Training Days (9 page)

With that, and with one final glare at Morgan, Ally turned on her heel and stalked down the carriage.

Again Morgan followed and she stopped in front of the seat that Ally flung herself into. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Marge had detected her presence and was waving madly in her direction. She answered with a wave of her own then refocused her attention on Ally. “Honestly,” she began quickly, fully aware that Marge was now lumbering down the corridor toward her, “I didn’t know you’d ended up in here—”

“Morgan!”

“Hello, Marge.” Morgan turned her attention to Marge and smiled. “I’m really sorry about having to dash off so quickly this morning, but we were all running a little late . . .” She felt the weight of Ally’s scorn even without looking at her. Ally didn’t have to say a word for Morgan to know that she thought she reeked of insincerity.

And she really didn’t like the feeling that knowledge gave her.

“Dearie me. Don’t give it a second thought.” Marge’s delighted smile turned even more brilliant at the acknowledgment. “Bless you, Morgan. I know how busy you are. But I’m very happy you did finally come because I’ve been wanting to talk to you about my friend here, Alison.” Marge tut-tutted. “Dreadful treatment she’s had on this train, bless her. We were talking about it most all last night, weren’t we, dear?” Marge actually patted Ally on the head. She didn’t seem to care that Ally neither confirmed nor denied their conversation. She just charged on. “And I told her not to worry because Morgan Silverstone from
Bonnes Vacances
was on the train and that being such an
important
and lovely woman”—Marge beamed at Morgan, not a hint of guile in her expression—“that you would be able to help.”

“Actually, that’s exactly why I’m here.” Morgan now felt doubly sorry for Ally in the knowledge that on top of everything else she had spent a night next to chatterbox Marge. The woman had probably not had a wink of sleep. Despite the temptation not to, she met the eyes she could bet had been rolling skyward at the mention of her as “lovely” and “important.” As expected, the look she received was filthy. For Marge’s benefit, she twisted the truth a little. “I was told over lunch about your predicament, Alison.” She saw Ally raise her eyebrows at the white lie but, like Marge when she was on a roll, she ploughed on. “All I can say is that I’m dreadfully sorry this has happened to you and I hope we can figure out something to help make the rest of your trip a little more pleasant. Maybe we can talk about this further . . . somewhere a little quieter?”

Ally’s expression turned defiant. “It’s okay. We can talk about it right here . . .
I
have nothing to hide from anyone.”

Morgan mentally froze. Ally had her over a barrel. Maybe her lunchtime assumption of her as honest and trustworthy had been wrong and the woman tended to vindictiveness. She glanced around the carriage. It was filling quickly with returned diners and . . .
oh, shit
. . . there was Kitty. She was heading straight for them.
Damn woman
. Obviously she didn’t trust Morgan to handle this herself.

Not that she had done a very good job so far. Morgan dived on the first idea that entered her head. “Well, I was thinking, since I have a double compartment all to myself, that you might like to share with me for the rest of your journey.”

Marge clapped her hands together excitedly. “Oh, bless you, Morgan. What a delightful and generous offer.” She placed a hand on Ally’s shoulder and shook it. “See, dear.
I told you
my friend Morgan would be able to do something for you. But to actually offer to share her room. Oh, Alison, dear . . . you are one lucky duck.”

Morgan noted that Ally didn’t look like she was overly lucky. And who could blame her? She was only getting what she should have gotten last night anyway.

Kitty reached them just in time to hear Marge’s last comment. “Who’s a lucky duck?”

Morgan shuddered, wondering what Kitty would have to say when she discovered the new sleeping arrangements. She didn’t have to wait long to find out. Marge, who quickly introduced her to everyone, also gushed out the news of her “most generous” offer.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Kitty flashed Morgan a glance that clearly said, “What the fuck do you think you are doing?” It was quickly followed by her brighter-thanbright producer smile. That was aimed at Ally. “Morgan is very busy and she’ll be keeping terrible hours. You won’t get a moment of peace. I think it’s much better if you take my sleeper and I’ll bunk in with her.”

