Chapter 6

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

December 17th 2001.

I still can't believe that I'm here. On my way to London to see Constantin. The last time I saw him was around my birthday and then we only exchange e-mails or spoke twice in the phone; once in mid November to convince me to come earlier to Europe, but I didn't want because I wanted to finish the term at the University and stay with the children at Father Patricio's school for as long as I could. Unfortunately, the boss there, Cucho, decided to throw out all “outsiders” and only let the school teachers and the priest. Who knows what he's doing in the moment as he doesn't want witnesses. As if I would have spoken about his deals. Also Maria, the leader of the Peronist Party didn't want us there as we were “competition” against her. As if a few Church volunteers would rob her from her precious votes! I still remember the time when they were giving only one shoe to the children so their parents will vote that party and getting the other if they were getting the amount of expected votes. It was much worse when they gave the school material for the photo and took it away, not even an hour later. I truly despise those politicians! If you're not with them and do part of what you get from your unemployment money, you're out and they make your life miserable.

The second time Constantin called me was a few days ago, on the twelfth, to order me (literally) to take a plane with his man, Mikhail Massaiev to London. I tried to reason with him telling him that I still had to sit for my tests, but he didn't want to hear anything. “You'll present them in March, Guntram. I want that you come to England as latest as the seventeenth.

“Constantin, I can´t drop everything like that! We agreed that I would go in January!” I protested but he's like a rock.

“You said that you wanted to come in January and I said that I would consider it. One of my men, Mikhail Massaiev will pick you up in two days. Be ready or you can forget all what I told you. Remember what we spoke about in October.”

“Be reasonable, Constantin! You know I'm very keen on you, but this is too much!”

“Guntram, I thought you loved me as you told me several times, but your refusal proves me that you're not willing to commit yourself to me. Have I ever done something against your wishes? Did I ever do something to betray your trust?”

“Constantin, it has nothing to do with you! I just need some time to organize the things here! You know I want to try it!

“Then, come here with Mikhail. He will take care of everything.”

“I have a Macroeconomics test on the fifteenth!”

“You can use the sixteenth to pack and gather your papers. You take the plane on the seventeenth and that's final Guntram.”

“Constantin…”

“Guntram, you're delaying things as usual. We said December and now you try to shift it to January.

Enough is enough. Why do you want to stay there?”

“All right, I'll come. You win,” I replied because I didn't want to answer his question.

“Angel, your indecision is a slow torture for me. One day you jump to my neck, tell hundreds of love words and on the next you pour a bucket of cold water over my head. We agreed that we would be always truthful to each other. If you don't love me any more or have second thoughts about us then, say it to me and we will continue as friends. No ill regrets between us.”

“Constantin, you know it's not like that. I trust you with all my heart! You're the first decent person I've met in my life…”

“Why do you always have an excuse?”

“I'm confused,” I confessed finally. “It's too big for me.”

“Why? It's only coming to London for the holidays and then, you go with Mikhail to Italy. I don't know if I could be able to join you there. We will meet again in Paris, around the end of March. If you're afraid of the intimacy, rest assured that the house is big enough so we can lead separate lives. Do you prefer to be in a hotel, my angel?”

“No, it's not that! I like being with you! It's just…”

“Just?”

“I'm not sure that I would meet your expectations,” I blurted and a long silence was over the phone. I held my breath because I had confessed what a dork I am.

“Guntram, stop reading books or asking your school friends for sexual advise, or at least, ask to those who know,” he retorted very dryly. “My own experiences with you had been excellent so far.”

“How do you know it?” I asked mortified, well, dead of shame.

“Because I know you and I can well imagine the scene. You asking your best friend what he knows about gay sex and he telling you that it's demeaning, that you're going to be permanently the passive subject; that you will end your days performing oral sex to decrepit old men in public WC or that you'll catch AIDS and suffer a horrible death.”

More or less what Fefo told me without the passive subject part.

“Let's do not forget the part when you start to speak like a woman, dress in funny costumes and attend the gay parade and fight with a drag queen over a headpiece made of parrot feathers.”

I gulped. “I'm not going to wear feathers,” I said almost inaudibly.

“Dear, nothing is as they tell. There are many myths around. We both enjoyed our time together and why shouldn't it be like that any longer?”

“I don't know.”

“Exactly, you don't know. Let me show it to you. If you don't like it, we stop. We both want to have a good time together, right?”

“Yes, Constantin. You're right. I'll go.”

“Excellent. Mikhail Petrovich will see you on the fourteenth and accompany you to London. We'll see each other on the 18th or 19th.”

Just like that, he hung up on me.

Exactly as announced, the famous Mikhail Petrovich was at my doorstep on the 14th at 10:30 in the morning. He's not a bad guy. Very tall and big, square jaw and terribly serious. I think he might be around his fifties or maybe more, but I'm not sure. Grey eyes and chestnut short hair, informally dressed, as he was coming to the Pampas. First, I was intimidated by his presence and the fact that I only had some tea and cookies to offer. He said nothing and drank it without making a single remark. He looks very aristocratic if you ask me. He wanted to know about my education, beliefs, religion, the places I want to visit in Italy, if I speak another language besides Spanish, English and French (I'm not a bloody parrot!)

Finally, he wanted to check on the things I was planning to take to London, while I wanted to get rid of him so I could study some more. I think he realised and offered to leave me alone, as he “had seen me long enough to know what was suitable for you” and he would see me again, on the sixteenth at 9 a.m. at his hotel; the Alvear Palace as the good shops were nearby

Needless to say, I was at 9 a.m. on the sixteenth, at the hotel's lobby where he was already waiting for me, dressed in a good summer suit when the outside temperature was announced to be over 30º C.

“You're punctual. That's a sign of good breeding. Did you have breakfast?”

“I drank some tea in the morning, sir,” I replied exactly as I was doing when the Headmaster was around.

“We will take something light then. My table must be ready.”

