Training Days Part 4

Morgan mentally froze. Ally had her over a barrel. Maybe her lunchtime a.s.sumption 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, s.h.i.t . . . there was Kitty. She was heading straight for them. d.a.m.n 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 f.u.c.k 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 bl.u.s.tered, 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 cla.s.s so I'll clear it that you get use of all the Gold cla.s.s 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?

CHAPTER FIVE.

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 pa.s.sed into Gold cla.s.s 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 s.p.a.ce. 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 cla.s.s compartments.

"Oh, well." Ally spoke aloud even though she was alone. "It still beats the h.e.l.l out of fart-cla.s.s."

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 ma.s.sage 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 s.p.a.ce 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.

"h.e.l.lo."

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 bulls.h.i.t bombsh.e.l.ls left to drop. And a bit of company while eating would be welcome. "Well, if you've already booked a table . . ."

Morgan appeared pleased. "Excellent."

"And Marge can join us?"

"Well . . ."

Ally sprang to her defense. "She's a nice woman."

"I don't doubt that," Morgan said quickly. "It's just that I was hoping . . . excuse me just a minute." She pulled a phone from her pocket, checked the caller ID and said apologetically, "Sorry. I have to take this."

"No problem." Ally guessed Morgan's phone, since it had not rung-was set to vibrate. She turned her attention back to her sketchpad, scanning her preliminary design. She did so without the benefit of her usual critical eye, part of her attention on Morgan's half of the phone conversation. Not listening in on the words, she was more attuned to the cadence of Morgan's voice, how she articulated her consonants and how her tone lowered at the end of a sentence. It was pleasant. A good voice for radio. Ally glanced toward the door, where Morgan was leaning against the frame and idly twisting a strand of glossy auburn hair around her finger. It was fashionably long and framed those striking features-slate-gray eyes, not flinty but . . . piercing; chiseled bones offset by a full softness to the lips. And of course, perfect teeth, a must for her job. So, she had a good voice for radio and a good face for television. And the body . . . Ally took in the slender frame, long legs and generous bust. It was a body that, bikini-clad, could quite easily grace the cover of Sports Ill.u.s.trated. Ally returned to her work, smiling slightly as she bent over her sketchpad. It was a wonder what a private compartment with a wash basin could do. Because in ordinary circ.u.mstances this was a woman she, like the majority of the female population, should hate on sight.

But she didn't. In fact, she thought Morgan was . . . attractive? . . . appealing? . . . appealingly attractive? Ally chewed on the end of her pencil, frowning at her inability to describe just what she thought.

Nice. Ally pounced on the benign word. She thought Morgan was . . . nice. Pleased at her description, she tried to concentrate on her work. Now, where was she? Oh, yes . . . rooflines.

Still not fully focused on the job at hand, her peripheral vision caught the moment Morgan finished her call, snapped her phone shut and slid it into a pocket. "Who's your provider?" she asked, curious as to how Morgan was able to receive and, presumably, make calls when she couldn't. "Because I've tried my phone a couple of times today and I sure can't latch onto a network out here."

"It's a satellite phone." Morgan pulled it from her pocket again and showed it to Ally. "We all get issued with one. It doesn't matter where we are on the planet, we can still make calls."

"Pretty useful when you don't know where you are on the planet." Ally grinned cheekily as she handed the phone back.

"Exactly." Morgan took the teasing in good fun. "Now they just need to invent one with built-in GPS so it can also navigate me to where I'm supposed to be." She held the phone out again. "If you need to make a call . . ."

Ally briefly considered the offer before taking the proffered phone. "Thanks." She felt Morgan's gaze upon her as she dialed. It made her feel a little self-conscious. She again picked up her pencil and rolled it between her fingers as she waited for an answer. James answered on the third ring. After exchanging h.e.l.los, Ally, sensing Morgan's curiosity, was taken by a sudden mischievous streak. "James," she said, swinging her legs over one of the armrests, "have I got some front-page news for you!" She glanced up at Morgan and noted with a certain amount of glee that her expression, although she tried to mask it, was worried.

