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

as it slowed down before coming into the station. She looked across the concourse to the ticket office. Mr Silcott was next in the queue. She watched him bend down and speak into the round porthole in the glass window. Above him the clock said 9:40. They would make the 9:45 to Bletchley.

Ena stepped back from the platform’s edge as the hissing train clunked to a halt. Before steam from its engine engulfed her, she looked at the ticket office again, expecting to see Mr Silcott. He wasn’t there. She scanned the concourse, looked up and down the platform, but he was nowhere to be seen. Probably in the lavatory, she thought.

The reinforced suitcase containing her work was heavy. She swapped it from her right hand to her left, and rolled her right shoulder. Going to Bletchley Park with the boss made her feel important. And thinking about her work; the rotors and the complicated wiring, the casing on the X-board that only she was trusted to fit, made her feel even more important. Nervous too. Her stomach was doing cartwheels. She wished Mr Silcott would hurry up.

Ena swapped the suitcase back to her right hand, looked through the steam and rain, and there he was. In his camel coloured overcoat and brown trilby, Mr Silcott was coming out of the Gentlemen’s lavatory.

‘Here we are, miss,’ the station porter said, opening the carriage door. ‘Can I take your case?’

‘Thank you, but I can manage.’ Ena hitched the string of her gasmask box further onto her shoulder and, holding her handbag in one hand, the suitcase in the other, struggled up the steps.

Standing in the doorway of the train, she let her handbag fall to the floor and put her hands up to shield her eyes from what was now heavy rain. Mr Silcott was running across the platform. She needed to attract his attention so, putting the case down gently, she waved out of the window with both hands. He was looking down, and didn’t see her. Shielding his face with one hand and holding the brim of his hat with the other, he turned his back to the wind, as she had done a few moments earlier. Then he wrenched open the door at the other end of the carriage and disappeared inside.

‘Well I never!’ the elderly porter said. ‘He’s in a blinkin’ hurry.’

‘He is, isn’t he?’ Ena frowned. ‘I shall have to cart this heavy case all the way to that end of the carriage now,’ she said, turning and almost tripping over it.

‘I’ll pop it along for you, miss,’ the old man offered, ‘Won’t take me a minute.’

‘It’s very kind of you, but I’ll be fine.’ The old man touched his cap in a friendly salute and slammed the door. The train clunked off its brakes and hissed, before beginning its journey south.

Winding the string of her gasmask through the handles of her handbag, and putting it over her head, Ena picked up the suitcase. Using both hands, she heaved the case along the narrow corridor, resting it every now and then on her knees to peer through the windows in the compartment doors.

In the last compartment, she spotted Mr Silcott sitting by the window reading his newspaper.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Ena pulled open the door. ‘Thank goodness I’ve found you.’ Hauling the suitcase into the compartment, she stood it down beneath the window, flung off her handbag and gasmask and, exhaling loudly, dropped onto the nearest seat. ‘Oh!’

The man looked up from his newspaper, his fair eyebrows raised with surprise. ‘Hello.’

‘Hello?’ Ena felt her cheeks blush with embarrassment. The man sitting opposite her was not her boss. Ena studied his face. His square jaw, blond hair and pale grey-blue eyes looked familiar. She had seen him before, she was sure she had, but where?

The man picked up his paper and shook it open. Ena leaned forward to read the front page. “AT LAST THE YANKS ARE HERE” and “IKE WILL SHOW HITLER”.

‘About time too!’ the man said. Ena jumped. Embarrassed again, because looking at his paper felt as if she’d been looking over his shoulder. ‘Mind you,’ he continued, ‘if the Japanese hadn’t attacked the US Naval base at Pearl Harbor in December they might still be dragging their feet.’

Ena nodded. She supposed he was right. ‘Excuse me, but do I know you?’

‘You don’t know me exactly, but we have met,’ the man said. ‘You were with a friend. A fair haired young woman.’ Ena had no recollection, and smiled through a frown. ‘It would have been on this train,’ he persisted. ‘Of course, it wasn’t actually this train,’ he laughed. ‘What I mean is, I go down to my company’s head office in Bletchley every Friday, often on the 9:45, so if we have met, it would have been on a Friday and at around this time.’

The only female Ena travelled to Bletchley with was Freda. She traced back in her mind the times she and Freda had been to Bletchley. They had spoken to so many people... Then she recognised the man. He had spoken to them. At least he had spoken to Freda. Been quite pally, if memory served. Ena thought for some minutes, and then said, ‘Yes, I do remember you. It was a long time ago.’

‘I suppose it was. Time flies, doesn’t it?’

Distracted, wondering where Mr Silcott was, Ena nodded.

‘You look worried. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘No, it’s all right. I saw my boss get on the train at this end of the carriage and, as this compartment is the nearest one to the door he boarded by, I thought he would be in here.’

The man dropped his newspaper onto his lap and opened his arms. ‘No one here but me,’ he said, looking around the compartment.

‘I can see that!’ Annoyed