Morgan saw red. Kitty was getting far too personal.

"Only when I'm around you!" she shot back.

That was the first overt reference Morgan had made to the "Mai Tai Incident" since it actually occurred four months ago, back in February. It had been a steamy night in Chiang Mai and Morgan and the rest of the crew were sitting on the balcony of her hotel room, knocking back drinks. Morgan, having discovered mai tais a few days earlier, had declared them her new favorite drink and was on her fifth-or maybe it was her sixth- for the evening. As happens when steamy weather is mixed with little food and a lot of alcohol, the balcony talk turned rather lewd and she and Mark began comparing their tastes in women.

Mark, who had reiterated his well-known penchant for the busty blondes, stopped Morgan short from giving a description of her preferences. He put his arm around her shoulder. "Mogs likes them all, don't you, Mogs?"

Morgan had clinked her gla.s.s to his, nodding in agreement and saying, "Any woman . . . anywhere . . . anytime!" It was at this point that Kitty asked if Morgan had ever thought of her in that way. Morgan had given a theatrical pause during which she pointedly looked Kitty up and down. "Honey"-she waved her mai tai in front of her-"if you and I were the last two women on earth and it took two women to have a baby and the G.o.ddess herself commanded us to go forth and multiply . . . I still wouldn't do it with you." She and Mark fell about laughing, Nick took a nervous sip on his beer, and Kitty placed her drink on the table, stood and left for her room. Morgan had not touched another mai tai since, and neither she nor Kitty had mentioned that night again.

So now Morgan stood silent, watching for the reaction.

Kitty averted her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. She also took another long, controlled breath. When next she spoke, her voice was evenly modulated. "Okay, so it's happened. The question now is . . . what are we going to do about it?"

Morgan, while still wishing she had not made her last comment, was grateful it had at least quelled the tempest. Not that Kitty had actually been shouting. Her tirade had been delivered between clenched teeth, designed not to be heard through the thin walls of the compartment.

"There's nothing to do," Morgan said, finally able to give her side of the story, however weak. "She's gone. She left the train at Kalgoorlie. And I knew that when I invited her to my room."

Kitty rolled her eyes at the mention of the invitation. It suitably conveyed how brainless she thought that act had been. "And she's probably ringing the press as we speak."

Morgan shook her head. "Trust me. She doesn't know who I am. She's a backpacker who's been in Australia for less than a week. From what she told me she's been so busy she's probably not even looked at a television since she arrived, and with her new pub job in Kalgoorlie I doubt she'll get a moment to do anything but pull beers and sleep for the next month. And by then she'll have forgotten all about me."

Kitty wasn't convinced. "You don't exactly have a forgettable face, Morgan." She turned away from Morgan's gaze and seemingly contemplated the white bed sheets for a moment. "And how did you explain me suddenly being in your sleeper?"

Morgan sucked in her breath. Kitty was probably not going to like this one bit. "I told her you were one of the colleagues I was traveling with-"

"Yes?" Kitty said suspiciously.

"-who's got a ma.s.sive thing for me and won't leave me alone."

Kitty pursed her lips. With her wire-rimmed spectacles and hair tied in a loose bun it gave the effect of a woman much older than her twenty-nine years. But then, Morgan always thought Kitty looked older than her years.

"Well, what was I supposed to say?" Morgan argued. "I couldn't exactly tell the truth, could I? And . . . you could have knocked!"

"I did knock!" Kitty bl.u.s.tered. "And I called to you twice. But you were obviously too busy to notice. And I can tell you right now, you're d.a.m.n lucky it was me who walked in. There was another woman right outside your door who was probably on the verge of doing the same thing. If I hadn't been walking past, then goodness knows what would have happened."

Morgan placed her hands on her hips. Kitty was obviously exaggerating. Why would anyone just enter her room, or be hanging around outside it for that matter? Unless of course it was Marge stopping by for a late-night chat. Oh, dear, she thought. Maybe it had been Marge and she'd heard what was happening on the other side of the door. Then she'd surely have a tale to tell the girls at the club. "What did she look like?" she asked.

"Oh, about my age, about my height. About my hair color." Kitty said airily. "Not your type at all."

