Training Days (16 page)

Morgan slapped her hand away and turned her body so Kitty couldn’t reach the phone. She’d experienced the aftermath of her dealing with Ally, so there was no way she was going to let her loose with Marie.

A familiar voice was suddenly at her ear. “
Allo?
”

“Hello, Marie. It’s Morgan.”

Morgan heard Marie take a sharp intake of breath. Had the woman who passed on the message decided—since she didn’t have a full name to give—not to give one at all? Or was Marie suffering a sudden case of nervousness from being in contact with the person she was trying to blackmail?

There was absolutely no need to swap pleasantries, so Morgan launched straight into it. “I received a very interesting call from my employer this morning. Marie, would you like to tell me just what the hell do you think you are doing?”

There was an extended silence, then a sob. “I ’ate it ’ere, Morgan. It is ’orrible! The men—they drink too much
biere
and they try to—” Morgan didn’t find out what they tried to do as Marie’s sentence was cut short by another sob. “And my room. It is worse than any ’ostel. It smells like old socks.”

Morgan closed her eyes, the action a physical reinforcement for her mind, which was trying to close itself to the effect of Marie’s tears. It didn’t quite work, so Morgan reminded herself that this woman—upset or not at her current situation—had the power to make her life potentially very difficult. Or did she? Marie certainly didn’t have the “undeniable proof” of her lesbianism that she claimed. All she had was her word—that of a young backpacker—over hers—that of a respected television personality. Morgan’s eyes flew open, and she felt a sudden shift in the balance of power. “I understand that you might be very unhappy where you are,” she said firmly. “But you’re not under any obligation to stay. You can always just leave—”

Another sob. “But I ’ave no money to leave! I must stay ’ere until I am paid.”

Morgan felt the beginnings of anger. She’d been in tight money situations when she was around Marie’s age. Hell, as a student the money was always tight. She’d have been better off on the unemployment benefit than the paltry student allowance the government eked out to those trying to better themselves. But even when funds were so scarce that buying tampons was considered a luxury and she thought she could not face one more dinner of Vegemite sandwiches, she had never once asked anyone for money. Not even her parents. Instead she’d done as thousands of other students had and taken a crappy job with an even crappier hourly rate. “And so you thought I would be an easy way out for you?”

“I just thought . . . when I saw you on television—”

“That I would help you?”

“
Oui
.”

“To the tune of ten thousand dollars. Marie—that’s an awful lot of help.”

“But
chérie
, I didn’t know your number so I called the station and asked for it. The
mademoiselle
who answered the phone would not give it to me—”

“They’re not supposed to,” Morgan interjected.

“—and she said she would leave a message for you to call me, but I did not believe that you would ever get it.”

Morgan had to admit Marie was right in her assumption. If the network phone staff actually passed on the messages of everyone who called, she’d spend her days dealing with every crackpot and crank who wanted to speak to her. “So instead you thought you’d say something to make them sit up and pay attention?”

“I just wanted to speak to you,
chérie
.”

“Well, you are speaking to me.” From the corner of her eye Morgan noticed Kitty mouthing something. Figuring it was an impatient “what’s going on?” she ignored her. “So tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you to ’elp me, Morgan.”

“You want me to help you?” Morgan asked incredulously. “Even after you blackmail me?”

“Blackmail?”

“What you are doing is called blackmail. I don’t know what you French call it, but over here it’s illegal.” Morgan took advantage of the ensuing silence to play her trump card. “Look, Marie. While you might think that what you are doing is the answer to your problems, it’s not. For one, I fail to see what proof you have of—”

“We slept together,” Marie interrupted quickly.

“Yes,” Morgan agreed. “We did. But when it comes down to it, it’s your word against mine. And I’m sorry, sweetheart, but in this race I’m going to win. Without concrete evidence, you’re going to end up looking like a wet-behind-the-ears con artist. I, on the other hand, have got plenty of
powerful
people who will back me up against anything you say.”

Morgan placed her hand over the phone as she exhaled forcefully. This was not easy.

There was an extended silence on the line followed by, “I ’ate you, Morgan Silverstone.”

“Well, I don’t like you very much at the moment either.”

“You liked me enough to fuck me.”

This time Morgan inhaled deeply, using the moment to arrange her thoughts. “I tell you what. I’ll organize a ticket for you to get back to Perth. And also for a few nights accommodation at the place you were staying at before—”

“At the ’ostel?”

“Yes. At the backpacker hostel.” Morgan shook her head at Marie’s disappointed tone. What did she expect—the
Hilton
? “That will give you enough time to get a job and earn some money to continue your travels.”

“I don’t want to go back to Perth. I ’ave already seen Perth.”

“Okay,” Morgan said slowly, trying to keep her patience. It was like dealing with a petulant child. To think she’d found this woman sexy. “Where, then?”

“Sydney.”

Morgan balked. Sydney was the location of the
Bonnes Vacances
studios. It was also the city where she lived. But she’d hardly be there over the next weeks, so there was little chance Marie would be successful in any efforts to try to see her. “Okay . . . Sydney it is. I’ll make the arrangements this morning and you can be on the next train that goes through from Perth. Are you happy with that?”

“
Oui, chérie.
”

“And we can forget this ever happened?”

“I will never forget you,
chérie
.”

Morgan ignored the endearments. “You’ll hear from someone about your train ticket and Sydney accommodation by the end of the day.”

“You will not call me then?” Marie’s voice was flat with disappointment.

“I would rather not, no. Good-bye, Marie.”

“
Au revoir
, Morgan.”

