Miss Graham’s Cold War Cookbook

‘You speak as if you know him well.’

‘Oh, Jack and I go way back.’

A German attendant sprang forward to open the door for them; another relieved Adams of his cap. A female attendant came to take Edith’s coat. Adams stopped in front of an Art Deco mirror and smoothed his neatly parted creamy-blond hair. He ushered Edith into a long sitting room, taking a table by the window.

‘Let’s make ourselves comfortable shall we?’ He twitched his sleeve to expose a thin gold watch. ‘Drink before lunch? What’ll you have?’

‘A whisky and soda.’

‘Make that two.’ He didn’t look at the waiter who had arrived to serve them. ‘Nice view from here,’ he said as they sipped their drinks. ‘Very nice spot. Skating in the winter. Sailing in the summer. One of my favourite clubs.’ He glanced at the menu card. ‘Not much choice but they do a good roast beef. I hope you’re hungry.’

The dining room was crowded.

‘Sunday lunch bit of an institution,’ Adams said as they were shown to their table. A waiter brought up a cart. A domed silver dish revealed a roast forerib of beef. ‘I like mine bloody and plenty of it. The Yorkshires are hopeless and they will mess about with the potatoes.’

Despite his complaining, he accepted large helpings of everything. For a slender man, he had a good appetite.

‘What’s that?’ Adams recoiled as the waiter prepared to spoon a thick, pale sauce on to his slices of beef.

‘Semmelkren,’ the waiter answered.

‘Horseradish,’ Edith supplied.

‘No thank you.’ Adams put his hand out to protect his beef. ‘Not in my book it isn’t. Looks all bready. Ugh!’

The waiter offered the sauceboat to Edith.

‘Ich danke Ihnen sehr, es sieht köstlich.’

‘German speaker, then.’ Adams looked up. ‘You were a schoolteacher, I hear. Now with the Education Branch?’

Edith nodded.

‘Did Leo tell you much?’

‘Not really,’ Edith said. ‘Just to look out for bad hats.’

‘That’s old Leo.’ He cut into his bloody beef. ‘Nail on the head. That’s all it is, essentially.’ Adams chewed and swallowed. ‘The men we’re looking for have been devilishly difficult to spot, right from the off.’ He sawed off another portion. ‘Ditched their uniforms pretty sharpish. Found Himmler disguised as a sergeant with a patch over one eye. Minus the moustache, of course. Spotted by a sharp-eyed squaddie. That’s what you need, Miss Graham. A sharp eye.’ He put down his knife and rested his forefinger lightly on one high cheekbone. ‘As time goes on, it becomes harder to spot ’em. Melting back into the population. We have too few dedicated officers. There’s only so much territory they can cover. So much they can do. That’s why we need people like you from different branches of the Occupation: Education, Housing, Displaced Persons, interacting with the German population, keeping an eye out, an ear open. Like listening stations, if you like, each one a single beacon. Together, they create a web that covers the entire zone. Clever, what?’

Edith agreed. It was clever.

‘Some of our best pickups have come from people like yourself.’ He mopped up gravy and bloody juices with a piece of bread. ‘Close to the ground, meeting all sorts – Germans, displaced persons, expellees – they’ve all got children. They’ve also got wives. Leo’s Find the Fraus is already bearing fruit.’ He looked up from his plate. ‘Spot something, hear anything, tell us. We do the rest.’

‘What is “the rest”?’

‘Get ’em in, sweat ’em. See what they know.’ He picked up his glass, swirling and tasting. ‘Not a bad red. We’re having difficulty, quite frankly. This business depends on informers. They should be coming forward in droves, the Germans, shopping their own mothers for a packet of Players, but they’re not. We need to know why that is.’ He leaned back as the waiter cleared their plates.

‘Any ideas?’

‘Albemarle pudding, I think. How about you?’

‘I meant any ideas as to why the Germans aren’t coming forward in droves.’

‘Oh, got you. It could be they don’t trust us, which is understandable, given everything, but it could be something else.’

‘Oh? Like what?’

‘Like they’re afraid of something.’ He frowned. ‘It’s as though the people we are looking for, the Nazi bigwigs, the SS, still have influence, power over them.’ He glanced towards the German waiter gliding over to take their order. ‘I wouldn’t trust any of them as far as I could throw them.’

‘That far?’

Adams laughed. ‘Pudding?’

Edith shook her head.

‘You work for me. Find anything, this is the number.’ He put his card on the table then addressed his pudding. A light, lemony steamed sponge, studded with raisins, served with a pale sauce. ‘You’re missing a treat. This really is delicious. At least someone in the kitchen knows what he’s doing.’ He ate in large bites, scraping together the last crumbs and custard. He let his spoon clatter into his dish. He stood up, straightening his uniform. ‘Due in Herford. Time to love you and leave you. Welcome aboard, Miss Graham.’ He shook her hand as if to seal the deal. ‘Hunter will take you back to your hotel. Oh, and word to the wise,’ he leaned in closer. ‘We have to be careful who we talk to about this, who our friends are. Careless talk and all that.’

The last delivered with almost a purr. He stepped back, smiling slightly, passing a hand over his thick, pale hair. His high, wide cheekbones and narrow jaw, blunt nose and smoky, slanted blue eyes reminded her of Miss Lambert’s blue-point Siamese. Edith had a feeling he had just shown his claws.

Hunter was waiting outside on the drive. He scowled after Adams folding himself into a Mercedes roadster.

‘Gave me a rocket for not wearing uniform. Arsehole!’

Edith stared out of the window as they drove back to the Atlantic. The evening yawned. She half thought of asking the sergeant in for a drink but it probably wasn’t the done thing.

He must have seen her look in the rear-view mirror. He shook his big head.

‘Other ranks not allowed past the foyer. You can come with me if you like. I’m off to meet my wench, Kate. She’s a nurse with the Alexandra’s. Teaching me to lindyhop.’

‘Thank you, sergeant,’ Edith smiled, ‘but I think I’ll have an early night.’

‘Probably wise. I’ll be along to pick you up Monday morning, ma’am. 0800 hours.’

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