Chapter 17

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

Contrary to my original impression, this Rudolf Ostermann is not as bad as my previous teacher. He has a horrible temper, that's for sure. He looked for a long time all what I've done in the previous week and said “mostly rubbish, don't waste paper if you don't know what you're trying to achieve. The ones I saw from your time in England are much better. Have a little respect for the trees!”

According to him, I can draw “reasonably well,” but I have no idea of what I want to do. “Chaotic and childish. The only way you start to organize yourself is if I give you an object to copy and work with. Here, familiarise yourself with this and don't loaf around!” I got a horrible Chinese “greeting cat”. The blasted thing moves its right paw permanently! Way to achieve perpetual movement! Why did they have to paint it in golden with red and blue? It's simply hideous.

At least he's not telling me to “leave all Academics behind and look for new ways to express yourself,”

By the end of the day,—nine to six, with one break for lunch with Alexei in a nearby restaurant and the guy specifically ordered no salt at all in my food. Bastard!—he had destroyed over sixteen studies on the thing and I wanted to skin him alive, the present ladies preventing me from taking justice into my hands. His verdict? “You're not properly capturing the object's essence. Forget it's a Modern toy and look for its intrinsic harmony.”

The next lesson was the same and after he destroyed view number seven in the morning, I had enough and decided that if he wanted classicism for that wretched thing, he would have it. I used the background of Leonardo's Philosophy class and instead of Socrates and Aristotle; I put two of the nasty cats, greeting each other, all in pencil.

When I was expecting his explosion, he only carefully inspected the drawing for a long time. “Perhaps, I could still make something good out of you, young man. Now your drawing starts to reflect partly you. We will start to work with oil colours. A classical portrait of your feline friend.” I swear he enjoyed the last sentence!

At least, he left me alone today as he had to travel to Paris for some appraisals. He makes his money as curator-commissar, writing Art books and making the life of young artists miserable. Fortunately, he's not quoting Koons or Warhol every two minutes like the other pest.

Am I allowed “to loaf” NO, this morning Friederich gave me several of the text books for Architectural History and a “they arrived yesterday morning, when you were with Pater Bruno. The Duke wants that you start to read and study them. There are some recommended assignments included. Do them and Meister Ostermann will read them before you send them to the Assistant Teacher.”

Lintorff was serious about making me study and taking the tests! The whole thing is here. I'm not surprised he's an old spinster with no children around. The poor dears will run to the judge the minute they can speak. Anyway, it's better reading or studying than coping with him. At least, it keeps my mind busy.

'The only good thing about this new position is that I can check on Jean Jacques. The new boy in the kitchen is exactly what he likes and he's willing to do everything the chef tells him to do.' Alexei Gregorevich Antonov mused for the tenth time during the week he had been ordered to look after “Repin's favourite toy,” as Guntram was called by the Duke. He was partly torn between his duty as “jailer”, 'and his conditions are much better than those in Afghanistan, but it's the same', half confident “try to elicit much as you can from him, Antonov; he probably knows much more than we think. Keep him away from my papers too; and nurse, “he suffers from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy and had already one heart attack, courtesy of Olga Fedorovna Repin. He had it almost as bad as you when you had your disagreement with Repin.”

'No, he had it much worse than I. I was trained for this and knew how to evade the pain or neutralize the effects. I was physically broken, not mentally like he is. I never thought about suicide; revenge, yes, and still do.”

The Russian bodyguard continued to eat his trout, sitting with Friederich and Guntram, also having lunch at the former guard's hall.

“How's everything going, Guntram? Do you need something more for your studies?”

“No, thank you, Friederich,” Guntram answered very quietly.

“His Excellency suggests that you start to read and summarize the chapters. The examination dates are due in June. Will it be sufficient time for you?”

“I think so, but I will have to study instead of painting,” Guntram suggested, hoping to be excused from the lessons with the old teacher.

