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

After checking her hair in the mirror of a compact, she dabbed powder on her nose and put on some lipstick. Dropping everything back into her handbag, she got to her feet. ‘How do I look?’ Ena gave her the thumbs up. ‘I wonder why he wants to speak to me on my own?’

‘He’s spoken to you on your own before, hasn’t he?’

Freda thought for a moment. ‘Yes, but… Oh!’ She took a sharp breath. ‘You don’t think he wants to talk to me about you, do you?’

‘Me?’ Freda’s question had taken Ena by surprise.

‘Yes. After you-know-what.’ Freda looked round to make sure the Wren wasn’t listening and whispered, ‘The man on the train.’

Ena knew that wasn’t the reason, but said, ‘I didn’t think of that... but you never know.’

‘See you in half an hour.’ Freda pulled a face, pretending to be scared. Her cheeks were flushed. Worried because she had been singled out, Ena thought. It was usually her that the commander asked to see about Freda, not the other way round. ‘I’ll get myself a cup of tea.’

‘Aren’t you going to wait here for me?’

‘I feel a bit peckish. I thought I might go to the canteen, get a sandwich,’ Ena said casually. ‘I’ll be back by the time you’ve finished with the commander. And don’t look so worried.’

‘I’ll tell you everything when I get back.’

In the canteen, Ena picked up a tray, took a cup and saucer from a recently washed stack, and poured tea from a big urn. Balancing the full cup, she queued for a sandwich. There was a choice of cheese and pickle or cheese and tomato. She plumped for the cheese and pickle. While she waited in the queue to pay, she overheard an interesting conversation between several women sitting at a nearby table.

‘Excuse me?’ Ena said, putting her tray down on the table closest to the women. Three of them looked up at her with mild curiosity, one with annoyance. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ Ena said, taking them all in, ‘but did I hear you say your regular hairdresser was off ill?’ The four smartly dressed women in casual but expensive-looking clothes looked at each other. No one spoke. This was not going to be as easy as Ena had first thought. ‘It’s just that I do hair.’ The annoyed-looking woman exhaled and raised her eyebrows. Ena cleared her throat. ‘And, as I shall be here again tomorrow, I was wondering if I could be of assistance?’

‘You’re a hairdresser, are you?’ a beautiful woman with hair as black as raven’s feathers and bright green eyes said, smiling.

‘Not exactly.’ The annoyed woman shook her head and, looking at Ena with indifference, pushed back her chair and started to get out of her seat. ‘I was before the war!’ Ena spat out the lie for fear it would choke her.

‘That’s different,’ the tall one said. The other women looked at Ena now with interest. The miserable one sighed loudly and sat down again. ‘If Marcel has the flu today, there’s not much chance of him being here tomorrow. We could at least give…’

‘Ena.’

‘Ena a try. I’m off for the rest of the day. Why don’t you come to Hut 23 in say, ten minutes, and have a go on me? Call it a trial run.’ Standing up, the beautiful woman offered Ena her hand, ‘Honor Brinklow. Everyone calls me Binkie.’

‘How do you do,’ Ena said, shaking Binkie’s hand.

Binkie, who looked twenty-five or six, was clearly the leader of the group. She pointed to the others around the table, who had remained seated. ‘Eleanor Woodrow, Woody.’ An attractive young woman with chestnut hair, hazel eyes, and freckles on her nose that were so pale they were hardly noticeable, put up her hand and saluted. ‘Camilla Robertson, Bertie.’ With her peaches and cream complexion, blue eyes and naturally blonde hair, Bertie looked the same age as Woody. Ena thought about twenty-two. Bertie jumped up and shook Ena’s hand vigorously, giving her a warm smile. ‘Last, but by no means least, our very own, Honourable. Lady Arabella Crofton-Dimbleby. Dibbs to all who know and love her. She is always first in the queue when there’s food in the offing, aren’t you, old girl?’

Dibbs, about twenty-five and not a natural blonde, rolled her eyes good-naturedly and smiled. She was beautiful. She should smile more often, Ena thought.

Ena tapped the door. No one answered. She tapped again, this time louder, but still no one came. She put her ear to the wood, but couldn’t hear anything, so she walked along to the front of the building. From the outside, Hut 23 looked like all the other huts. It had a low brick wall around it. The green paint was blistering off the prefabricated panels, especially where the wooden frame nudged up to them. She looked through the dusty window. A net curtain hung over the bottom half. She stood on tiptoe but wasn’t tall enough to see over the top of the net. She went back to the door and sat on the low wall.

Binkie had probably been called back to work, to do something vital for the war effort, and couldn’t get away. Since she’d been coming to Bletchley, Ena had learned about much of the work that went on in the huts. The upper class girls did the important stuff. Some of them worked in the ordinance room, map plotting, calculating and charting where the Luftwaffe were in the skies over England, or where German battleships, like the ones Madge’s Harry had scuttled, were in the sea. Working class girls like herself did more menial jobs at the Park. They worked as secretaries, cooks and waitresses, or cleaners. Jobs, Ena thought, that were just as important if places like Bletchley Park were to run smoothly.

Ena waited another five minutes and when Binkie still hadn’t arrived,