Training Days Read Free Page A

this way tomorrow morning anyway, for an early interview with one of the train drivers, so she would call a hello to Marge on the way past.
    The mere thought of Marge seemed to make her materialize. She was close at the heels of another woman of around the same age so she was only partially in view, but the voice was unmistakable. The leading woman wore a suffering expression and Morgan wondered how long she had been listening to tales of, bless him, husband Fred. Morgan’s sympathy for the woman’s plight was, however, not enough to provide her with an avenue of escape. Morgan noticed the two seats closest to her were vacant. She flung herself into the one next to the aisle, and although now facing the opposite direction to Marge and her companion, she picked up the magazine lying on the next seat and stuck her nose into it.
    She stayed with head bent into the magazine until Marge’s voice, which continued unabated, disappeared with her voluminous frame into the next carriage. With a loud sigh she tossed the magazine back where she found it. Only then did she notice the set of khaki-clad knees close to hers. Morgan lifted her gaze to the person sitting immediately opposite her, in one of the two backward-facing seats, and immediately raised her eyebrows in surprise.
    It was the Frenchwoman.
    Morgan gave a crooked, embarrassed smile. Of all the seats she had to dive into like a criminal, it had to be this one. Maybe she could redeem herself with some French. “ Bonjour .”
    The woman smiled back, obviously amused, if somewhat bemused, by Morgan’s unexpected visit. “ Bonsoir .”
    You gotta love how the French can’t help but point out your language mistakes , Morgan thought a little sourly. She nodded in acknowledgment of the correction, considered explaining her actions but decided against it, holding out her hand instead. “ Je m’appelle Morgan.”
    The woman’s grip was firm, warm and dry, and the eyes that met hers steady. “Marie.”
    “ Enchantée .” Morgan held both Marie’s hand and her gaze a little longer than necessary. It had the desired effect. There was a renewed flash of interest in Marie’s eyes.
    “ Parlez-vous français ?” Marie asked, her expression hopeful.
    “ Pas vraiment .” Morgan shook her head, and her lack of French language skills forced her to switch back to English. “Only enough to order a coffee and a croissant.”
    This time Marie’s eyes lit up. “You ’ave visited my country?”
    Morgan had probably been to France over a dozen times during her five years with Bonnes Vacances . “Once or twice. It’s very beautiful . . . they make good espresso too,” she said as she looked pointedly at the empty cardboard cup that lay wedged between the window and what she assumed was Marie’s overnight bag.
    “ Bof! ” Marie exclaimed disgustedly, “The coffee ’ere. It is ’orrible!”
    Morgan laughed. “I know. I should have warned you.” She searched her brain for the French version of sorry. “ Desolée .”
    Marie paused, apparently searching for words. She looked very pleased with herself as she said, “No worries.”
    Morgan laughed out loud. English spoken with a French accent really was delightful. “So, Marie . . . apart from our fabulous coffee, what brings you to Australia?”
    Morgan learned that Marie, having finished school last June, had taken a gap year before starting university. She was using the year to travel and so far had been through India, Thailand and Indonesia. She’d flown into Perth from Bali less than a week ago. In the days since then she made a tourist-bus dash to see the otherworldly rock formations of the Pinnacles, and on the same tour saw the dolphins come into shore at Shark Bay. During a day spent at Perth’s own island getaway, Rottnest, she’d fallen in love with the bohemian atmosphere in the port city of Fremantle. Her next stop was Kalgoorlie, then on to the Eastern States and, finally, New Zealand.
    “So, you’re