“I will speak with Pater Bruno to keep your visits to once per week; on Saturday mornings, as his Excellency is also busy at that time.

“I do like going there!” Guntram protested feebly but the butler didn't flinch at all.

“My child, you know it's for the best. Once you're rid of the tests you can return for longer periods. In July, for example.”

“I don't want to stay here!”

“Guntram, your health does not allow you to do much more. You've heard the doctor. Last week you were two days indisposed. You can study in the mornings, paint in the afternoons and go to Meister Ostermann's studio three times per week. Perhaps, Mr. Antonov would like to take you to Zurich to see the city or its Museums,”

Friederich spoke with a certainty that left no place for rebellion.

'Poor boy, he doesn't even look like he could fight with a fly. Repin really broke him. I wonder how he could last so long in his clutches. I was never living with him, only brief meetings for three years and that was enough to make Olga explode. I'm sure she planted that information against me. I'll ask Goran to be a part of the team. The Duke can babysit Guntram for a few days or Holgersen can do it too. I would love to settle part of the score with that witch. I don't believe for a minute that she's out like Oblomov told me. She's only bidding her time to finish off Repin.

The boy was just a mild blow to him. The Duke is right with his decision. If she comes up, it would be chaos for all of us while the others try to depose her.'

“Guntram, do you want to come with me to Altstadt today? I can show it to you,” Alexei asked, picking up the cue from Friederich.

“No, Mr. Antonov. I prefer to organise my things here.”

“It's Friday, boy! Most teenagers disappear from five onwards!”

“I'm almost twenty-two years old, Mr. Antonov. I was never very popular. I used to make extra hours in the coffee shop I was working on Fridays or Saturdays.”

“Then, I'll take you to the cinema. You choose, but please, nothing from Star Wars.”

“Excuse me, but I don't like to be around much people.”

“All right, I'll choose for you. It's DreamWorks Factory time!”

“I don't speak German at all!”

“It's in English with subtitles. Mr. Elsässer, could you inform his Excellency that I will be back with Guntram around 10 p.m.?”

“Certainly, Mr. Antonov. Guntram, don't pout; it's very unbecoming and childish.”

“Will you not have troubles with the Duke, Mr. Antonov? I think he expects me for dinner,” Guntram tried to talk Alexei out of his idea with a veiled threat, invoking Lintorff. He was very apprehensive as a cinema meant hundreds of people, a shopping mall perhaps, lights, share the space with them.

“He will not mind, and don't expect he shows at home. Fridays is major hunting day if he's in Zurich.

We'll get a hot tea for you before we drive away,” the Russian said with a big plastered smile.

“I don't want a tea!”

“Yes, you do Guntram! Now, move to the kitchen and ask for your tea.”

“Why?”

“As a personal favour? Do one for me, and I'll do another for you. One hand washes the other, as they say.”

“If you want a tea, why don't you ask it for yourself? The Duke can't deny you that.”

“You can be very dense when you want, can't you?” Alexei huffed taking Guntram by the arm and steering him toward the stairs leading to the service area. One final push sent Guntram inside the ample industrial kitchen where the chef, Jean Jacques, was supervising Saturday's dinner. “Guntram doesn't dare to ask for something, Jean Jacques.” Alexei sauntered to the more than hostile looking small man.

“Really? What is that you want? I'm working, Antonov,” he said with a belligerent tone as he was getting sick of his boyfriend's jealousy, coming to check what he was doing in his own kitchen, as if he were an amateur, not a three Michelin Stars Winner and author of many books. 'Does he think that I'm still jumping on everyone that comes here? I only did it with him and since that time, he thinks I'm banging every cook or waiter that crosses that door.

God, he might be even jealous of Friederich!'

“I'm sorry to bother you, Monsieur. I only wanted some tea…” Guntram said very sheepishly, completely hating to be in the middle of something he couldn't still understand.