I was glad to be dressed with the “job interview clothes” because here they will not appreciate the

“Public University student's look” and his face at seeing my llama decorated sweater was a good enough to convince me to drop it for the time being. It was surprising to find so many silver cutlery around the table. The maître here sucks if he can't distinguish breakfast from lunch and throws everything they have around a mountain of dishes piled up in front of you. I did my best to hide my annoyance at such gap of etiquette. I mean, they charge you crazy prices and can't they afford to pay some protocol lessons to the one in charge of the monkeys' army? I took what I needed once the black bird served some omelette on a dish (on top of the other three) I noticed a brief smile from the Russian and he made a discreet sign to one of the butlers, who quickly reorganized the table, this time properly.

“I understand you're part of the Guttenberg Sachsen family. Do you have any contact with them?”

“I believe my grandmother was named Guttenberg Sachsen and that's my second last name. I generally don't use it as I know no one from that family.”

“Yes, if I were a de Lisle, I wouldn't bother to use it. It's enough to carry six hundred years of French history on my shoulders. Your grandfather was the Vicomte de Marignac, wasn't he?”

My father never said anything about my family at all. He only spoke about my mother and all this aristocratic jumble seems very far fetched for me. I mean, for some unexplainable reason people love to hear that you were born with “blue blood”. “I don't think so, sir. My father never mentioned anything in that sense. I was very young when he passed away and I had no other living relatives left according to my legal tutor.”

“Very well, have you decided what you would like to visit in Italy? I will be your mentor there.”

Mentor? He looks like an elegant tank, not like a professor. I stared at him.

“Mr. Repin showed me part of your work and told me about your interests in Renaissance painting. I suggest that we stay in the north part of the country.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“You may call me by my first name, Guntram. We are going to travel together. My family was also living in France for a long time after the Revolution. My mother was a good friend of Mr. Repin's mother and she helped us when my father died in the Indochina War and I was a small child. I made career in the French Army and in the Foreign Service, stationed in Moscow till I quit after the fall of communism. Since then, I work for Mr. Repin.”

“I'm sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. It was a long time ago,” he said affably. “We will take a British Airways flight, tomorrow at 3:00. It arrives early in the morning. I have noticed that you're not well prepared for the cold weather. We need to get something for you today before you catch your death in Heathrow.”

“I have a jacket, sir. Mikhail, I mean.”

“It's very light in my opinion. There are some stores around.”

“I'm afraid I cannot afford them.”

“It's an advance from your scholarship, Guntram. I'm afraid that what you were wearing yesterday is fine for here but totally inadequate for Kensington or Belgravia. I understand that Mr. Repin wants to introduce you to several Art dealers. There's one very interested in that series of nudes painted on newspapers. He has several customers for them and offers £6,500 for the whole lot.”

“Excuse me? Those were for the trash!”

“I admit that your choice of support material is eccentric, but after they were well framed, they looked very well in the gallery and arose some interest. In my opinion, £6,500 is a low price considering that you're only obtaining £250 per each painting and I've heard the marchand is offering them for £500 a piece, and he has sold several.”

“I can't believe it,” I whispered and he smiled at me.

“That's the reaction Mr. Repin told me to expect from you Guntram. They're very nice and the sanguine is difficult to master properly, contrary to popular belief.”

“It's the cheapest, sir.”

“Who was the model?”

“No one I know. A dancer in Plaza Francia. I sketched her from live on the newspaper I had that day and later made the drawings at home. Mr. Repin bought the box in which they were in for 50 pesos. He should keep the money because it's his.”

“All right, we will not speak about it any more. We will get you something more appropriate for the first week on that money. Mr. Repin still jokes that if he would have known that he was going to make money so easily with you, he would have forced you to go into his plane with a gun,” Mikhail told me very seriously and I laughed at the ludicrous idea.

After breakfast he took me to “Rhodes”, the shop where Federico's father buys, well known for importing fancy things from Armani, Hermès or Burberry's. The salesman had already ready a set of clothes, from underwear to jacket and shoes in my size and the only thing I could do was decide if I liked it or not. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the tag in one of the morning tweed jackets allegedly “on sale” A lot of people could eat with that. I got a monstrous coat and I tried to protest that it was too thick, but Mikhail showed with one look that several years at an embassy didn't cure him from his military years. He ordered very sharply the salesman to make the adjustments for the three trousers, two jackets and coat and send everything to his hotel to have it cleaned for tomorrow. Surprisingly, he didn't complain at all and promised to have everything ready at 4:00.

“A tailor would be much better but we have no time for that. We will see in London.”

“Now, Mikhail, tell us. How's he?” A big Russian asked, dying to know.

“Is he worth it? Yuri told me he's over 2.7 millions.”

“It's seems our midwives are drinking together, are you comfortable, girls?” Massaiev joked as he took a chair around the big table in the pristine kitchen. “Give me a shot at least. I was out in the snow, baby sitting a child and then, putting him in his room. Iosef, don't make another remark like that ever again. Boss will kill you outright if he hears you,” Massaiev said, taking his small vodka glass and emptying in one go. “Do you think I could get a coffee?”

“I'm not your maid!”

“All right. You wait and see for yourself,” the deep growl Iosef let out made Massaiev realise that he had won the battle and that they truly interested in hearing what he had to say. A cup of black coffee appeared in front of him and the two men sat around the table, his gazes fixed upon him.

“You're quite the gossip girls, are you not?” he purred the words out, determined to enjoy the moment as much as he could. “He's off limits for all of you, so what is your problem now?”

“Spit it out!”

“He's very young; nineteen years old, just turned in October, blond, very harmonious facial features and body, exactly what the boss likes. Baby blue eyes, shy, nothing scandalous like the many we have seen, seems to be intelligent although he's very naïve. During the whole trip from the airport he was looking through the window in awe.

He's nice to speak with and has a natural elegance around him. A real aristocrat from the old times. Perfect for our boss. I could have never taught that to the boys; that's something you're born with. He's glad to see the boss and that already saves me a lot of work. I have to dress him with something better before Mr. Repin has a heart attack if he sees him with those mall clothes. I'll take him to Harvey and Nick's in the afternoon. A tailor might be too much for the moment. He's truly shy and doesn't want to spend the boss' money.”

“No way!” Iosef shouted incredulous.

