The 9 by Madalyn Morgan (tools of titans ebook .txt) 📕

him in. She handed Mr Bradshaw half a crown, he rang up 1/-3d on the till and gave her the change. ‘Would you leave it in the alley for me?’ She skipped out of the shop before Mr Bradshaw had time to refuse.

During the day, Mr Bradshaw chained and padlocked new and used bicycles in a metal bike stand bolted to the wall. After six he took the bicycles into the shop, leaving the stand empty for people to park their bikes if they were going to the pictures or to a dance at the Town Hall.

With the shortage of petrol, bicycles had become the most popular mode of transport for the young people of Lowarth. Leaving your bike in the street after dark often meant it would end up at the gates of Bitteswell, or Bruntingthorpe aerodrome, but with Mr and Mrs Bradshaw living on the premises, the alley running along the side of the shop was one of the safest places in Lowarth to leave a bicycle at night.

Mrs Crabbe’s Café was on the other side of Market Street. Ena could see Freda sitting at a table by the window. Ena waved as she ran across the road, but her friend was miles away and didn’t see her. They had half an hour to kill before they needed to be at Mr Silcott’s house, and ordered two cups of tea and two scones with margarine.

Refreshed, the two friends left the café arm in arm. Crossing Market Street, they followed the road round to George Street, and turned onto Coventry Road. The Silcott house was the fifth house on the right.

The pebble drive arced in a broad sweep to the front door. On either side of the door there were large bays with diamond-shaped leaded windows. On the left of the house was a garage with what looked like a flat above. Living quarters for a chauffeur, Ena thought. The Silcotts didn’t have a chauffeur, but Mrs Silcott had aspirations.

The large detached house stood in an acre of neatly mowed lawns, those on the side and front of the house visible from the road. The back lawn, Ena remembered from having visited the house on previous occasions to collect the wages, was surrounded by colourful flowerbeds and evergreen shrubs.

Freda lifted the brass doorknocker and rapped twice.

A few seconds later, Mr Silcott opened the door. ‘Good morning, ladies. Come in,’ he said, leading them into a large sitting room. ‘Please, sit down.’ He showed Freda to an armchair, Ena to the settee, and sat in the remaining armchair himself.

‘Goodness, where are my manners?’ he said, leaping out of the chair. ‘Mrs Silcott usually sees to the refreshments, but she stayed in Coventry last night with her parents. Would either of you like a cup of tea?’

‘Not for me, thank you,’ Ena said. ‘I’ve just had tea at Mrs Crabbe’s.’

‘Nor for me,’ Freda said, ‘but I’ll make you a cup if you’d like one, Herbert?’

Ena saw a band of scarlet creep up Mr Silcott’s neck. ‘Thank you, Freda, but I have to go to the factory to see how the builders are getting on before I return to Coventry, so I had better not.’ He looked from Freda to Ena. ‘I understand your visit to Bletchley was a success.’

Freda took the order form for the next job out of her handbag and, after giving Mr Silcott a short summary of the meeting with Commander Dalton, pressed the document into his hand.

‘Thank you.’ He scanned the worksheet and fabricated a frown. ‘More work for you, Ena. I don’t know what we’d do without you.’ Ena sensed Freda stiffen, and ignored her. Crossing the room to a mahogany bureau, Mr Silcott took a key from his pocket, unlocked the pull-down top, and placed the papers inside.

As they were leaving, Mr Silcott thanked them again for taking the work to Bletchley and for returning with another order. He wished them both a good weekend and said, ‘See you on Monday morning, Ena. Come in at nine, will you?’

 ‘Nine o’clock,’ Ena confirmed, and said goodbye. Freda walked on without her. Ena ran to catch her up. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘Nothing,’ Freda pouted.

‘I don’t believe you. You’re mardy because Mr Silcott asked me to go into the factory on Monday and didn’t ask you.’

‘I’m his assistant! It should be me going into work on Monday, not you.’ Freda sniffed. ‘Herbert always asks you first these days.’

‘No he doesn’t. I’m only going in on Monday because we have a job order from Bletchley, and it’s me who does their work.’

Freda shook her head and walked on. ‘He doesn’t think I’m capable of doing your work.’ Ena didn’t comment. ‘But I am! I do all the stuff for Beaumanor, and it’s just as difficult as the work you do for Bletchley.’

Ena needed to assure Freda that she was important to Mr Silcott. If she didn’t, their evening together in Rugby wouldn’t be much fun. ‘Of course you could do my job. As his assistant, you could probably do his job. Oh, come on,’ Ena cajoled, ‘don’t let’s fall out about work. I expect I’ll be up to my elbows in muck and dust, and opening boxes.’ Ena tutted, linked her arm through Freda’s, and jollied her along.

‘Sorry, Ena. I’m not blaming you. I was just saying that’s all…’

‘I know. Freda, how fast can you run in those heels?’

‘Why?’

‘Because the bus is coming.’

Running and waving their arms to attract the driver’s attention, Ena and Freda flagged down the bus and jumped on. Out of breath, they clip-clopped their way down the aisle to the back and joined their friends, Madge Foot and Beryl Clark.

Except for Freda, the friends left Rugby Granada Cinema in tears. ‘Wasn’t it sad when Cathy died?’ Ena said.

Beryl sighed. ‘If only Heathcliff had come back sooner.’