Chapter 10

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

October 20th, 2002

Yesterday was my birthday and now I'm officially twenty years old. As Constantin is away on business—I can't help to remember how we spend together my previous birthday—I went out with some of the guys from the art class, Peter Steenburg, Clarissa Adams and Mary Higgs. I have a good relationship with them because they are the only ones who don't laugh at me. I'm not very popular with Mr. Southern's class. My style is too old compared to what all of them do. I'm also too young and most of them have already finished their MAs and I'm on the first year of the BA. They went to St. Martin's—one of the best worldwide—and I study Art History. No wonder that I got the “posh boy” nickname. I try to do my best to dress normally, without bespoken jackets or expensive brands when Constantin is away, but the other days I have to make the bloody parade. I completely hate it. I draw very figuratively, nothing abstract, almost like a hyperrealist and truly don't understand what they're doing. I get many negative critics from them. OK, last time, it was my fault but telling me that I should paint for the “Sarah Kay” series was too much. I was very vulgar with my “try to draw something more than stick figures, copy something classical if you can, and then, criticise my work.” Also having a contract with Robertson's Gallery, one of the most exclusive in London, irks them very much. Mr. Robertson's, a very old and kind man, the one who bought my first series, likes my work very much and sells it mostly to private collectors or companies. Yeah, I'm the type of artist whose work is worth to be hung in a hotel lobby or in a bank's meetings room or you can give to your grandmother for her birthday.

So coming back to birthdays, mine was yesterday. We all went to the pub around the corner and started to drink from 7:00 till 9:00 when the bar was closed but we stayed till ten. Clarissa and Mary are roommates and they live like 7 blocks from the studio and we walked them home. The girls were not drunk but very expressive and yelling excitedly at the most stupid things. Getting the key in the keyhole was challenging but we managed to do it.

I told Peter that I would walk with him to the tube as I was certain that Yuri would be also “walking me”

from somewhere in the dark. The former KGB boys took very seriously this “protection” thing. He's your shadow but you never catch him unless he wants. I still don't know how he does it. But he's a great guy and bribes me with nuts and muffins from Victoria Station.

We got to Holborn Station and Peter asked me if I wanted to go to his flat. I refused thinking that he wanted to drink some more and I was starting to feel dizzy and wanted to be in my bed and check if I had an e-mail from Constantin.

“Come on, it will be fun for both of us. You're always alone.”

“I have school tomorrow and then, pass by the shop. There's a large new load of old priceless Worcestershire Porcelain pugs waiting to be unpacked and cleaned before Sunday. I can't drink anything more.”

“Spend the night with me,” he said and I gaped at him like a big dodo. I think he drank too much.

“No, thanks. I can't. I have someone at home. Sorry.”

“Are you in a relationship? I didn't know that. Pity.”

“Yes, sorry. See you tomorrow after.”

“I'm not jealous. You can spend the night with me.” He insisted and took my hand and kissed it the middle of a dark street.

“Look Peter. I'm not interested at all. Good night.”

“Don't you like me?” I have to admit he's very good looking. All the girls and some boys drool over him: tall, green eyes, black hair, witty and self-confident.

“I'm with another person and I don't want to cheat on him. He's a great fellow and I don't want you. End of story.”

“All right, you miss it. Would have been a great way to end the day, Guntram. I'll be back. You're quite sexy to drop only after one try,” he told me and just like that, without any kind of warning, kissed me, this time on the lips. I pushed him away and the dork just laughed and went to the underground. I was kind of shocked, incredulous with his “love declaration” —better “fuck declaration” —and I turned around to find a really pissed off, no furious Mikhail Massaiev standing there.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing! He kissed me. I wasn't expecting it.”

“This is serious boy! Very serious!” He barked and grabbed my arm with iron fingers. I have a mark there. He half dragged me for thirty metres till a black Mercedes stopped on the street; he opened the back door and pushed me inside, sitting next to me. The driver was Yuri Rimsky and he was also looking furious.

“If boss sees it, you're dead! We all are!”

“What? He jumped on me!” I protested but Mikhail slapped me lightly on the face and I was now furious with him. “Get your hands away, idiot! I'll tell Repin about your behaviour!”

“You'd better be quiet, little idiot!” He shouted enraged and he hit me for a second time, much stronger than before. I tried to punch him but he easily trapped my right wrist and squeezed it very hard. I wailed in pain and fought to disentangle myself from his grip. Impossible.

“Listen to me well, little idiot. You should never let anyone but Mr. Repin to touch you! Your life depends on it! If you have been flirting with this boy, I'll personally oversee your punishment and you won't like it. If Mr. Repin finds out that you have a parallel relationship, you both are dead and it's going to be a very slow and painful death!”

“Mr. Massaiev, remember you're not supposed to touch Guntram. Mr. Repin will be most upset if you do.” Yuri saved my ass because Mikhail was looking like a madman and I was becoming very afraid of him.

“Why does he think that he can have sex with you?” Mikhail shook me once more.

“I don't know, he never said anything in that sense ever.”

“You are grounded for the next month. Only to school or work. I'm going to change the days you go to this atelier. Fix your working schedule or better quit,” Mikhail barked at me.

“You can't do that!”

“Guntram, it's for the best. Let Mr. Massaiev fix this and do exactly as he tells you. It's the only way to prove your innocence.” Yuri said and I realised that he was truly concerned about me.

“Why? It was nothing!”

“Guntram, don't be difficult. I know it's inconvenient for you to change your schedule, but it's for the best. Mr. Repin will be very displeased if he knows that you're in the same classroom with a man that just assaulted you,” Yuri interfered.

“It was a stupid kiss!”

“A kiss today, tomorrow, who knows? The best is if we separate you from him. It's very uncomfortable to work side by side with a person who's sexually interested in you. It will be bad for your concentration and this people later start with rumours. Your art is what you care most and it can't be ruined by a horny wannabe artist,” Yuri finished.

“I think you're right, Yuri. I didn't think on that.”

