Winter Goulash
A good, filling beef stew is always welcome on a night that might be spent at the Warden Post or in the Air Raid Shelter. This delicious continental dish makes a welcome change to more traditional recipes and can be made with the cheapest cuts of meat. It is simplicity itself to prepare: A pound of onions, a pound and a half of stewing steak (shin or the cheapest cut available – skirt will do) and any amount of root vegetables browned well for colour and flavour. A little flour to thicken, a sprig of thyme if you have it; salt, pepper, paprika if possible. Canned or bottled tomatoes, a dash or two of Worcestershire sauce and (my secret ingredient) a dash of Angostura. Enough stock to cover, made up from those kitchen stalwarts the Bovril bottle or the OXO cube. Simmer on a low heat or in a moderate oven (regulo 2 or 3) for two or three hours.
Warming Suppers by Stella Snelling,
Home Monthly, November 1944, No. 36, Vol. 24
In the basement, the goulash was doing nicely, potatoes baking. The canapé plates had come back empty. Time for a drink.
The screen separating the downstairs rooms was opened up. Jazz issued from the gramophone, a tune Edith almost knew picked up and whirled away by a tenor saxophone. A couple were attempting to dance but there was scarcely room to move. Men in chalk-striped suits with thin moustaches, Dori’s new friends, trailed girls with peroxided hair. Poles stood by the door smoking furiously watched by a tall old man with long white hair, sunken blue eyes and a sardonic smile under his yellowing moustache. Anton lived on the first landing and paid no rent. He supplied the paprika. He bowed to Edith, saluting with his ivory-topped cane.
The rooms were stifling, thick with cigarette smoke, perfume and body odour. Edith drifted through enjoying it all.
‘Canapés went down a treat. Come and have a drink. There are impossibly gorgeous men I want you to meet.’ Dori took her over to the drinks table. ‘This is Edith,’ she said to the young man serving. ‘Perfect genius in the kitchen and one of my best friends in the world. Get her a drink, would you, darling? Not the punch. The Poles have tipped a whole bottle of some dreadful hooch into it.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Edith. I’m Harry Hirsch.’ He reached under the table and brought out a bottle of Gordon’s. ‘Will this do?’
‘Very well.’
‘What would you like in it? Not a lot of choice, I’m afraid.’
‘Lemonade’s fine.’
He gave her a wide smile, which Edith returned. Not tall, quite slightly built, but there was a wiriness about him. Good-looking in a delicate sort of way: very pale with thick, black hair falling across his forehead in a boyish cowlick. He was probably older than he seemed at first glance. It showed in the frown marks arrowing down over his nose; the purple smudges like thumbprints beneath his deep-set brown eyes. Edith watched his hands as he poured, his corded wrists, the way the veins snaked over the sliding muscles of his forearms, the skin burnt brown, as if he had spent time in the sun with his sleeves rolled back.
‘Where were you overseas?’ she asked.
‘Oh, Italy,’ he said, ‘Egypt, before that. And Germany. Just back.’ He added a dash of flat lemonade. ‘I could add bitters to jazz it up, but it’s disappeared.’
She took the proffered drink. ‘What’s it like there? Germany, I mean.’
‘It’s a mess.’ He frowned.
‘Really? I’m due out there in a few days.’
‘Are you?’ His eyebrows quirked up, making him look younger. ‘In what capacity?’
‘To take up a post with the Control Commission. You couldn’t tell me a little more, could you? I really don’t know what to expect.’
‘Of course. Happy to.’
He rolled down his sleeves and slipped on a tweed jacket. Moving out from behind the drinks table, he took her elbow lightly and led her to a quieter spot in the throng. His grey flannels had long lost their crease, if they’d ever had one. His white shirt was open at the neck and he wore no tie. Blueish shadow shaded his jaw and upper lip. He had a slightly raffish, bohemian quality that definitely wasn’t British. His English was faultless but spoken with an accent that Edith couldn’t quite place.
