Chapter 27

December 20th

Rome

The elegant building of Bellissima-Top Models, was located near the Spanish Steps. Piero della Rosa, owner and manager was on the brink of a nervous breakdown after a fight with one of his best known faces. First, she had broken up with her best sponsor; almost €10,000 per month with a visit now and then, when he was around Rome and other services paid aside. If he needed some more girls for his friends, he was always paying and never complained about the prices. 'The cow should understand that she's thirty-eight, not twenty-one any longer. Too old for this job'

'I'm getting tired of this stupid slut. Ten years ago, she was hot, but now she's old and bitter. She should be very glad that this stupid German gave her a flat and money for starting this TV show. She's out since a long time ago! Not a single designer has called her since 2001. Grannies don't do well in catwalks! Besides, she's getting fat.

Must be the menopause.'

'I still don't know why I waste my time with her! I have much good looking girls working fine and discreetly! This Russian is her golden opportunity and she should take it because I'm sick of getting the door in my face to get sponsors and interviews for her damned show! She's not Claudia or Naomi! Just Stefania!'

Still very crossed he decided to give her another call, but this time in different terms. She'd better be in London in three days or she would be fired.

The sharp and noisy ringing of Stefania's mobile interrupted her talk with the manager of Bottega Venetta in Rome. Frustrated at the interruption -because she had almost convinced the man to supply shoes and purses for three months in exchange for an interview on the second show, she excused herself and left the showroom.

“What's up now?” she mumbled, already knowing that it was Piero.

“About the Russian. He only wants to meet you and offers €10,000 for an interview. He admires your career and is thinking on investing in a models agency in St. Petersburg. I've checked him and he has a lot of money and several agencies in Central Europe. Look, that girl, Larissa Rumanova comes from his agency! She just got a contract with L'Oréal and another with Belfast. It's a perfectly legitimate business!”

“I'm not a call girl! If he wants me, he should come and visit me at your office!”

“Boris Karamazov is a well known manager. He has four agencies. All the Russians girls in Haute Couture belong to him and the designers like them because they're elegant, tall, quiet and most of their customers are Russians nowadays. We can't afford to lose the Russian Market. They swim in money and spend it like crazies. They have shopping malls where the cheapest article cost a million dollars.”

“I'm a celebrity.”

“You were a celebrity so move your dammed ass to my office to pick up your ticket if you don't want to look for another manager! I'm sick of your diva airs. You're old. Even the boring German got sick of you!” Piero yelled very vulgarly.

“I don't need to hear this! My father has a—”

“Yes, your father has and he hates you. You will not see a single cent from him till he dies and the motherfucker is in perfect health! Plans to live up to his 90th birthday! So, do your work or put an ad in “Tuttoaffari”!

“Stronzo!”

“Move your ass and do your job!”

Stefania couldn't believe that he had hung up on her! But if the show didn't work at all, she was doomed.

Fucking Lintorff! Since he had decided to fuck with a French-Russian little whore, insignificant excuse for a boy, most of the friends she had acquired through him had disappeared; one even had had the audacity to ask for one of her younger girlfriends' phone number after turning her down!

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

December 26th

I don't remember a Christmas so happy in my life. Not even when my father was alive because I was always thinking that he would go away soon. No, this one was just perfect. I'm so happy!

The week after I was in the hospital—I swear I will never take one of those macaroons ever again!—

Konrad stayed in the house as he had promised me. He spent all his time with me and was so tender and loving! He took care that I had everything, checking every second that I would be warm, had my pills, happy, and without any stress. We remained most of the time in the library, where he worked sitting next to me, kissing, hugging or just holding me. I don't think he was very productive but he was on holidays!