“Guntram, you have to let us do our work and trust us more. We know better. I'm sorry if I shouted at you. Are you all right?” Mikhail asked me, looking truly contrite and concerned. “Is your wrist fine?” He asked me when he saw that I was still rubbing it to alleviate the pain.

“You have a strong hand Mikhail Petrovich but I'm all right. I swear I did nothing to get his attentions.”

“That's good to hear, child.”

“I have class tomorrow after, should I go?”

“No, let me speak with your teacher. We will change the days and you can inform your employer. She's a kind lady and knows that you're a student.”

“Yes, but I'll forewarn Mrs. Smithers tomorrow after school. I have to be there at 4:00.”

“Do that Guntram. Are you feeling all right really? You look very pale and you're gasping for air.”

“I have a headache. Too many beers and one whiskey,” I confessed starting to feel sick.

“Lay down against me. You look like you're already starting the hangover. I'll give you something for it when we're home.” He smirked, shaking his head like the grown-ups do when they see a child doing something truly stupid. I didn't want to lay my head against his chest, still sore from the slaps, but he has always been very kind to me and anyone can have a bad day. I obeyed him and he stroke my hair murmuring something like “you're a good boy; you don't want to cause troubles to us.”

When we arrived home, I went to my room directly to change into my pyjamas and go to sleep. I had a huge headache and the room was moving like a wild boat. Over my desk was a nice bouquet of blue and white flowers with a box of tea and butter cookies from Fortnum and Mason—OK, posh boy is not so undeserved—and a card written by Constantin “Happy birthday my angel” Inside the flowers was a small box with a Watermann fountain and dip pen. I was so moved by it that I didn't noticed that Mikhail was there holding a glass in his hand.

“Guntram, you need to drink this and go to bed.”

“What's in there?”

“Vitamins and water. You'll need it against the hangover.”

“Constantin sent me this. It's amazing. I was expecting an e-mail but not this. Do you think it's a good moment to call him?”

“No, leave him alone for the time being. He has some troubles with Lintorff and is under a lot of pressure.”

I felt like trash, Constantin has troubles with that hideous man and I added one more by letting myself be kissed by a guy who only wants a good fuck. I'm a jackass, unworthy of him.

“I didn't know it. He told me nothing.”

“He doesn't want to worry you. Now drink it and go to bed. Tomorrow you can write to him.”

“Lintorff is very bad, isn't he?”

“He's an ugly and treacherous adversary. He has no problems to resort to violence when it suits his needs. He leads the Order with an iron fist. There's the rumour that once two members rose against him during one of their meetings. He accused them of treason because they had leaked some internal documents and ordered to behead them in front of all people.”

“Behead as cut in off their heads?”

“Exactly, with a sword they keep. All top members have one and the Hochmeister is always buried with his. Lintorff has one that is a copy from the Executioners Sword's from the Spanish Inquisition. Long and strong blade with a Jesus Christ in the cross in the handle. Had been used several times, especially in 1989. The murderer, —they prefer to be called Executioner— refused for some reason and dared Lintorff to do it by himself. He did, in front of the whole Order and killed that man too.”

“But this is horrible! It can't be true! People don't do such things!”

“He's no ordinary people, Guntram. They're fanatics for the Church and give a lot of money to it. They lurk in the shadows and do whatever is in their hands to get more power. Mr. Repin is arguing with them over some privatizations in Central Europe. Lintorff respects the boss, but he can change his mind at any time.”

“Can't Constantin go to the police?”

“What for? They control everything in Europe. It has been their territory since the XVII century. They manage up to the last cent a junkie spends in his fix. The people who benefit from these illegal businesses needs them to clean their money and have protection from the police and Justice. You have to fight with them in their own terms.

Usually, Lintorff prefers to settle problems peacefully but if he's in a killing spree, there's no place on this earth where you can hide.”

“What can I do for Constantin?”

“Let him work. It's not the first time they have a disagreement. They will show their teeth at each other and then, will negotiate and reach a joint solution. Be nice to him.”

“I will. I'm so sorry for today's mess.”

“I know, Guntram, but you have to do exactly as I tell you from now onwards. Let me fix it, child.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good boy, now change your clothes and go to bed. Tomorrow you have school and no hangover will prevent you to be there first thing in the morning.”

Yuri Alexandrevich collapsed on the kitchen chair, lacking the strength to pour himself a vodka. He needed one. 'Things were easier back in the Cold War. No one was going to drop the bomb and now I live in a permanent Sarajevo for my nerves. Tonight was really close.'

“I'm also dead on my feet.” Mikhail Petrovich sighed and went for the bottle in the cabinet and two glasses. “This was the last time I give him permission to go out with crazy artists. Only respectable Museum parties, theatres or movies. Shit! What was he thinking?”

“Nothing related probably. Guntram is very inattentive. I would bet that the boy made several approaches and he never realised. There's nothing in his diaries about him and he writes everything down. But our desks are covered with trash Mikhail Petrovich. What are we going to do?”

“You managed very well.”

“Thank you, the French school is also not bad.”

“Years of practice in Algeria; 1961 to 62. Those Arabs were really tough to break.”

“I'm glad I was always in Europe or America.”

“Tomorrow I'll change the boy's schedule and speak with Repin.”

“Do it after he has some fun with Guntram. He's easier to talk to then.”

“It's good advice but what if the boy talks? He can't be quiet for more than two hours if he screws something up.” Massaiev downed his vodka.

“Then we have to enrich the story. That man, Peter jumped on him and Guntram wanted to be changed from classroom. He wanted to drop the painting lessons, but you managed to convince him to stay because he needs them but he's afraid to go because he does not want to meet the man. We should do something about it.” He said, rising an eyebrow.

“I see your point but…”

“Guntram is now in one of his guilt strikes, thinking that he has done something horrible. The boy considers that buying a muffin without authorization is the biggest crime he can do.”

“You're right Yuri Alexandrevich. I'll speak with the boy again. We won the lotto with this one and I don't want to change him any time soon.”

“Guntram is for keeps. He was terrified of you after two slaps only. Normally when the boys misbehaved you had to do much more. He has an easy and sweet temper. We should do our best to keep the competition away because although Guntram will not look for any extra-curricular activities, he's a really good dish to ignore. He's satisfied and happy with what he has and too honest to cheat on the boss.”