Touche. Morgan mentally conceded a point to her producer. But, while relieved to hear it couldn't have been Marge, she was curious to know why someone had been hanging around outside her compartment. If there had been anyone. She still didn't quite know if Kitty was just trying to cover for her own tactless action. "Did you speak to her?"

"Yes, I spoke to her."

"And?"

"And she was convinced it was her room. Of course I told her it couldn't be . . ."

Morgan listened to Kitty relate all that had transpired outside her compartment, including the fact that the mystery woman had shown Kitty a ticket with a carriage and compartment number corresponding to her own.

"So you're d.a.m.n lucky I was there," Kitty reiterated. "Because, technically, she had every right to enter."

"So, where is she now?" Morgan asked as she folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. "If, technically, she was supposed to be in my room, where has she gone?"

"I don't know." Kitty waved away the question. "When she left she was looking for a guard. Obviously they found where she was supposed to be and she's happily snuggled in for the night."

Morgan stared at Kitty, still not entirely convinced. If, as she said, this woman had heard and remarked upon the activity in her compartment, then surely it should be an issue. After all, in Kitty's own words, they "had to keep the reputation of the show intact."

"When you said you were sure my room was booked for single occupancy, did you tell her why?"

"Of course not."

"Did you tell her who?"

"Who was in the room, you mean?"

"Uh-huh."

Kitty's expression showed she was recalling the conversation. "I might have called you Morgan . . ." Her voice trailed away. "Oh, s.h.i.t."

"Hmm." Morgan nodded. It was doubtful there would be too many other Morgans wandering around the train. And with the filming that was to take place over the next few days, it shouldn't take the mystery woman too long to put two and two together. "We need to find this woman and find out just what she heard."

Kitty harrumphed. "She already made it quite clear what she heard."

"Maybe so," Morgan conceded. "But we don't know if she realized it was two women."

Kitty stared blankly for a moment, then the penny dropped and her face brightened considerably. "She may just a.s.sume there was a man." Morgan cringed at the thought, but she could see Kitty getting excited at this possible workaround to a potential public relations disaster. Her brow furrowed and she nodded more to herself than to Morgan. "And even if she thought she heard two women we can always convince her otherwise. Yes, yes. This may just work." Kitty nodded again, obviously thinking through all the implications. "And then, even if word did leak out we could still use it to our advantage."

"How do you figure that?" Morgan couldn't see any positives to that sort of publicity at all.

"Well," Kitty said blithely, "you'd still look like a s.l.u.t, but at least you'd look like a normal s.l.u.t."

Morgan was temporarily rendered speechless. In the two years since Kitty had joined the show, she had shown a tight-lipped disapproval toward Morgan's tendency to share the love around, but never before had she so blatantly voiced her opinion.

Now it was apparent that she not only disapproved of the number of partners Morgan had, but also of their gender. Morgan shouldered past Kitty. It was by sheer force of will that she managed to open the sliding door without slamming it into its cavity. "Deal with it how you want, Kitty. I'm going to bed."

CHAPTER FOUR.

Ally woke with a start. She blinked quickly, trying to focus, but her world consisted only of shadowy figures, the darkness stripping her surrounds of both form and color. Unfortunately the darkness did not also strip away sounds and smells. Over the course of the night three pa.s.sengers had formed a chorus of snorers, and yet others added a percussion of snorts and groans as they shifted in their sleep. And at surprisingly regular intervals the farter farted. The last fart was actually what had woken Ally from her doze. Obviously oblivious, he or she had let one go at high volume. As a thick, heavy odor once again a.s.saulted her nostrils, Ally pressed a b.u.t.ton on the side of her watch to illuminate the face. Jesus. She tilted her head back as far as the headrest would allow and stared at the black ceiling. It was not yet five a.m. How much longer did she have to endure this torture? Ally made a quick calculation. The train was due in Sydney at ten a.m. on Sat.u.r.day. Taking into account the two-hour time difference between the east and west coasts, she still had a whole fifty-one hours left to travel.

Fifty-one long, fart-filled hours.

