Training Days (3 page)

“So, you’re leaving the train at Kalgoorlie?” Morgan asked, a little disappointed. The train was due to arrive in Kalgoorlie at around ten that night—only three hours away. That wasn’t going to leave much time for—Morgan stopped that thought from developing. Nothing was ever going to happen, even if Marie was traveling the entire distance to Sydney. They were in Australia, and so Marie was out of bounds. She was also very young, maybe not even yet eighteen.

“Yes.” Marie nodded. “I will stay in Kalgoorlie for four weeks. I have work there.”

Morgan learned Marie must indeed be at least eighteen since she had secured work in one of the city’s myriad of pubs. In exchange for her labor five days a week she would receive room and board, a little cash and a big opportunity to have a “real Australian outback experience.”

“I wouldn’t quite call Kalgoorlie the outback.” Morgan glanced over the
Work in an Aussie Pub
promotional brochure that Marie dug from her bag. She had picked it up from the information stand at her backpacker accommodation and immediately applied, drawn in by the promise of an outback experience. “I hate to disappoint you, but while it’s out in the middle of nowhere, it’s actually a city. Don’t get me wrong though,” Morgan added quickly when Marie’s face fell. “It’s about as Australian a city as you can get. It’s an old mining town that just happened to survive and thrive after the gold rush. They still mine gold there actually.”

“You ’ave visited?” Marie asked.

Morgan used a deliberate offhand tone. “Oh, yes. New York, Paris, London, Kalgoorlie . . . I’ve done them all!”

Marie’s unsure smile indicated she did not grasp Morgan’s humor. “Did you like Kalgoorlie?” she asked finally.

Morgan took a moment to choose her words. Kalgoorlie was not a city she would visit by choice. Sure, there were plenty of permanent residents, including families, but with mining still as its primary industry, by nature the place had a substantial itinerant population. Many worked the mines to earn quickly the deposit for a house or gather funds for investment, but just as many raked in the big dollars only to piss them away at one of the pubs that could be found on almost every corner. Morgan passed the
Work in an Aussie Pub
brochure back to Marie. “It’s a bit too much of a man’s town for me.” She almost added that she preferred the company of women but kept that thought to herself. If she were reading the signs correctly, Marie had already discounted Mark’s appearance in the lounge car and figured that out for herself.

It appeared that Marie
had
done her calculations correctly. Her fingers brushed the tips of Morgan’s as she accepted the brochure. “Then it will be a long month, no?” she said as she met Morgan’s gaze.

Morgan shifted a little in her seat, feeling the unmistakable pull of lust in her groin. As if in sympathy, she felt her phone— which was located at the bottom of the handbag she held on her lap—begin to vibrate through the lightweight material. The caller ID announced it was Kitty. Morgan scowled at it, wishing to God she was on any other train in any other country. Then she could invite Marie to her sleeper. She had absolutely no doubt Marie would say yes. Again she chose her words carefully. “There are plenty of women in Kalgoorlie too. I’m sure you’ll find some friends very quickly.” Morgan emphasized the word
friends
then smiled apologetically as she snapped her phone open. “Yes?” A few seconds later she snapped it closed again. “I’m afraid I have to go.”

Marie looked a little suspiciously at Morgan’s phone. “
D’accord
. . . er, okay.”

Morgan hesitated. Maybe Marie thought she was being given the brush-off, that since the phone had made no sound when it supposedly rang, there hadn’t actually been anyone on the other end. “I’m having dinner with some colleagues of mine. You might remember Mark—you met him earlier at the bar,” Morgan explained, pleased to extinguish any lingering doubts that Marie might have about his significance. “I wish I could stay and talk with you longer but . . .”

“
Non, non, non
.” Marie held up her hands. “I understand.” Then she grinned playfully. “No worries.”

As she had earlier, Morgan laughed, delighted. Against all her better judgment she dug into her handbag and pulled out a notebook and pen. “This is where I am.” She tore off the sheet with her carriage and compartment number written on it. “I should be back there in no more than two hours. If you want you can drop by before you leave the train. We can . . . talk a bit more . . . about Kalgoorlie.”

“Thank you.” Marie gave the paper the merest of glances and slipped it into one of her numerous cargo pant pockets. “I would like that very much.”

Morgan turned from Marie and her delicious French smile and walked down the aisle with a delicious French
à bientot
echoing in her ears.

Dinner was also delicious, but Morgan was away for longer than she anticipated and it was close to ten p.m. when she turned the key to open her compartment door. Part of her was relieved it was so late. Before she had even reached the Gold restaurant car she regretted her impulsiveness and wished she had not handed over the piece of paper. That was not entirely true. More accurately, she was wishing she were not in a position where she had to regret giving her details to a good-looking woman. Now, since there was only a half-hour or so before the scheduled Kalgoorlie stop, there seemed little chance Marie was going to visit. If Marie had already stopped by she would have been disappointed, finding no one home, except for maybe the staff member who had, in her absence, transformed the seats into a narrow bed.

Morgan sat on the edge of the mattress and tested it for firmness. It didn’t feel too bad—certainly better than some of the lumpy excuses for beds she had experienced in her travels—but still she frowned. The upper bunk was also made up for the night. Since Morgan had the compartment to herself for the journey she figured it was the product of an overzealous staff member, and so she began looking for the catch or clip or other mechanism that she could activate to raise the bunk back to its daytime home near the ceiling. Morgan found the button, but she also found the sign right next to it that stated only staff were to raise and lower the bunks. Imagining the upper bunk coming crashing down on her in the middle of the night because she had not secured it properly, Morgan took heed of the sign and decided to go in search of a staff member.

She slid the door open and jumped in fright at the knuckles that appeared right in front of her face. “Holy shit!” she exclaimed, bringing her hand to the base of her neck. It was Marie, her hand poised to knock. “You scared the life out of me!”

“
Desolée
. . . sorry.” Marie had her feet planted apart, her bag slung over one shoulder. She unclenched her hand, held it in empty air for a moment then ran her palm down Morgan’s cheek. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

“Just bad timing.” Morgan closed her eyes to the caress. Marie’s touch was like her handshake, firm and warm. This was a woman who was very sure of herself.

“Bad timing?” Marie took a step toward Morgan. Given that they were already standing close, this move brought their bodies within a whisper of each other. “You wish me to leave,
chérie
?”

During her predinner cocktail—vodka and cranberry juice number four—Morgan had drifted into a daydream, imagining how Marie’s visit would play out,
if
she actually did visit. First she fantasized how it could be if only they were not in Australia. Marie would knock and Morgan would stand aside for her to enter. She would offer her a drink and Marie would decline, (which was just as well because Morgan had nothing but a room temperature bottle of water in her bag), and they would settle into a sexually loaded conversation before finally falling into each other’s arms for a brief but passionate encounter. Later, as she sipped on a crisp sauvignon blanc that perfectly complemented her main course of dhufish and sautéed snow peas, Morgan let the conversation of the other three crew members drift around her and daydreamed of the more realistic meeting; the one that must occur by virtue of their location. Again Marie would knock and Morgan would stand aside for her to enter. Again the drink offer and again the decline. Conversation, but this time full of subtle double entendres. The train would pull gently to a stop at Kalgoorlie, Marie would pick up her bag and they would say their good-byes—two Continental kisses on the cheek followed by a brief, light kiss on the lips. The second fantasy was very unsatisfying compared to the first, but it was all Morgan would allow herself.

This, however . . . this was entirely unexpected. Marie had seemingly interpreted Morgan’s lack of response as an invitation to stay. The hand that still held Morgan’s cheek swept to the back of her neck and Marie pressed her body fully against Morgan’s as she met her lips with a hungry mouth.

Morgan’s head told her to take a step back, to stick with fantasy number two, but her body told her otherwise, to find out what was behind door number three. She did take a step back, but only to pull Marie farther into the compartment. She groped for the sliding door, found it by touch and pulled it until she heard the latch click.

Marie left Morgan’s mouth just long enough to give a knowing smile and toss her bag onto the floor. Then she returned, hands clasping Morgan’s hips and the tip of her tongue tracing the edge of Morgan’s lips. “You want me,
non
?”

Morgan groaned when Marie’s tongue slid across hers. She grabbed Marie by the shoulders and pushed her against the now-closed door. She ignored everything about sticking to fantasy number two, ignored that they were chugging across the land of her devoted public, ignored everything except the heat of this moment. Her words were hardly intelligible as she breathed into Marie’s mouth. “I want you, yes.”

Ally cradled her takeaway cup of black coffee in both hands. The liquid itself was awful—bitter and old-tasting—but at least it seeped some warmth into her palms. Night had fallen on a clear sky, but still it was surprisingly cool, given how warm the day had been. She noted the abrupt drop in temperature with more than just a casual interest. It was a point to consider when drawing up the plans for her latest project.

Ally temporarily set aside her coffee and scribbled
cold nights
in her notebook. Usually she did not suffer from a bad memory, but with her burgeoning exhaustion it was best just to be sure. Last night she had arrived in Perth on the red-eye from Sydney and caught a few winks in an airport hotel before boarding a regional plane—a seventy-or-so-seater, but still far too small for her liking—bound for Kalgoorlie at six a.m. After the hourlong flight, she had just a moment to freshen up before being whisked away in a gigantic four-wheel-drive to a meeting with a potential client. The potential client was a Kalgoorlie-based executive for one of the nation’s largest mining operations, and as such he needed a suitable house. Not just any house, however. In a move that seemed to run counter to the exploitative nature of mining, this executive wanted a house designed to be in sympathy with its surrounds—not just aesthetically, but also environmentally.

This was where she, Alison Brown, an architect who specialized in environmentally sustainable dwellings, came in. Only one day after the current month’s issue of
Architectural Digest
was released—the issue that featured an almost entirely energy self-sufficient trilevel house that she had designed for a property in tropical north Queensland—she received a call from the mining executive’s personal assistant. That was Friday of last week. Now, just five days later, she was sitting on the brink of what would be, to date, the largest project of her eight-year architectural career. Already, after spending the morning discussing her potential client’s wants and needs and the afternoon assessing his five-acre homesite, she had some concepts forming. The creative side of her was itching to get into action, and indeed over dinner and while waiting here at the train station she had committed some sketches to paper. But lack of sleep followed by a long day had taken its toll, and eventually Ally’s brain decided to shut down for the evening. It was at that point she went in search of caffeine and ended up with her cup of witches’ brew.

The coffee was quickly going cold and its use as a hand-heater obsolete. Ally rose from the bench seat on the platform and went in search of a rubbish bin. She checked her watch against the large station clock and noticed with satisfaction that they were in sync. It was nine forty-nine. Technically, the train should be arriving in one minute.

No sooner had Ally deposited her cup and its contents into a bin than she heard the rumble of the train’s approach. Impressed that it could be so punctual after leaving Perth nearly ten hours prior, Ally decided it was yet another reason why trains were infinitely preferable to planes.

She was very, very pleased to be taking this method of transport home and considered herself extremely lucky to have the opportunity. This train trip was pure indulgence—three nights and two days to traverse the Australian continent instead of a five-hour flight to cross the same distance. After scheduling the Kalgoorlie-based meeting, Ally had presented Josh, her boss, with what she thought was an outrageous request. Since she hated flying, and since she had been putting in such long hours lately, could she fly one way and take the train back? She had to try extremely hard not to throw her hands in the air and yell “woo-hoo” when Josh agreed, calling the journey a well-earned, brain-expanding break from the mind-numbing concrete jungle of Sydney.