James replied, "What is it, Alison?"

Ally looked directly at Morgan, took a deep breath, then paused, just to extend the drama. "I've been upgraded to first cla.s.s!" She poked her tongue out at Morgan and slung her feet back onto the floor again.

Ally kept the call brief, not only because she was aware it wasn't her phone, but because she and James never exchanged long calls. They both tended to say what needed to be said and got off the line. She didn't mention the reason for the upgrade, or the presence of the Bonnes Vacances crew, deciding they were details that didn't need to be said. But she did wish James well in the business he wanted to discuss at tonight's client dinner and reminded him of the time the train was due to arrive in Sydney.

"I'll be there waiting for you. I love you, Alison."

Ally lowered her voice a little. "I love you too. 'Bye." She snapped the phone shut and handed it back to Morgan. Then she grinned slyly. "Now we're even."

"Thank G.o.d." Morgan's expression was no longer worried, but she sighed dramatically. "I'd hate to see you when you've really got it in for somebody." She nodded in the direction of the Gold lounge carriage. "Can I interest you in an aperitif?"

Ally checked her watch and noticed with some surprise that it was almost half past seven. "What time's dinner?"

"Eight thirty."

"Well, I still have to get changed and I really should run down and invite Marge before she hits the diner car-if she hasn't already."

"Why don't I run down and invite Marge while you get changed?" Morgan suggested. "Then you'll have time for a drink."

"You will invite her?" Ally asked a little suspiciously.

"Cross my heart and hope to die." Morgan made the motions as she said the words. "I'll see you in-"

"Twenty minutes." Ally stood, waited until Morgan had left, then closed and latched the door behind her.

Alone again, she looked to her sketchpad, lying facedown on the table. She'd been so involved in it before being interrupted. Now, feeling no more than a momentary twinge of guilt, she picked it up and shoved it into her bag. After all, had she been in Sydney, she wouldn't be working; she'd be donning her little black dress to accompany James to his client dinner.

Ally scrounged through her overnight bag. She had no little black dress in there. Having packed with only the option of Red dining open to her, she didn't really have anything considered suitable as Gold-cla.s.s dinner attire. She had just worn slacks and a light jumper to lunch and was indeed still wearing them now. She emptied the contents of the bag and considered the possibilities. There was the business suit she had worn to meet the mining executive, and the jeans and light cotton shirt she had subsequently changed into to go tramping around his block. Finally, there was another pair of jeans, two more T-shirts and another cotton shirt, this one in the style that was supposed to look crinkled.

The business suit, while in a modern cut, was still a little too "businesslike," and the clothes she had worn while a.s.sessing the homesite were tainted with Kalgoorlie's red desert dust. Her other pair of jeans were a designer brand and low cut. Trendy but not restaurant garb. And, of course, she'd already dined in her current outfit.

After a brief wardrobe crisis Ally decided it didn't really matter what she wore since whatever she chose she'd still look out of place. All her meals were now to be in Gold anyway, so by the time she reached Sydney she'd have to work her way through the contents of her bag, suitable or not.

"Jeans it is." She tossed them and the crinkly shirt onto the seat and hung her business suit in the teeny wardrobe.

Another wardrobe crisis occurred once Ally had dressed. She pulled out the business suit and weighed it up against her current attire. Then she laughed derisively at herself. She hadn't given two seconds' thought to the suitability of her outfit when she dressed for lunch. Why should she be worried now? Once again the suit was hung and Ally turned her attention to the contents of her makeup bag.

By the time she'd finished with that, she was what could be called fashionably late. And that didn't worry Ally at all. In fact, she idled down her carriage, even stopping to peer into the darkness from one of the large windows that flanked the corridor. And when she entered the Gold cla.s.s lounge car and was immediately greeted by a wave, she was pleased in the knowledge that Morgan had been looking out for her, even though she was already surrounded by a small group of people, one of whom was Marge.

