Lunch Menu
Barnsley Chop – two 10oz chops cut across the loin, served with Cumberland sauce*
Jam Rolypoly pudding – the schoolboy’s favourite
*Cumberland sauce (See: Sauces for Reference)
Preparation time 8–12 minutes
Cooking time: 10–15 minutes (simmer 3–4 minutes to thicken)
Serves 1–4
‘These chops are awfully good. Best I’ve had since I’ve been here.’ Bill Adams tore at the meat with his sharp little teeth, getting at the pinkish flesh near the bone. He got more catlike every time she saw him. ‘Why do they call them Barnsley Chops, d’you think? I’m sure you’ll know. With your interest in food …’
‘Named after a hostelry in Barnsley,’ Edith answered equably, although the reference to food put her on alert. ‘The King’s Head, as I recall, although others will claim it.’
‘Well, they’re damned good.’
Edith had been summoned to lunch at the Officers’ Club in Hamburg under the guise of an Education and Training Briefing. When she had tried to make excuses, Adams’ jovial tone had turned to silky threat.
‘Germans don’t seem to go in much for lamb, do they? Mostly pork, veal, that kind of thing. It’s always schnitzels, I find. All right in their place but can get a bit much, all those breadcrumbs, and I like a bit of lamb. New chap’s English. Probably explains it. Now, where was I?’ He replaced the well-gnawed bones on the plate. ‘I know. The boyfriend. Jansons?’ He wiped the greasiness from his hands and pushed his plate away. ‘The thing is, it wasn’t an accident. Head nearly severed.’
‘Oh?’ Edith tried to sound surprised. ‘The policeman said it was icy. He skidded. Lost control.’
‘That’s what they’ve been told to say, that’s what we’re putting out, that’s what her parents have been told, but,’ he shrugged. ‘Not true.’
‘What happened, then?’
‘Wire across the road. Caught him so.’ He put the blade of his hand under his chin to demonstrate, tilting his head sharply back. ‘Bike goes all over the place. She’s on the back. Thrown off. No helmet.’ He put out his hands, palms up in a gesture of hopeless inevitability. ‘We don’t want that getting out, of course. It’s an accident and always will be. She could have made a brighter choice of boyfriend, but there we are. I say – you’ve hardly touched yours. May I?’
His fork was hovering like a paw over Edith’s chop.
‘Go ahead. I’m not awfully hungry.’
‘Shame to see it go to waste, what with, you know …’ He didn’t finish the sentence, too occupied demolishing her chop. ‘Fancy any pudding?’ He looked at the menu card. ‘They do a good jam rolypoly.’
‘Just coffee.’
‘You were here in Hamburg at the weekend, so I hear,’ he said as his pudding arrived. ‘Before this sad occurrence with the unfortunate Miss Slater.’ He paused, spoon poised. ‘That couldn’t have anything to do with your Jewish friend, Harry Hirsch and his pals, by any chance?’
‘How would I know?’
‘How would he know, more to the point, I would have thought. There has to be a proper order to things.’ He gestured with his spoon. ‘We can’t have people taking the law into their own hands. There was a certain amount of it after the war, perfectly understandable, turned a bit of a blind eye, but it can’t continue. Perhaps you could pass on the message? His brother’s in Haganah, so I understand.’
‘Haganah?’
‘Quasi-military organization, out in Palestine. Want to establish a Jewish State. Aren’t too fussy how they go about it. Becoming rather a thorn in our side.’
‘Do you blame them?’
‘Not for me to judge. But Palestine is under our rule at the moment, keeping the ring between them and the Arabs could be a thankless task. Things are definitely changing, old loyalties, old allegiances dying, new ones forming.’ He dug his spoon into the suet. He looked up from his pudding. ‘While we’re on the subject, this interest in food. Let’s talk about that, shall we? Collect recipes do you? Menus, that kind of thing. Little snippets, like Mock Turtle, Barnsley Chop?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Edith looked back, keeping her gaze steady under his sudden, sharp, interrogative stare. She had to hold her nerve. He was like a sinister Bertie Wooster: his pleasant, easygoing manner always cloaking a certain level of threat. ‘I’ve been doing it for a long time.’ She smiled, spreading her hands in innocence. ‘It’s an interest of mine.’
‘Share this interest with pals at home?’ His long, slim fingers reasserted their grip on his spoon. ‘Those of a like mind?’