Right now, Ally wished she had boarded that outrageously small plane from Kalgoorlie back to Perth. If she had, then in only a few hours she would have had her feet back on Sydney soil. She could have had a long post-flight soak in her bath and returned to the office, fresh and ready to begin work designing her Kalgoorlie executive residence. And tonight she would have done as James had wanted and donned "that s.e.xy little black number" he was so fond of. She would have accompanied him to his client dinner at the Summit, an iconic Sydney restaurant set high on the forty-seventh floor of Australia Square. The 360degree views of Sydney, the extensive local and international wine list and the innovative menu made it a venue guaranteed to impress, and it was a favored location for James's corporate entertaining. He had been slightly miffed when she announced she could not attend tonight's dinner. Especially, as he pointed out, because she didn't need to take "the slow boat" home. But not even Ally's favorite Summit dish-the wok-fried chili and black-pepper blue-swimmer crab-could sway her into changing her mind.

"There's no guarantee Josh will be feeling so generous again this century." Ally smoothed the traces of lines that had begun to appear on either side of James's mouth and kissed him on the nose. "It's only one dinner. And I'll be back on Sat.u.r.day, so we can definitely go to the charity auction together on Sunday."

James was not one to pout, at least not outwardly. Only the taut rustle of broadsheet as he nodded and returned to his copy of The Australian gave any indication he was less than happy. The subject was not raised again until the actual day of her departure. "It's going to be a long week without you, Alison." He shrugged into his suit jacket and picked up his black leather briefcase. He would be the first to leave her Croyden apartment, where he slept at least a couple of nights a week. He winked. They had made love that morning and he was in a somewhat jovial mood. "Although there's some lucky crab out there that's getting a second chance this Thursday."

Ally recalled mentioning something to James about good karma befalling her for sparing the crab. And she recalled James's scoff. Despite his post-coital levity, he still didn't believe in karma and other such "hocus-pocus."

Right now, neither did Ally. Karma, my a.s.s, she thought as she gently lifted herself from her seat. Marge shifted and so Ally stopped still halfway to standing. Luckily, Marge did not wake. Last night she had discovered the woman could talk the hind legs off a donkey. But, she also discovered when Marge finally stopped talking long enough for her to get a word in, she was a kindly woman with a sympathetic ear.

On hearing Ally's plight, Marge had clucked and tut-tutted and shaken her head in disgust. "That's terrible, dear." She patted her arm consolingly. "To think the booking office could be allowed to make a mistake like that. I should have a word with my friend, Morgan Silverstone, for you. Bless her, such a lovely woman. I'm sure she could do something to help you, dear."

Ally's ears had p.r.i.c.ked up at the name. "Morgan?" she repeated.

"Oh yes, dear. You must have heard of Morgan Silverstone. She's traveling on the train while they do some filming for Bonnes Vacances. Such a wonderful show. I watch it every week."

"I think I might have heard the name." Ally didn't watch much television-she just didn't have the time-but she had caught segments of the popular travel show once or twice. Not enough to put names to the faces of any of the presenters though. She wondered if Morgan Silver-something was the same Morgan who had effectively ousted her from her compartment and into cattle-cla.s.s h.e.l.l. Probably. Typical trumped-up mediapersonality behavior. Too b.l.o.o.d.y good to share s.p.a.ce with a plebian n.o.body such as herself. "I doubt she can do anything to help though."

Too tired to think anymore, Ally had closed her eyes and nodded agreement that Marge should indeed have a word with her superstar friend. Marge's voice continued to drift around her for the moments it took Ally to doze off. By the time she jolted awake only a few minutes later, Marge had fallen asleep. Ally pulled the thin blanket that lay over her knees to her chin and tried for sleep again. She had adjusted her seat as far back as it would go, but just as in an airplane, sleep proved impossible. In an airplane, her sleeplessness was largely due to a dread fear the tin can they were bolting across the sky in might at any moment fall back to earth. Despite the tin can she was currently in already being securely at ground level, sleep was no closer. Ally just couldn't sleep sitting up. Especially when surrounded with snores and grunts and farts and sneezes and all the other revolting noises that human beings make. She had dozed and woken countless times during the night.

Now, having given up on sleep altogether, she continued to rise from her seat as quietly as possible. She retrieved her overnight bag from the overhead compartment and hurried to the end of the carriage where the toilet and shower was located. At this hour, she was sure to beat the morning queue to bathe. And so far as the toilet was concerned, she wanted to get there before the farter came and expelled whatever was causing the continued production of noxious gases.

