Training Days (14 page)

Morgan lifted her legs onto the bunk, lay back and closed her eyes. In her mind Ally’s hand had turned underneath hers and now clasped her palm lightly.

“I like that,” Ally would say softly.

“That’s good,” Morgan would respond. “Because I like it too.”

They’d sit, just like that, just holding hands and looking at each other, while the tables around them emptied and the waiters began laying the places for the evening session.

“We should go,” Morgan would say finally, having felt the eyes of the staff upon them, willing them to move so they could close up for the afternoon.

Ally’s hand would clasp hers a little tighter. “I don’t want this to end.”

“This what, Ally?” Morgan would ask. She’d gesture out the window. “This beautiful, sunny afternoon?” Then she’d look up to one of the wall-mounted speakers, through which the velvet jazz of Madeleine Peyroux was still being piped. “Or this song?”

“No.” Ally would glance down to their hands. “This.” Her eyes would meet Morgan’s and she would lift Morgan’s hand to her lips, turning it over to kiss the palm.

“It doesn’t have to end,” Morgan would whisper. “Come home with me.”

Ally’s eyes would dart over Morgan’s features as if searching for something. Then her hazel eyes would appear to darken as her pupils dilated and she would whisper back, “I’ve been wishing you would suggest that all afternoon.”

Christ.
Morgan groaned, flipping onto her side and hugging herself. She was working herself into a state. And to what end, really? Ally had a partner—a male partner at that. From the little Ally had talked of him he sounded like a bit of a stuffed shirt, but still, he was there and his presence proved Ally’s heterosexuality. At least, it proved it to Ally. Morgan was not so sure. She sensed something in Ally that maybe Ally hadn’t even sensed herself.

Or maybe she was just suffering a severe case of wishful thinking.

Morgan checked her watch for the third time. Twenty-five past ten. Well past fashionably late and heading toward a no-show.

She stood once more and paced. The span of the compartment was covered in only three steps, two if she lengthened it to a stride, but still she walked back and forth, the movement helping her to think. So far as she could see, there were two possibilities. Either Ally was afraid to come because Morgan’s disclosure that morning had made her face questions about her own sexuality. Or—and this was a very unwelcome possibility—that she had misjudged Ally completely. Instead of being an open-minded liberal she was homophobic and hence now wanted nothing more do with her.

There was a soft rap on the door and Morgan exhaled in relief. She’d been worrying over nothing.

“Morgan. It’s me.”

Her relief turned in on itself. It wasn’t Ally. It was Kitty.

There was another rap. “Open up.”

“Sorry.” Morgan crossed the floor and unlatched the door. “I thought you had a key.”

“I do.” Kitty grinned a little lopsidedly. There was wine on her breath. “But I thought I should be careful, in case you had another woman in here.”

“Yeah, right.” For a single second she was glad Ally had not turned up. But then, if she had, Morgan would have taken “the Kitty factor” into account and suggested they grab some drinks and take them back to Ally’s compartment. She stood aside to let Kitty pass, taking the opportunity to scan the corridor. Apart from an elderly man holding onto the handrail as he shuffled along, it was empty. She glanced back inside. Kitty had dropped onto the bottom bunk—Morgan’s—and was sitting there, swaying slightly. Despite Kitty’s general low tolerance for alcohol, Morgan had never seen her get so pickled in only an hour. “I think you should have an early night.”

“Me, too.” Kitty lifted her legs onto Morgan’s bunk and lay her head on the pillow.

Morgan figured she would either have to assist Kitty up the ridiculously narrow ladder to the top berth or let her stay where she was. “You can sleep here tonight, if you want.”

She checked the corridor again. The elderly man was still shuffling, but he was making progress. He was heading in the direction of Gold, and once he had taken a couple more steps— if Morgan wanted to take the same direction—she would either have to squeeze past him or shuffle along behind. She
did
want to take the same direction. So she stepped out of the compartment.

“Where are you going?” Kitty asked, already half asleep.

“To meet a woman.”

“Yeah, right.” Kitty turned on her side and curled into a loose fetal position. “I may be drunk, but I’m not stupid.”

“Good night, Kitty.” Morgan slowly slid the compartment door across. She heard Kitty’s soft snores even before it was completely closed. As she passed into Gold she rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. She wasn’t cold, but still she shivered.

Still two compartments down from Ally’s, Morgan noticed a little yellow Post-it note on her door. A note for her maybe? She quickened her pace.

It read, “Thanks for your patience. You can make up my bed now.” The time written in the top right-hand corner: Ten twenty

p.m. Morgan frowned. She imagined that Ally might have been busy working and so did not want her seat converted at the usual time, but the note had been penned twenty minutes
after
she was due to meet her. Morgan could understand that maybe she’d just lost track of time—after all, if her enthusiasm at their dinner with Marge was any indication, Ally was very revved up about her latest architectural project. But it was now twenty to eleven. Even if she hadn’t left her room until twenty past ten, where the hell was she now?

Morgan had just decided to pay a visit to the Gold lounge car, and failing that, to the Red lounge car, when she heard a rustling sound come from inside the compartment. It was not the rustle of bedclothes; it was a paper rustle. Ally was still in her room, and by the sound of it she was still working. So Ally’s bunk hadn’t already been made up and the note left there by mistake. The presence of the note negated any chance she had just lost all track of time. She was there because she wanted to be. Or, more accurately, because she didn’t want to be with Morgan.

There were two possible courses of action that Morgan could take. She could quietly leave and hope that by morning Ally had worked through whatever was troubling her. Or she could stay and see for herself which of her theories was correct.

Option one was probably the smartest. But Morgan hadn’t seen Ally since before breakfast, and knowing she was just on the other side of the door was too much of a temptation to resist, even if it meant getting yelled at . . . again.

