Breakfast Menu
Mushroom Omelette
Oeufs au Jambon
Rolls & Comfiture
Coffee
I chose the Omelette over the *Ham and Eggs. A good choice – made with real eggs, flecked with tarragon and scattered with champignons. Everything about it ‘continental’, from the deep-yellow yolks to the strongly scented tarragon to the tiny wild mushrooms.
See recipe for Savoury Omelette in Cheese, Eggs and Vegetarian p.178. Add 5 or 6 mushrooms (sliced). *Breakfast dishes p.229.
For sweet version see p.180. Simple dish but needs great care. One has to be as watchful as when preparing something more complex, like crêpes suzette, or there is a danger of ruining it – most unpalatable.
Edith woke stiff and cold as the train pulled into Hamburg Hauptbahnhof. End of the line, she was practically the last person on the train. She collected her suitcase and stepped down to the platform. There was no glass between the vast, curved girders of the great arching roof. The clouds of smoke and steam from the engine billowed up into the blackness. A few snowflakes sifted down, starring the sleeve of her coat.
At the end of the platform, the Rail Transport Officer came out of his small makeshift booth, not at all happy about leaving the comforting warmth of his paraffin heater for the biting cold of the open station.
He barely glanced at Edith’s travel documents, just jerked his head towards the barrier. Edith picked up her suitcase and walked on through the cavernous station. She was to break her journey in Hamburg before going on to Lübeck. It was 05.55 by the huge station clock. She looked round the deserted station, at the signs and notices, the heavy gothic lettering, and the doubts and fears of the night journey faded. She took a firmer grip of her suitcase, heard her own heels echoing as she made her way to the main entrance. She was here. In Germany. She had arrived.
She halted. The orders hadn’t specified exactly where in Hamburg, just she’d be ‘met’. There was no sign of anybody and she had been travelling for almost two days. She was cold, tired, in need of a hot bath and coffee and not at all certain what was going to happen next.
‘Miss Graham?’
Edith turned at her name. A man in uniform was running after her. She was nearly at the entrance to the station. What she had taken to be a pile of rubbish stirred, a bundle of rags wriggled and burrowed deeper into a filthy corner. There were people here, sheltering from the cold.
‘You don’t half go at a clip. Thought I’d missed you.’ The man touched the peak of his cap. ‘Jack Hunter, ma’am. Your driver. I was in the RTO’s hut getting warm.’ He shepherded her out of the station, skirting round a frozen mound of rubble that had once been one of the towers at the main entrance. ‘Car’s over here.’
A driver. She hadn’t been expecting that. Very grand. She could hear the chorus at home, Edith getting above herself. He conducted her to a black Humber parked by the side of the station. He was tall, well over average height, bulky in his overcoat. Dark hair curled from under the edge of his cap.
He opened the boot and stowed her case and travelling bag. ‘You travel light.’
‘I’m having the rest sent over.’
‘Very wise.’
He held the rear door open for her.
‘I’d prefer to sit up in the front, if you don’t mind.’
‘Suit yourself.’ He got in next to her and started the car.
‘Would you mind telling me where we are going?’
‘Atlantic Hotel. Regional Headquarters. You aren’t due in Lübeck ’til Monday. Office is shut. Weekend, see? Miss Esterhazy booked you in here. Recover from your journey, like.’
‘Who’s Miss Esterhazy?’
‘In charge of the Lübeck office. Useful little body. You’ll be fine in the Atlantic,’ he added. ‘All the brass stay there.’
She looked out of the window. It was six o’clock in the morning, still dark, but already a few people were moving about; impossible to tell if they were men or women, just shapeless bundles, wrapped against the cold, one or two pulling little trolleys.
‘Trying to stop themselves freezing to death,’ the driver commented. They slowed at a halt sign. A hunched figure shambled past them, head swathed, shoulders white with frost. ‘Looking for work, grub, coal, firewood, anything they can sell or barter. Early birds, like. You see ’em going about everywhere lugging them little carts.’
‘Are you from the Black Country?’ Edith asked.
‘Arr,’ he grinned, broadening his accent. ‘Where you from, then?’
‘Coventry.’ Edith smiled. She liked his accent. Something familiar.
‘Got a cousin down there. Works in the Standard. Had it bad, didn’t you? Not as bad as Brum, mind. Or these poor buggers.’ He turned one corner, then another. ‘Some of it looks quite normal, especially in the dark, but them rows is just facades, nowt behind ’em. Other places? Just nowt.’ He wove down a narrow path zigzagging between hills of bricks, the headlights picking out the glitter of glass. ‘I can give you a bit of tour later, if you’d like.’