A hot shower did wonders to Ally's psyche. As did the fact she had taken her sweet time, shampooing her hair-twice-and for once leaving the conditioner in for the amount of minutes recommended by the manufacturer. She had moisturized every inch of her body, had cleansed, toned and moisturized her face, plucked a few stray eyebrows, finger-dried her hair and scrutinized her nails. Once they were buffed she dressed slowly, applied some perfume and left the bathroom clean, but with a lingering mix of floral fragrances. Outside, a man with a towel slung over his shoulder stood waiting. Fully aware of his impatience, Ally grinned a h.e.l.lo, flounced past him and took both herself and her overnight bag in the direction of the diner car.

As expected, it was yet too early for the breakfast service to have begun. Ally slid into one of the American diner-style booths, dug her notebook and pencil from her bag and lay them on the table. She also retrieved her mobile, tried to check her messages and realized with dismay that she was out of network range. The mobile was set aside-she would try again later-and she flipped open her notebook. Being the type that was more or less brain dead before her morning coffee, by the time she had reread the notes made the previous day, her attention had already begun to wander. She rested her chin on her hand and contemplated the view outside the window. Day was breaking over the Nullabor Plain, a vast expanse of almost-nothingness nearly four times the size of Belgium. The name was derived from the Latin nullus meaning none, and arbor, meaning tree. Rather apt, Ally thought as she gazed out to the famed treeless plain. It was also the home of the longest straight stretch of railway track in the world. A whole 478 kilometers-297 miles- without a bend. Ally wondered if they were traveling on the straight stretch right now. If so, she hoped the train driver had something to keep his wits about him. Like a nice hot cup of coffee. She turned her attention to the canteen-style serving area. Speaking of coffee . . . wasn't it about time this mob opened for business?

But no, the security grille was still well and truly clamped down. Ally sighed and for the umpteenth time since having her sleeper carriage privileges revoked, her thoughts turned dark. She pulled her notebook toward her and started scratching out a letter of complaint that would have even the mildest-mannered consumer advocate screaming from the rooftops.

Her letter was almost completely drafted when she heard the grille on the canteen lift. At the same moment, from the corner of her eye, she saw a middle-aged woman entering the diner car. In a move that ran completely counter to her usual hang-back nature, Ally slid quickly out of her booth and bolted to the canteen. She still had forty-nine and a bit hours to kill, but this particular morning she was d.a.m.ned if she was going to wait in a queue for a coffee.

Begrudgingly, she handed over one of her white drink vouchers in exchange for the coffee. She grabbed a plastic stirrer from the dispenser on the counter and was just in the middle of debating whether to take white, brown or lump sugar when she was interrupted by an "Excuse me?"

Ally decided on lump sugar and took two paper-wrapped cubes. After such a poor quality sleep she needed all the energy boosts she could get. "Yes?" she said without looking up, concentrating instead on unwrapping and depositing the lumps into her black coffee.

A hand appeared near the counter, outstretched in an offer to shake. "Kitty Bergen. I think we met last night."

Oh, great. It's you again. Ally ignored the hand, instead slowly stirring her coffee and staring into it. "Yes?" she repeated.

"I was wondering if you managed to find your compartment?"

Ally finally glanced up. Was this woman for real? "Oh, yes," she said sarcastically, returning her attention to her coffee. She took a sip and edged past Kitty, wanting only to return to her booth.

Annoyingly, Kitty followed. "Good, good," she said, either unaware of Ally's tone, or choosing to ignore it. "I'm glad that little problem got sorted out. I told my friend-"

"Morgan?" Ally offered as she sat back down.

"Yes . . . Morgan." Kitty continued, smiling a little nervously, "I told Morgan about the mix-up and she was quite . . . embarra.s.sed by the whole affair."

Ally took a sip of her coffee. It was as disgusting as the Kalgoorlie train station brew, but it gave the caffeine hit needed to sweep aside the morning fuzziness. One more sip and Ally's brain was ticking madly. Ah-hah. It seemed her s.e.xed-up not-tobe compartment companion was the Bonnes Vacances Morgan Superstar-stone . . . or whatever she was called. And it seemed she was worried she may end up in the gossip columns.

Even if Morgan had had the entire national soccer team in there, Ally couldn't care less. And she certainly wouldn't bother ringing the media about it. h.e.l.l, since her mobile phone was out of network range, she couldn't even if she wanted to. "Well, as you said, it is her compartment." Ally shrugged. "She can do whatever she likes in it"-she took another few sips of her coffee-"with whomever she likes."