Sometimes he took me out for a short walk in the garden and more or less he made his peace with Mopsi… Well, he bribed her as I found him feeding her under the breakfast's table, just to get rid of her. She's very possessive of me and does not like if he's around on top of me. Once, when we were on the garden, Konrad told me: “I can't live without out you, Guntram. Promise me that you will stay with me.” He sounded so desperate that I was speechless. “I love you more than my own life. Don't you ever go away!” I could only say: “I love you too, but it's not in my hands. I'll love you till my last breath.” He hugged me to the point of almost breaking my ribs and whispered:

“Promise me that nothing and no one will split us up! Only God!” “Konrad, I love you because you made me want to live again. Before I only wanted to die but now, I want to get better and grow old with you!”

“You will live many years and I will do all what's in my hand to make you as happy as you make me. No one ever made me feel what I feel next to you. You're my life, Guntram. I never knew how empty my life was till you came to me. You're a present from God.”

I was speechless; so moved I was and could only smile and kiss him. “I'll stay with you my love as long as I can.”

We returned to the house and Friederich decided to take a photo of us. Coming to think, there's not a single picture of us together. Konrad accepted gladly and I let him do it because I knew it made him happy.

Friederich took several in the garden, covered by the snow and in the yard near the cherry tree. Konrad said that he wanted one copy for his office and I blushed.

I was surprised to hear that he had cancelled the Christmas lunch with Ferdinand's and Albert's families. He told me that I needed to rest and he was very tired after the past week. He had invited Albert, his whole family, Elisabetta and Armin, the eldest (Albert's younger brother, a bohemian who is a film maker) and his wife and children for New Year. A total of twelve people more. I asked why Ferdinand was not invited and he only told me that he was having some troubles with him and his wife and preferred to keep distance till everything was sorted out.

On Christmas Eve we had a light dinner in the small dinning room and went to bed early. The whole staff was very happy that day. I guess this year's bonus was nice.

On Christmas morning, Konrad was like a child, an oversized one, but so sweet in his eagerness. He shook me awake at 7 a.m.!

“Is it not possible to sleep longer one single day in this house?” I complained jokingly.

“You're the one who sleeps the longest! Look, you want to sleep now instead of checking if you got something for Christmas!”

“What makes you think that you got something?” I asked, doing my best to be serious.

“I was very good this year,” he said haughtily and I laughed, rising from the bed to kiss him. “But I got my one already,” he returned my kiss with much more passion, making me lay against the pillows while he climbed on top of me.

Just when I was thinking that I was going to get finally lucky—against the doctor's orders; absolute bed rest for two weeks—he broke the kiss and jumped out of the bed, completely dressed and shouted; “Hurry up or you'll miss it!” He dashed out of the room, toward his studio.

Sighing, I left the comfortable and warm bed. It's useless. He lives on a permanent caffeine rush. I washed and got dressed very informally with black corduroy trousers and light blue shirt and beige jersey, before joining him in his studio. He closed with a loud thud the folder he was reading and took it with him before going the stairs down, to the big (monster size) Christmas tree that had arrived yesterday and we had been decorating under Friederich's frown.

Friederich had been very kind as to help me hide Konrad's present—yes, despite the size of this castle and who knows how many rooms it has, it's very difficult to hide anything from him!— and had left it, wrapped under the tree. I was surprised to see other two large square boxes under the tree, obviously wrapped for children because of the old toys paper, topped with a large red ribbon.

“Konrad, if you think that two boxes will keep Albert's children happy, you're seriously mistaken,” I joked.

“They're not for them! They're for Klaus and Karl, but I think it's fine if you open them.”

“It's not all right to open children's presents,” I said, thinking that perhaps those were the children of one of the maids. “Come, open mine!” I gave the painting to him. Honestly, what do you give a man who has a fat bank account? Not many options left. A painting; well a watercolour. Like a child, he tore the paper and got the painting out of its tube. He was looking at it enraptured.

“It's…”

“San Capistrano, the view from the terrace.”

“Yes, that's when you told me that you loved me.”

“I always loved that place and it was my place to run away when everything was too much for me. The loneliness of the plain was always very appealing to me. It was the perfect place for me to ask you to be my consort.

You have captured its essence, but it has a new light at the same time.”