October 26th, 2002

After piling up the last box for the day, Guntram felt drained and still had to read some texts for tomorrow's lessons. Sighing tiredly he considered that it had been a good idea to reduce his painting lessons to twice per week as he couldn't be everywhere and Mrs. Smithers had been mildly upset when he had asked her to change his working schedule. “Sundays are out of question, darling.” In order to reduce the working hours, he will have to come one day more, Monday, Wednesday, Thursdays, Fridays, and the entire Sunday to cope with the tourists and serve them wine while she was making a sale.

He took his coat from the rack and gathered his backpack full with his books. “Don't forget your scarf, darling,” Guntram heard her voice from the back shop and he said good-bye. At the usual corner was Yuri waiting for him to walk him home, a true waste of the man's time in Guntram's opinion but who was brave enough as to discuss with Mikhail and Constantin over such issues. They walked in amiable companionship without speaking for half an hour till they reached the imposing house. Guntram's heart skipped for a bit when he saw the familiar black Rolls Royce sitting at the entrance and he dashed toward the iron gate but two dark-haired unknown men crossed his path with a menacing expression.

“He's with me, gentlemen,” Yuri said and both men moved aside, letting Guntram into his own house.

“Who are those twerps?”

“Lintorff's men. Very crazy Serbs. He brought them to play with the boss. Inside is a full party boy. The Duke is here, speaking with Repin; they both flew together from New York. A Boeing 737 wasn't big enough.”

“I don't like Lintorff here.”

“Neither do I but they're in the middle of a peace agreement.”

“He's a mobster with more money than the others!” Guntram said very shocked. “Look what he did to Argentina!”

“Boy, there's a little bit of a Godfather in each one of us. It's a minimal survival skill,” Yuri huffed. “Do you want to eat? I can get you something from the kitchen. Dinner is going to be late today.”

“No, I'm fine. I'll be studying in my room.”

Guntram crossed the foyer finding three of Constantin's bodyguards and another unknown one that probably belonged to the German. Massaiev came from the living room and sent him to his room while the man inspected him from head to toe, casting a disdainful glance at the youth.

In his room he took the small watercolour he had made from the flowers Constantin had given him for his birthday and with infinite care squared the edges with a cutter and glued it to the light blue passe-partout, writing on the back side, “Thank you for your friendship, with love, Guntram.” He took a white envelope and placed the card inside; softly smiling at the idea that even if he had brought a bastard home, Constantin was downstairs and they would be together for dinner.

He opened his book and supported his head with the hands to read the chapter.

The feverish kisses from Constantin took his breath away and he was barely able to respond to them in his futile attempt of avoid suffocation. Guntram could feel that his lover was happy about something as he muttered “I missed you Constantin.”

“I also,” he replied tearing his angel's clothes off as he kissed his neck almost biting him.

“Let's try to reach the bed,” Guntram chortled but not stopping his kisses or his hands from unbuttoning his lover's shirt.

Guntram pushed Constantin playfully onto the bed and positioned himself over the man to kiss him better while his hands unbuckled the man's belt and opened his trousers, enjoying how he held his breath and surely was trying to anticipate Guntram's next move. The boy licked the already engorged member and took it in his mouth, gently sucking it, exactly as his lover preferred.

“Get on all fours my angel,” Constantin whispered in his ear as it was one of his favourite positions although Guntram hated it. He felt so exposed and the position was so mechanical, only designed to enjoy better the sex but it felt so cold, as there was no eye contact or hugs, nothing to share, only the sex. Guntram tried to make the man change his mind by lacing his arms around his neck and pulled him against his chest, kissing his neck and lightly touching the skin with his chin.

“Come on, Guntram, don't be difficult,” Constantin growled partly crossed that the boy was being so hesitant. Guntram sighed but tried it once more; “please my friend, you know I don't enjoy it so much.”

“Nonsense dear, we both like it. You always play difficult at the beginning but you always climax with me. I missed you so much these weeks,” he said, taking Guntram by the hips with a strong grip and turning him around. The boy suppressed a sigh, hating what was coming, but Constantin deserved to have some fun and after all, it wasn't that bad, just uncomfortable and humiliating as he was taken like the animals on the National Geographic pictures.

Guntram nearly cried at the semi-brutal penetration and the fast pace he set. He grabbed onto the silken sheets, trying to relax as much as he could. The man's weight over his back or the arm across his chest, trapping him, were painful but Guntram knew that that was Constantin's way to reassure him and make him feel his love. “You're so wonderful, my angel,” the man gasped into his ear just before he got his release inside his young lover.

The boy panted from sheer exhaustion but his Constantin was finally sated, exhausted, still on top of him and not letting him go to wash himself. In the afterglow, he briefly pondered if he should tell or not, but he was uncertain of his friend's reaction. He was extremely jealous of any man or woman that could come near him.

“Constantin, are you at peace with Lintorff now?”

“We reached a settlement. That's all, my love. Why do you ask?”

“When I came from work there were two men—Serbs according to Yuri Alexandrevich—and they looked like bad news. Inside was a tall blond and he inspected me in a very obtrusive way.”

“That must have been Holgersen; he's Lintorff's favourite young hound and the grandchild of the owner of Wallenberg Oil Industries in Sweden and one of his heirs. All of them are Order's members but he always preferred the Navy and was in a unit similar to the American Seals; lethal in combat. There's the rumour that Lintorff trains him to be a strategy advisor in the future. The others were Ratko Bregovic and Radovan Mircic, crazy Serbs from Krajina.

They like to be called Executioners but in fact they're murderers.”

“What were those people doing here? They could be dangerous for you!” Guntram shouted.

“No, my love. There are no problems between us at the moment. Lintorff and I spoke, settled our differences as I'm not interested in Central Europe and he's going to support a project of mine for extracting oil from tar sands in Canada. It's a huge investment and will take most of my capital. The building costs of the processing plants are huge but we calculate that the reservoir is superior to those in Saudi Arabia. Lintorff agreed to lend me the money I need. It's a project for the next twenty-five years.”

“If it was only business, why did he bring his killers?”

“Perhaps he was thinking I was going to kidnap him and force him to sign the loan,” Constantin chuckled and he grabbed Guntram closer to him to kiss the boy's neck and ear, making him shudder. “You're so sensitive and delicate my angel.”

“I love you, Constantin but why do you have to go away for so long?”

“I would love to take you with me but you have to study my angel. Perhaps you could make your MA in Paris and we could have more time together but we have still two years to think about it. I really would like to have you with me all the time.”

“I know you do your best to be with me whenever you can. Mikhail told me you came from New York this time, sharing the plane with Lintorff.”

“Yeah, very bad idea, my angel. The menu was sausages and potato salad. These Germans are impossible!” Guntram couldn't help to laugh at the image of his very gourmet lover sitting in front of a beer jar and a bowl of potatoes and kissed his frown.

“That was a huge sacrifice. I have something for you,” he said, jumping from the bed to look for the envelope. “Open it.”

“I should be giving you something. I missed your birthday.”

“We just threw the party,” Guntram grinned like the Cheshire cat. “Or should we throw another?”

“After dinner; I'm over forty now,” Constantin joked as he absently opened the envelope to be rendered speechless at the picture of the flowers.

“Those are the flowers you gave me. The cookies didn't last enough as to pose.”

“It's very beautiful. Thank you. I'm deeply moved.”

“I was very glad that you didn't forget it.”

“How could I forget it? You're the most important person in my life. Besides Irina is an excellent secretary,” he chuckled making Guntram flash him an accomplice smile. “Come on, get dressed and let's have your birthday dinner. Tomorrow I'm taking you to the Covent Garden.”

“I have an opening at the Barbican. Robertson gave me the card and told me I have to be there and socialize with the customers. All in the class are very cross because I'm invited and they're not. I really tried to get another card but Robertson's nearly sent me to Hell.”

“We'll go to the Barbican and eat dry cheese and warm champagne.”

“I'm afraid you're not invited.”

“Is the opening for this William Blake's exhibition?”

“Yes, it is.”

“I must have a card somewhere and if not, I will be most upset with the curator. She got like 1.3 million pounds from me this year. If she forgot to invite me, I'll dump her in formalin and send her to David Hirst so she keeps company to his shark.”

“You're very nasty when you're crossed,” Guntram laughed. “Almost like Lintorff.”

“You have no idea, my angel. Today's goons were not because of me but because in the morning some protesters were shouting and throwing things at him at his bank's entrance. It was a funny moment for me, but the Rolls will have to be thoroughly cleaned. It was a hard moment for him to meet the populace.”

“Who were they? Are they still alive?”

“Of course, some Americans and locals. The leader is a journalist and knows about the Order. Most of the chants were mentioning it. I've never seen him so furious at his own people when we went inside.”

“Those people deserve a medal.”

“The Order of Merit of Great Fools, Guntram. Do you really think that if Lintorff were to disappear, the Order would be extinguished? No, they will only hide in the shadows for a few years while they kill all the traitors and those who opposed them. They're deep rooted in our society. Write something about them and people will think that you're crazy. Only once you have dealt with them first hand, you know about their existence and they come to you, not you to them. It has been like this for centuries and I guess that they do this long before they founded the Order in the aftermath of the Thirty Years War. But let's do not spoil our dinner with them. I have a surprise for you downstairs, in my studio.”

By dessert Guntram couldn't stand his sense of guilt any longer. Constantin had been wonderful to him in the few hours they’d been together: tender, considerate, funny and loving to him, looking after him.

“How you are faring with your teacher? I don't ask about the university because I saw you studying.”

Constantin asked while he drank another glass of champagne.

'Now or never.' “There's something I must tell you. I changed my hours with him. I'll only go twice per week to his studio.”

“Why is that?”

“I had some problems with one of the students and I preferred to avoid him for the time being. I also will have to work one day more in the store to compensate the hours I'm losing. Besides, I don't feel like I'm progressing with this man or with the other students around. We just don't get along at all. Honestly, throwing paint to a canvas and yelling at the same time is not my style.”

“Guntram, don't try to lie to me. What happened really?”

“On my birthday I was out with some of the students. We drank some beers and we walked the girls home. Then I walked with Peter to the underground. He asked me to go to his house and I thought he wanted to drink some more and I said no because I had school and work the next day. Then he said that he wanted some sex and I replied that I was in a relationship and said no. He said that he was not jealous and I stood there, frozen and he kissed me. I pushed him away and went home. I don't want to see him any longer.”

Constantin's fury nearly came to the surface but his many years of self-discipline made him control himself in less than a second while Guntram was telling the story in a slurred and confusing way. 'Obviously he has done nothing, but better show him the whip. I'll take care of that man who dared to pollute my angel.'

“If you did nothing, why are you so nervous?” He started the offensive.

“I swear I did nothing! It's just that I didn't see it coming! I don't want to be near him ever again. God, I'm such an idiot! Constantin, I never wanted to hurt you!”

“Why should I be hurt if you allegedly did nothing?”

“Because I'm bringing you an extra problem when you already have so many! Because when you were thinking on me I was drinking with an idiot! I'm terribly sorry to bring this up.”

“Guntram I trusted you and now you tell me that you were kissing another boy in the middle of the street when I was out, working?” Constantin used a hurt voice.

“I didn't do anything. I stopped seeing him! You have to believe me,” Guntram pleaded.

“How can I be sure? That you want to leave the class shows a certain degree of guilt from your part.”

“The man jumps on me and I'm guilty?”

“Why are you reacting so much then?”

“I don't know any longer, my friend. I don't know,” Guntram said dejectedly, the dizziness hitting him with full force and his heart hammering in a nasty way. “If you think that you can't believe in me any longer, I'll leave the house tomorrow or now if you prefer.”

Constantin laid his back against his damask chair and poured himself another glass. He tasted the champagne and let the time pass by. Nothing like properly bidding your opportunities. He could hear Guntram gasping for air and he knew without looking at him that he was staring at him with his big blue eyes full of pain, hanging from each of his words.

“Guntram there's nothing to bind us but trust. Without it…”

“You speak about trust but you don't believe me, Constantin.”

“It's you who cast the doubts with your illogical actions. Why going away?”

“Because that's what Mikhail Petrovich told me to do! I'm grounded without reason till next Christmas!

All of you drive me insane with your suspicions. Both were yelling at me!”

“Perhaps we should reconsider our priorities, as you say, Guntram,” Constantin knew that the youth was now into his confused and desperate phase. “I come here and I find out that you were kissing another and have changed your working schedule once more, taking more hours. It's very obvious that you don't want to be next to me as much as before.” His sad voice broke his young lover's heart, his eyes clinging from every move the man was making. Guntram closed his eyes in obvious pain at the sound of the chair legs dragged against the floor.

“Please, don't go away Constantin.” Guntram's hand clutched onto the man's sleeve. “You're the most important thing in my life,” he said with a quivering voice.

'Exactly where I wanted you. Time to clip those wings a bit. He's developing a very inconvenient independent streak.' “You're also important to me and I do my best to keep you happy but it seems it's not enough.”

“I'm very happy with you!” Guntram protested.

“You quit your lessons—even if you know that I believe he's a good teacher and has many connections for your future; it was a miracle that he accepted you—and change your working schedule to spend more time away from me. You disappear every Sunday to sell china poodles for ten pounds apiece. I should have realised much earlier, Guntram.”

“No! I never thought it that way. I took this job because it's good for my career. I'm learning a lot with Mrs. Smithers.”

“If you would wait to finish your BA, you'd probably get an internship at a real company, working and learning with real professionals. There you would see which would be your future field of expertise but you favour to spend your time in a second rate shop, moving furniture around and trying to identify an unknown painter from the XIX century.”

“Constantin I…”

“It's very clear. You have a scholarship that could support you without problems and already a manager who sells your pieces and you make some extra money with him. He wants to make an exhibition with your work next summer but instead of working hard with your teacher, you're serving white wine to snob tourists. You have just turned twenty years old, have an offer from a good gallery to exhibit your pieces—most of your colleagues would kill for such an opportunity—and you're opening cheap wine bottles. It's obvious that after one year at my side, this is not what you really want to do.”

“No, never! I love you and never wanted to hurt you! I work to support myself! I can't take any more from you!”

'Typical Guntram.' “You're wasting your talent and attacking my love for you.”

“I'll reduce the hours at the shop! I'll work harder at the studio!”

“Will you really do it or those are nice words just to reassure me?”

“I give you my word that I will only work on Sundays or quit. You always leave on that day!”

“I needed to spend some time with you as these weeks were terribly stressful for me…”

“I'll stay with you tomorrow. I will not go to work after school.”

“That would certainly be very kind of you. I miss the days when you used to keep me company just drawing or painting.”

“I want to spend more time with you but you're always travelling.” Guntram rose from his chair and put his arms around Constantin's waist and his head against the man's chest. “Please, forgive me,” he whispered without truly understanding why he was asking for forgiveness but the need to do it was stronger than anything.

“Of course I forgive you, my love. You never meant to hurt me although you did. It's just you're so young that you don't think in advance.”

“I won't do that again.”

“Guntram, you're young; it's in your nature to be foolish and reckless.” Constantin smiled tiredly still looking hurt.

“You're so patient with me. I love you.”

“I also do and this is the most important thing for us. Our love and your art. The rest is secondary.”

Guntram de Lisle's diary.

October 27th 2002

I told Mrs. Smithers that she should look for another helper at the store because I couldn't come any more on weekdays. She was very understanding and offered me to be there only on Sundays. Of course the payment will reduce significantly; to one hundred twenty-five pounds per month but Constantin is right. I can sell my pieces and I feel very well when I hear that someone spent his efforts to get something from me. It makes me want to improve myself and work harder.

Against my original belief, Constantin's birthday's present was a flat in Buenos Aires. I'm still in shock.

It's in his same building! It's one of the most expensive places there! He even gave me the Tamayo I liked so much! He told me that it's for me whenever I want to visit Argentina and if I break up with him, he can move to the upper floors and make my life miserable till I return at his side.

He's just wonderful to me. I don't think I could live without his gentleness and care. He always has the right word for me.

“I understand that there was a small incident regarding Guntram and a boy from his class,” a very furious Repin said to his man, standing in front of him in a military way.

“I controlled the situation and isolated Guntram from the offender. I preferred to keep its record out of our correspondence as it might need a radical solution,” Massaiev answered.

“Why do you think so?”

“This man has phoned Guntram several times more, but the boy never answered his calls or e-mails. He had cut all kinds of ties to this person.”

“Ask Kalashov to contribute with the logistics and solve the matter in two week’s time. Permanently.”

“Yes, Mr. Repin. What about the other issue? The store?”

“Cancel it. He has just resigned and will only go on Sundays. Makes no sense to waste our resources on this.”

November 13th 2002

I'm horrified. Clarissa called me during the break and told me what had happened. I wanted to go to the funeral but Mikhail said that it was impossible to get a plane ticket to Edinburgh with such short notice. All full.

Besides, Constantin wants to see me in Paris before he goes to Moscow for two weeks. I have to hurry if I want to catch the plane to Orly.

Poor Peter! He never hurt a fly and two robbers got nervous and shot him dead! Right on the spot. He didn't resist and gave them the little money he had!

He was a good person and a good painter too. I feel terrible for not answering his e-mails or calls. I only thought that it was the product of too much beer and whiskey but he told me several times he liked me very much.

I also liked him but as a friend and nothing else. We were not even friends, just looking what the other was doing in class. The girls invited him that night. We will miss him.

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

December 13th 2002

I'm almost finished with the tests for the term and bordering exhaustion. Honestly, I'm glad I reduced my working hours. Tons of assignments from the teachers in addition to the class presentations, visiting places to check

“in situ” the collections. All that without mentioning the stress of coping with an asshole for artistic mentor. The man might be as famous as David Hirst and one of the members from the London Artistic Movement but we just don't get along. I can't paint with all these people around me, looking at me over their shoulders. The all mighty asshole laughed at the idea that I could have an exhibition at Robertson's.

All right, I lost my temper with him that afternoon.

“Yes, I have an exhibition scheduled for mid-August 2003 at Robertson's. Why is it so strange?”

“It's going to be something worthy of Hallmarks greeting cards. Good for the upcoming holiday season.” Mr. Southern mocked me and all the pricks laughed at me, encouraged by my teacher's incredible wit.

“I would love to be in Hallmarks and that something made by me could make someone happy for a second.”

“Can I puke Charles? This Care Bears moment is dreadful for me,” Frank, the Super Clever Idiot said.

“Better being a care bear or Sarah Kay than a snob begging for wall to hang my things and hiding my frustration at rejection by playing the Rebel Artist,” I answered hotly and the whole class, teacher included, gaped at me. Guess they didn't know that the nice Guntram had a temper hidden somewhere.

“At least I'm an artist and not rich brat with a colouring book!”

“Yes, I'm able to stop painting at the lines, can you say the same? Get an exhibition of your own instead of criticizing my work. Are you not tired to be in collective exhibitions? How old are you to fight with me?”

“Everybody knows that if you get something is because your sugar daddy is a rich Russian bloke, paying for everything you want and known because he has Foundation for real artists.”

“Whoever I live with is none of your concern! I've sold much more in a year than you in your whole career!”

“Selling is not enough! It's what you create!”

“Enough, both of you! Guntram go there, sit and try to do something original for once instead of copying everything that moves around! And you Frank, be quiet!”

So I have to work extra to make something good for August. I'm not painting any longer at the studio. I prefer to do it at home. I work better alone.

The only small problem? Yuri is afraid that I stain his car when I take my paints to Robertson's.

His mobile had been ringing for some time before Guntram realised he had an incoming call. He cursed himself for his distraction while he cleaned his hands with a rug before answering it. “Hello?”

“Hi, Pumpkin. It's me.”

“Fefo? I can't believe it! I wasn't expecting a call from you!” Guntram blurted astonished to get a call from his long-time friend after a year of not speaking with each other.

“It's Christmas, we could bury the axe. I've been thinking a lot about you and I realised I was a cretin with you. Do you think you could forgive me?”

“Sure thing, Fefo. It must have been hard for you to find out that I was living with a man. I should have told you earlier but things just happened.”

“I guess so. How are you?”

“I'm great and very happy with Constantin. He's here but will leave on the 28th to Paris for a few days. I finished the first year of Art History at the UCL and I will have an exhibition in August, at the gallery where I sell my stuff.”

“Wow, that's impressive, Guntram. I'm in Law School and passed many of the subjects. The rest is left for March. I'm working at the Senate with a friend of my mother's. Quite boring, if you want to know. I'm trying to be more responsible.”

“Now I'm impressed. You working and studying at the same time?”

“Not having you around made me realise a lot of things,” Federico whispered.

“I was your bad influence? I covered your hide more than a thousand times,” Guntram laughed in disbelief.

“Perhaps too much and I should take responsibility for my actions. You were right; we were too different to be friends. I was a useless brat and an asshole to the only person who really cared for me.”

Guntram had no idea of what he should tell next as he was totally shocked by the words and change in his friend. “I'm glad for you Fefo, I was concerned about you. Next you should find someone good to spend the rest of your life and have many children so you atone for all your rogueries.”

“I did, but I guess I lost that person because of my own foolishness, Pumpkin.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Hey, it's Christmas and we should not be depressed even if we know that the parents are Santa. I'm in Paris again, all on my own. My father is skiing in Gstaad and that's too uptight.”

“Federico Martiarena Alvear, are you telling me that you refused to go to Gstaad?”

“The Senator I'm working for made me visit many of the poor areas of his province—looking for votes, of course—and I couldn't help to feel bad for those poor devils. There's nothing funny in living with seven children and some tin and cartons for roof. Listen, pumpkin do you think you could come to Paris or I could see you in London. I would like to speak with you and see you.”

“I also, Fefo. Let me think. Constantin flies on the 28th to Paris. Perhaps I could slip into the flight if he has no business meetings planned. I should ask him. If not, I could take a commercial flight after New Year because now would be almost impossible to get a ticket.”

“I can always meet you in London.”

“Hey, I want to visit my home country. Let me talk with Constantin and I'll write you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing, Pumpkin.”

Constantin was more than annoyed. Furious would have been a better description. As usual, his angel was running after the first moron who was telling him a tearful story and he had chosen that particular moment to show that he could be stubborn as an old mule.

Guntram wanted to fly to Paris alone as Mikhail was in holidays, visiting his relatives in France till January and Yuri was in Russia for the new year. Guntram had originally agreed to stay put in London for the holidays and work in his upcoming exhibition and now he was planning to run for a whole week with that impudent brat. Had they not quarrelled in Italy?

On top, he had told him that he would go to a hostel—a HOSTEL!— so he wouldn't be in his way if he had some business to run! 'Sure, to a hotel so the other can do whatever he wants with him. Lord, how big can his idiocy be? Does he not realise that this boy is after him? Yes, that's what I get for falling in love with a dove… they're by definition idiotic birds! And lambs are only good for the barbecue!”

He had to force the boy to come with him in the plane, in the middle of a planned delicate meeting with Morozov and stay at Place Vendôme with his cousin Boris because he was leaving for Moscow that same night. “Only 4 days Guntram, you have to work!” He had shouted vulgarly and he hated to be thus.

“Love as the wolf loves the sheep,” was the old proverb and there was nothing more true in his case.

He was going to make sure that his angel would not spend a single minute with that boy. Boris would have to use his own people.

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

December 29th 2002

I still don't understand him. Maybe I do but and I don't want to accept it. Fefo duped me for the…better don't count Guntram, you won't like the final number.

I took the plane with a brooding Constantin upset that I was “miserably wasting my time when I should be working.” He was so right and I should have listened to him, but I'm an idiot! In the plane were Oblomov, Morozov, Strepovich, Baragan and Raditsky, all of them arguing hotly in Russian for the two hours. Morozov was the most enraged and shouted with Oblomov all the flight while Constantin was very serious. It seems he made some investments that collided with Lintorff’s interests somewhere.

They continued their shouting at Constantin's flat in Place Vendôme with Boris Malchenko included.

They had lunch there but I was not invited and I took the opportunity to escape for a walk around the city, without a bodyguard.

Constantin shouted at me for going away alone and nearly put me on the next plane back to London.

Only Boris' intervention saved my skin. I just took the metro to Pére Lachaise to visit my parents' graves! What could happen in a graveyard?

At six I was supposed to meet with Fefo at a café at Montmartre, near his hotel but he never showed up or phoned me. At 8 p.m. I was sick of waiting and getting no answer from his phone. I was freezing my ass when I took the metro back to Constantin's house.

Boris shouted at me for taking the metro and staying out for so long and told me I was going to catch pneumonia.

I'm sneezing and feeling like shit so he's probably right.

The Lost Fefo? Should I be worried like I was?

NOT AT ALL! He dumped me for 2 French blondes—peroxide blondes but he doesn't care! He called me last night at 23:30 to inform me that he had met the two and was having the greatest time of his life Fuck you!

I went to bed feeling miserable and like a total idiot.

January 3rd 2003

I'm still in Paris and in the middle of a mess. A real one, with police included! This morning a policeman came to the flat asking about me. I stood in front of him as he checked my documents. Fortunately, Boris was at home and immediately took the matter into his hands.

“Everything seems to be fine and Customs confirms your date of entrance to the country. Do you live in London?”

“Yes, I do. Why?”

“Please answer the questions, Monsieur.”

“He has nothing to answer to you. I do not like your way of questioning.”

“We could do this at the Station. I'm sure Inspector Laforelle will like to have a word with the young man, Monsieur…?”

“Which one? He will come but with a lawyer,” Boris said without flinching a muscle while my knees were made of jelly. Me? Inside of a police station? I've never been into one!

“We will escort you, monsieur.”

“Wait outside.” The policeman was furious with Boris.

“What could they want with me? I paid everything and didn't touch anything in the Museums!” I whispered.

“This is why my lawyer will go with you. The police love to hide their incompetence by accusing the wrong people. Lefèbre is very good.”

In less than half an hour the famous Nicholas Lefèbre was there and he was a man bordering his sixties, with a clear French accent, like a Belgian. We took his car to the Police Station and he ordered, yes ordered to make the mighty Inspector Laforelle move his bottom to see us.

“Mr. de Lisle, coming with a counsellor is not the best idea for someone allegedly not guilty,” the policeman fired at me and I kept myself quiet as the lawyer had instructed me in the car. I should not go along with their taunts; only answer to a direct question.

“Inspector, my client is wasting a wonderful morning in here. Could you please proceed?”

“Certainly. When did you arrive to Paris?”

“On the morning of the 28th at ten or eleven. I don't remember exactly.”

“Your flight's number?”

“I don't know. It was a private plane. I could find it out.”

“What did you do?”

“I went to visit my parent's grave in Pere Lachaise, had lunch at a kebab stall near the entrance to the metro, then I took the metro and returned to my flat. At 5:30 I went to Montmartre where I was supposed to meet a friend. He never showed up. I returned home at 9:00 and at 11:30 he called me to tell me he had met two young girls.”

“Did he tell you what he was doing with the girls?”

“Reading Proust; what do you think he was doing with two floozies?”

“The day after, on the 29th?”

“Drawing at the Louvre.” The cretin laughed at me and I exploded. “Yes, I study Art History and paint.

I have an upcoming exhibition and I was stealing some ideas!”

“Can you prove it? Do you have the tickets?”

“I don't collect tickets but there must be a hundred security cameras there! Look for the idiot copying at the Denon wing! I refuse to answer any more questions until you inform me of the charges against me.”

“Charges against you? No, no, you're mistaken, this is only a polite talk between us.”

“Mr. de Lisle will leave this interview room this moment, unless you speak frankly.”

“Do you use drugs Mr. de Lisle?”

“You don't have to answer that,” Nicholas told me automatically.

“Of course not!”

“Do you mind if we run a test on you?”

“Certainly I do. You have no right. Get a Judge to back your words, officer!” I said losing my patience and rising to leave the place.

“All right, you're accused of nothing. We only wanted to speak with you about one of your friends, a petty drug dealer.”

“I know no dealer!”

“You called him several times on the 28th and that sounds like someone looking for his fix.”

“I only called Federico Martiarena Alvear and he's a friend from my school days. We were supposed to meet in that café but he never showed up. He didn't call me after that night.”

“The funny thing is that he says that you're the lover of a Russian mobster.”

“I fail to understand how my client's private life is related to your investigation, Inspector,” Lefèbre dryly said and added the blow. “You're bordering on harassment with your questioning. Guntram we go, now.”

“I can hold the boy in a cell for twenty-four hours and you know it.”

“And I can return you to the parking tickets era if you try it.”

“Did you say that Federico is a drugs dealer? Impossible! He has a lot of money, he has no need to do it. It's all a mistake.”

“He accuses you of bringing a half a kilo from London.”

“What? I did nothing of the sort!”

“You came in a private flight.”

“Our luggage was checked and a French dog sniffed us and everywhere. The stewardess was furious because she's allergic to them and that stupid policeman didn't listen and put the bloody animal almost on top of her.

A doctor had to inject her with cortisone! Check the airport's records!” I cried.

“We will, don't worry. Look, son, you look like a sensible young man, substance abuse is not as bad as trafficking. Tell me what I want to know and I will do my best to help you.”

“What do you want to know? I haven't seen him in a year. He works in the Argentinean Senate and I live in London.”

“This man you live with, what do you know about his activities?”

“Guntram you don't have to answer more questions.”

“He's an important businessman. Ask him.” I answered truly pissed off.