“Bien sûr. Peter, make one and try to remember the difference between boiling and scalding water. Use leaves.”

“I didn't mean to interrupt you.”

“Please, don't worry. I know whose idea it was,” Jean Jacques answered very fast in French. “Do you come from Poitiers?”

“I was born in New York and lived in Buenos Aires.” Guntram answered in English.

“I spend many years in Poitiers when I was around your age. There's one chef there who's a genius. I learn many things there. He has a restaurant at St. Épine. He only works with natural products from the area and traditional cooking methods. If he decides to use pumpkins, you'll find about ten to twenty different kinds in the day's menu and you will not tire of it. Every time I go to France, I do my best to pass by his establishment. I adapted several of his recipes for you as you have a very strict diet. What did you do to your doctor?”

“Your dishes are fantastic, sir. It doesn't taste like hospital food at all.”

“Can I use that sentence for a title? If you survive me then, I would like to write another book, one for cardiac patients. It's awful what they get! It's no wonder that they run to the first restaurant they can find the minute they're released,” the cook chuckled much to his helpers' astonishment at seeing his usually grumpy boss chatting in a jovial tone.

“I'm glad to be helpful.”

“Going out?” Jean Jacques asked, making a small sign with his head to the casual sport attire the boy was wearing, a light pullover and shirt without tie or jacket, nothing like what he was wearing on normal days or when the Duke was around.

“I'm going to the cinema it seems. The Duke doesn't come home tonight.”

“No, he has a dinner for nine people, including his official flame; Stefania di Barberini and her girls. If I were you, I would run away as fast as I can. They won't miss you. It's a meeting for some traders,” he chortled showing his disgust.

“Stefania di Barberini? The name sounds familiar. Who is she?”

“The epitome of good taste, elegance, chic, charme and idiocy. She's a TV hostess in the RAI and comments on fashion. Eons ago, she was a relatively known model, but now she's retired and in need of fixed income, one that only a husband can provide.”

“Jean Jacques, please! Ms, Barberini has been a friend of the Duke for the past…”

“Ten years? Alexei Gregorevich lasting in a bed doesn't mean that you're going to get a fixed position.

She will bring some models along and even you can imagine her task for tonight. I only regret to waste some good truffles on them. Perhaps, I should open a caviare can from the supermarket and serve it along with some ready made toasts and Philadelphia cheese. They wouldn't notice the difference.”

“This is none of our business.”

“Already sweating Alexei? Relax boy. Your boss is not here, and believe me, he shares my evaluation too. I bet that he ordered you this morning to get Guntram away for the night as he should not mix with such people,”

he smirked. “Antonov, take out Guntram this afternoon as I have a sensitive business meeting with people from outside our circle. Return at ten,” he impersonated the Duke's voice and accent very accurately. “You have still so much to learn, boy,” the chef added evilly while glancing around to check what his two helpers and sous chef were doing. “Do you dare to call this a vol au vent?” he shouted to one of the boys, removing something from the oven.

“Merde!”

Guntram gulped the rest of his tea while the cook shouted in German mixed with French to a man already looking abashed. “Let's go, please,” he whispered to a very upset Alexei, after his game had been so easily discovered.

“Tomorrow at seven, Alexei.” The Russian heard the moment he closed the door. He only increased his pace toward the main entrance and barked the butler for their coats. Once he started the car, he felt his nerves cooling down just a bit.

“That was my boyfriend, Guntram,” he explained very softly to a bewildered boy.

“Are you gay?”

“Yes, what's so strange?”

“Nothing,” Guntram muttered.

“We met in 1996, when I arrived to Zurich. We had something going on for a few months, then, he came to work here and we stopped till three months ago. I had to ask permission to date him again. I'm working as hard as I can to get something more stable and better than a bodyguard's position, so we are more serious about things. He's used to going out a lot and I don't like it at all.”

“I understand, Mr. Antonov.”

“Call me Alexei. We live next door so to speak.”