She fingered the Post-it before she knocked. “Housekeeping,” she called, mustering all of her acting skills.

The rustle stopped, followed by a moment of total silence. “Go away, Morgan.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you didn’t keep our appointment.”

Another complete silence. Then, “I didn’t keep it because I’ve got nothing I want to say to you.”

“From the sound of your tone I think you’ve got an awful lot you want to say to me . . . you just don’t have the guts to say it.” Again Morgan waited. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She wasn’t used to being the antagonist, but here she was, provoking an argument. And Ally just didn’t seem to be biting. Morgan found that extremely frustrating.
Speak to me, God damn it!
“At least tell me what I’ve done to upset you. Was it what I said this morning, because if it was I’m—”

The compartment door flew across and Ally appeared, her eyes flaring. “You’re what, Morgan? You’re sorry? You’ve come here to tell me you want to take it all back and in actual fact it was the King of England in your compartment that night!”

Unbalanced in the face of Ally’s sarcasm, Morgan said the first thing that entered her head. “Actually, there is no King of England. There’s a qu—”

“I damn well know there’s a queen,” Ally interrupted, scowling. “But that wouldn’t stop you from trying to convince me there
is
a king.” She brought her index finger to her lips as if having a sudden realization. “Oh, sorry. My mistake. You probably did mean the queen because today . . . you’re gay! Now, if you don’t mind . . .”

Ally grabbed the door and made as if to slam it shut. Morgan was quicker and moved her body so she was half-in, half-out of the compartment. Then she stepped inside completely, closing the door behind her.

“Excuse me.” Ally put her hands on her hips. “But I would like you to get out of my room.”

“No.” Morgan stood directly in front of the door, blocking it in case Ally was entertaining any ideas about leaving herself. “I’m not going until you tell me what the hell you’re so upset about.”

“Oh, nothing.” Ally batted her hand in a gesture that suggested she was shooing away the thought. The action did not jibe with her sarcastic tone. “Except maybe the fact I can’t believe a single word you say. What are you going to tell me tomorrow, huh? That you were actually with a rhesus monkey?”

“What the hell . . . ?” Stung by the gross insult, Morgan’s voice rose. “What do you mean you don’t believe me? I was telling you the truth this morning.”

“So . . . you’re a lesbian, are you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Morgan stared at her. Ally’s jaw was set, jutting out slightly and her arms again folded. She was serious. Morgan was at a loss for words. She’d never been accused of
no
t being a lesbian before. “Well . . . I am.”

“So who was the man this morning?”

“What man?”

“The man on the platform.”

“I told you about the singer I was interview—”

“Not him.” Ally said impatiently. “The one you met after. The one with the network news crew.”

“Oh, him! That was Lucas. Remember the one Marge was talking about at dinner?”

Ally harrumphed. “The one who
didn’t
propose to you.”

“Exactly.” Morgan studied Ally’s defensive stance. Why was she so upset about her chance meeting with Lucas? Then the penny dropped. “No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong. Lucas and I are just friends.”

“Oh, really? Just friends who go to film premieres together.

And whose relationship is the subject of media speculation.” Ally narrowed her eyes. “And who throw themselves at each other at train stations.”

“Don’t exaggerate. We did not throw ourselves at each other and you know it. Look, Ally . . . I wasn’t expecting to see him. He’d been there trying to get an interview with some politician who was catching the Overlander to attend some summit in Melbourne and he saw us filming so came over to say hello. We’re old friends. We met at my first television gig.” Morgan hesitated a moment, debating whether to tell the whole truth. Since Ally was acting more jealous than homophobic, she decided what she had to say would probably go no further than this compartment. “And if there’s media speculation about us it’s because we go to lots of events together. It’s a convenient arrangement for both of us . . . since he’s also gay.”

Ally laughed out loud. “Oh, God. So he’s gay too. How bloody convenient. If you’re to be believed, the whole damn world is gay.”

Morgan shrugged. “Well, at least ten percent of us are.”

“Stop it, Morgan.”

“Stop what?”

“Lying to me.”

Morgan was so frustrated she stamped her foot. “I am not lying!”

Ally’s response was to stick her jaw out a little farther. “Tell me the name of your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Morgan uttered, thrown by the unexpected question. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Ally laughed sarcastically. “Of course you don’t.”

Morgan threw her hands in the air in despair. “Not having a girlfriend doesn’t mean I’m not gay.”

Ally met her eyes directly. She shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Morgan, overcome by the intensity of the gaze, treated it as a challenge. “Obviously there’s nothing I can
say
to make you believe me.”

In the tiny compartment it took but a single step for her to be body-to-body with Ally. She took hold of her by the shoulders and before she could change her mind, she bent to Ally’s lips. She paused for a single moment, breathing in the scent that was Ally—a mix of floral fragrances, of shampoo and perfume and creams. And then she kissed her.

An awareness of just how important this embrace could be resonated at the back of Morgan’s consciousness. And so, although her mission was partly to prove a point, she resisted the temptation to assault Ally’s mouth with her own and push with her tongue until she could delve inside. Instead she met Ally’s lips softly, slowly increasing pressure and becoming gradually more insistent. Ally, initially stiff as a board, melted against Morgan, her lips parting ever so slightly, inviting. When Morgan accepted the invitation, Ally faltered, her tongue fleeing to the back of her mouth. But her uncertainty was fleeting. Morgan groaned involuntarily when she felt the first tentative tip of Ally’s tongue against hers. Suddenly the whole tenor of the embrace changed. Ally’s tongue dove and rolled against her own, and her hands, previously held at her sides, clasped Morgan’s hips. Morgan could feel Ally’s breasts pressing just below hers, a dizzying softness.