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

I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards. Do you mind if I sneak out?’ She nodded towards a corridor and a sign with an arrow that said Hotel.

‘No, you go. When they see me, I’ll say I’ve been sitting here having a quiet drink, while I waited for my train.’

‘Thank you. I’d kiss you goodbye properly this time, but--’

‘Next time.’

‘Next time,’ she agreed. ‘And Henry?’ Ena looked into his eyes, her own smarting with tears. ‘Thank you.’ Not wanting to leave but knowing she must, Ena edged along the Chesterfield, out of the alcove, and into the passage leading to the front of the hotel. She turned back to see Henry walking towards her carrying her suitcase.

‘That would have given the game away, wouldn’t it?’ Ena went for the case’s handle before Henry had let go, and her hand clasped his. Butterflies were flying around in her stomach and her pulse was racing. She stretched up and kissed him on the cheek. He didn’t move, but bent down until his face was level with hers. Ena closed her eyes and Henry kissed her on the lips. Feeling dizzy, her heart beating like a drum, all Ena could say when Henry let go of her case was, ‘Thank you.’

The sound of raucous laughter interrupted the moment and broke the spell. ‘I had better go before they see me.’

‘Leaving me to the mercy of that lot. Shall I ever be able to forgive you?’

Ena’s stomach somersaulted and she pulled a face, pretending to frown. There was loud laughter again and she mouthed, ‘Good night,’ and walked away.

At the end of the passage, she looked back. Henry had gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Ena kicked off her shoes, nudged the door shut with her elbow and crossed the room. Throwing her handbag onto the bed as she passed, she dropped her suitcase next to the wardrobe, and sat down on a small stool in front of the dressing table. Leaning forward, she peered into the mirror. Her hair was untidy and she had cried off most of her mascara, leaving dark smudges under her eyes. She yawned. At that moment she would have given anything to pull back the sheets and fall into bed. But not with half the car park at Bletchley Park on her feet and legs.

Turning the brass keyholes on her case, Ena took out her washbag, grabbed the towel that hung on the side of the hand basin, and went to the door. She had noticed when she arrived that morning that the bathroom was opposite her room. In a second she was out of her door and, locking it behind her, was across the narrow landing. Checking the small round disk next to the doorknob, and seeing it said vacant, she pushed open the door. Inside she slid the bolt into place to show the bathroom was occupied, put down her washbag, and turned on the hot water tap.

By the time she had been to the toilet, washed her face and cleaned her teeth, the bath was half full – and very hot. She dropped in a bath salt and turned on the cold tap, swishing the water about until the temperature felt right. Then, taking off her clothes and hanging them up on a peg behind the door, she stepped over the rim of the bath and lowered herself into a half-sitting, half-laying position.

Almost immediately, she felt a stinging sensation on her knees. She sat up and, bringing her knees up to her chest, saw cuts and grazes beneath the dirt – a consequence of crawling around on her hands and knees. She took her flannel and dabbed her knees in turn until the cuts looked clean.

Ena stretched out, her legs floating until her feet touched the smooth cast iron of the end of the bath. Relaxing back, slowly, so she didn’t make the water swell, Ena lowered her body until her shoulders were under water and closed her eyes.

The water was cooling, Ena sat up and lathered the flannel. She washed herself all over, submerged her body again to rinse off the soap, and then climbed out of the bath. Aware that there were people in the corridor, other guests going to their rooms, Ena quickly dried herself. Pulling on her dress, she gathered her belongings in the wet towel, and opened the bathroom door. There was no one in the corridor, so she ran across to her room, unlocked her door, and was inside in a second. Locking the door behind her, she dropped the wet towel on the floor and threw herself onto the bed exhausted.

Ena had no idea how long she’d been asleep when a train rattled into the station and woke her. She stretched and opened her eyes. She felt lonely and a little disappointed that her friends Henry and Freda had left Bletchley. She looked at her watch. It was quarter past twelve. They’d have been gone more than an hour. Ena took off her filthy dress, which, being damp after her bath, felt cold against her skin.

Yawning several times, she put on her nightdress, switched off the light, and crawled into bed. She was bone-tired, but she was too keyed-up, too anxious, to sleep.

After tossing and turning for goodness knows how long, Ena got up, took her notebook and a pen from her case, and returned to bed. Tucking the bedclothes under her chin, but leaving her hands free, she wrote down everything that had happened after arriving at Bletchley that morning to getting back to the hotel at night, in chronological order. She wrote down what she had actually seen, followed by what she thought was suspicious.

At 3am, the events of the night blurring, Ena fell back onto the pillow. She wriggled down in the bed and pulled the blankets over her head. Five minutes later, or so it seemed, she