Training Days (26 page)

Three days later her smile had yet to fade. She entered the small reception area of Design for Tomorrow and was greeted almost immediately by a young woman, probably in her twenties, with a shock of bright red hair and a nose ring.

“Good morning,” the woman chirped, a cup of coffee in hand. She frowned a little, as if she recognized Morgan but couldn’t quite place her. “How can I help you?”

“Good morning.” Morgan couldn’t help but focus on the nose ring. She had to force her gaze to shift to the woman’s eyes. “I was hoping I could speak with Alison Brown, please.”

“I’m sorry, but she’s not here at the moment.”

“Oh.” Morgan glanced at her watch. It had only just gone nine a.m. Maybe she hadn’t yet arrived at the offices. Or—and this was an eventuality she hadn’t figured into her plans—maybe she was off-site. After all, architects had to go visit their projects. “What time will she be here?”

“No time soon, I’m afraid. She won’t be back until Friday.”

“Friday?” Morgan echoed. This wasn’t an eventuality she had figured on either. Where was she? Had she flown back to Kalgoorlie to present her client some house plans? Morgan’s heart sank. This was not going at all how she’d imagined.

The woman nodded, now looking a little worried. She opened the large diary that sat on the reception desk and peered at Monday’s date. “There’s no record of any Monday appointments for Ally—”

“Oh, no. I didn’t have an appointment,” Morgan assured her. “I just popped in on the off-chance I could see her.” She thought hard for some reason why she would do so. “I was recommended to her by a friend,” she said a little lamely.

“Would you like me to make an appointment for you now?” The woman, relaxing again, sipped from her mug as she turned pages. “She’s rather busy on Friday but next Monday afternoon is looking good.”

Morgan would just be arriving back in Sydney next Monday. If she hurried off the plane and didn’t get held up in customs she might just make it to the offices before closing time. The moment the woman raised her head again Morgan honed in on the nose ring. “Is five thirty too late?”

Apparently not.

Five minutes later Morgan left Ally’s offices with a Monday afternoon appointment . . . and one of Ally’s business cards.

“This is her new mobile number?” Morgan had asked when it was presented. She figured the card was brand new, since the woman had to rip open a padded courier bag to get to the box of cards.

The woman assured her it was. She didn’t ask how Morgan would know Ally had a new number and that the couriered cards were not just reprints.

Back in her car, Morgan turned the card over in her hand. Her original plan of a surprise visit was dead on the ground. And, since her name was now staring up from the company diary, her Monday appointment held no element of surprise. So she may as well dial and hope for the best.

She did. And she held her breath as it rang once, twice, three times.

“Hello?” The voice that came through the line was sleepy, as if its owner had been woken. But it was definitely Ally’s voice.

Morgan’s breath caught in her throat at the sound. Had it really only been less than a week since she last heard it? It seemed like an eternity. But why so sleepy? she wondered. Was Ally on vacation? Or was she home from work, sick? “Hello, Ally. It’s me, Morgan.”

Ally sat bolt upright in bed, the fog of sleep lifting almost immediately. She hadn’t been in too deep a sleep, the change in time zone and her preoccupation with her private thoughts working together to prevent quality rest. But still she had to ask, to ensure she wasn’t dreaming, “Morgan?”

“Yes.” There was a pause on the other end of the line, then, “Did I wake you?”

“It’s okay,” Ally said quickly. She rubbed at her eyes and groped for her watch on the bedside table. It wasn’t even midnight yet. Another reason she was so quick to wake. She’d been in bed for less than an hour. “I’d only just gone to bed.” She sighed happily. “I’m really glad you called.”

“I’m really glad you’re glad.” Another slight pause followed. “Are you unwell?”

Ally smiled at the concern in Morgan’s voice. “No.” Right at this moment Ally was feeling better than she had for days. “A bit jet-lagged, but apart from that I’m fine.”

“Jet-lagged?”