“I'm happy you like it.”

“It goes to my office, I know exactly where.”

“Please don't do that! You have real things there!”

“It's my office and I decorate it as I like. Now, open your present! He nudged me like a child and showed me again the boxes.

“Konrad, this is for two children!” I protested but he shut me up with a kiss.

“Open it, my love. We can wrap it up together later,” He whispered in my ear, knowing that I can't resist his voice. I knelt on the floor and saw that both boxes had the names of “Klaus Maria” and “Karl Maria” written in his perfect handwriting. Still feeling bad about it, I carefully removed the ribbon, hoping it wouldn't be ruined, from the “Klaus” box and opened the paper by carefully removing the tape. Inside was a box with a large Steiff teddy bear in a brass colour, with a serious expression. Still puzzled I looked at Konrad and he only showed me the other box. I repeated the process and inside was another teddy bear, but in a dark brown shade for “Karl”.

“I thought it would be a good idea to protect our own ones. They are the 1920 model and in a size that a small child can carry.”

“I don't understand.”

He only gave me the folder he had been carrying and I opened it. Inside were several pictures of an ultrasound in 3D of two babies.

“Those are our children, Guntram. Klaus and Karl. They're four months old. They will be born on May 15th according to the doctors,” he told me very softly and I was petrified, unable to remove my eyes from the pictures.

My eyes were glued to them, memorizing each little detail and unable to believe that they were there.

“Is it true?” I croaked and he had to steady me because everything turned around.

“Yes, my love. Our children.”

“I…” Lord, I was on the brink of a collapse. So unexpected but so wonderful!

“I didn't tell you before because there are risks in any pregnancy and I didn't want to make you suffer till we were sure that the babies were fine and on their way. Are you happy?”

“Are they real?”

“Of course, two boys so far. Klaus Maria is the name for the eldest and Karl Maria for the second. Do you like the names?”

“They're perfect,” I whispered.

“Are you all right?”

“I'm in shock. They're so beautifully wrinkled and they have fingers already.”

“Children improve with time, Guntram,” he told me and I blurted a laugh. “The law does not allow me put you as father in the papers, but I will name you their legal tutor and Guardian of Estate in case something happens to me. They will be as much yours as mine. We are a real family know. Promise me that you will always be there for them.”

“I swear I will love them as my own flesh,” I promised and got lost in them again, so happy to see them and know that they were really coming to us. “This one puckers the chin exactly as you do.”

“NO! Children can change a lot! And I don't pucker my chin!” He said, holding me tighter than before as I caressed reverently the two bears. “Guntram, you have already one teddy bear. If you want another, just say it.

Those are for Klaus and Karl,” he joked and I hit him with the folder, making him laugh.

“We have nothing ready for them!” I realised.

“We have two teddy bears and they will arrive in May!” He chuckled at my concern.

“That's not enough time! They need a crib, diapers, clothes, a doctor, toys, milk and who knows what else!” I nearly shouted with him. He brings two babies home and has no idea of what to do? I thought he was the responsible person here!

“Friederich will look for the nurses and they will make a list of what they need. We'll need three according to the pediatrician Wagemann recommended. I was thinking to send them to the old nursery, where your studio is. You can check on them as much as you want.”

“Don't give the babies to nannies! I want to be with them!”

“I'm not giving them away. They will look after them and you can be with them as much as you want, but the sleepless nights are for them. It might be too much for your health my love, and we need you healthy and ready to cope with the three of us.”

“I'm very happy. No, happy is not the right word. I could burst with joy.” I jumped to his neck and kissed him till I heard a cough and quickly disentangled myself from him.

“Excuse me, sir. Has the young sir, taken his morning pills?” Friederich—who else?—said from the entrance, carrying a small tray with a glass of water and my beloved medications. All of them. I sighed and took them.

After all, I have to be nice, obey the doctors, only for the babies.