When Ally glanced up to Kitty to issue her a saccharine smile, she found the woman regarding her with an oddly quizzical look. Or maybe it was just the impression given by the glow of the fluorescent strip lighting in the ceiling. Whichever it was, Kitty's demeanor changed entirely and she flashed the same too-bright smile that she had given Ally outside Morgan's compartment last night. "Actually, Morgan asked me to ask you if you would join us for lunch today."

"Oh, I don't-"

"One o'clock in the Gold restaurant." Kitty didn't give Ally time to finish her refusal. "I'll clear it so you have no trouble getting in. What's your name? I'll need it to tell the staff."

"Alison." Ally took another sip of coffee. Why did I just tell her my name? she wondered.

Kitty peered over the rim of her spectacles, looking for more information. "Alison . . . ?"

Now Ally felt like she was back at school, being interrogated by the headmistress. Again she spoke without conscious consent. "Alison Brown."

"Alison Brown," Kitty repeated, as if to commit the name to memory. She nodded, obviously pleased with her arrangements. "Well, I have to fly. I'll see you again soon. One o'clock. We'll be waiting."

Just as in her schooldays after receiving a scolding, Ally gave a defiant "yes, sir!" salute, but Kitty missed it, not looking back as she headed in the direction of the rear of the train.

Ally slid to the window side of the booth seat and again gazed out to the dawning landscape. So . . . now she was scheduled to have lunch with a s.e.xed-up superstar and a frightening flashback from school. Oh, well, she thought. If nothing else, at least I'll get to see how the Gold cla.s.s lives.

Wanting to see as little as possible of Kitty, Morgan purposely arrived late to breakfast. Late enough for Kitty to have already filled Mark and Nick in on the previous night's activities, it seemed. Morgan had hardly sat down when Mark elbowed her in the ribs. "Busted!" he mouthed, grinning.

It was while Morgan was b.u.t.tering a piece of toast that she learned Kitty had been up and about for hours. She'd been working her way through the carriages, looking for a staff member who could tell her where Mystery Woman was, when she stumbled across her in the diner car. Morgan was reaching for a pot of thick-cut marmalade when Kitty announced she had invited the woman-Alison-to lunch. "Why?" she asked, popping the lid on the jar of conserve.

"Because she was just too offhand about the whole episode- especially with her comment that you could do what you want with whomever you want," Kitty replied. "I get the feeling she was letting me know she knows something she shouldn't."

"I don't see how inviting her to lunch will change anything," Morgan argued.

"Yeah, Kitty," Mark chimed in. "What are you going to do?

Get out your thumbscrews and torture it out of her?"

Morgan snickered behind her toast.

Kitty shook her head and smiled at Mark. "No. No thumbscrews today. Because, as of lunchtime today, you are officially Morgan's boyfriend."

Mark dropped his Vegemite-smothered English m.u.f.fin. It made his knife clatter loudly against his plate. "No way."

"Yes way." Kitty adjusted her spectacles and gave her "don't argue with me" look. "It's the perfect solution. That way, if Alison goes mouthing off to anyone and this gets into the press, it'll just look like an office love affair. It happens all the time and no one will think twice about it."

Normally laid-back Mark set his lips in a thin line. "I'm sure Rebecca will think twice about it." He half-turned in his seat and said apologetically, "Sorry, Mogs. But I'm not wrecking my chance to get some a.s.s just to save yours."

Morgan nodded, needing no convincing. Mark had been chasing Rebecca-the supposedly natural blonde and supposedly naturally well-endowed studio sound engineer-for at least two months now. And she was getting very close to saying yes to a date. Apart from not wanting to interfere in Mark's love life, Morgan thought Kitty's plan ill-conceived and rather adolescent. "I don't expect you to, Mark." She folded her arms, signaling that that was the end of it.

But Kitty wasn't done. "Fine." She turned to Nick, who had been staring into his juice for the duration of the conversation, apparently trying to pretend this wasn't happening. "Nick?"

"Oh, no." Nick's head jerked up and he waved his hands in front of him. "Don't look at me."

"You're not married, are you?" Kitty asked, knowing full well that he wasn't.

Nick adjusted his long legs under the table. "No."