‘I’ve seen ruined cities.’
‘Not like this one.’ The car turned another corner. ‘Here we are.’
They drew up in front of a tall porticoed entrance, doorman already coming down the wide steps. There was no damage here. The Atlantic stood just as it had always done, an imposing presence. Its white stuccoed façade swept the length of a city block, banks of balconied windows faced a wide expanse of water, the Außenalster.
‘You look done in. I’d get some kip and some grub, if I was you,’ Hunter said as he got her case from the boot. ‘I got orders to pick you up at 1100 hours.’
‘Oh, from whom?’
‘Captain Adams. Intelligence. Your company is requested. Lunch at the Club.’ He touched his cap in salute and turned back to the car.
Her contact. It had started. She felt an uncomfortable flutter at the name but she was too tired to think about any of that now.
Edith was checked in by a charming German girl. An elderly porter conducted her to a pleasant room overlooking the Außenalster. She hung Dori’s coat in the wardrobe, kicked off her shoes, ran a bath. The water was hot, scented soap provided. She filled the tub and let herself float, soaking off the grime of the journey. She wrapped herself in a towelling robe and lay down on the bed.
She woke suddenly with no idea of the time or place. It took moments for the high-ceilinged room, the whiteness of the light, the thick quilt she lay under to make sense.
She ordered breakfast. Omelette. Rolls and coffee. The waiter set the tray down on the low table in front of the windows. The omelette (real eggs) lapped the sides of the plate. Edith buttered a warm white roll and poured coffee from the silver pot. Outside, the frozen Außenalster showed black through the bare lindens. The scene was monochrome, veiled by steady snowfall, it was like viewing an early film.
She was just thinking about dressing when there was a knock at the door.
‘Adeline!’
Edith stood back to let her into the room. Melted snow spangled Adie’s woollen hat and bulky, padded jacket. She smelt of cold air and smoke.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m doing a piece on the destruction of the German cities. Thought I’d better take a look at Hamburg. I just arrived on the sleeper from Nuremberg. Saw you’d checked in but thought you could do with a sleep.’
‘How did you know? I’d be here, I mean.’
‘Lucky guess,’ Adeline grinned. ‘No, not really. I called your office. Spoke to a Miss Esterhazy? She said you were booked in for the weekend. I was coming up anyway, so thought I’d look you up.’ She shrugged off her coat and took one of the chairs set by the window. ‘Nice view. I could use some coffee.’
Edith poured a cup while Adeline told her about the trials in Nuremberg, the judges and lawyers, the prisoners in the dock, her fellow pressmen and women.
‘But they might as well be show trials, given this Paperclip business. Your guys must be doing the same kind of thing?’
‘Yes. They are. They call it Haystack.’
‘Very appropriate. This from Leo?’
‘No. He hasn’t said more than he said before. Just keep an eye out for Kurt and his wife, Elisabeth, and anyone else I might happen upon.’
‘And if you do find anything?’
‘I report to a Captain Adams. I’m meeting him for lunch. I’m being picked up at eleven.’ She looked at her travel alarm. ‘I better get a move on. It’s half past ten now.’
‘So, who told you about Haystack?’ Adeline asked as Edith began to dress.
‘Will this do for lunch?’ Edith took a light-grey costume and peach silk blouse out of her suitcase.
‘Very smart. So, if not Leo …’ Adeline prompted.
‘Dori and Vera Atkins.’ Edith wriggled into the skirt. ‘Is this too tight, d’you think?’
‘No, looks fine. I don’t understand where Dori and Vera Atkins come into this.’
‘They will be working together, for War Crimes,’ Edith buttoned her blouse. ‘Hunting down Nazis to bring them to justice. Didn’t Dori tell you?’
‘Uh uh,’ Adeline shook her head and lit a cigarette.
‘Oh …’ Edith faltered. Maybe she shouldn’t be telling Adeline this either, but it wasn’t exactly a secret. Was it? ‘They’ve asked me to help them.’
‘OK.’ Adeline sat back in her chair. ‘Let me get this straight. You will be working for Leo, presumably through Adams, who is not interested in bringing these men to justice. In fact, the opposite. While at the same time helping Vera Atkins and Dori who are working for an entirely different outfit and who want them brought to account.’ She looked up at Edith, enquiring. ‘How are you going to stop Leo and co. from knowing what you are really doing? There must be some kind of censorship going on here.’
‘We’ve developed a code based on a cookery book,’ Edith said, as she went to the mirror to put on her makeup.