We had breakfast together and Konrad told me that he had a present for me… A painting made by my own mother, Cécile Dubois Strinberg. A private investigator had found it in Lille and it dated from 1978. It was an oil of a young woman combing her chestnut hair by an old wooden window.

I was moved to see it. Nicholas Lefèbre had told me that my mother had been an artist without much luck but I had never found a reference about her or a painting from her.

“How did you get it?”

“It was not easy. It belonged to a family who had gotten it as a present from one of your mother's Aunts and didn't want to sell it. They did it only when the person told them that it was for her son. The investigator followed the wills of your mother's aunts and discovered that these people had one of her works. It's a beautiful painting, although it has not your mastery of technique.”

“I just love it. It's incredible to see it. Thank you so much! Did you meet her?”

“No, never. You were born in 1982 and by that time I had no contact with your family. I know that your father was very sad after her passing, but nothing else. We were not friends.”

“My father loved her very much. He told me so. He also said that I had her sweet and peaceful nature.”

“Yes, fortunately you're nothing like him. He was an excellent lawyer, but we never had anything more than a professional relationship.”

December 28th

London

“Boss is going to give me an ulcer!” Pavel Mikhailovich complained, collapsing on the kitchen chair.

“Give me a vodka, I do need one.”

Massaiev smirked as he took the bottle and poured a shot for the man. “Hard task?”

“No, chauffeur duties. Easy job. This morning, Irina, his secretary called me and told me that I had to pick up a “Stefania di Barberini at Heathrow from Rome at 5:45 p.m. and bring her to the house in Knightsbridge for dinner with the boss. I thought it was a mistake as the girl is new and I wrote Stefano di Barberini and waited there with the sign, standing like an idiot. At some point a brunette comes to me and shouts, very crossed that she's Stefania di Barberini to meet Mr. Karamazov. No one told me, we were playing again “Great Works of the Russian Literature”

again and I almost blew it up because she was a fucking woman!”

Massaiev chuckled at the mistake. “I got her Louis Vuitton's suitcase in the face and she started to run to the car. She was almost exploding when I told her to move her ass to the parking lot. I'm not a fucking chauffeur! I'm a group leader! Boss should send one of the newbies to pick up the whores!”

Massaiev sighed. 'So different that when Guntram was arriving! He was grateful that a car was coming for us and was never that rude to any of us.' “You might be a group leader, but this Stefania di Barberini is Lintorff's former favourite whore; ten years in the position. She got fired the minute the animal saw Guntram.”

“Yes, I remember him. Nice kid, and I was expecting someone in this line, but no. I had to drive a bossy, haughty bitch! Can you believe that she went to the back side of the car and waited for me to open her door?”

'Guntram would have never done that. The men were running by themselves to open the door for him.

He was always doing his best not to be a burden and treated the men with respect. I think I never heard a derogative remark from him to any of them. Only a few shouts with me at the end when he was at the limit,' Massaiev recalled dreamily.

“I drove the bitch here and if she was Lintorff's fling, no wonder he jumped on Guntram! She's old, haughty and rude. Do you think he will ever be back?”

“Boss is working on it. When do you have to return her?”

“After dinner, to her hotel.”

'With such a bad taste, Lintorff does not deserve to keep my angel for one minute longer!' Constantin thought once more while he used all his patience and coldness to keep his amiable façade of the “models” manager from Russia. 'I have to recover my Guntram before that miserable German ruins him more! In Rome he was terrified and almost shouted at me. Lintorff has completely ruined his training!'

“So Boris, will you tell me about your project in St. Petersburg?” Stefania said, fidgeting with her dinner in what was a clear proof of her deficient education in front of the Russian's eyes. He had enough and decided to go for business before he would literally kick the vulgar woman from his house. 'My angel would have never done something like this. It's disgusting and contemptuous to your host. No matter what was served, he never complained. I couldn't tell if he hated some food or not. I only know what he liked best.'

'Boris? Who gave you permission to speak to me like this?' “My name is Constantin Ivanovich Repin, madam. Boris Karamazov is one of my underlings and he does not need any help for running his agency. I would like to speak with you about a mutual acquaintance.”