“It's true! I wanted to give him some pocket money, but he rejected it. He told me that he has his own funds and a scholarship from the foundation. He asked me where to buy a bus ticket and if I knew when was the students' day at the British Museum. He even has an International Student Card with discounts.”

“Where did boss get him?”

“Buenos Aires, the Pampa. Make no mistake Boris, he comes from one of the most expensive schools there. Thankfully, he's not a spoiled brat.”

“Sounds good.”

“Better than I thought. If he lasts, my life is going to be very easy from now onwards. No more looking for and training vulgar brats to pass like elegant boys. No more hearing wannabe artists ranting over the boss and the best of all; no more waiting outside in the rain, like a dog, for the boss to cast out the tramp. This one has a permanent room here; the one with the Renoir. Mr. Repin chose that paint by himself.”

“How did he behave?”

“Fine, he's kind to everyone, even to me. He was very glad to be in the business class, not complaining at all because it wasn't first class, all full, he spoke little, wrote a lot in his folder, drew some things and slept after dinner till the morning. Very nice fellow. No problems at all.”

“Are you also in love with him?” One of the men chortled.

“No way! I like them younger and brunette. Not my type at all. To your information, Boss calls him ‘his angel’ and refers to him as ‘his lover’. He's not a punk, so be careful around him,” Mikhail warned the men once more.

“Is he staying here?” Iosef asked shocked. “I thought he was going to the flat in Belgravia. The new one.”

“That's for the witch,” Massaiev answered. “Mr. Repin bought it in case she wants to visit London.”

“That looks already bad. The boy here and she in a flat? I see the storm closing over us.”

“Boss thinks in getting rid of her since a long time. Times have changed. No one cares any longer if he prefers boys to girls as long as he keeps it quiet. This one is someone you can take to a good place without problems.

He's going to attend the UCL. They made an exception and will take him in, in February for some courses.”

“You're going to have a good life indeed Mikhail Petrovich.”

“I have to take him after New Year to Paris, Florence and Rome for fifteen days. Boss will take him back in Milan or Venice and stay here for the winter. The boy wants to see Assisi and Perugia too, good choice in my opinion.”

“And leave Olga Fedorovna alone in St. Petersburg?”

“It seems.”

“Bad idea.”

Guntram's de Lisle diary

December 18th

I arrived to London this morning very early and here I'm at a big house, waiting for Constantin to arrive from Texas where he has some pending business. His employee, Mikhail, told me that he travels permanently and it's very rare that he stays for more than two weeks in one place. I suppose that's the down part of being a millionaire.

His house is located at Ilchester Place, very posh and expensive place. It was bought and refurnished almost a year ago and it's very beautiful place. It has a garden, a real luxury in Kensington, with huge old trees, and a lot of peace around. I'm surprised you almost don't see cars in the streets. It looks like a Gothic building, brickwork and French tiles on the roofs, many windows and a huge balcony over the garden. The most incredible things are the paintings and sculptures I've seen around. All originals. On the corridor to the bedrooms hang a Miró, a Kandinsky and a Picasso, all together. There's a pastel from Renoir in my bedroom and it's just incredible. I have no idea how much it could cost, but I'm already nervous around it.

No, I'm nervous around the double bed here. This monster is not meant for a single person, I'm sure. I don't know what I'm going to do and certainly will look like a dork the minute he asks me to do something more than kissing, holding each other or performing oral sex to each other. I don't think I can do more than that, no matter what George tells me. It's too big for me and I don't think that's supposed to be done. Maybe this is a huge mistake and I should tell it to Constantin before we're both hurt.

He's supposed to arrive tomorrow evening and I'm supposed to accompany Mikhail to get some more clothes for me. I tried to talk the man out of his idea but he only told me that London is rainy and very cold and I'll get pneumonia the minute I'm out in the streets running without proper clothes. Which is the difference between clothes from a normal shop and Harrods? Both stay the same under the rain.

By the end of the day, Mikhail Massaiev was dead on his feet. His original idea that the boy was going to be easy to manipulate was wrong. Very wrong. He had an independent streak and a very strong willed personality;

“stubborn like an old mule, mixed with the ability to make big puppy eyes or argue in a way that he was finally getting his way. Boss will have to fight hard with this little devil. Fortunately, he's good tempered and obedient…

Once you can convince him.' Something as easy as taking one of the boys for shopping; they all loved it and the others were only happy to be out from their cells. But this one had refused almost everything, saying that it was very expensive—“it was just Harvey and Nicks, for Christ's sake!”—or useless as he had enough with two sweaters for two months! When his patience was at an end, he barked something like “you can't be next to a man like Mr. Repin in those tatters! You will only embarrass him!” so the boy would see reason.

To his credit, the boy bent his head down in shame, provoking something akin to remorse in the Russian when he had never regretted in the past to punish the boys when they were being difficult. Those huge eyes looking in pain were something moving.

'I hope he behaves like a sensitive lad or to put him back in his place will be very hard for me.'

His heart was beating so hard with the approaching time. Only fifteen minutes left till Constantin would be home. One of the bodyguards had already confirmed Mikhail that his private jet had landed on time and that he was on his way in his car. For the fourth time that afternoon, Guntram broke his pencil lead trying to sketch from memory the Elgin Marbles and cursing himself for not accepting Mikhail's offer to buy the book. “No, it's too heavy to carry back to Buenos Aires,” he returned to his work once more, hoping that what he was wearing would be good enough for Constantin. The man, Mikhail was right and he should know because he knew Constantin since they were children living in Paris and then as friends when he was stationed in Moscow and his friend was gaining positions in the Party and within the Energy Ministry. “Make no mistakes Guntram; Mr. Repin is an Arseniev and his mother educated him as one. Her grandfather was an advisor for the Czar and his wife one of the attending ladies for the Czarina. They were powerful landlords in the St. Petersburg's area. He's not a new rich like the many we see around nowadays. If he has said nothing so far about your general appearance, it's because of his education. Tell me, has he taken you anywhere when you're playing the rebel?”

The muffled voices he heard downstairs made him break his pencil once more, jumping to his feet in a hurry to meet Constantin. “Careful boy, I want to reach my fifties,” one of the bodyguards told him when Guntram bumped into him. “Tie is not straight,” he smirked when the boy started to excuse himself. 'Great, I'm doing Massaiev's work now!'