Morgan snapped her phone shut, Marie’s accent echoing in her ears. It certainly didn’t have the same effect on her as it had a few days ago. “Well.” She glanced up at Kitty, who was boggle-eyed with curiosity. “That’s taken care of. She’s just a dumb kid who thought she’d try to grab a bigger pot of money than she could carry.”

“Kid?” Kitty’s expression turned to one of horror. “What do you mean,
kid
?”

“Stop being such a worrywart.” Now that the emergency was averted she could relax enough to smile. “She’s over eighteen. She’s working at a pub, remember.”

“Morgan . . .” Kitty paused, her expression one of warning. But her curiosity got the better of any lectures she might feel appropriate to give. “I want to hear
everything
that was said. Word for word.”

Morgan related the entire conversation, ending with her promise to purchase a train ticket to take Marie to Sydney. “And as far as I know the next train from Perth doesn’t arrive in Sydney until Wednesday. We’re off to Vanuatu that day so we won’t cross paths.”

Kitty nodded, seemingly satisfied with the outcome. But she shook her head at Morgan’s idea of also arranging short-term accommodation at a backpacker hostel. “Put her somewhere nice. Not five-star, but a decent hotel. That way she’ll have trouble finding anything to complain about.”

Morgan was more than a little surprised at Kitty’s suggestion. It was a good one. Underpromise and overdeliver. She smiled crookedly. “You know, Kitty, sometimes you’re actually handy to have around.”

“Don’t get too carried away though.” Kitty turned to face herself in the mirror. She frowned at her reflection and removed the hairpin that was clinging onto the remains of her bun. “Since it’s going onto
your
credit card.”

“You mean the network’s not going to spring for it?” Morgan said jokingly.

Kitty didn’t see the humor. “You’re damn lucky you’ve gotten away with this, Morgan. But just in case something does happen, we won’t have to explain why the network was paying for a hotel to house your floozy.”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“I hope you’re right.” Kitty shook her hair free, frowned at her reflection again then turned to face Morgan. She pulled her phone from her pocket. “Because I’m going to call Joseph back right now and explain to him it was all a big mistake and it’s been sorted. I don’t want to have to eat my words farther down the track.”

“You won’t.” Morgan grabbed her toiletry bag and a towel. “I promise.” On impulse she gave Kitty a quick hug. “Thanks.”

“And don’t think I’m going to make the arrangements for you,” Kitty warned as Morgan slid the compartment door across. “You can do that yourself.”

“I will. Right after my shower.” Morgan nodded. She hurried down the corridor, adding to herself, “And right after I’ve found Ally and spoken to her about last night.”

Ally was packing her bag in readiness for the train’s arrival in Sydney when there was a succession of three sharp raps on her compartment door. She immediately stopped, half-folded jeans in hand, and stood motionless, willing Morgan to go away. She knew it was Morgan; she’d fully expected her to pay a visit sometime that morning. That was exactly the reason why she had locked her compartment door on her return from breakfast.

Which was just as well. The rapping ceased, replaced by a rattle as the latch was tried. That too stopped and finally Morgan’s voice filtered through the door. “I know you’re in there, Ally. Please just let me speak to you.”

Some little part of Ally was tempted to pull the door across, but she resisted and stood steadfast, biting down on her lip so she wouldn’t reply, even with a “Get lost.”

There were a few more raps and another plea from Morgan for her to open up, but Ally’s technique of pretending she just

wasn’t there eventually worked.

Silence fell.

Not realizing she had been holding her breath, she gave a relieved exhalation. Then she drew in a sharp breath as a shuffling sound came from the base of the door and a small piece of paper appeared on the carpet.

She ignored it and turned back to her packing. But not even half of her clothes were neatly repacked into her case when she dived upon the note, unable to resist seeing what it said.

Morgan had simply written, “Call me anytime.” Underneath, she’d added a mobile phone number. And that was it.

Ally stared at it. To her it smacked of the type of note men had passed to women in bars in the days before mobile phones and PDAs. “Fat chance, sweetheart,” she muttered. She screwed up the piece of paper, threw it into the corner of the room and continued with her packing.

Once her belongings were organized, Ally had a quick wash at her basin and settled into her seat. Now, with only forty minutes until they pulled into Sydney station, there was nothing left to do but wait for the train to arrive. Ally sat down and immediately her gaze drifted to the crumpled up piece of paper on the floor. She forced herself to look away and focused instead on the chip in the wood paneling that she had spent so much time staring at yesterday while doing her Morganastics. Another session was the last thing she wanted right now so she opened the venetian blinds and placed her attention on the view from the window. They were already traveling through the outskirts of the city, clickety-clacking through suburbia. But which suburb Ally could not exactly tell since most of the houses that backed onto the railway line were really only notable for their rundown, almost derelict, appearance.

There was precious little chance they would pass within sight of any of Sydney’s more aesthetically appealing attractions, and right now Ally found the shabbiness of the view rather depressing. So she stared down at her hands instead.

Even that was not the best of ideas. The first thing she thought of when she looked at them was how Morgan’s hips had felt within their grasp. The softness, how her hands had molded so well to the womanly curve, even through the material of that very sexy sleeveless shirt she had been wearing . . .

Christ almighty!
So much for avoiding the Morganastics. Ally threw her head back into the headrest and stared at the ceiling.

That particular section of the compartment was apparently safe, so Ally stared at it for the remainder of the journey. As she did, she conjured images of James and their meeting at the station. It would be a romantic meeting, she decided, just as it ought to be when couples meet on train platforms. The tails of James’s knee-length overcoat would be flapping behind him as he hurried to greet her and she would drop her bag as he lifted her off the ground to twirl her ’round and ’round.