“Whoever you are, this is outrageous! You brought me here with lies!”

“I like to keep my privacy, Miss Barberini. I'm a discreet man.”

“I'm leaving right now!” She shouted and rose from her chair.

“Very well, send my greetings to Konrad von Lintorff, if he ever again answers a call from you.”

Constantin smirked and secretly enjoyed her astonished face. “Now that I have your attention, I would like to discuss business with you.”

Stefania sat back and whispered: “I'm listening to you, sir.”

“Years ago someone said that some people preferred oysters and others snails. Lintorff always kept an open mind and preferred them both, especially if he could take them from some other people's table.”

'What is this crazy Russian telling me? I'm not into animals and much less those disgusting creatures!' “I think I don't follow you.”

'Forget about subtlety! I will have to draw pictures so she can understand!' “Madam, I'm aware that the Duke decided to transfer his attentions from you to a young artist named Guntram de Lisle.”

“It's not like that! I found him on the couch with the little…”

“Please, madam, let's do not be vulgar. We can discuss all this in a civilized way, without adjectives.”

Constantin would have never let her pronounce a word against his angel in his presence. Many had died for it.

“Perhaps you're not well aware of the circumstances of his change of heart.”

“Of course I am. His cousin Gertrud, a good friend of mine, told me everything. He brought the boy from Russia and kept him in his residence at Zurich, introducing him as his ward while he was still with me! The boy was the friend of a very rich man, but not rich enough as he traded him for Konrad!”

'Very unlikely but it serves my purposes.' “I'm the wealthy man from Russia. Guntram was living with me till Konrad von Lintorff took him away. I want him back with me and I'm willing to do everything to achieve my goals.”

“He's just a clever little whore!” 'Gay and cuckold. As good as it gets,' was Stefania's thought, doing her best to hide the contempt from her eyes. 'What's wrong with them? One blue eyed idiot makes dove eyes at them and both went crazy? I should have seen it much earlier! Lintorff never cared if I was with other men because he was using me to cover his own shit! He was not the idiot I thought!'

“Keep your opinions to yourself, madam,” Constantin growled and his dark eyes shone in a feral way, terrifying Stefania. “Do not compare Guntram with the likes of you. When Lintorff took him, he had just partly recovered from a serious accident and was very confused. Somehow, he blamed me for it and wanted to go away even if his health condition was very serious. He risked his own life when he left with Lintorff. He never was after your patron, madam. I'm convinced that Lintorff cornered Guntram till he accepted him. Tell me, was he in bed with him when he arrived to Switzerland?”

“I don't know. I went to a party once in Zurich in March, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. Lintorff told me he was in bed because he was sick. Later I saw the boy with him in Rome, in July, at San Capistrano and he insisted Konrad to go out with me,” Stefania confessed.

“Did they look like lovers? Women know such things immediately.”

“No, the boy was sitting next to him, but he was drawing and I thought that I was a fool to be jealous of him because he had no intentions or was competition for me.”

“There you have, Madam. Guntram had no idea of Lintorff's intentions. I know Guntram since he was eighteen years old and he never realised that I was after him till I kissed him. In a way, he was never competition for you because he was never playing against you. I would bet a million dollars that he even told Lintorff how beautiful you are.”

“Thank you,”

“I want to recover him, but I can't do it on my own. Lintorff even organised an exhibition in Berlin for him! He does it to hurt me because we are business adversaries. Guntram was the most important thing in my life and he took him away from me. The boy has no malice and I'm convinced that he believed each one of Lintorff's lies against me.”

“What do I get out of this? Lintorff will not return to me.” The mushy moment from the poor betrayed lover was too much for her patience.

“Of course not, but I can offer you my financial support for any project you might like to start; like a model agency of your own or a models school.

“What should I do? Tell Guntram about my time with Lintorff? He already suspects or knows about it,”

Stefania said disdainfully.

