Training Days

by Jane Frances

  “Definitely.” Morgan winked at him as she reached across the table to clink her glass against Mark’s. “I always say—”

  Kitty coughed. “What do you think of the steak, Morgan?”

  Morgan looked pointedly at her snapper fillet. “How would I know? I ordered the fish.”

  “Nick?” Kitty questioned, an edge of impatience in her voice. “How’s your steak?”

  Nick had been concentrating hard on the act of eating. He glanced up from his plate. “Huh?”

  “I said . . .” Now there was definite irritation in Kitty’s tone, even though Ally noticed she was at pains to control it. She also caught another covert tilt of her head in Morgan’s direction. “Your steak looks good. Maybe someone else would like to try it, too.”

  “Oh.” A flash of realization crossed Nick’s features just at the moment Morgan accepted Mark’s proffered steak-laden fork. He quickly cut a portion and offered it to Kitty. “Here you go.”

  For a single moment Kitty just stared at Nick, a look of disbelief on her face. Ally was almost sure she heard her mutter “Jesus Christ” under her breath. Then her demeanor changed completely and she waved coyly in Nick’s direction. “Oh . . . stop joking around, Nick. Morgan’s going to get jealous.” She picked up her fork and loaded it with some of the herbed potato mash that accompanied her lamb cutlet. The fork was brought to her mouth, but she stopped short of eating, seemingly giving a thought some consideration before saying it out loud. “You’ve probably noticed by now, so there’s no point trying to keep it a secret. Morgan and Nick are”—Kitty winked at Ally—“you know . . .”

  Ally blinked, more than a little surprised. If Kitty meant that Nick and Morgan were lovers, then no, she didn’t know. They certainly hadn’t given any signs pointing in that direction. If anything, they seemed a little uncomfortable with each other. They hadn’t shown any hint of intimacy during the entire time she had been present and even conversation between the pair was limited. Not that Nick said much of anything to anyone. He was a polar opposite to Morgan and definitely not someone Ally would have predicted as her choice of partner. In fact, she thought Mark to be a much more likely candidate for Morgan’s affections.

  Ally was in the middle of giving a noncommittal nod when she realized an apparent contradiction. Last night Nick had accompanied Kitty to the baggage carriage. How could he have been on the platform at the same time Morgan was having the time of her life in her compartment? Unless, of course, she was having the time of her life with someone other than Nick . . . Oh, ho! Ally’s brain started fitting the pieces together. Maybe Morgan and Mark had been taking advantage of Nick’s temporary absence to have a little fling? Maybe that was why Kitty had been so unnerved to find Morgan “busy” in her compartment. And maybe Nick had either found out about the affair or was having his suspicions. That would explain the distance between him and Morgan.

  It still didn’t explain why Ally had been invited to lunch though. Maybe she should just ask? She pondered the notion as she took a sip of her cabernet sauvignon. It was very, very good. She set the glass on the table and picked up her cutlery again. She would ask after dessert and coffee. After all, there was no point in ruining what was probably going to be her last decent meal for the remainder of her journey.

  “So, what’s next on your film schedule?” she asked Morgan in an attempt to change the topic completely.

  “Well, after we’re finished here we have a few days in the studio, editing and the like. And I’ll be recording the leadins to the segments that will be airing in the next weeks. And then we’re off to—” Morgan looked at Mark. “Where is it again?”

  “Vanuatu.”

  “That’s right . . . Vanuatu.” Morgan gave a self-deprecating smile. “Sometimes I can’t remember where we actually are, never mind where we’re going next.”

  Ally sighed enviously. “You know how to make someone jealous, don’t you? I would love to go to Vanuatu. It’s supposed to be a beautiful spot.”

  “Very romantic,” Kitty interjected quickly. She smiled at Morgan and Nick like an indulgent parent. “I’m sure I’ll have trouble getting much work out of these two.”

  “Stop it, Kitty.” Morgan glared across the table then glanced in embarrassment to Ally. “Sorry, Alison.”