“But Alison was asked first!” Marge blustered, obviously put out that this stranger was muscling in on the “berth with a star” she had managed to secure for her friend.

Kitty peered over the rim of her spectacles, her smile still plastered on her face. “Madam, I happen to be the producer of
Bonnes Vacances
.”

In turn, Marge peered at Kitty over her own spectacles. “Oh . . . yes. Bless you, dear. I remember you now from the filming at Cook.” She mimicked the motion of a clapperboard clapping and called out, “Action!” Then she laughed heartily.

Kitty was only momentarily taken aback, shaking her head slightly before she returned her attention to Ally. “As I said, I think it better that you take my room. It’s a single so you won’t be disturbed. And it’s in Gold class so I’ll clear it that you get use of all the Gold class facilities.” She checked her watch. “We’re due to start filming again in one hour. I’ll organize it so the room will be ready and you can move in anytime after that. It’s compartment three in the first of the Gold carriages after leaving Red. Okay?”

Ally, looking rather stunned, just nodded.

“Right. That’s settled.” Kitty, as usual, appeared pleased with her decision. “Morgan, you can come and help me move my things into your compartment.”

Morgan, also stunned at this sudden and most unwelcome change in plans, just nodded in acquiescence. Then she nodded a good-bye to Ally and Marge.

Marge, too, just nodded. For once she seemed to have nothing to say.

Kitty had that effect on people.

Jesus,
Morgan thought sourly as she followed her producer.
How long till we get to Sydney?

One hour and ten minutes after Kitty had left the upright seating carriage with Morgan in tow, Ally knocked tentatively on the door of what was now, allegedly, her compartment. Although she had passed into Gold class without being questioned, she was still not quite certain of the legitimacy of Kitty’s offer, so she waited for what seemed a reasonable amount of time for a response. When none came she slowly slid the door across and took her first peek inside the sleeper.

It certainly looked unoccupied. In fact, it looked recently prepared for a new lodger. The carpeted floor had telltale vacuum cleaner lines and the stainless steel wash basin had the squeaky-clean shine of one unused since its last polish. Ally stepped inside, dropped her overnight bag onto the floor and began examining her new space. There was a teeny wardrobe—completely empty—behind one of the sections of wood paneling that lined the entire compartment, and a little shelf and mirror above the wash basin that contained a selection of train-issued miniature toiletries. There was also a little train-issued commemorative pin attached to an elaborately folded piece of card. No toilet or shower though. Shame. According to the train-issued magazine that Ally had thumbed through that morning, private facilities were only found in the two-berth Gold class compartments.

“Oh, well.” Ally spoke aloud even though she was alone. “It still beats the hell out of fart-class.”

The weight of the hours since boarding the train suddenly lifted and Ally did a little victory dance on the carpet. Then, just as suddenly, she felt a different weight—that of fatigue—settle on her shoulders. She slid the compartment door closed, dropped onto the seat. It was far more plush and comfortable than the one she had spent the previous night in. She loosened her muscles so she swayed in time with the rhythmic motion of the train and, even before she could finish her thought about how glorious the seat would be once it was converted into a bed, she fell into a light, but much needed sleep.

By five p.m. she was awake again, her hour-and-a-bit nap leaving her surprisingly refreshed. Ally stretched like a cat, pulled her overnight bag within reach and dug out her toiletry bag. She took an immense amount of pleasure from the simple act of being able to brush her teeth and cleanse her face at her very own wash basin. She’d also cleansed her face and teeth in the hour before taking possession of this compartment, but the glob of toothpaste, smear of soap, splashes of some unidentifiable liquid and, grossest of all, what looked remarkably like a pubic hair left by the previous occupant had done little to enhance the sensation of having freshened up.

