truth was that he did have feelings.  Strong feelings. 
Fee
lings that he was trying unsuccessfully
to suppress.

Feelings for Christine.

Christine.

Mark poured himself more wine.  She had mentioned at lunch that she was meeting friends this evening in a new wine bar in the city.  She had asked him if he had heard of it, if he had been there.  But he hadn’t, and the conversation had ended there.  He could have asked her about her holiday plans.  About her family.  She had a sister living in New Zealand.  Or was it Australia?  He could have asked after her.  He could have asked who she was meeting at the wine bar.  But he hadn’t wanted to hear that it was a boyfriend.  He’d rather imagine her at a table drinking wine with a gaggle of pretty twenty-something girlfriends.  Eating tapas served by attractive Spanish waiters.  Shit.  No.  He didn’t want to imagine that.  Mark took another large mouthful of wine.  He had wasted a perfect chance to talk to her today, and it was his own goddamn fault.  He just couldn’t behave normally around her. 

She was just so bloody perfect.  Not only was she intelligent, far more so than most of the dealers who probably earned three times her salary, she was beautiful too.  But it was more than that.  Christine had plenty of friends at CarltonWachs.  Everyone seemed to like her, from the girls in reception to the senior management.  And yet, she was not what Mark would call bubbly.  There was something reserved about her.  Not standoffish, but maybe a little, guarded.  Mark thought this only made her more attractive.  He was all for being a little bit private.  He had no time for colleagues who spilled their guts every Monday morning expecting a captive audience. 
He
suspected
that
Shay
had
always
thought him too
disconnected from
the staff
. 
But
Mark
was the boss.  It wasn’t appropriate for him to be buddies with his employees.  It just wouldn’t work. 
He wondered what Christine thought of him.  He didn’t want her to think him unapproachable.  He could probably strike a better balance, he supposed. 
Shay
managed it.  Maybe he should try. 

He considered ways he could be a more personable boss as he went into the sitting room and flopped on the sofa, yanking
the
tie from his collar with his free hand.  There was an end-of-quarter drinks night coming up.  He could make a concerted effort to be more open and friendly with everyone that night.  Maybe
Christine
would notice.  Although it was a ‘with partners’ evening.  Christ.  He would hate to see her with someone else.  He took another swig from his glass and drained it.  It occurred to him how he was sitting there stressing over whether
Christine
would be bringing a boyfriend to the drinks, while not giving a second thought to the fact that Jennifer would be there.  He set his glass down on the coffee table and held his head in his hands.
 

His perfect life was unravelling and it was all his own goddamn fault.

Christine
opened her eyes.  She guessed by the angle of the sunlight streaming around her curtains that
it was after nine AM.  She squinted at her bedside clock.  Nine ten.  Not bad.  She
lay still for a moment,
listening to the sounds of people beginning their weekend outside
, before throwing off the light sheet covering her and hauling herself out of bed
.  She
loved Saturday mornings.  Sunday mornings just weren’t the same.  No matter how old and independent she was, she still bore a nagging guilt that she should be at mass.  She b
rought a mug of tea out onto the
veranda.  Her apartment was at its best on days like this, when she could throw open the double doors and let the
Dublin bay
br
eeze
fill the
place
.  The sun was already high in the sky and it washed the living room in a bright light.

Her phone
vibrated
on the
kitchen table, and she hopped up to get it,
startling a robin that had been
perched on one of the little
wooden
birdfeeders she had hanging from the
veranda
railings.

“Emily.  You're up early.”  She took the phone back outside and sat down again.  The robin had disappeared.

“I just wanted to make sure you were all set for
our big night
tonight.  Not hungover, or looking for an excuse to cancel.”

“I'm not hungover.”  End-of-quarter drinks were usually a rowdy affair, but Christine had only had a few glasses of white wine, and had even sneaked in the odd spritzer so as to avoid being tormented or accused of being pregnant by Craig or any other of the dealers.  “I was very well behaved.  I spent most of the evening talking to
Shay
's wife,
Nina
.”