“Don't leave the town during the investigation,” the idiot said as if he were Horatio Caine or Grissom from CSI.

We left the police station and the lawyer was chuckling in his car. “Must be in the genes, no doubt.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are you the son of Jerôme de Lisle? We went together to Law School, Sorbonne in 1968. It was quite a surprise to be your attorney. I'm mostly into tax law. Your father was an incredible lawyer. Never lost a case or a negotiation in his whole life.”

“My father was working in a bank, not a lawyer.”

“He was the head of the legal affairs of a Geneva based bank. I still copy from him. You look almost exactly like him, not the hair or the eyes, those are Cécile's. Do you want to go for a coffee?”

“Yes, of course.” I couldn't believe my luck. This was the very first time that I knew someone who had been a friend of my parents. We sat at a small place he took me, near the police station. It was almost empty, with the exception of a man, also in his early sixties, drinking a coffee and having a piece of apple cake. For a second he reminded me of my father. Lefèbre took a table next to him and the window.

“Do you want one too? Apple cake.” The lawyer laughed at me. “Exactly like him. He would have sold his soul for a piece of apple cake.”

“I know, he was always taking me to the same place in Buenos Aires to get a warm piece with vanilla ice cream on top and cinnamon sprinkled all over.” I smiled at the memory.

“How's your lawyer, Martínez Estrada? Crazy, but a good man. Was he nice to you?”

“How do you know about him?”

“I recommended him to your father when he was looking for an executor of his will for you. Was he good to you?”

“He always did his best to take care of me. He was taking me with his family on the holidays whenever he could. His wife was not so happy to have a third wheel and his children didn't like to have extra competition. He defended my money and made it last all over my schooling. How is that you work for Mr. Malchenko?”

“He's one of my clients. I'm Senior Partner in a Brussels based law firm. I specialize in making your taxes bearable and your contracts atomic bomb proof.” He made me laugh. “I survived a divorce, no children and come to Paris three days per week. My cat ran away on a love adventure; don't know when he will be back. Tell me about you. Do you live in London?”

“Yes, I live in London and study Art History. I paint also.”

“And you live with a man.” I blushed at his words.

“Yes, Constantin Repin. I don't know why the police are interested in him. He's the owner of a big oil company and some transport too. He has a Foundation for sponsoring artists and gave me a scholarship to study here. We met in Buenos Aires because he was interested in some of my pieces and we fell in love later.” There I said it blushing more violently than before as the stranger with the apple cake was piercing me with his grey, no green eyes.

What's wrong with you? Never seen a gay before?

“Are you happy?”

“Yes, I am. Constantin is very kind and nice to me. Had it not been for him I should be still serving tables and drawing over napkins. I think I love him very much and he returns my affections,” I whispered.

“If you're happy with this solution, no one can complain about it. Are you doing something with your gift for drawing? Your father told me that he had to protect his papers from the little Guntram and his pencils. He was convinced that you were going to be an artist.”

“I have improved. I don't attack important papers any longer,” I chuckled. Yes, that's true, my poor papa was always placing his portfolio has high as he could. “I'm studying with a fancy teacher, but it's not working at all.

If Constantin wouldn't be nagging me that he's so important; the St. Peter of the galleries, I would dump him. Anyway, I have an exhibition at Robertson's next August. It's a well-known place and the owner is my manager. He sells my pieces ‘quite successfully, young man, keep on with the good work’.” I impersonated his crisp accent and he laughed.

“Do you remember your father?”

“Yes, I do and I still miss him. I don't know why he did it. He was always looking so full of life when he was visiting me. I guess he never forgave me for my mother's.”

“Do you really think that? Your father loved you with all his soul. Your mother had a serious heart condition but they wanted to have the baby despite the risks. He was always speaking to me about you. It was really a pity that he was so sick in the end. He had the same cancer as your grandmother; pancreas cancer, very painful. He coped with a lot of shit just to save all the money he could for your education.”

“I didn't know he was sick. No one ever told me.”

“Perhaps Chano wanted to save you the pain.”

“I only found out about his death one week later. The school's principal told me.”

“The important thing is that you're happy now. I would love to see your work.”

“I have not much to show you. Most things are in London. I was here only for a week to visit this

“friend”. I really don't understand him. He calls me in Christmas, makes me come here and then he stood me up. And now I'm accused of bringing him half a kilo of something.”

“Choose better your friends next time. If you ever need a lawyer or want to talk, you can do it with me.

I'll give you my card. Perhaps you need to, if you went to visit his grave yesterday.”

Why that French was looking at me? Mind your own business! “Yes, I miss him and I wanted to see him and my mother. There were some flowers at her grave but nothing by his. I believe she had still some old aunts and someone must have left some daisies. This is childish, but I left him a letter too. I visited him a year ago when I was for the first time in Paris, but it was so shocking for me to be there, that I only left the flowers. I guess that when I read his name on the stone, I realised that it was true and he was not coming back.”

“I really would like to see your material, Guntram. Perhaps you could show me what you have at home.

We have to return before Malchenko raids the police station.”

“I saved my skin from the police but Constantin will kill me when he hears that Federico got me into a drug mess.”

“You did nothing wrong and they have nothing against you.”

“I can't leave the country,” I pointed out.

“I'll speak with the judge and there will be no problem.”

“Thank you. I can only pay you with paintings.”

“They will be much appreciated, child. More than you can imagine,” he said thoughtfully. The Frenchman was still listening to our conversation and I was feeling very uncomfortable but somehow he looked familiar, as if I would have seen him before.

He brought me back home and spoke for a long time with Boris. He's not happy at all but he's not cross at me. I don't know what's wrong with him. It wasn't exactly my fault! Lefèbre forbade me to speak with any member of Federico's family and was very happy to get several of my drawings. I'll send him an oil painting from London.

January 6th

I can return to London. I'm cleared of whatever they were trying to frame me. Constantin is very upset about the whole mess and he's right. I should have paid more attention to his words. I'll do what he tells me in the future. He's very intelligent and knew that Fefo would get me into trouble once more.

The only positive thing of this nightmare is that I met one of my father's friends.