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

When the morning tea break was over, Ena discussed the work order, and what needed to be done, with her friend, Madge Taylor. Madge was the forewoman in charge of a hand-picked gang of women engineers. Some of the women were local, and some had worked for Williams Engineering in Coventry and relocated after the factory was bombed. The women worked hard, often on difficult and complicated jobs, and the hours were long and unsociable. But when they were working, Madge was working – and so was Ena.

Ena returned to the annexe. Freda still hadn’t arrived. She picked up the letter Freda had received that morning, turned it over, and read the back. The Lady of Liverpool Ferry Co. A new customer, she thought. Well done, Freda. She hadn’t been getting as much work of late. Ena dropped the envelope on the counter by Freda’s desk. It landed with a thud. Heavy, she mused.

‘Did Freda ring when I was on the factory floor, Mr Silcott?’

‘No. Has she got anything that needs attending to today?’ Wondering what was in the envelope, Ena was only half listening. ‘Ena?’

‘Sorry… Yes. The work for Beaumanor that she finished on Friday. She was going to deliver it today.’

Mr Silcott pushed his chair away from his desk. ‘I’d planned to go up there one day this week. So, as I have a full tank of petrol,’ he said, grinning like a child with a new toy, ‘I’ll take the work up. You’ll be all right on your own for a couple hours, won’t you?’

‘Of course. I’ll get a sandwich from the canteen for my lunch, while you’re here.’ Ena took her purse and left her boss telephoning Beaumanor.

When she returned, Mr Silcott put the invoices in the top drawer of his desk and took out the key to the safe. ‘Give me a hand, will you, Ena?’

Ena left the sandwich on the counter by Freda’s desk and went over to the safe. Mr Silcott handed her the key.

When she had unlocked it, he lifted the heavy lid and Ena took out Freda’s work. Placing the large box on Freda’s desk, Ena helped Mr Silcott to put the lid back in place. The bunker was empty, but Ena locked it and returned the key to the top drawer of her boss’s desk.

When Herbert Silcott left, Ena got on with her work. She took the chamois leather bundle of precision tools from her toolbox and marked up the first of several dials. She had been working for less than two hours when she heard the lunch bell ring, followed by enthusiastic chatter as the women went past the door of the annexe to the canteen.

Any other day, Ena would have joined them, but she wasn’t in the mood today. She was hungry, and since she had put her tools down, decided to eat her sandwich. Where had she put it? She looked around and spotted the white paper bag containing the cheese and pickle sandwich on the side, where Freda worked. She got up and retrieved it, put the kettle on at the same time, and waiting for it to boil, ate half the sandwich. Refreshing the tea pot, Ena picked up Freda’s letter. She weighed it in her hand and put it down. Something about it bothered her.

Finishing her sandwich, Ena tried to work, but she couldn’t concentrate. There was only one thing for it. She would see what was in the envelope addressed to Freda.

Ena heard the women returning to work after lunch and waited. When it had been quiet outside the annexe for some minutes, she crossed the room and opened the door. There was no one in sight and the only sounds she could hear were the thumping and grinding of heavy machinery coming from the factory floor.

Satisfied that she wouldn’t be disturbed, Ena closed the door and went over to the envelope. If she hadn’t told Herbert Silcott there was a letter for Freda, she would have opened it in the usual way, pretending later that she hadn’t realised it was a personal letter for Freda. She filled the kettle with the last of the water from the jug, lit the gas under it, and waited for it to boil.

It felt like an eternity, but eventually steam drifted out of the kettle’s spout. Ena lifted the envelope and held it close to the increasing vapour. She watched the adhesive on the edge of the flap start to bubble and the ends of her fingers redden from the scalding steam. She was about to drop the envelope when the mist of minute water droplets moistened the bond fully and it gave up its tacky grip.

 Laying the envelope down on the flat surface, Ena picked off rapidly drying gobbets of glue. One speck of dried glue, however small, and Freda would know the letter had been opened. With the flap of the envelope in near to pristine condition, Ena eased out its contents.

Ena caught her breath, unable to believe what she was seeing. She was holding three one-way tickets to Ireland on the Lady of Liverpool ferry for the week after next. Carefully she opened each of them. The first was in the name of Freda King, the second Walter King – Freda’s brother – and the third Mr H. Villiers. Ena let out a sigh of relief. The ‘H’ who wrote to Freda was called Villiers.

After making a note of the ferry’s name, the time and date of its departure from Liverpool and the arrival time in Ireland, Ena returned the tickets to the envelope. Taking a jar of paper glue from the stationery cupboard, she carefully brushed the adhesive along the top of the envelope. As if she were staying within the lines of a child’s drawing, she took care not to go beyond the line where the previous glue had