Guntram had to stop at the bottom of the stairs to catch his breath and calm himself down. He suppressed the light cough scratching his throat and composed himself before going down the stairs. He heard Constantin, Oblomov, Mikhail and two other more men speaking in Russian in the living room and hesitation took over his heart as they had the door closed.

“You may go inside, sir. Mr. Repin awaits you,” Dimitri, the head butler told him casually as he carried a tray with six vodka shots. He knocked on the door and easily opened, allowing Guntram to come in first.

Constantin was shocked when he saw Guntram. Before the boy was very good looking and gracious like a kitten, but Massaiev had overdone himself this time. Now, with a decent grey suit, tie and light blue shirt, perfect for dinner, he was stunning. 'I will have to kill many for him.' There was a very compelling mixture of shyness, elegance and certainly aristocracy in the way he stood in the middle of the room, perfectly knowing that he had not been invited or that he was interrupting something important but on the other side, he carried his head in a way that proved that he knew he had the right to be there.

“Good afternoon, Guntram. Please, join us. Do you know my cousin Malchenko? He takes care of my business in France. This one is Morozov, my lieutenant in Moscow.”

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” Guntram said and shook hands with the men he had just been introduced.

The butler serving the vodka shots was the perfect excuse for Guntram to go to the farthest seat in the room to allow some privacy for the men resuming their talk in Russian. He left his vodka aside as he was sure he couldn't drink (drowned) it like the men had done in the blink of an eye without falling dead on the spot.

“Ivan Ivanovich and Morozov have to take a plane to Zurich. My accountant misses me terribly and needs to be reassured.”

“Konrad was always very insecure of his charms. That's why he's so jealous all the time,” chuckled Oblomov, making the other men laugh in front of a perplexed Guntram. “He has to see some money to be happy again. Like the Tax Office.”

“The parallel one,” Malchenko chuckled. “Very difficult man.”

“He's a banker, what did you expect Boris?” Constantin shrugged. “Good luck but you will not need it.

Everything is going as planned.”

“German precision it's called,” Oblomov laughed. “Nice work so far in Argentina.”

“I don't follow you, Ivan Ianovich,” Guntram said perplexed.

“Where were you the last two days, boy?”

“Here, visiting London and in the British Museum today. Why?”

“Well, you can consider yourself lucky, boy. You left the country one day before the revolt.”

“Revolt?”

“Don't you watch the BBC? There are riots all over Buenos Aires. Activists attacking banks and the McDonalds'. The police used force to stop the riots and there were some dead protesters. The presidential palace is surrounded and seems that they will cook the president.”

“Is it true, Constantin?” Guntram whispered opening his eyes very big, still believing that it was a joke the men were playing on him.

“Yes, indeed. Should be in the evening news. By the way, Ivan, make sure that Lintorff's insurance company pays me back if something happens with the Museum. I would be most upset if something were to happen to my paintings, especially that Tamayo Guntram likes so much.” Constantin shrugged. “Do you want to watch the news, Guntram? Do you want to call your friends to see if they're fine?”

“Yes, thank you Constantin,” the youth answered while he was still processing the news.

“I'll call you for dinner,” could only tell Constantin before the livid young man was out of the room.

Guntram tried first to reach Federico, but no one was answering the phone. Very strange because the maids were always around. More concerned than before, he switched on the hidden in a cupboard TV to check the BBC and the smoking cars and people running from the police in the streets, while they were looting forced him to sit on the bed to recover from his shock. He dialled George's home number.

“Hello,” the man answered the phone to his utter relief.

“Hi, George, it's me, Guntram. I just heard the news and I wanted to…”

“Slow down, boy I can't understand you.”

“How are you?”

“You should be telling me what you have been doing with Dr. Zhivago.”

“George, don't joke now. What's going on?”

“Nothing I haven't seen in 1976, 1982, 1989 and 2001. Relax Guntram. It's some people running around, some policemen after them, some looting and some street fights. Nothing else. I closed my shop and I'll wait for the people to calm down. It seems the president is going to step down. All the blasted politicians are locked in the Congress. Wonderful moment to drop a bomb there. But tell me, how's everything for you? Are you happy?”

“I was till I found out what happened.”

“Is he treating you well?”

“I don't know, I just saw him for ten minutes and found out what happened. I hope the mob doesn't destroy his flat! There are fantastic artworks there!”

“Don't worry. This is not the French Revolution, dear. It's Argentina. I'm so glad you're not here! Lola is barking like crazy with all the noise and the firecrackers. The poor animal is desperate. You stay there, enjoy your time in London and take many pictures and write everything down so you can tell me all when you're back. And go back to your boyfriend! Don't waste your time with me!”

“I only saw him a few seconds. He's in a meeting now.”

“What time is there?”

“Around six or seven, I don't know.”

“Find it out and if it's more than seven, it's cuddling time for every advanced society, especially if you're starting a relationship. Don't worry about us. Super Guntram is not going to save us.”

“You're right. Take care please.”

Guntram opened his laptop and connected to the internet to check the news and if he had some e-mails.

Nothing more than messages from people from the University to join the different demonstrations or going to take over the presidential palace. 'Yeah right, they're killing each other and I'm worried about some Siqueiros. What's wrong with me?' The croaking of a bird announced him that Federico was online.

“Hey, you. How are you? Guntram typed at full speed.

“Fine. In Montevideo. I'll take a plane to Paris tonight. Mother sent me to my father's.”

“I'm glad. How's everything?”

“The ‘niggers’ are killing each other. And you?”

“I'm OK”

“Fucking with the Russian?”

“Mind your business, Asshole!”

“That short?”

“Fuck you!”

“I offered and you didn't want. Now weep.”

“Federico, this is serious. I'm worried about you.”

“Guntram, I'm in another country, going to Paris to my father's and his new bimbo. Perhaps you're right; I should be very afraid.”

“How can you be so shallow?”

“After you finish fucking with the Russian and I the Parisian girls, why don't we meet in the continent and we fuck some more? Now that you play on the other side, I can show you a world of pleasure.”