“All right.”

“I'll take you to McDonalds after the film, if you want. Do you like “Monsters”?

“I've seen many in the past years.”

“No, the film. It's from Disney, I think.”

“It's full of people. Can we not go to a café and stay in a corner?”

“Nope. We go to the cinema and watch the movie. I'll get you a chocolate bar or candies if you want.

Look, its dark, you shouldn't be afraid of people. Watch the film and forget about the rest.”

Guntram started to hyperventilate in the line but Alexei smiled at him and lightly squeezed his arm in a soothing attempt. Guntram gulped and centred his gaze on the children and parents making the line in front of him. 'I can do it, I can do it. It's just a silly film.'

“Thank you so much for your company tonight Stefania, you're charming as always, my dear,” Konrad said while he stood up in the emptied living room where the people from Templeton and some girls had drank coffee.

All his guests were gone and three of the men had offered to deliver each one of the ladies to their hotels. He had heard from the main door's direction some partly repressed chuckles at around 11 p.m. in the middle of his lecture about Emerging Markets Perspectives and a strange urge to kill Antonov had engulfed his soul. The man was one hour late from his established arrival time; the boy had been running in the cold weather and now he was laughing like a child in the corridor. He would certainly have a word with the Russian in the morning.

“Will you show him to me, Konrad?”

“I beg you pardon?” 'Not now, Stefania, I'm not in the mood for fucking and much less here. She should know that by now. Never at home.'

“What you brought from Russia, dear. It's quite the talk.”

“Ah, you mean the small Kandinsky. It's not here, I'm afraid. At the bank, in a vault. I can order my people to show it to you tomorrow or the day after. It just does not fit with my decoration. I was considering buying two Tiepolo's drawings I saw in the latest catalogue, but perhaps it's too much to put them in my bedroom at Venice.”

“No, nothing so exquisite, Konrad,” she said with an acid but sweet voice. “I understand that he paints too, or at least tries to.”

“Ah, you mean Guntram. He should be in bed by now. You'll see him some other time, dear. He's very shy and hides at the first sight of people. Nothing to have around VIP's,” Konrad shrugged.

“Is it true that he was the lover of the owner of Repoil Inc. and the one of RusTrans?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“It's quite the talk. I think my friend, Sofia della Crocce heard your cousin, Gertrud von Kleist speaking about him during the Help the Children Annual Dinner in Paris.

“I don't ask such questions to people, dear. It's rather personal, don't you think?”

“If he's your pupil, you should know who lives under your roof. How old is he?”

“Almost twenty-two years old and he's my ward, not pupil. His father asked me to take care of him when he was a small child. He has a serious heart condition and I would appreciate that you don't contribute to the rumours.”

“Two billionaires before twenty-two? Should we sign him up for the Guinness Records Book?”

“Only one my dear; Repoil and RusTrans belong to the same man, among many others. The weather in St. Petersburg is too wet for him. For your information, he had a scholarship in his foundation and lived with him in London and St. Petersburg for two years. He's studying here with my own curator, Ostermann and that already proves that he has some talent. His grades were always very high and…”

“Apparently the wife caught them both in bed,” Stefania gloated causing Konrad's cold fury to increase at the rude interruption.

“As I said, I don't ask about such personal matters. For me is enough to know that he's honest, serious and hard working. None of us can cast the first stone regarding good sexual behaviour, don't you think Stefania?”

“Well, living off a rich man and later coming to the next, establishes a certain pattern, Konrad, don't you think?” She fired before she could choose her words better.

“My driver will take you home. Good night, Stefania,” the Duke barked and directed his steps in a straight line to the door and opened it for her.

“I was hoping that you would do it, dear,” she said in a vain attempt to fix what had been broken. Men were always so sensitive—especially this one—in their male pride. No one was supposed to challenge their views.

“Another time perhaps. I had more than two glasses tonight. I can't drive. Good night.”