Ally realized Morgan had no idea where she was. When they’d last spoken Ally had had no idea she’d be in Barcelona either. “I’m in Spain.”

“Spain?” Morgan echoed softly. “Where in Spain?”

“Barcelona. I’m here for a conference.”

This time there was a gasp. “I don’t believe this. Ally, how long will you be there?”

“Until Wednesday morning.” Ally’s stomach lurched, imagining arriving back in Sydney just as Morgan was leaving. “Where are you?”

“I’m in Sydney. I have to be at the airport in a couple of hours.”

Ally couldn’t help the curse that escaped her lips. “Fuck.”

“Ally, I’m leaving for Barcelona. I’ll be there Tuesday morning.”

“You’re coming here?” Ally asked, feeling a little faint.

“Yes.”

There was yet another pause, extended such that Ally wondered if it had been left intended for her to fill. She decided it was. After all, she had been the one to break contact. Morgan was probably unsure if she wanted to reconnect. “I really would like to see you,” she said softly.

Morgan’s reply was immediate. “That’s good. Because I really would like to see you, too.”

Morgan walked a few steps, stopped on her mark and started talking into the camera. “Another piece of Gaudi architecture on the same street as La Pedrera is the Casa Batllo, otherwise known as the ‘house of bones.’” She turned slightly and gazed behind her to the façade of the building, which had balconies and supports that did look remarkably like skulls and bones. Then she turned back to the camera. “It was originally built for a wealthy aristocrat who lived on the lower floors and rented out the upper levels. Now it’s open to the public.” She turned again and walked toward the entrance as if she was going to visit. In actual fact she already had visited earlier that day. They were just filming out of sequence.

At step six Kitty called, “Cut.”

“Is that it this time?” Morgan asked hopefully, eager to get this, the last shot for today, over and done with. This was the fifth time she’d had to do her introduction to the Casa Batllo, Kitty finding something wrong with each of the other takes— first Morgan’s expression was “odd,” second a pedestrian stopped behind her right shoulder and stared idiotically into the camera. On the third and fourth takes she fluffed her lines.

Kitty declared she was happy.

“Thank Christ for that,” Mark muttered as he lowered the boom. He was in a rare bad mood and had been all day. So the repeated takes at the tail end of their day of filming had done nothing to improve his humor. “I need a beer.” He turned to Morgan. “How about you?”

Morgan checked her watch. It was already nearly seven thirty

p.m. Had they kept to their planned schedule they’d have wrapped up nearly an hour ago. She and Ally had arranged to meet at eight, so now there was only half an hour to get back to her hotel, freshen up and head out again to their designated meeting place—at the junction where the Plaza de Catalyuna met the beginning of the famous pedestrian strip of the Rambla. Luckily Morgan’s hotel was only a few minutes’ walk away from where they were now as well as the agreed meeting spot, but still she would be cutting it fine. She shook her head. “I can’t right now. I’m meeting Ally, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Mark scowled and strode away, recording equipment in hand, in the direction of the hotel.

Morgan hurried after him. “Come on.” She repeated what she’d told him on the plane on the leg from Milan to Barcelona. That was when she’d told him Ally was going to be in the city at the same time as they were and that she was taking the opportunity to catch up with her. “This is the one chance I have to meet with her before she leaves. You and I can have drinks tomorrow.”

“I still don’t see why I can’t come along too. Just for a little while.” Morgan sighed, knowing this was at least partly the reason he was in a mood. The other was that Rebecca—the busty blond

sound engineer he’d been panting after—had taken up with a balding studio manager while they were island-hopping in Fiji and Vanuatu. But she thought they’d worked through the Ally portion of his huff already. “You really are very unattractive when you sulk.”

“And ever since you’ve fallen in love you’ve become a real pain in the ass.”

Morgan stopped walking.

Mark didn’t. She watched his back as the distance between them increased. “I’m not in love,” she called to his retreating figure.