“Fefo, you were kicked out of the Blockbuster for not returning the movies. I doubt you know enough French as to rent one for you.”

“Lie to yourself Guntram, lie to yourself.”

A soft knock in the door made Guntram stop to write his answer and went to open the door to find Constantin there. Without any kind of warning, his arms quickly took the boy by the waist and pulled him against his body, kissing him deeply, enjoying how his angel returned his kisses with matching ardour. Not truly caring any longer, he half carried the boy inside the bedroom and both fell on the bed kissing deeper than before.

The croak of the bird nearly made Constantin jump. “What's that?”

“The messenger. I was speaking with a friend. He might be worried that I was not answering him.”

“Get rid of him,” he ordered mildly, kissing the young man's neck.

“Don't we have to go downstairs?”

“Damn, I forgot Boris!” Constantin cursed very frustrated that his more than probably party time had been cancelled due to a prior engagement. “We'll go now, and later I will come here, my angel. You have no idea how much I missed you.”

“I also Constantin,” Guntram stuttered with a look of pure terror in his eyes when he understood what the man wanted to do. He gulped very loudly.

“My angel, you look like the deer in front of the lights,” Constantin sighed. “If you want, we share the bed as kissing or sleeping together and we'll see if something more comes up.”

“I hope something does come up,” Guntram joked, relieved that the man was not cornering nor pressing him.

“You shameless brat!” Constantin shouted falsely shocked. “You'll see in a few hours,” he whispered in the boy's ear, licking and enjoying how his angel was unwillingly shuddering. Guntram found himself once more lost in Constantin's dark eyes.

Once more the bird's squawk broke the spell. “Get rid of him or I'll strangle that bird.”

“You can't; it's in the program. You'll be fighting against Microsoft,” Guntram laughed, leaving the bed to write: “see you later, Fefo.”

“Asshole!” was the immediate answer.

“What does he tell?” Constantin asked feigning indifference, just to check later if his angel was truthful or not. Trust was good, but checking never hurt anyone.

“Nothing important. Shall we have dinner?”

“Sure,” Constantin said. 'Massaiev should take a look at it.'

After dinner, Guntram felt relaxed and very happy to be in Constantin's and his cousin Boris Malchenko's company, who had lived all his life in Paris and was returning to Smolensk only after 1992. Both men were educated and seemed to have a long lasting friendship. Malchenko was kind to him asking him about his impressions on the city and telling him that he should go to Paris for a few weeks just to see the Louvre. “After all, your country seems to be in a complete turmoil for the next months. I doubt your University will start again in March or that you could present your tests.”

“I'm not sure.”

“Guntram, it's Paris. All young men want to go there. You can stay at Place Vendôme and from there it's only a short walk toward the Louvre or the Quai d'Orsay. You will learn a lot just by looking at the Great Masters.”

Constantin said in a voice that left no doubts or place for arguments.

“But this time, I'll keep your drawings. Constantin told me he made £6,000 with them.” Malchenko laughed.

“At least, he will not deplete my resources buying fancy papers,” Constantin laughed in unison with his cousin. “Although I should protect my morning newspapers.”

“Or the Marks and Spencer catalogue!” Malchenko added with a thunderous laughter, remembering how his cousin had been on the brink of a nervous breakdown when he had opened the box and saw the boy's studies of a woman, some children and dogs, all of them of a very good quality according to two different merchants. Finally, he had controlled his temper, after a stormy week for all his underlings and chose the twenty-four he liked most, framed them and offered the lot to one of his dealers. The man immediately offered £4,500 but Constantin had dribbled till the

£6,500.

“We should count the paper sheets every morning, Boris. That's the only way we can be sure he throws nothing to the garbage can.”

“Constantin, those drawings were meant to go into the rubbish bin. Those were only sketches.”

“Guntram, let's not discuss your appraisal abilities or we will argue,” Repin said in a half joking, half serious voice. “We should go to sleep now, it's getting late and we have to work tomorrow.” He finished the conversation rising from his seat and pulling Guntram along by his hand.

Guntram was very shocked when Constantin laced his arm around his waist and pulled him against his chest, kissing his neck. He blushed for that display of affection in front of another man, expecting his contempt, but Malchenko only smiled.

In the corridor and when his cousin disappeared into his own bedroom, Constantin renewed his kisses over Guntram's lips, more feverishly than before “My bed or yours?” He whispered to the dazed boy. “Yours.” “Good choice.”

The master bedroom was bigger than his own and the bed—much to Guntram's chagrin—seemed to be large enough to fit four or five people and had a big balcony over the garden. The boy's jacket was thrown in a heap over a corner while the Russian continued to ravish his angel, fighting against his tie and shirt. “Stop, Constantin, you're either going to strangle me or destroy it,” Guntram said raggedly as he removed the man's jacket more delicately.

“I'm dying for you,” he whispered, taking the boy's head with his hands, getting lost in his blue eyes and soft and timid smile.

“I do want you, my friend,” Guntram decided and kissed the man back.

Their clothes were quickly discarded while Constantin kissed and nibbled every inch of Guntram's skin, marvelling at its softness.

The man groaned in pleasure when the boy started to firmly suck the tip of his member exactly as he had taught him during his two days stay in Buenos Aires while his fingers delicately fondled with his sac. Slowly, he was becoming bolder and taking more in. For the man, the feeling was maddening as the boy was changing his rhythm several times, increasing his pleasure every time he stopped for a second and renewed his ministrations more enthusiastically than before. To feel his soft lips against the base of his member or his tongue licking his shaft was a hard test to his self control because he felt like a teenager in love. His climax blinded him and he profusely emptied himself in his angel's mouth.

Guntram took advantage of Constantin's fleeting dizziness to clean his mouth with a paper tissue and wash his mouth in the bathroom, returning to the bed as fast as he could.

Constantin’s anger threatened to burst in flames, but his brain reminded him that Guntram was very new to such things and he had swallowed the other times they had been together. He should tell it very clear to the boy that he was not supposed to spit his liqueur like a cheap street whore. 'He can forget to get something from me tonight, but let's clear up some things first,' he thought angrily.