“Nothing like this. It will be helpless. I understand that there's one Art magazine, Notes d’Art, which will publish a negative review on Guntram's exhibition. I would only like that you help me to contact the critic and spread the story to your many friends in the press.”

“Konrad hates the press!”

“I'm perfectly aware of this. If he has them around his neck, he will send Guntram away in no time.

Don't you want to make him suffer for all the humiliations he put you through? I have the resources and you the contacts. We could work fine together.”

“Will you get the boy out of my life?”

“He will return with me to St. Petersburg or London. He was living with my children before as I'm a widower now.”

“Oh, that's very bad for you,” Stefania made her best big sad eyes.

“Indeed, but let me tell you my story while we have coffee,” Constantin used his saddest voice of poor deceived, abandoned and betrayed man. 'Pearls to the swine, but the tart has to learn her part.'

January 15th 2006

Milan

Dudu Mountbatten felt horribly tired from carrying all these stupid complimentary bags from the many fashion shows she had been forced to attend since early morning. The Milan Fashion Week was almost like a marathon of people, shows, photographers, top models, designers, celebrities, old and new fortunes and her new blasted editor had fired her P.A. “to downsize costs; we are not selling as much as before! Who cares about three old uptight good for nothing royals? Brangelina sells magazines! Update yourself!”

Since her dismissal from “Hello” for writing that piece over the Monaco young princes, her career had been a slow descent into the hell of mediocrity, like that sorry “Stars and Stories” tabloid she was working for and suffering a stupid editor, just to see her name in the supermarkets' stands biweekly, next to the batteries packs. She sighed once more as today's brightest point had been the invitation for the baptism of Carlo Giaccomo Loiacono della Rovere, but the family didn't want to have photos of the event published. Where were the times when Marianne von Liechestein-Faubourg threw those incredible parties in Marbella? You had all the real jet set and always a new theme for each party. The Million Dollar Party had been her favourite so far and for such a good cause; helping poor children in Muslim countries. The Sultan of Brunei was attending it and people still spoke about it. The party had been a revolution in its own, no invitations; you only had to give a million dollars for charity and you were in: more than 300 guests!

She was a real lady and an interesting character; nothing like what was trendy now! Pop stars; reality show stars or someone who had been on TV or in the internet, but at seventy-three she had finally retired to her magnificent house in Paris. 'There are no properties like this any more,'

“Dudu, dear! What a pleasure to see you here!” A young woman's voice greeted her and Dudu turned to see the daughter of Mario Barberini, 'What was her name? She was very famous ten years ago!' Her older sister is Simonetta, and she must be Sandra', still doubtful, she smiled at the elegant and stunning tall brunette and returned her two kisses.

“I'm surprised to find you here, darling!” Dudu went for the safe: “How is your father? Still working so much?”

“Madness like always; he should retire after working all his life so hard! His companies only give him headaches. I'm also working here! What a nightmare!” Stefania pouted. 'The old witch might be what I exactly need; only she cares about these old fashion people. Imagine, she wrote a piece on the Bismark’s' moving to New York! All the other magazines turned me down, because no one cares about Lintorff and his little slut.'

'Was she not retired? Do we have also Mature Age Models?' “Working darling?” Dudu asked with a clear disbelief in her voice.

“Yes, of course. I have a new program in the TV, in Rome. We started two weeks ago and our rating is increasing with each show. It's called “All Access” and I introduce people to the real lifestyles of rich people. Even Karl accepted to give me an interview and you know how difficult is to get ten minutes of his time!”

“Congratulations, dear! I'm sure it will be a great success!”

“Of course it will! People are tired of vulgarity and need to watch things that make them dream. Armani, Prada, real VIPs, great places to go, what and where to shop.”

“Indeed. I'm glad for you. Now that I remember, were you not a good friend of Gertrud von Lintorff? I was so shocked to hear about her resignation in the Foundation and her move to the Hamptons.”