“Good night, Konrad,” she answered, totally furious with him.

The Duke didn't wait for the car to go away to put his phone out of the drawer in the library and dial Ferdinand's number.

“Ferdinand, that you don't live with your wife does not excuse you from maintaining a certain order within your house!” he barked at the man before he could greet him.

“What has Marie Amélie done now, Konrad?” his friend said tiredly, convinced that his youngest daughter had been into some mischief.

“Not her! Your wife! She was telling everybody that Guntram was living with Repin! I clearly said that no comments on that at all! And my own cousin starts to spread lies about him! It can come only from you Ferdinand!”

“I said nothing! I'll ask her from where she got the story.”

“I knew you were against us in this, but this is very low. What do you win by ruining this boy's reputation?”

“I ruined nothing! And he was in Repin's bed all by himself!”

“I'm very disappointed with you. Guntram has done nothing against you and you stab him in the back?

Where's your honour?”

“I said nothing! Women gossip and you know it. I will stop it.”

“It's too late. Even Stefania di Barberini knows about it. Your wife can be very glad to have ruined his chances to be respectable again!”

“He's not a bloody maid and we are not in the XIX century. Should we ask Armin how many adventures he had already? Or my own boys? The lad had a lover, so what? It's not as if he were a street whore! Really Konrad, think before you cry to me!”

“His reputation should be unquestionable and you know the reasons!”

“No, I don't know them. Care to explain, Konrad?” Ferdinand asked as all his internal alarms sprang to life.

“A clean name is mandatory to be in our Order.”

“No, no, no, my friend. Don't give me that. We’ve known each other since we were nine years old. The

“highest reputation” story is only required for a certain position within the Council and we both know which one it is.”

“Your wife has directly disregarded an order from her Griffin,” Konrad barked, furious to be trapped.

“I will speak with Gertrud and she will apologise to you. It's the other thing that worries me. What exactly are you planning to do with Guntram?”

“Nothing, he's my ward and part of my family.”

“Shit! Don't go there! He's the snake's nephew! Do you think that Löwenstein will let you have him?

After you exiled his niece just because she was married to Roger? You ruined her medical career and now she's in a God forgotten African country vaccinating everything that moves. And you're considering now to get the boy in your bedroom? As Consort? Shit!”

“I can trade with him. Her full pardon for his support.”

“I will not let you. It's an obsession what you have! There are hundreds of light brown hair and blue eyed boys in this world. Fuck them all if you have to. But stay away from Guntram!”

“He's nothing like Roger and I'm getting tired of your permanent nagging about getting a Consort and children. I'll be forty-six in November. It's time to settle down.”

“Fuck! Fuck! Settle down? With the living image of the man who nearly killed you and robbed everything you had? Besides, how do you plan to have children? He's a man in case your brain was too busy drooling to realise it!”

“Modern Science has advanced dramatically. There's a good legal framework in the United States. I could also get a wife if the council prefers the traditional, but less efficient way.”

“No, no, no. Löwenstein will not allow it. I will not allow it! Albert will not allow it!”

“I can get the votes from Goran, Michael, and the others don't care at all. They will do anything to get their bank accounts fatter.”

“I can't believe it! You're serious about it! What do you think will happen when you go and merrily announce that you want a boy for consort? Do you have any idea of all the shit Repin had to cope with just because he was gay? Since when do you like boys again?”

“You know I always preferred men to women. I simply don't understand the later. They're a permanent source of trouble.”

“Yes, Roger was a candid dove,” Ferdinand snickered.

“This one is. There's the antecedent of my predecessor Klaus Friederich von Lintorff in the XVIII century. He named the Prinz Otto von Olomuc his consort and married a woman too. Otto is buried in the same vault as he. Let's do not forget how many of our knights had many long lasting relationships in wartime and that our founder, Theodobald von Lintorff had an affair of twenty-six years with a young bishop from Italy, illegitimate child from Pope Innocent… and finally, least but not last, my own father with—”

“We don't know about that, so, leave it!”