“Try and tell that to anyone looking from this side,” he called back without turning.

Morgan broke into a half-trot and ended back beside him. “I’ve changed my mind. You can come to say hello.”

Immediately Mark broke into a smile.

“One drink. That’s it.”

Mark’s smile turned into a grin.

“You’re worse than a child for getting your own way.”

Mark just shrugged.

“I’m not in love.”

Mark shrugged again. “Whatever you say, Mogs.”

“I’m not,” Morgan repeated, more to convince herself than Mark. Just because she
really
liked Ally and happened to think about her most of her waking hours didn’t mean she was in love. Nor did the fact she’d been wandering around in a gloom from the moment Ally disconnected from her life and walking on cloud nine from the moment they reconnected again. And that strange flip-flopping sensation that happened in her stomach whenever she heard her voice or laid eyes on her wasn’t love either. Was it?

Morgan didn’t have time to contemplate life, love and the universe right now anyway. They entered the hotel and waited for the elevator.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen minutes sharp,” she said to Mark before he got out on the second floor. “If you’re not there I’ll leave without you.”

Mark was on time and they hurried out of the hotel together. Morgan caught sight of Ally when they were still a good twenty meters away from her. As arranged, she was standing near the entrance to the Metro, just out of the way of the mass of humanity entering and exiting the hole in the ground. She wore a black and lace dress, a sleeveless halter top style with a very flattering below-the-knee hankie hem. She carried a sequined evening bag. She had her hair slicked back. Morgan sucked in her breath. She looked . . . fantastic.

“Admit it.” Mark knocked his shoulder against hers as they walked. “You love her.”

“Shut up.” Morgan hurried her step, determined to be the first to reach Ally. Mark also lengthened his stride.

The bastard overtook her in the last five meters. Despite her high heels, Morgan broke into a run. Ally, who had by now seen them, laughed a hello to them both, amused by their speedy arrival. If she was disappointed that Morgan was not alone, she did not show it, smiling broadly and accepting kisses on the cheek from the both of them.

“Damn. You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Mark took hold of her hands and held her at arm’s length. “How are you, Ally?”

“Much better for having seen you again.” Ally glanced at Morgan, briefly meeting her gaze before looking back to Mark. “Are you coming to have a drink with us?”

“That’s the plan.” Mark grinned.

“Excellent.” Ally glanced quickly at Morgan again. Her expression was unreadable. But if Morgan was asked to choose whether it was irritation or relief, she would lean toward relief.

Was Ally a little afraid of her? she wondered. If she was, then it appeared her knight in shining armor had arrived. Mark manoeuvred between them, crooking both his arms and inviting them to take one each.

“Come, ladies.” He steered them in the direction of the Rambla. “Let’s go see how the Spanish beer measures up to the Australian.”

An hour later they were sipping on their second drinks while seated in an open-air café on the Rambla. It was near the section where all manner of birds were on sale, from day-old chicks to canaries and quail, exotic parrots, love birds and even a toucan. Combined, their various chatter and screeches and songs were loud to the point of piercing. Personally, Morgan found the din rather irritating. Or maybe she was just annoyed that Mark had well and truly muscled in on her evening. Morgan stabbed at the ice in her vodka and cranberry with her straw while she listened to Mark tell yet another tale of their travels. Or, more accurately, another tale that made her appear a fool. This time he was recounting the “spider episode” in Malaysia. They’d been traipsing through the rainforest in the Taman Negara National Park on a guided tour. Morgan was being filmed talking with the guide about the value of the eco-tourist to the park when a spider dropped from the trees into her hair. She’d nearly knocked Nick flat as she ran down the trail, thrashing at her hair and screaming, “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

“It was a huge spider,” she said sulkily in her own defense, shuddering just at the memory of it. She’d had spider-related nightmares for a week afterward.

Mark scoffed and rolled his eyes in Ally’s direction. “It was a teeny little thing.”