‘Yes. I send recipes, menus, anything I come across of interest. To my sister, Louisa, other friends.’ Edith shrugged. ‘It’s what women do.’ She held her hands loosely folded on the table. She wasn’t sure where this was going but it wouldn’t do to show any agitation. When interrogated, keep as close to the truth as possible. That was Dori’s advice. Keep up injured innocence as long as you can, then go on the offensive. ‘Why do you want to know about that?’
‘Just keeping tabs.’ He dug back into his pudding, jam oozing. ‘Wouldn’t want anything sub rosa getting out.’
‘In a recipe for Mock Turtle Soup?’ Edith laughed to underline how ludicrous such a thing would be.
‘Well, stranger things have happened.’ Adams waved his hand quickly in front of his mouth. ‘I’ll leave that for a moment.’ He put down his spoon. ‘Jam’s too hot.’
‘Probably a good idea. Jam retains heat,’ Edith observed. ‘You don’t want to burn your mouth. An interest in food has its advantages. How do you know I send recipes to people, anyway? Is my mail being read?’
‘Talking of messages, had one from old Leo yesterday. Reason for this meeting, as a matter of fact.’ He picked up his spoon. ‘He’s worried you might be getting a little, ah, out of your depth. In future, if you do discover anything, it comes to me and me only. Careless talk costs lives, remember?’ He emphasized each word with a jab. ‘Literally so in this case.’
With that, he made a fresh assault on his pudding. She was glad of his shift in attention. She used the time to smooth her expression, keep her growing agitation off her face. Did his sinister hinting mean that he knew something, or was he just fishing? What if they had decoded the recipes? Edith went cold even thinking about it. They were definitely suspicious. Time to shift the conversation. She was tired of being treated like this, anyway. Time to go on the attack.
‘I am quite aware of that, Captain Adams. I’m glad you called this meeting. I wanted to tell you in person. I no longer feel comfortable taking part in all this. I want to stop. You can pass that on to Leo. Save me the trouble.’
She had his attention now. The spoon stopped midway to his mouth.
‘Oh, why’s that?’
‘Isn’t it obvious? I don’t want my mail read and I don’t want to be spied on. Someone has been through my room at the billet more than once—’
‘Nothing to do with us.’
Edith held up her hand. ‘I haven’t finished. I resent being the object of suspicion. I’ve given you valuable information at some risk, I might add, and what do I get in return? All this. There has to be an element of trust, Captain Adams.’ She set her voice at most haughty. ‘It works both ways.’
‘No need to get aerated, Miss Graham. Point taken. Do you have anything to report? Anything at all?’
Edith sensed the tables turning. Was that a hint of desperation about the eyes, the kink of his brows?
‘I might. But I’m not sure I want to continue with this, did you not hear what I said?’
‘Loud and clear. Let’s not fall out over a spot of overzealousness. I’ll pass your feelings on to Leo. I’m sure the last thing he wants is for you to stop your excellent work. Now, might I call pax, Miss Graham? We’re on the same side, aren’t we? So what do you have?’
But they weren’t on the same side, though, were they? Not really. She felt no loyalty to him. Or Leo, for that matter. Leo was using her, had used her before and would again, if he got the chance. Right from the start, he hadn’t been straight with her. He had asked her to help find Kurt, but he had neglected to tell her the real reason why he was wanted.
‘Any news on von Stavenow, for example? Umm, Jam Rolypoly is one of my favourites.’ Adams returned his spoon to the dish. ‘Is that in your culinary repertoire at all?’
Edith ignored the question. ‘I might have a lead on Elisabeth,’ she said.
Chuck him a bloody big bone, Dori would have said. She didn’t want him circling back to the recipes. Throw him off the scent
‘Might you? You need to follow that up, Edith. Von Stavenow is definitely Of Interest.’
‘Why would that be?’
‘The things they did won’t be repeated.’ He lit his pipe, sucking in the flame, making sure it was fully alight. ‘Can’t be, not in any civilized society.’ He blew out a puff of smoke. ‘That research, that knowledge could be useful, though. In the cause of medicine, humanity, and so on. Pity for it to go to waste after all that sacrifice and suffering. As we understand it, von Stavenow was involved in some very special work and it’s important that we get to him before anyone else does. We wouldn’t want the Russians getting their hands on him. Or the Americans.’ He sucked a fresh flame into his pipe and blew out a cloud of blue, sweetish-smelling smoke. ‘To tell the truth, we’ve been a bit slow off the mark. The Americans have been beating us to the punch repeatedly, what with von Braun and all those rocket bods, stolen from right under our noses. No. We need a feather in our cap and this one is ours.’
