guided by a smiling hostess into the bar.
~
It was almost eleven the next time Christine look ed 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 Carl tonWachs . They had been f riends 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, s truggling 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 no t the time nor the place for facing reality .
Eight
Christine 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
~
It was almost eleven the next time Christine look ed 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 Carl tonWachs . They had been f riends 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, s truggling 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 no t the time nor the place for facing reality .
Eight
Christine 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
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