“Angel, don't you like to do this?” The man said very softly while he stood from the bed and removed the covers to go inside them.

“Did I do it wrong? I'm sorry, I did my best to please you, Constantin,” he replied looking truly sad and his own member hiding between his legs.

“Maybe it's because you don't know it. Get inside, it's cold.”

“I have no pyjamas.”

“There should be one under one of the pillows.” Good, the boy had understood he had done something wrong and was not expecting to get anything more from him as punishment. He observed as Guntram quickly dressed himself with the ivory white pyjamas. 'Massaiev overdid it this time, he's a virgin, but so much symbolism is a little too much for my taste. Light blue, grey, beige or red are the best for him.'

Once redressed, Guntram stood undecided in front of the big bed, waiting for Constantin to tell him where to go. The man took the right side and patted lightly on the left side and Guntram jumped in, deeply burying himself under the thick brocade and silk covers.

“I'm sorry if I did something wrong, Constantin. I told you I was going to be a huge disappointment for you,” Guntram intoned with a broken voice.

“My angel, it's not exactly bad what you did; just insulting.”

“I never meant to insult you! I swear it! You're so kind to me!”

“Guntram, if you are in a stable relationship with another man and have oral sex you should swallow his seed. If you spit it, it's an insult to him. Only whores do that. Or people who do not trust each other. I have no disease at all, my love and I would never risk your health as you're precious to me.” He explained, deciding to go for the “soft and kind” version of scold—and the one that had worked best with his angel; shouting only made him afraid or stubborn like a little mule—mixed with some “parental concern” tone.

“I didn't know it, I'm so sorry I ruined it for you. I wanted to do my best for you,” Guntram quickly excused himself.

“Why did you do it? Before you were swallowing without problems.” Constantin was pleased by his reaction and pulled his angel against his chest to pet his dark blond head.

“Federico gave me this article from a magazine about the increase in esophagus cancer cases due to performing oral sex and swallowing sperm. There are bacteria that provoke small tumours,” Guntram explained very seriously. “He says we should use a condom when we do it or I should not swallow at all.”

Constantin's fury threatened to erupt and hurt his angel in a way that would only ruin things for him. He took several deep breaths while his mind played different scenarios of what he could do to that impudent brat who had refused to introduce him to his angel and now was doing everything he could to spoil his fun. The tapes from the previous night fight between the boys had been a test for his patience and Mikhail had had clear orders to bring the boy willingly or kidnap him and bring him by ship to Europe. That brat had called his angel many things and told him dreadful words just to prevent him from taking that plane. Had it not been for that silly old neighbour, Guntram would have rebelled against him in the most stupid way.

“Angel, if that were the case, half of the world population would be infected. That's only a lie! Which University made the study? Who were the case subjects? Where did they perform it? How did they isolate the other variables? A non specialized magazine article? Please! I studied Chemistry for seven years at the Moscow University when it was one of the leading universities in its field. I studied Civil Engineering too, at the same place. In parallel. I saw many times what these popular articles do to real scientific research. Who knows if that was the original conclusion of the study.”

“Constantin, I—”

“Hush, my angel, don't think about it any more. Just check better beforehand your sources.” He quieted the boy placing his fingers over his lips. The soft kisses Guntram placed over his palm melted his cold fury while he focused on the boy's pliant eyes. He pulled Guntram closer and felt his small hands grab his pyjama top and press his forehead against his chest.

“You must be thinking that I'm a real dork.”

“Never my angel; you're just very young and inexperienced. You have to trust me and I will look after you.”

“Can you forgive me? I never wanted to be rude to you.”

“Of course, but next time, ask me or Mikhail about such matters, Guntram.”

“All right.”

“Don't ever do this again, dear.”

The morning sunlight awoke Constantin to find Guntram deeply asleep in the crook of his arms. 'He can certainly sleep fast,' he remembered as his angel had only snuggled against him and simply fell asleep after their talk.

'It's strange, he's so full of life and willing to do many things and suddenly, he collapses and needs to rest. Why is he always so tired after the minimum stressful situation? He's so beautiful. Just exquisite.”

Determined to avoid wasting more time in his musings, Constantin removed the bed covers and his own clothes, doing his best to suppress his chuckles when the youth slightly complained in his dreams at the loss of warmth. He opened his trousers and took the boy's member in his mouth.

Guntram nearly jumped to the ceiling when he was awakened by someone touching his private parts. He relaxed a little when he saw it was Constantin—'who else?' he briefly thought—and decided to let the man do as he wanted and enjoy the feeling. Without realising what he was doing, his hand caressed the black haired head and slightly raised his hips to give his lover a better leverage.

The boy closed his eyes to get lost in sexual bliss, relaxing himself achieving his release too soon for his liking.

Constantin knew that his angel couldn't be more relaxed and satisfied than at his point and decided to take him fully, tired of his constants delays and unreasonable fears. 'Let's do it before all his friends come to stuck up their noses and I have to cut some.' he thought while he left the bed to look for some jojoba based lube and a panthenol spray just to make the skin and tissue more elastic. 'He could be so nervous that not even nine hours or foreplay could calm him down.

“What the hell is that?” Guntram asked with wide open eyes when he saw the two small black items in Constantin's hand.

“Something to make us feel great when we have sex,” Constantin clarified.

“That's…”

“It's a jojoba and silicone based lubricant and a panthenol spray to relax your sphincter. We can try them and if you feel bad or uncomfortable, we stop. Don't you want to prove your love to me Guntram?” He added the last question with a hurt look dangling from his eyes, secretly enjoying when the boy looked pained at his words. 'He’s crystal.'

“I'm not sure…”

“Have I ever hurt you?”

“Never.”

“Then, you should trust me in this too. You know I want only the best for you,” Constantin whispered and started to peck his love's lips, enjoying you the boy seemed to literally melt under his touches.

Guntram did his best to relax and shut up his brain—screaming against what was going to occur—he blindly returned the kisses and only held stronger to Constantin's neck when he felt something cold in his anus. Seeing that the boy was not opposing—although keeping his wonderful blue eyes shut was very disappointing for him—

Constantin spread some of the lubricant over his own member and in his fingers, waiting some moments for the spray to become effective. He applied the lube and started to massage the boy, delighted to confirm that he was truly untouched as the entrance was truly narrow.