Edith closed her eyes. The pipe smoke was making her feel nauseous. No matter how she tried to play their game, it still shocked her that there was no mention of any possibility that von Stavenow might be punished for the crimes he’d committed, the suffering he’d inflicted, for killing his own son. She thought of Elisabeth and the unimaginable agony that underlay her dark, unrelentling description of that terrible place where her child had been sent. And they wanted a man like that? There was more morality among rats.
‘I say, are you all right? You’ve gone a bit pale. Have a brandy. That’ll bring the colour back.’ He clicked his fingers to attract the waiter.
‘If you do find von Stavenow,’ Edith asked, her eyes on the swirl of her brandy, ‘what will you do with him?’
Now, perhaps, she’d find out exactly what was intended.
‘There’s a research facility in the south of England. Seat being kept warm. A couple of his colleagues there already. I don’t know what goes on there, exactly, it’s very hush, hush, but I do know it’s bloody important. Could be vital if the Ivans decide to play dirty. Nerve gas, bacteria, all kinds of nasty business. And that could happen, Edith, mark my words. Anyway, upshot is, they want the good doctor there, not skulking about here, hiding in Stephan’s shed, or somewhere similar. Or in Maryland for that matter, so any news, be sure to let me know.’
Edith thought of the vile things that Elisabeth had told her, how the brains of children were collected, harvested was the word she’d used, how they were preserved in formaldehyde, sent to Heidelberg in special containers, to Kurt’s old professor, or to his colleague in Berlin.
‘Is the doctor already in situ called Richter, by any chance?’
‘Why, yes. How did you know that?’
His blue eyes shifted from quizzical to cold and appraising. Edith toyed with her brandy, giving herself her time to think.
‘Oh,’ she said eventually. ‘He was Kurt’s boss – before the war. I think I might have met him. I’ve a good memory for people.’ She put down her glass carefully. Her mental repugnance had taken a queasy lurch into physical revulsion. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the powder room.’
She barely made it to the lavatory before vomiting. The alcohol she’d just consumed scorched her throat. She wiped her mouth and blew her nose on the hard lavatory paper. At the sinks, she rinsed and spat. The German attendant ignored her. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, her hand shaking slightly as she applied more powder and redid her lipstick. Her image was slightly skewed, the bevelled edges of the mirror refracting light.
‘I say, are you all right? You’re looking a bit dicky.’ Bill Adams stood up when she returned.
‘I have a migraine starting,’ she said, her voice sounded thick, roughened by the rawness in her throat. ‘It’s probably the brandy. I shouldn’t touch it.’
‘My wife has them. Awful things.’ His handsome feline face creased with concern. ‘Let me call your driver. We must get you home.’
Jack was most concerned, giving her aspirin to swig down with tea from his Thermos and tucking a blanket round her for the journey home.
‘That Adams is an arsehole, I told you ma’am. What did he want anyway?’
‘Oh, nothing much. Best I don’t talk, Jack. If you don’t mind.’
The pain was so bad she couldn’t think clearly. She closed her eyes. Careless talk costs lives.
She arrived back in Lübeck with the migraine thudding in her right temple, moving to the other side of her head. Nevertheless, she dosed herself with veganin and tried to stave off the pain long enough to compose messages to Dori. She had to report her meeting with Adeline and her conversation with Adams. A couple of things he’d said had snagged but she couldn’t quite recall them now. Damn this migraine, she couldn’t think straight. Concentrate on the most important things. Dori needed to know that their post was being monitored and what was intended for von Stavenow.
She picked up her pen and straightened her shoulders. Her encounter with Adams had cancelled her doubts. All thoughts of giving up were forgotten. There could be no going back. She had it chapter and verse from Adams’s own mouth. They had no intention of punishing Kurt. That was confirmed. Leo wanted him found so that he could be taken to Britain where they would use him. His experience, his knowledge was useful; it didn’t matter how, or by what vile means, it had been obtained. Dori was working with Vera Atkins and War Crimes to bring him to justice and Edith was proud to be helping them. Their work was so very important and it was a race against time now to see who found him first.
She worked slowly, stopping every now and then, her face crimping and releasing as the pain flared and subsided. The letters and numbers swam across the page in front of her but she gathered them in patiently as she carefully composed the messages she had to send.