‘And how does that work?’
Adeline never made notes. She didn’t need to. She could recall conversations verbatim, like some kind of recording machine. She never forgot anything, slotting it all away to be checked, cross-referenced and followed up later. When she was listening like that, she had a certain look: hazel eyes wide and expectant, head on one side, curly locks twirling between her fingers. She was looking that way now.
Edith broke off from applying her makeup. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘I’m interested, that’s all. And concerned.’ She spread her hands. ‘It’s good you have a system. You never know who else might be taking a look.’
‘Like who?’ Edith resumed applying mascara.
‘Us for a start. Russians, even.’
‘Russians!’ Edith stopped, mascara brush poised. She looked at herself, startled in the mirror, one eye larger than the other.
‘Well, yeah. If we’re setting up networks in their zone, and you can bet we are, they will be doing the same and Lübeck is practically on the border.’
‘No one said anything about Russians.’
‘That’s because they don’t want you to know …’
Adeline stood up suddenly and went to the window. For a long moment, she stared out at the Außenalster, the graphite surface scarred with whorls and scribbled scorings although there were no skaters out today.
‘I can’t do this,’ she said as if to herself.
‘What can’t you do?’
Edith finished her mascara while Adeline continued to stare at skaters who weren’t there. She appeared to be weighing something in her mind.
‘You know what?’ she said finally. ‘Fuck it.’ She turned back to Edith. ‘He can send me back. I don’t care.’
‘Who? Send you back to where?’
‘Tom. McHale. To Poughkeepsie. To the Women’s Interest pages of the Eagle. He can do it, too.’ She snapped her fingers. ‘Just like that.’
‘What? But why would he want to do that?’
‘He’s not going to. He’s threatening to. Unless …’
‘Unless … What?’
Adeline sighed. ‘Unless I find things out from you.’
In the depth of her sigh, Edith sensed that she was caught between the relief of telling and disgust at her own vulnerability.
‘Things like what? What does he want to know?’ Edith asked again.
Adeline laughed. ‘Anything. Everything. Knowledge is power. Who said that?’ Adeline didn’t wait for an answer. ‘He must have heard more than we thought at Dori’s and what you were saying chimed with his new baby. His new area of interest, or one of them. He collared me after court yesterday, said if I don’t find out what you are up to for the Brits, he’ll have me back in the States before I can sneeze.’
‘Oh Adie.’ Edith made a move towards her, but Adeline gave a brisk shake of the head. Edith hesitated, then asked, ‘So what is his new area of interest?’
‘Scientists. Doctors. Involved in all kinds of nasty stuff – poison gas, biological weapons and the effects thereof. Up to now, these guys haven’t been a priority. FDR didn’t like that kind of warfare but he’s not there anymore. They sure as hell don’t want the Russians getting their hands on them,’ she paused, ‘or the British, for that matter.’
‘So they might want Kurt?’
Adeline nodded slowly.
‘What will you tell him?’
‘I’ll stall him.’ She shrugged, hands in pockets. ‘Say you don’t know anything.’
‘Well, it’s the truth isn’t it?’ Edith’s laugh had a nervous edge to it. What would happen if, and when, she did?
Adeline caught her sudden apprehension. ‘This is a dangerous game, Edith, but you don’t have to get mixed up in it. You don’t want to be caught in the middle. You can walk away from Leo. Dori. Me. Go to Lübeck, get the schools going. That’s enough.’
‘Well, I am, aren’t I?’ Edith said quietly. ‘Caught up in it, I mean. I can’t see how I can back out of it now.’
No suitable job for a woman, isn’t that what they said? Adeline had taken no notice; she’d fought them all. Now, all she’d worked so hard for, all she’d achieved, could be undone in an instant, tossed aside as if it had no worth and she’d be packed back to where she belonged, reporting on fashion and flower shows. Edith couldn’t be responsible for that. Besides, Adeline’s reports gave a voice to those who would otherwise have no voice at all. She’d added names and faces to the bald, bloody statistics of war. She would do the same to the aftermath. Expose the venal weakness, cowardice and culpability of the men in the dock at Nuremberg. Tell the stories of the vanquished Germans and how they lived now.
‘We’ll work something out,’ Edith took Adeline’s arm. ‘Throw him a bone, every now and again, like Dori says.’
They laughed. Nevertheless, the sudden shrilling of the telephone made them both jump. Edith picked up the receiver, half expecting some sinister voice, British, American, even Russian.
‘Frau Graham?’ The voice was German, light and female – the receptionist. ‘Your driver is here.’