Inexplicably, as she approached, she felt a little twinge of regret for having insisted that Marge join them for dinner. She set the feeling aside for examination at a later point, caught the eye of a wandering waiter and ordered a gin and tonic.

Hours later Ally toyed with the wrapper of the chocolate that had accompanied their post-dinner coffee. It was the best coffee she'd had since leaving Sydney, and although midnight was approaching she was seriously considering ordering another one. She looked around the table to her dining companions. "Another coffee, anyone?"

"Definitely." Morgan pushed her cup toward the middle of the table.

"Dearie me, no." Marge mimicked Morgan's actions, pushing at her cup. "If I do I won't get a wink of sleep." She clutched the strap of her handbag and edged out of their booth from her seat next to Ally. "I've had a marvelous night, bless you, dears. But this old stick had better leave you young ones to it."

Both Ally and Morgan stood, exclaiming how Marge wasn't old at all, and after lots of cheek-kissing and numerous expressions of thanks, they wished her a good night.

"I'll come to see you off tomorrow." Ally had promised to meet Marge before she disembarked at Adelaide early the next morning.

Morgan clasped Marge's hands within her own. "It's been a pleasure."

Ally smiled as she saw Marge's eyes fill with emotion and draw Morgan into a hug guaranteed to expel the air supply in her lungs. She laughed when Marge trundled toward the exit and Morgan sat down, gasping for breath.

"You've made her very happy."

Morgan clutched at her ribs, grimacing. "Any happier and I'd be dead."

Ally ignored Morgan's theatrics, motioning for the waiter and nodding when Morgan suggested they order cognac to accompany their coffee.

"I'm going to be drunk, you know." Ally looked a little dubiously to the potent alcohol when it was delivered to their table. In addition to her predinner gin and tonic, she had consumed a gla.s.s of white wine with her appetizer, a red with her main course and a port with her dessert.

"You'll be fine." Morgan picked up her cognac. "Here's to Marge."

"To Marge," Ally agreed. "I told you she was a nice woman."

"I never doubted it. In fact I never doubt anything you say, Alison."

"Ally," Ally corrected, suddenly feeling awkward under Morgan's gaze. It seemed it was becoming a habit, her having experienced more than a few bouts of self-consciousness over the course of their dinner. One such bout had occurred when she posed with Marge for one of the numerous photos they took that night. Seated in their booth, she had leaned toward Marge, ready for the photo, when Morgan peered from behind Marge's pocket digital camera. "Perfect." The gaze that accompanied her smile had been so . . . disconcerting, Ally couldn't hold the look. On review of the digital camera display they had needed to pose again because Ally had lowered her eyes at the moment Morgan pressed the b.u.t.ton. Similarly, when she played camerawoman and was framing a picture of Morgan and Marge, she snapped either too early or too late, again thrown off balance by Morgan's expression. Now, Ally twisted her cloth napkin in her hands. "Only James calls me Alison."

"A partner's privilege?" Morgan asked.

Ally dropped the napkin to take a sip of her cognac. "Hardly. It's his choice. He sees the shortening of names as rather cra.s.s."

"So G.o.d help anyone who would call him Jim?"

"Exactly." Ally placed her gla.s.s on the table and toyed with the handle on her cup of coffee.

She'd called him Jim once. It was during s.e.x. James had stopped what he was doing, held himself upright over her and said, "James. My name is James." Then he began doing what he had been doing before. Ally had found this extremely funny and started giggling.

"In fact, he got so insulted the time I did it, I'm surprised he actually asked me out again."

"How long have you been together?"

Ally took a sip of her coffee and looked directly at Morgan. Instead of answering the question she asked one of her own. "Why didn't you tell Marge you were seeing Nick?"

"I . . ."

Ally held Morgan's gaze, willing her to give what she hoped was an honest answer. It was over dessert that Marge-openly curious about anything to do with her idol-had brought up the subject of partners by first inquiring of Ally's status. Upon discovering that Ally, an architect, was dating another architect, she seized onto the idea of pairing up with another of the same profession, declaring, "The last time I read TV Week you were seen with that lovely young man who's a reporter on the news."