Hearing the boy purr like a cat nearly threw him out of his senses but he controlled his libido once more and continued to massage till the boy moaned showing him that he was willing to continue. He knelt down in front of the boy, lying on pillows, and placed his hips over his thighs as he spread his legs wide. Holding his member with his right hand and the soft hip with the other, he thrusted himself inside the boy with all the force the could, making him yell in pain at the brutal intrusion. 'He has to understand that he's mine,' he briefly thought before his hands secured the arms of the boy, throwing all his weight over them to secure his mount as he felt how Guntram arched his back in a futile attempt to escape.

The pain was insupportable no matter if Constantin was doing his best to calm him down with his kisses all over his face, not moving an inch after he had buried himself inside him. “Don't focus on the pain, it will be gone soon, try to relax my love,” Guntram could heard the voice in his ear but the urge to get away from the pain was stronger than reason. He felt something cold and wet running down his cheek.

“Angel, it always hurts the first time,” Constantin comforted him again, releasing one of his arms as the boy was not rebelling and doing his best to control his pain and obey him. He caressed gently the boy's face and slowly started to move, trying to make him enjoy it too. Being inside him was an incredible feeling as he felt trapped, constricted, touching the silkiest skin he had ever seen, with the most breathtaking person he had ever met. Guntram was indeed all what he had desired in his life. 'He's perfect for me.'

Some minutes later, Guntram's pain started to fade, but the sensation was not so incredible as it was supposed to be. He took the man's face and pulled it against him to kiss him, looking for comfort and warmth. He relaxed as much as he could and let his older lover take over the situation. The pain slowly dissolved with the moves and Guntram renewed his kisses on him as Constantin seemed to be enormously enjoying what they were doing. The final ecstatic groan and the hot liquid he felt flooding him, made him realise that it was over.

“Are you all right, my angel?” Constantin sounded very concerned as he kissed the boy's hands, trying to keep him as close to his body as he could as he could feel the need to escape in him.

“It still hurts.” Guntram confessed and abandoned the fight to disentangle himself from Constantin because he was exerting a strong hold on his waist.

“It's uncomfortable at the beginning, but it will improve with the days. You were incredible for me, angel. How could you ever think that I could be disappointed with you?”

“I don't know, Constantin.” Guntram mumbled, feeling completely drained.

“You're very nervous and tired, my little one. Let's sleep a little longer and then, we'll see.” Constantin's arms cuddled the uncertain boy and his soft petting, lulled him to sleep.

The second time they tried, it wasn't so bad for Guntram as he knew what was expected from him and could relax more and enjoy his lover's ministrations and return his kisses more truthfully than in their previous exercise. This time, Constantin took much longer in the foreplay, stretching him more as he was not so lust driven as he had been in the early morning.

Guntram only whimpered when he was penetrated, this time lying on his side while Constantin was fondling his manhood with achieved expertise. He focused on the pleasure he was receiving, ignoring the initial pain, and suddenly the pain transformed itself into hot pleasure waves when the man hit a special spot inside him. He arched his back and groaned, showing Constantin that he had finally gotten the boy where he wanted and he kept hitting that part, till he felt him on the brink of his climax. The man withdrew only a little to change the angle and Guntram had his release in unison with him.

Constantin smiled knowingly as he kissed the forehead of the panting boy, still trying to recover his breath and overcome the dizziness hammering his head, incredulous that such pleasure could exist.

“I told you it would be much better, once you could let yourself go,” the Russian chuckled.

“It's amazing.”

“Thank you. You're incredible yourself. Taking you is almost a mystical experience. Say that you will stay with me.”

“As long as you want me, as we said.”

“After these two times? We'd better start to look for an old people's home that would take us both together.” Constantin laughed and become serious and kissed Guntram on the lips. “Forever.”

Guntram was lost. Had Constantin not told him that he only wanted an affair with him? From where was all this coming from? No, it was the typical “post coital expansion” as George had called it; don't believe a word of it, just be nice and polite, and he preferred to only smile shyly, hoping that it would be enough for the man and he could go back to sleep. He had never been so tired in his life.

“Guntram, you'd better leave this bed if you want to see a little of London. It's 3:00 in the afternoon. You have missed breakfast and lunch. I'll give you tea at 4:00.” A fully dressed Constantin shook him awake. 'Strange indeed how tired he was after sex, normally young ones start to run around and want more till you kick them out. He slept five hours after the second time!'

“So late? Mikhail Petrovich will kill me. I asked him to go to the National Portrait Gallery today.”

“Don't worry about him. He must have found something to do. You can go tomorrow. Get ready and you can have tea with me. Ask him to take you to a book store. There are very good ones. See if there's something you like.”

“I don't want to leave you alone,” Guntram blurted out, much to Constantin's amusement. “Lord, it's like you said. Not even twenty-four hours and I'm clinging to your neck. Don't pay attention, please.” He corrected himself, upset at his own weakness.

“I'm not going to be alone, angel. I have a date with a blonde, hot blooded German at 5:30.”

“Ah,” Guntram said sounding terribly devastated. 'Don't complain, he told you in advance.'

“He's after my money.” Constantin shrugged, secretly pleased at how Guntram was doing his best to hide his deep sorrowful expression. 'He's adorable.'

“I'll go now, Constantin.”

“Guntram, I should be very drunk before I touch a single hair from him. He's a mean man and my accountant, although he prefers to be called a banker. Besides, he's Swiss; they train to be boring or ‘reliable’ as they say.” Constantin laughed. “I'm afraid, I won't be able to see you till dinner time, at 9:00. He can be very dense and probably wants to speak about Argentina. Oblomov told me he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown last night.”

“Something new?”

“The president escaped in a chopper and the Congress is looking for a replacement as there's no available Vice President. There's a strong rumour that they will declare a full default and there's a devaluation in process. The new government will take over the people's savings in dollars and transform them into pesos. Lintorff used several of my planes to smuggle money out of the country in containers to Uruguay and Brazil. He needs my services and I need his financial advice. I think he also helped some locals, for a fee, of course. Once the debâcle is unleashed, he and his friends will come back to buy everything they want for a more than reasonable price. Don't look so shocked. That's how things are done these days. Argentina had a very weak government and a feeble international position, so they were the latest dish on the table. Who knows whose next. I'll ask Lintorff.”

