Falling Walls (III)

Chapter 26

"Good morning, Mrs Herzig. Good morning kids," Mrs Ludwig, Tom's receptionist, a friendly and by the looks of it neat employee, who appeared to be in her mid-fifties, greeted us as we passed through the entry hall toward the office. With anticipation I pushed the door open just to find the room in the exact same state as it had been the day before, minus the recycled paper and rubbish in the bins which had been emptied. The stacks of documents on both desks were untouched and the pens neatly stacked into their holders. The jacket Tom had worn to the office the morning before had been moved from the chair at the coffee table onto one of the coat hangers on the rack near the door. Most likely the cleaner moved it but I decided to check with Mrs Ludwig.
"Tom had an early meeting today, has he been in this morning at all?" I lied, not wanting anyone to know that something was off.
"No. I haven't seen him since yesterday when you left. Will he be back in time for his ten am meeting?"
"Oh, ehm, I'm not sure," I replied honestly, getting more nervous by the minute. Where was he? "He had to rush out this morning. Something urgent had come up."

Back in the office, the kids had made themselves comfortable around the coffee table, feet up, playing on their tablets. I tried to call Tom again, without success. I wrote him a text message while the computer on my desk fired up. Then I also sent him an email, pleading with him to talk to me or at least let me know that he was fine. I needed distraction and so I went through my mails and prepared some fundraising strategies. Surprised that I actually did get some work done, the ringing of my phone brought me out of my work flow. It was my mum, again.
"How was your evening, mum?" I tried to sound as cheerful as possible. "It was lovely. Thank you. How was yours?"
What to say? I needed to tell someone but I wasn't quite sure if my mum was the best person. And so I kept Tom's absence and our argument to myself.
While my mum was still on the phone, telling me enthustically about her day with her friend, the office phone rang.
"I need to go, mum," I hastily apologised, holding out all my hopes that Tom was on the other line. He wasn't. Instead, his receptionist was asking again whether Tom would make the ten o'clock meeting, as the prospective new customers were waiting in conference room three. I had no idea if Tom would make it and the uneasy feeling that more than Tom's feelings might have gotten hurt the night before crept over me.
"I'll be there in a minute," I promised, hoping deep inside that Tom wouldn't ditch a meeting over his emotional turmoil. But then again, I was hoping that he did. If something had happened to him, I would never forgive myself.

The kids stayed back in the office, playing on their devices, while I lead through a meeting I had no shimmer what it was really about. Luckily, one of Tom's managers was able to attend and assist me. When I returned to the office, I realised with a sinking heart, that I wasn't even expecting to see Tom there.

I was exhausted: Physically and emotionally drained. And it wasn't even midday.
"Let's go," I cheered myself on more than the kids. "What shall we do today?" I needed to get out. Sitting in that office or at home would drive me crazy.

After a day discovering more of Hamburgs beauty, I asked the taxi driver to drive past the library. I wanted to check if Tom's car was still there. It was, parked in the exact same spot as the night before.

Lying in bed that night, I checked my phone for the millionth time. Of course there was no message. I dialled Tom's number yet again, reaching only his voicemail. What if something really had happened to him? Someone would let someone know, wouldn't they. They'd call the office or who ever was his next of kin.

The next morning, I pushed aside my pride, booked tickets for the Miniature Wonderland followed by a Lunch Cruise and asked my mum if she could take the kids.
"You look tired," my mum politely stated, looking at me with skepticism, maybe a hint of concern.
I was close, so close to telling her what happened, but when I thought about it, I didn't really know what happened. If I didn't understand, how could anyone else. And it would only lead to more and more questions which were not mine to answer.

"Lots of work. It got late yesterday." I didn't even blink twice lying again and again. At times I felt like I actually believed my own lies.

I decided to go into the office again, where I managed to arrange the pick-up of Tom's car at the library. It had been a small challenge finding someone with access to a spare key but I'd managed.

"Will Tom be in today?" Mr Hellwig, one of the project mangers had come by to drop off some paperwork on Tom's desk who had apparently been waiting for those. While asking his question, staring me down, Mr Hellwig also dropped off a publication of a tabloid magazine on my desk, folded open to page five, displaying a picture of a distressed Tom storming up the corridor of the library, past rows of occupied and empty chairs. "Guess my initial gut feeling was right," he mumbled, leaving without waiting for an answer to his first question. Then it clicked. He was the manager I'd first spoken to on the phone about India.

I somehow found the strength to hold the tears back until the door closed behind Florian Hellwig. I knew it. I had known all along that this public drama would become exactly that: Public. Reading the text, it contained simle descriptions of alleged witnesses and speculations of a breakup.
Asking my friend Google, a list of the same three pictures and similar stories appeared.

While debating whether or not I should tell people, or at least someone for starters, what really happened, Mrs Ludwig called to enquire if I was willing to see a visitor: Mrs Thymann.