The 9 Madalyn Morgan (best romantic novels in english .TXT) 📖

The journey back to Rugby was what the clerk in the ticket booth called Sunday service. ‘Not only slower than usual, the train waits longer in each station, but the benefit,’ the shiny cherubic-faced man beamed, ‘is the time of day you’re travelling. On a Sunday, at this time of day, you’ll get a seat. They’re all having their Sunday dinner, you see.’

The clerk was right. Ena found a seat in the first compartment. The only other occupants, two women, were both reading magazines. They looked up at Ena and smiled when she entered, quickly going back to their reading.

Putting her case on the overhead rack, Ena settled into her seat and took her notebook from her handbag. Reading it, Ena felt disloyal to Henry and Freda. She’d noted the way they behaved to one another, concluding with the observation that Henry had taken Freda to tea, which led to Freda hoping for more from the relationship than Henry was willing to give.

Mm… Ena still wondered why neither of her friends had mentioned going to tea. A thought crossed her mind and her heart took a dive. Was Henry ‘H’ who had been writing to Freda? What a ridiculous idea! Just because Henry’s name began with H. Millions of people’s names began with H – Herbert Silcott and Horace Dalton to name but two. Ena stifled a giggle, dismissing Horace Dalton, but Mr Silcott? The factory had once been rife with rumours about Freda and the boss. Perhaps they were true.

How long had she known Freda, and what did she really know about her? Ena cast her mind back. Freda had been working at Silcott Engineering for at least six months when Coventry was blitzed in November 1940. At a guess, she had begun working at the factory in May of that year, making it three years since they became work colleagues. But it wasn’t until after Coventry, when they went to Bletchley together, that they became friendly.

Friendly? Freda appeared to be very friendly with the man on the train who, in 1942, poisoned Ena and stole her work. But being friendly – laughing with someone – doesn’t necessarily mean you know them. Thinking about it, Freda couldn’t have known the man. He later tried to strangle her.

Ena thought back to that terrible day, the day she had killed the man attacking Freda. Freda had shown herself to be a real friend, taking control of the situation, insisting Ena stay in their compartment while she went back to see if the man was alive or dead. Freda was convinced that if Ena hadn’t stopped him, the man would have killed her, and then Ena. And when she told Commander Dalton, he agreed with Freda that Ena had acted in self-defence.

Freda kept Ena’s shocking secret and they had become good friends. Freda had told Ena about her uncle in Northampton. Her brother Walter in the army. How she had lost her father in the First World War, and her mother dying... Thinking about it, Freda had confided in Ena much more than Ena had in her.

Ena hadn’t told Freda much about herself at all. She had told her about meeting Henry, and that he was an old boyfriend of Bess’s, and about meeting Ben. Not the circumstances in which she had met either of them, just that she had. Strange, she mused. Not that Freda had met Henry and Ben, but that she hadn’t told Ena that she knew them.

Herbert Silcott: Ena had written NO next to his name. She skipped to Henry Green. She was positive Henry had nothing to do with spies or sabotage. Henry Green, involved with someone who was capable of poisoning her? Never. There was something he was keeping from her though, or why hadn’t he told her that he knew Freda, and that Freda was fond of him?

Ena read what she’d written about Henry the first time she met him at Bletchley, the day her work was stolen. Henry Green was in the hut. What a shock to see him. I thought I’d have an ally, but no. He didn’t let on he knew me when I arrived with Commander Dalton. Think that was a bit fishy. He said later that if I was in some sort of trouble, he would be better placed to help me if no one knew we were friends. Hum!

At the time, Ena had thought it a reasonable explanation, now she wasn’t so sure. Henry lived in Northampton and so did Freda’s uncle – and Freda visited her uncle regularly. Henry had moved there after leaving Oxford, so he’d been there a while. Ena scanned the next couple of pages, but couldn’t find what she was looking for, or perhaps she hadn’t written it down. There had been some sort of fuss when Henry had left University. If she knew what is was at the time, she had forgotten now. Bess would know. Ena made a note at the bottom of the page to ask her.

The next name she came to was, Ben F. Johnson. She felt foolish now, but when she first met him she had underlined his name and drawn a small heart by it, which she later rubbed out. Tilting the notebook so the sun shone on it, she could still see the imprint beneath the grey smudge.

Ena read through the endless notes she’d made on Ben. Smitten by his good looks and kindness, she wrote how caring he had been in the buffet on Euston station. Most men would have run a mile if they saw a girl crying, but Ben didn’t. He gave her his handkerchief, fetched her a cup of tea – and listened to her. Ben cared. He went with her to buy her ticket, put her on the right train, even travelled with her to Bletchley to make sure she arrived safely. Ben