Next Ally again tried her phone, but it was still out of network range. Probably her best bet was to wait until tomorrow morning when they hit Adelaide, capital of the state of South Australia. Poor Adelaide had the reputation of being the dullest Australian capital city—a claim Ally couldn’t attest to since she’d never had an exciting enough reason to visit—but, dull or no, it was sure to have a mobile network. She snapped her phone shut and popped it back into her bag. Then she had another little dig through her belongings and retrieved her notebook, digital camera and sketchbook.

She took some time reviewing the numerous pictures she’d taken of every aspect of the mining executive’s prospective homesite. Then she unlatched the fold-out table, opened the notebook to her pages of notes and her sketchbook to her beginnings of sketches and began reviewing them. She turned her focus to outside the window, imprinting the landscape of reds and ochres and desert tundra into her mind. Finally, she closed her eyes and let the creative side of her brain take over. As always, it came up with something fantastical but largely impractical. Nevertheless, Ally opened her eyes again and began modifying one of yesterday’s sketches. As with every new architectural project she undertook, she would massage and shape her idea until the impractical became practical, the fantastical simply fantastic.

She bent her head to her work and became totally engrossed in her task.

An indeterminate length of time later, a rapping on her door interrupted Ally’s train of thought. “Hmm?” she said half to herself, chewing on her pencil as she continued to frown over the sketch of the roofline. The more space in the roof cavity, the easier it was to maintain an ambient temperature in the house itself. But this roofline, while satisfying the sustainable aspect of housing design, just did not work aesthetically. It was too steep. She erased it and began a new line with less of a gradient. The change was minimal, but the effect was great. Ally held up her sketchbook and scrutinized it at arm’s length. Much better.

It was then that she heard the rapping again, more insistent this time. “Yes?” she called, still somewhat distracted. She tilted her head to look at her sketch from a different angle. “The door’s open.”

Ally lowered her pad to find Morgan’s head poking around the door. Her stomach lurched. Surely Kitty didn’t want her room back and had sent Morgan to do the deed. Or—a more probable scenario crossed her mind—Morgan had already had it up to her neck with Kitty and had come to beg Ally to move out.

“Hello.”

Morgan smiled. “I was just wondering how you’re settling in.”

“Fine, thanks.” Ally registered Morgan’s demeanor as a little hesitant, but definitely not so much so that it pointed to an impending eviction. She put her sketchpad down and indicated the materials strewn across the table. “I’m finally able to get down to some work.”

“So I see.” Morgan slid the door open a little farther but did not cross the threshold. “I won’t keep you. I just wanted to make sure everything was in order.”

“Everything’s fine, really,” Ally repeated.

“Okay then.” Morgan nodded and made a move as if to leave. Then she seemed to reconsider, opening the door fully and turning so she faced Ally directly. “Actually, I was wondering . . . since lunch ended up a bit of a fiasco . . . if maybe we could start over again with dinner.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary.” Ally waved away the memory of lunch and everything that had preceded it. That was all in the past, and now that she was ensconced in her own compartment, she was in a much better frame of mind. And to be honest, while she could handle Morgan and Mark and Nick, she really didn’t want to sit through another meal with Kitty. “Look,” she said, voicing her next thought as it occurred. “Why don’t you ask Marge if she wants to have dinner with you? I know it would make her year.” She smiled. “But I wouldn’t put her in the seat in the corridor if I were you, unless you want to block all through traffic.” Her smile turned a little wicked. “Kitty would be a much better fit.”

Morgan laughed. “I see what you mean. But I’d actually planned to have dinner without the others. Sometimes you can see a little too much of people, you know.” She paused and it wasn’t until Ally nodded in agreement that she continued. “Everyone else wanted to eat at the first sitting, so I decided to reserve a table for the second. And I’d like you to join me.”

“Oh.” Ally was a little taken aback. She looked down at her sketchpad and other work paraphernalia, wondering at yet another unexpected invitation. But maybe she was just being cynical again. Surely there couldn’t be any more bullshit bombshells left to drop. And a bit of company while eating would be welcome. “Well, if you’ve already booked a table . . .”