“Yes, poor Gertrud, she moved there with her daughter. Horrible argument with her cousin Konrad. You must remember him; Konrad von Lintorff,” Stefania asked, full of hope.

“No, my dear,” Dudu hated to confess that she had not the slightest idea of who this man could be.

“He's the son of Marianne von Liechestein-Faubourg! You met with him several times!” 'Great, the old hag is senile!'

“Son of Marianne? No, she has two daughters and a boy!” 'Is she wearing Donatella Versace? Very appropriate.'

“He's from her first marriage: He's the Duke of Wittstock and a very rich man; billionaire. Lives in Zurich and he was my fiancé for many years! Gertrud introduced us in Rome!”

“Oh, yes, I remember him, now. Impossible man! Very disagreeable. Once, I tried to speak with him for my book about the Jet Set where his mother was mentioned in several chapters, and he called me a “vulture” just because I'm a journalist!”

“Konrad has no manners at all but that's not a surprise for me. He avoids the press at all costs. Imagine, every time I was going out with him, he was entering after me to avoid the flashes! His bodyguards were impossible!

One of them once hit a paparazzo for taking his picture! I'm so glad we are finished!”

“Oh, darling, how horrible it must have been for you!”

“You have no idea, Dudu,” Stefania said dejectedly. “We had a relationship for over ten years and he lied all the time to me!”

“Oh, no. Another woman?”

“Much worse, a boy.”

“NO!” Dudu almost shouted in disbelief

“A young Frenchman. I caught him with the mongrel! Can you believe that this boy had already been with a billionaire from Russia and exchanged the poor man for Konrad? He has more money, of course. Poor Gertrud tried to stop him, to talk with her cousin, but he was crazy about the boy. Imagine, they live together in Zurich! It's quite the talk! Konrad even paid an exhibition for the boy in Berlin and one of the critics is devastating. Shows him for what he's; an unscrupulous adventurer of the worst kind. Poor Marianne; this man will take away all her son's money!”

“And you dear, how are you after all this?”

“Disgusted beyond words. He asked me to marry him and now I realise that it was just a façade to hide that he's a homosexual! A real pervert! The boy is twenty-three and he's forty-seven!”

“Who is he?” Dudu asked very intrigued, while her journalist's inner sense screamed that there was a good story behind this.

“I don't want to know his name! He's a noble from France. Should be in the critics at the “Notes d'Art. ”

“This is horrible!” Dudu said encouragingly.

“The poor Russian, who was and is so in love with him, visited me and told me the whole story. They had been together since he was eighteen, living in London. He gave him two flats, one in Buenos Aires and the other in Paris, several paints, paid his studies and supported him while he was playing the artist the whole day long! Now that he has read the real critics, made by professionals, he understands how foolish he was! He even paid an exhibition for him in London and gave him a Renoir for his birthday! He nearly divorced his wife for him and she died of pain!

He's so sorry about all this! I should consider myself lucky that I left Konrad, but in a way, I'm concerned because he has that snake around!”

“Snake? This boy is a cobra!”

“Gertrud was horrified when she heard about him! I told her everything I knew and she found out that he was providing drugs for her daughter and her boyfriend. He told Konrad that her daughter's boyfriend had attacked him per the girl's orders and Konrad disinherited her! I'm sure he plans to get the money that legitimately belonged to that poor girl. Gertrud fought with him and he fired her from the Foundation! She had to move to the Hamptons to save her daughter from that monster!”

“That's horrible!”

“Indeed.”

“How could he do it? This…” Dudu forgot the banker's name, Marianne's eldest son.

“Konrad von Lintorff, darling.”

“Exactly. Wasn't he your boyfriend for so many years? How a man could leave a woman like you?”

“Men's perversities have no limits, Dudu. Sex between men is something that a woman would never do.

How many are married and run to have sex with transvestites? They do unspeakable things in bed. I'm so glad that I stopped it before the wedding. Imagine if we would have had children! It's so disgusting! On top, Konrad believes that he lives according to the Catholic Church teachings!”

“What a hypocrite! