Page 25 of The Last Safe Place
Eyes wide, she stared at the man. The entire setup smelled like trouble, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t even warn Herr Balsen. For a moment, she considered giving a loud shout, but what good would that have done? Herr Balsen wasn’t a twenty-year-old who might manage to escape through the window, even if by some miracle he found the time to do so. So she bit her lip and nodded obediently. “Very well, sir.”
The moment the three men had disappeared into the adjoining room, she leaped up and ran to the outer door. Her hand was already on the doorknob when she paused to think. Running away would only arouse suspicion. She turned around and slipped back behind her desk, where she sat nervously at the typewriter. Her fingers lay motionless on the keys as she strained to hear what was going on behind the closed door to Herr Balsen’s office. But she couldn’t hear anything.
After a few minutes, she tiptoed to the door. Her ear pressed to the cool wood, she heard voices yet didn’t understand the words. Herr Balsen said something, then a deep voice – not Herr Schulze – answered, followed by a response from Herr Balsen which sounded highly indignant. Then came a murmur.
Leonore gave up and crept back to the desk. For better or worse, she’d have to wait for whatever was going to happen. Themeeting seemed to drag on endlessly. Her nerves were stretched to breaking point when suddenly the door opened.
Hastily, she let her fingers glide across the keyboard, evenly typing the words of a non-existent letter.
Dear Sirs,
Thank you very much for your message?—
Suddenly, Herr Balsen stood in front of her, his face a stony mask. Behind him stood the two men in civilian clothes, with Herr Schulze a few steps further away.
“Fräulein Leonore, please inform my wife that I have been arrested. I am accused of making statements critical of the regime.”
Leonore almost choked. Herr Balsen was lucky to only have been arrested on that count, as he had far worse crimes to his name. For example, allowing a Jewess to sleep in his office, and tolerating her not wearing the yellow star. For that, he could be sent to a concentration camp without trial.
It took a few seconds for her to recover to the point where she could speak again. “Certainly, Herr Balsen. Do you know where you are being taken?”
Her boss looked at Herr Schulze, who rolled his eyes. “I suppose so. To the prison on Alexanderplatz.”
“Let’s go,” commanded one of his companions, leaving no doubt they were Gestapo.
“Please lock the office when you go home tonight,” her boss added. It was clearly his way of saying it was too dangerous to stay in his office.
“Certainly, Herr Balsen. I’ll leave everything tidy.” Leonore bowed her head. The sooner she disappeared, the better.
As soon as the little group had left the office, Leonore jumped up, gathered her few belongings and stuffed everything into her suitcase. Then she gazed around the office, grabbed the half-full container of sugar and the ersatz coffee, and walked out. She was never going to return.
Once she had left the building the full extent of what had happened began to sink in: regardless of whether Herr Balsen was released from custody or not, he would no longer be able to hold a protective hand over her. She would not only have to find a new place to stay, but also a new job.
A deep sigh welled up from the depths of her chest. She didn’t have many options. There were few people in her circle of friends who could accommodate her for longer than a night or two, since most lived in cramped apartments with their families.
Who hired a Jew these days? Questions upon questions, none of which she had an answer for. As always, her first port of call was Birgit, where she could spend several days on her friend’s sofa. But Birgit wouldn’t return home from work until evening.
What could Leonore do in the meantime? She decided to leave her suitcase with an acquaintance who was at home with a small child, and then made her way to Herr Balsen’s home. She knew the address from the numerous private letters she had typed for him, although she had never been there and had only a vague idea how to find the street. She borrowed a city map from her acquaintance and set off – the star safely hidden in her coat pocket.
Grunewald was a district of opulent villas. Leonore’s heart hammered as she rang the doorbell of the Balsens’ fashionable late nineteenth-century grand home.
A maid in a black dress with a freshly starched apron and cap opened the door. “Can I help you, madam?”
“My name is Leonore Vogel, I’m Herr Balsen’s secretary. He sent me to deliver a message to his wife.”
If the maid found it unusual that her employer didn’t simply pick up the telephone, she didn’t let it show. “Please follow me.”
Once inside, Leonore gazed in awe at the magnificent entrance hall with its marble floor. She had only ever seen halls like this in public buildings or museums. How wonderful it must be to live here.
“Please have a seat.” The maid pointed to some chairs placed against the wall. “I will inform the lady of the house.”
Leonore gazed at the stylish interior and the expensive-looking paintings on the wall. It was in stark contrast to the sober, sparsely furnished office, where the only decor was the numerous stacks of books, magazines and papers.
A few minutes later, a tall, slender brunette wearing a perfectly fitting dove-blue two-piece suit strode down the stairs.
“Fräulein Vogel. How nice to finally meet you. Please, join me in the library.”
Leonore dreaded breaking the bad news to Frau Balsen. She followed her in silence, gripping her purse. Stepping into the library, her wonder continued.