‘What will you be doing in Germany?’
‘D’you know?’ She gave a rueful shrug. ‘I’m not quite sure.’
He laughed. ‘You’ll be in good company. Where will you be based?’
‘In Lübeck. Schleswig-Holstein.’
‘That’s a coincidence. I’m going there myself soon.’
‘You’re stationed there?’ Edith asked casually, hoping he’d answer in the affirmative. He really was rather attractive.
‘B.A.O.R. VIII Corps District.’ He gave a mock salute. ‘I’m a captain. Jewish Brigade. We’re conducting interrogations there. I am originally from Latvia, you see, and Northern Germany is full of DPs, displaced persons, from the Baltic countries. We have to sort them out. Sheep from goats. Good from bad.’
‘That must be difficult.’
He grimaced. ‘Almost impossible. But necessary.’
‘Some of the goats are very bad?’
‘Wolves in goats’ clothing, you could say.’ He folded his arms, suddenly serious, his dark eyes shadowed. ‘When are you off?’
‘Fourth of January.’
‘I’m due out a week later. Belgium first, Keil, then Hamburg.’ His face brightened. ‘I say, perhaps we can meet?’
‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Edith smiled, knowing that she really would.
‘Yoo-hoo! Edith!’ Dori was waving from the other side of the room.
‘Over here!’ Edith waved back. She turned to Harry. ‘I have to go.’
‘I meant it about meeting.’ He held onto her hand to prevent her from leaving. ‘CCG Education Branch. Lübeck?’
‘That’s me.’ He really means it! Edith thought with a catch of her breath. Not only that, but she will be in Germany. In that moment, she felt her life turning. This is really happening and it’s happening to me …
‘I’ll find you.’
Edith hoped he would.
‘If I don’t see you before,’ his grip on her hand tightened, ‘Happy New Year!’
His mouth was warm on hers. The kiss lingered a fraction longer than it should have. The intensity surprised them both.
‘Happy New Year.’ Edith didn’t quite know what else to say. ‘Perhaps I’ll see you in Germany?’
‘You certainly will.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I better get back to being barman.’
‘You’re a quick worker, I must say!’ Dori was at her side. She nodded towards Harry Hirsch. ‘What was all that about?’
‘I’m not quite sure,’ Edith replied. ‘I was a bit startled myself.’
‘I rather had my eye on him. But no need to worry. All’s fair and the night is young! Also, Leo’s here. Cab’s outside. Have a lovely evening, darling.’ She dropped her voice and her grip on Edith’s arm tightened. ‘Tomorrow, we need to talk.’
‘What about?’
‘Not here,’ Dori breathed in her ear. ‘Not now. New guests are arriving.’
Edith turned and nearly collided with a tall, elegant woman in a long black gown and a fur stole. She was with a curly-haired young man in evening dress.
‘Oh, I am sorry. I do apologize.’
‘That’s quite all right. No harm done.’ Vera Atkins peered closer. ‘Miss Graham? I hardly recognized you. What a transformation. Going on somewhere?’
Her eyes turned to Leo as he came through the door, shaking moisture from his hat.
‘Bloody weather! Fog’s turning to horrid drizzle. Edith? Are you ready? I’ve a cab waiting.’ He glanced at the woman by Edith’s side. ‘Vera. And Drummond. Well, well. Everyone knows everyone, hm?’
The two men shook hands.
‘Leo. How unexpected.’ Vera Atkins looked from him to Edith, her dark eyes sparking amusement. ‘How do you two know each other? Remind me.’
‘Sort of cousins. Ready, Edith?’
Leo didn’t elaborate further. Neither did Edith. Childhood friends, cousins at several removes. Sometime lovers. As children, they had been co-conspirators, although Edith had learnt to be a wary one. Leo ultimately owed allegiance to no one and there was a streak of cruelty in him. He’d had a knack of drawing her into trouble. She had a feeling he was about to do so again.