“This is criminal! How can you be so calm about it?”

“Because I did nothing. That's their doing.”

“He should go to jail!”

“When was the last time you saw a real banker sitting in front of a judge? Do you know what we say in Russia: “No one has ever been hanged with money in his pocket.” Anarchists are not so mistaken with their solutions.

It's a way to stop them; pity the next will take his place.”

“They can't do that! People died for this!”

“Be glad they don't cause wars any longer and that they found the way to achieve the same results with only a small popular uprising.”

“Can you not stop him?”

“Impossible; it's not only he, but a bunch of bankers and industrials all together, forming a very closed group. You don't fight with any of them because they react like a single entity. Perhaps, you've heard of secret societies like the Masons, some satanic sects, many of them around London, and these are originally Catholics.

Nothing more dangerous than people who believe that they're forgiven in this life; they have no restraints or constraints of any kind; like Crusaders.”

“It shouldn't be like that.”

“But it's. I have always been like that and will always be. You're no part of that world; you're an artist and your art is all what should matter to you.”

Guntram remained silent for a long time before getting showered and dressed. He did his best to look interested in the conversation Constantin tried to engage him, but it was useless; his mind was permanently on Father Patricio's children and how they were going to survive this new blown to their already frail economies.

“Constantin,” he interrupted his friend as he was elaborating on the Elgin Marbles, “do you think that this art dealer you know would like to buy more of my stuff?”

“I don't know, I could ask him. Why? This is most surprising. I thought you didn't want to sell,” he asked puzzled.

“If I gave him some of what I would paint in Italy or even here, in good paper, do you think he would pay for it?”

“It depends on what it's, if he likes it or if he thinks he can sell it. But Guntram, you never wanted to sell anything before because you were, and I quote you, ‘robbing us’. Have you been touched by greed?”

“I could use the money.”

“What for? You have a scholarship.”

“Six thousand pounds is a lot of money; Father Patricio could use a sum like that for the soup kitchen. I assume that if there's a default, like you said, most people in the world will be pissed off with us. There's no government and probably no money for him or the kids.”

“All right, I'll ask Irina, my secretary to make an appointment for you with him. His customers are among London's high society. Many artists would kill to be in his gallery. Your material was partly sold to an insurance company.”

“Perfect. If they ruin our lives, we can take some money out of them and don't feel bad about it. It's simple justice.”

“Remind me not to let you read Tolstoy, who knows which ideas you might come up with. If you think about it, he destroyed two great Empires.”

“They destroyed by themselves, by their inner tensions and greed. No, I'm more pro Bakunin.”

“You? No way. You'd be sitting along with Kerensky, while you read Tolstoy and think about non violence, angel. I can't deny you have your originality; Robin Hood with Arts.”

After tea, Massaiev discreetly suggested Guntram to fetch his jacket as it was time to leave. “Lintorff and his people are very punctual. Let's avoid them, shall we?”

“No problem by me. Kitchen door?”

“If you don't mind.”

“Why should I? Perhaps I can steal another blueberry muffin.”

“I was wondering when you were going to start to behave like a hooligan,” the serious man joked. “I'm so glad you're not a saint.”

After scurrying from the kitchen, already taken over by three visitor bodyguards, looking very serious and dangerous, sitting around a big table with Yuri and Boris, gloomier than usual, Guntram stopped in the garden as he saw the gate open and a big black limousine parked. A very tall man, got out of the car, while the chauffeur held the door for him. 'The devil is not bad looking,' Guntram briefly thought while he took a quick look on the stern face, blond-brownish hair, aquiline nose matching his strong features and the coldest blue eyes he had ever seen.

Instinctively, he went backwards to blend himself against the wall and foliage, unwilling to be seen. The man and two other more men entered the house through the main door.

“Is that the Swiss banker, Mikhail?”

“That's Lintorff. Stay away from him; he's bad news whenever he goes.”

“Yes, Constantin told me about him. Nasty guy.”

“You have no idea.”

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

December 25th 2001

I'm so happy to be here with Constantin. He's so nice and understanding with me. I love to spend the days in his company. I think I will miss him when I'll fly to Italy tomorrow. I'm going to Rome-Assisi, Florence and from there to Perugia and Arezzo. Constantin suggested to drop Venice as he wants to go with me, but in the moment it's impossible because he has a lot of work. We will see each other in twenty days, in Paris.

Fefo is still stranded in Paris, ranting and bugging me via messenger. He's truly getting to my nerves with his meddling and prodding. It's really not his business what I do or don't do with Constantin. The funny thing is that he, the worst student ever, nags me about going back to Buenos Aires to study for my pending subjects! The nerve of him! I haven't seen you opening your Argentine History books! He wants that we meet in the continent and I'm evading him. Most surely, I don't want him around when I'm with Constantin! He can spoil a wonderful moment! Why can't he get a Parisian girlfriend and leave me alone?

Massaiev sat in front of the latest transcriptions and translations from the boy's emails and chats for the past week in London. The e-mails were mostly with school friends lamenting over the mess his country had turned into, but nothing of a personal kind or any comments on his relationship with Repin. 'Weird, they normally brag in front of the others about their catches.'

The copies of his diary showed that he was truly happy living with his employer and in love with him.

Repin would be pleased to read it.

The only disturbing issue was the many e-mails between Guntram and his school-mate, Federico Martiarena Alvear as the later seemed to be very interested in the boy's dealings with the boss. The many sexual offers he was making and refused or laughed at, were already bordering on sexual harassment. The fact that he had asked Guntram to meet him in Paris or in Italy could pose some problems for him as Repin was very possessive of the child and the least he needed was to have a punk causing havoc, after the boy was behaving so well and doing exactly what was expected from him. A true gem.

'I'll speak with the boss before we fly to the continent. I want clear instructions if this turns out to be something more. The boy has not much experience and could be easily tangled into a cobweb.'