“Please, it's very clear for me and the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I don't know what I would do without him, Ferdinand. The best counsellor I've ever had, even if he never got the title.”

“If they never made it public, you must respect their reasons.”

“He has even moulded your character, Ferdinand. Do you see my point now?”

“No!”

“Fix the problem with your wife, Ferdinand. Relax, I'm not going to name him or anything like that. I should be certain of my future actions. I will only speak with Löwenstein, and if he agrees, then, I might proceed.

Konrad hang up the phone before Ferdinand could explode as he was usually doing every time they had a disagreement for the past thirty-five years. His mind returned at once to what had been nagging him since coffee; the good time Guntram and Antonov seemed to be having. 'He likes Russians and Alexei Gregorevich wouldn't say no, if I know him a bit. Time to put an end to whatever those two have been doing.'

Guntram was feeling something akin to happiness in a long time, more than he could remember. First Alexei had taken him to watch a cartoon, “Monsters Inc.” and he was able to control his panic in the theatre, in the shopping mall and later in the McDonalds. He had been very surprised that the normally very stern Russian was so funny, enjoying the film like a child and then, joking with him or going to a place full with noisy teenagers—his size was enough to convince several boys pushing each other of the benefits of respecting the line—and telling him “don't worry I know CPR. No Friday evening is a funny one if you don't visit the E.R.”

The Russian was funny indeed and was nothing like the former KGBs he had met in Constantin's house.

He had told him about his time in Afghanistan or his many travels around the former USSR.

While Konrad was standing in front of Guntram's bedroom's door his hand ready to knock, he heard the boy laughing loudly.

“Do you think this is the right position, Alexei? I don't remember something like this.”

“There's always a first time, Guntram.”

“It's large, no doubt about it.”

“Big or burst. That's what we always say back home.” Konrad heard Alexei's deep voice chuckling. 'I'll kill him if he has touched the boy. So that was his revenge; fuck Repin's favourite boy!' he thought before his hand froze in mid air when the boy laughed: “Who knew that there could be so much fun in a banana!”

Konrad opened the door to find the boy in pyjamas, under the covers and Alexei sitting by him—on the chair, with all his clothes on, including shoes—and something like a scrabble board in front of them with an empty case looking like a banana. Antonov jumped to attention while Guntram did his best to stabilize the board and the letters.

“Good evening, Gentlemen,” he said eating his own fury at his own stupid mistake.

“Good evening, Duke,” both answered in unison.

“It's more than one in the morning, Antonov. De Lisle should be resting now.”

“Yes Sire, Good night Sire.” The Russian left the room very quickly while Guntram gathered the small stones and placed them back in the strange looking case, still smiling at himself.

“What were you doing tonight?” Konrad barked, making the boy flinch.

“We were playing bananagrams, Konrad. I couldn't sleep and Mr. Antonov suggested playing this game.”

“And before?”

“We went to the cinema and later to have dinner, sir. We returned at eleven.”

“Good. Go to bed now. It's late for you.”

I was not expecting it at all.”

'Letting you out. I'll certainly have some words with that man. I specifically ordered him to keep the boy away from me tonight! Not walking him around!'

“I never thought I could be again inside a movie theatre, Konrad. Thank you,” Guntram whispered, washing away the older man's fury. “It's as you said; I'm starting to feel better here than in St. Petersburg.”

“I'm glad you feel comfortable around your own people. I didn't lie when I said that you were now a part of my family, as your father wanted,” Konrad intoned, deciding to cash some points for his own account and drop the killing for the morning.

“Will you tell me what happened in 1989?”

“Yes, but not now. It's not a happy story for either side, Guntram.”

“I understand.”

“When you're feeling much better. There's no rush. We have a lot of time in front of us.”

“Good night, Konrad.”

“Good night, Guntram.”