  “Call me Ally,” she reminded her. “And no need to apologize.” Ally secretly thought Mark might not be getting much work done either. And although she had never had an affair and had never even considered having one, she said, “I understand.”

  Ally had directed her comment to Morgan, but she turned her attention to Kitty, feeling her gaze upon her. Sure enough, Kitty was regarding her with the same look that she had that morning in the Red diner car. Once again Ally felt she was back at school, being sized up by the headmistress after being caught committing some misdemeanor. Unwilling—or maybe even unable—to hold the gaze, Ally returned her attention to her plate. She had saved some of the crispy duck skin for last and now she attacked it, cutting it into small bite-sized pieces.

  It was delectable, the fat rendered to perfection. Ally savored each piece slowly, happy to listen to the renewed banter between Morgan and Mark, the two of them recounting an episode in Egypt where Morgan had become hopelessly lost between leaving her hotel and reaching her destination.

  “The pyramids aren’t exactly small, Morgan,” Mark teased. “I really have no idea how you could miss them.” He turned to Ally. “Our Morgan has what you might call a ‘unique’ sense of direction. Haven’t you, Mogs?”

  Morgan nodded, giving that self-deprecating smile again. “If I didn’t have gravity to keep me down, I wouldn’t know which way was up.”

  “Sounds like rather an odd quality for a traveler,” Ally commented, laughing. She was picturing Morgan rushing all over Cairo, trying to find the massive stone structures.

  “Well, luckily, I usually have someone to point me in the right direction.” Morgan turned to Nick and poked him in the side. “Mister here was supposed to escort me. But no, he left early to go take some happy snaps.” She cast her eyes heavenward. “Cameramen. I tell you . . . they see life through a lens.”

  “Now, now, you two. No fighting.” Kitty wagged her finger at them and then gave Ally a look that she supposed was meant to convey she was their long-suffering mediator. “They’re like this with each other all the time.”

  Ally smiled thinly. Kitty was a pain in the ass. And what was it with the continued references to the pairing of Morgan and Nick? She wondered if a covert acknowledgment of their relationship would make the woman shut up about it. “How long have you been together?” she asked.

  Nick shot a worried glance to Kitty and start biting on the nail of his little finger.

  “Not long,” Morgan said quickly, also shooting a glance toward Kitty.

  “No, not long at all.” Kitty seemed unfazed by the continued filthy stare she was receiving from Morgan. “They’re still at that stage.” She winked at Ally. “As you probably gathered from last night.”

  Ally had been in the process of taking the last piece of crispy duck skin to her mouth. She let the fork hover a few inches from her face, more than a little interested to see the others’ reactions to what she knew to be an outright lie.

  Morgan turned her attention for the first time to the view as seen through the slats of the micro-blinds. Mark sculled the last of his beer and placed the empty glass with a thud back onto the table. Most astonishing of all was Nick. Although still chewing on his fingernails, he registered no surprise at the news he was supposedly with Morgan last night.

  Apparently all four were in collaboration.

  “Okay.” Suddenly furious, Ally placed her fork, which still held her last piece of duck skin, next to her knife on the plate. “Thank you for lunch, but I find I am no longer hungry.”

  “Ally?”

  “Alison to you, thank you very much.” Ally glared at Kitty, wishing for the world she could slap the plastic smile from her face. “Look”
—she addressed the table in general—“I don’t know what the hell you’re all playing at and why you’ve involved me, but”—she held her hand above her head—“I’ve had it up to here! First I get thrown out of my room before I even step foot in it. Then I get shoved into stinking cattle class where I have to slum it with the great unwashed. And now, for some totally unknown reason, I’m being lied to by an entire TV crew. What is this?” She peered around the carriage and even lifted the red tablecloth and had a look under the table. “Am I on Candid Camera or something? Or do you all just get your kicks from tormenting random members of the public?”

  There was a stunned silence around the table.

  Ally noticed Kitty open her mouth to speak so she cut in before she could get a word out. “Save it for someone who cares.”

  She pulled her chair away from the table, only narrowly missing a collision with an unsuspecting waiter who was delivering a tray of dessert delicacies to another table. Increasingly pissed that she would now miss out on the lemon tart she had already chosen from the menu card, Ally threw her napkin onto her plate and, without looking back, stalked down the corridor.

  Just as Ally had done two seconds prior, Morgan threw her napkin onto her plate and glared at Kitty. “Look where your big ideas have got us now. Nick”—she motioned for him to stand— “let me get out please.”

  Kitty made the same shooing motion to Mark. “I’ll go after her.”

  “Like hell you will.” Morgan slid quickly across Nick’s seat to the corridor. “You’ve done enough damage already. I’ll go.”

  The corridor of the restaurant car was empty except for a waiter serving drinks and another presenting some delicious-looking desserts to some very Poe-faced Brits who obviously wouldn’t be impressed even if the Queen herself was serving them. Morgan strode out quickly, hoping to catch Ally before she got too far ahead.

  There was no sign of her in any of the Gold carriages, and it wasn’t until Morgan stepped into Red that she caught a glimpse of her. Morgan broke into a half-trot. Her own compartment was in the next carriage. Ideally, she would like to speak to Ally in the privacy of her room, not wishing an audience for what she had decided she would say. Because what she had decided to say was the truth. Whether that was to be for good or bad, Morgan did not know. She may have known the woman for only a few brief hours, but there was something about Ally that struck a chord deep within her. And the resonance of this chord told her it would be for the good.

  “Ally!” she called. The irony that she was going to invite another woman into her compartment for a potentially troublesome interaction was not lost on Morgan. “Ally. Stop!”

  But Ally didn’t stop, or even slow down. She continued at her rapid pace, occasionally knocking her shoulders on the walls of the corridor as she moved in opposition to the carriage’s sway. Morgan, unwilling to draw any more attention to herself than necessary, ceased calling after her and watched her disappear into the next carriage. She hesitated for just a moment. Then she followed.

  She followed her through the Red sleeper, lounge and diner cars, and she followed her into the first and then second of the upright seating carriages. Being close to the end of the luncheon session, there was a lot of movement in the corridors. Morgan nodded politely to all those who said hello to her and murmured, “Sorry, but I can’t stop and chat at the moment,” to those who appeared to want to extend the niceties beyond a greeting. She was glad she didn’t bump into Marge. Morgan was aware she had brushed her off this morning and didn’t want to have to do the same again now. “Oh, crap,” Morgan muttered to herself. She really had to stop even thinking of Marge. Because, just as occurred yesterday when she made her mad leap into a seat opposite the fabulously French Marie, the mere thought of her made her appear. She was near the other end of the carriage and—surprise, surprise—talking to someone. The carriages were long, and luckily she was facing the other direction, but right at this moment, the distance between them was not nearly far enough.

  For the second time since commencing her pursuit of Ally down the length of the train, Morgan hesitated. Then she bit the bullet, increased her speed for the few steps it took to catch up to her, reached out and grabbed her by the arm.

  Not surprisingly, the reception Morgan received was even colder than when Kitty had introduced her to Ally at lunch. At the time, Morgan had wondered why Ally was so chilly toward her. Little had she known that Ally’s frigid reception was at least partly due to the fact she had lost her sleeper berth and ended up in an upright seat. In fact, knowing what she did now—had Morgan been Ally—she would have told Kitty to shove her lunch invitation where the sun didn’t shine. Or else she would have accepted, downed as much expensive wine she could lay her hands on and then let rip. Ally had in fact done just that—with the exception of the consumption of an excess of alcohol—but to her credit she had let fly only after realizing she had been told a barefaced lie.

  Now, Morgan wondered if Ally would have even mentioned her less-than-ideal travel circumstances had Kitty not insisted on pursuing her ridiculous charade. Somehow she doubted it. Over lunch, once Ally’s initial defenses came down and she relaxed, she had seemed content just to enjoy the moment and leave past events in the past.

  All things considered, she didn’t blame Ally one bit for the return of the icy glare. Nor was she surprised at the “Get your hands off me!” that she hissed at her.

  Morgan loosened her hold on Ally’s arm but quietly pleaded, “Please, Ally. Let me explain.”

  “Let go of me,” Ally repeated.

  Morgan let her hand fall. “I’m sorry.”

  “As well you should be.” Ally looked down as she smoothed the material of her shirt where Morgan’s hand had been. When she eventually met Morgan’s gaze, her expression was one of angry confusion. “Can you please explain to me just what was going on in there?” She pointed back toward the rear of the train, presumably to indicate the restaurant car. “What was all that bullshit about you and Nick? Because I know it wasn’t him with you last night.”

  Morgan opened her mouth to explain it was all Kitty’s stupid idea, then stopped herself. No matter how little she thought of Kitty personally—bitch sessions with Nick and Mark aside—she had never bad-mouthed her in front of anyone. “We all just thought it was better—”

  “Yes. I know what you all thought,” Ally said bitterly. “You all thought it was better that you cover up your affair in case I decided to call the papers. Well, let me tell you, Mogs, I don’t care what you do behind closed doors, with Mark or Nick or anyone else for that matter. I didn’t care last night . . . I didn’t care this morning when I told Kitty the exact same thing . . . and I don’t care now. You can swing from the Gold class chandeliers if that’s what turns you on, so long as you leave me out of it. But what I do care about is being lied to”—Ally pointed down the carriage—“and having to sit in here for three days when I booked a damn sleeper.” For a second Ally looked like she was going to cry and instinctively Morgan reached out her hand to her. It was slapped away. “This whole trip is turning out to be a nightmare.”

  With that, and with one final glare at Morgan, Ally turned on her heel and stalked down the carriage.

  Again Morgan followed and she stopped in front of the seat that Ally flung herself into. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Marge had detected her presence and was waving madly in her direction. She answered with a wave of her own then refocused her attention on Ally. “Honestly,” she began quickly, fully aware that Marge was now lumbering down the corridor toward her, “I didn’t know you’d ended up in here—”

  “Morgan!”

  “Hello, Marge.” Morgan turned her attention to Marge and smiled. “I’m really sorry about having to dash off so quickly this morning, but we were all running a little late . . .” She felt the weight of Ally’s scorn even without looking at her. Ally didn’t have to say a word for Morgan to know that she thought she reeked of insincerity.

  And she real
ly didn’t like the feeling that knowledge gave her.

  “Dearie me. Don’t give it a second thought.” Marge’s delighted smile turned even more brilliant at the acknowledgment. “Bless you, Morgan. I know how busy you are. But I’m very happy you did finally come because I’ve been wanting to talk to you about my friend here, Alison.” Marge tut-tutted. “Dreadful treatment she’s had on this train, bless her. We were talking about it most all last night, weren’t we, dear?” Marge actually patted Ally on the head. She didn’t seem to care that Ally neither confirmed nor denied their conversation. She just charged on. “And I told her not to worry because Morgan Silverstone from Bonnes Vacances was on the train and that being such an important and lovely woman”—Marge beamed at Morgan, not a hint of guile in her expression—“that you would be able to help.”

  “Actually, that’s exactly why I’m here.” Morgan now felt doubly sorry for Ally in the knowledge that on top of everything else she had spent a night next to chatterbox Marge. The woman had probably not had a wink of sleep. Despite the temptation not to, she met the eyes she could bet had been rolling skyward at the mention of her as “lovely” and “important.” As expected, the look she received was filthy. For Marge’s benefit, she twisted the truth a little. “I was told over lunch about your predicament, Alison.” She saw Ally raise her eyebrows at the white lie but, like Marge when she was on a roll, she ploughed on. “All I can say is that I’m dreadfully sorry this has happened to you and I hope we can figure out something to help make the rest of your trip a little more pleasant. Maybe we can talk about this further . . . somewhere a little quieter?”

  Ally’s expression turned defiant. “It’s okay. We can talk about it right here . . . I have nothing to hide from anyone.”

  Morgan mentally froze. Ally had her over a barrel. Maybe her lunchtime assumption 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, shit . . . there was Kitty. She was heading straight for them. Damn woman. Obviously she didn’t trust Morgan to handle this herself.