Alberta Clipper by Sheena Lambert Page A

had socialised together a lot in the early days.  Mark sat staring blankly at the TV, marvelling at how differently the two couples’ relationships had turned out. 
    Nah.  He couldn’t phone Shay .  Talking to Shay would just make him feel worse about himself.  And there was the fact that he knew Christine. And after four drinks, Mark couldn’t trust himself not to start talking about Christine. He couldn’t let Shay know how he felt. Not yet anyway.  He was still living with Jennifer, even if she couldn’t bear to be under the same roof as him. In the end, Mark had thrown the phone over onto an armchair and had gone to open a bottle of wine in the kitchen.  The next thing he could remember was waking on the couch at four AM with an empty pizza box next to him. 
    Yesterday had been horrible.  He’d had the hangover from hell.  Jennifer had returned at about five o’clock, and had been just civil.  She had made it clear that she hadn’t been in any humour to speak to him, let alone have a meaningful discussion about their future, and they had spent the evening tip-toeing around each other.  She had gone to bed early, and he had stayed downstairs watching mindless television until after one, afraid of joining her, but not wanting to make a statement by sleeping in one of the spare rooms.  In the end, he had crept upstairs, and lain down on his side of the bed as usual, taking care to keep his distance, his back to her.
    This morning, she had left for work before he had woken.  He was worried now that she would think him uncaring, or indifferent to their situation, but he was just so bloody tired. 
    And now this.
    Bloody Craig Clarkson.  He was a wanker on a good day anyway, but Mark had wanted to kill him this morning as they sat waiting for Shay so they could get the briefing started .  Craig might be one of their most successful dealers , but Mark just wished he wasn’t such a loud mouth.  And that he was a little less forward with Christine.  He practically slobber ed over her.  As if she would look twice at him.  Anyway, it appeared she was already involved with somebody.  And bloody Craig had bloody met him.  Bloody Gavan , or something.  He could tell Christine had been mortified as Craig had smugly announced to the whole room how he had bumped into them on Saturday night.  And they had been heading back to her place, he’d said.  Well it was none of Craig’s goddamn business what Christine was doing on Saturday night.  Sitting there in the meeting room , Mark was torn between wanting to punch Craig to stop him talking, and hanging on his every word.  He wanted to know what type of guy Christine would go for.  Maybe it wasn’t serious.  Maybe he had just been a friend.  But from the picture Craig was painting of it all, Mark doubted it. 
    It occurred to him that he didn’t have to stay.  He was the boss, for God’s sake.  He didn’t need to attend these briefings anyway, he just liked his staff to know he was involved and interested.  But he was damned if he was going to sit here and listen to Craig go on.  Not today.  He stood up abruptly, silencing the room.
    “Tell Shay I couldn’t hang around.  I’ll be in my office if he wants me.”  He looked at Harry .  “Just copy me on the email going out to the trading desk.”
    He glanced back through the meeting room ’s glass wall as he walked across the floor to his own office, just in time to see Christine swatting Craig with rolled up pages like she meant it.  Good enough for him.
    He closed his door behind him.  The blinds on his office walls were partially shut, and he left them like that.  He looked at his desk, but couldn’t bring himself to sit down at it.  He felt sick.  He hated this office too.  He had never felt comfortable in it.  Partly, perhaps, b ecause he spent so little time here.  Rarely a week went by that he wasn’t in one of the other CarltonWachs offices around the world.  Partly