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‘I’ll be waiting outside.’
She walked up the few steps to the main front door. As she slid her keys into the lock, she turned and watched as Viktor walked away down the street, feeling that something momentous had just happened.
4
MUNICH
December 1923
On the morning of her job interview with Erhard Auer, Leila hurried along the quiet street in Munich Old Town, towards the offices of theMunich Post. She nervously checked her wristwatch, and was relieved to see she had a few minutes in hand. Pausing, she stood to admire the building’s impressive entrance – a pair of sturdy black iron gates set into a wide stone archway engraved with the wordMünchenerpost. Despite the recent attack by Hitler’s storm troopers, the building still looked imposing.
She crossed the road and gave her name to the uniformed guard.
‘Go through the courtyard and into the building on the left,’ he told her. ‘The newsroom is on the first floor.’
Upstairs, she was met by a young receptionist. ‘Welcome to theMunich Post, Fräulein Hoffman. Herr Auer is waiting for you in his office. Please follow me.’
As the young woman opened the newsroom door, Leila was assaulted by the thunderous sound of half a dozen jaded-looking men pounding away at their typewriters. They barely looked up as Leila walked past. The room was still festooned with gaudy Christmas decorations, and a few empty beer bottles lay abandoned on a desk by the door.
‘Sorry, we had a bit of a party last night,’ explained the young woman apologetically, stopping at an impressive oak door. ‘This is Herr Auer’s office.’
She knocked.
‘Come!’ said a gruff voice inside. The receptionist opened the door, revealing Auer seated behind a wide leather-topped desk.
‘Ah, our new recruit,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘Do please sit down.’
Leila nervously sat down opposite him and surveyed the room. Auer’s desk was covered with paperwork. A bookcase stretched along one wall, filled with fat files bulging with papers, and opposite his desk was a huge window overlooking the newsroom.
Auer followed Leila’s gaze. ‘All the better to keep an eye on them,’ he said, winking. ‘So…did you have a good Christmas? Or perhaps you celebrate Hanukkah.’
‘Well, both really, sir. Yes, it was very good, thank you.’
‘Perhaps I should tell you a little about what we do here at thePost?’
Leila nodded.
‘We’re only a small paper in terms of circulation and income – fifteen thousand subscribers at the last count – but we have influence, and I believe we are important. Here at thePostour current mission is to tell the truth about what’s going on in Munich. And in particular, to expose the appalling discriminatory and, frankly, frightening polices of Hitler and the National Socialists. Everyone we employ has to sign up to that purpose. Do you understand?’
Leila nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Good. Have you written much before?’
‘I wrote for the university newspaper,’ she replied eagerly. ‘I have brought a few articles with me.’ Nervously, she reached into her bag and withdrew a sheaf of papers, laying them on his desk.
He studied them for a few minutes before looking up. ‘Not bad – nice style. Bit florid perhaps. You need to learn that “less is more”.’
She frowned slightly.
‘Journalism requires brevity,’ he explained. ‘Readers have a short attention span. Give them the headline, tell them what the story’s about and then sum it up for them.’
‘I understand.’
‘What made you want to be a journalist?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know…I suppose I am interested in lots of things and journalism is a way of dipping in and out of lots of subjects, isn’t it?’
‘That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose.’
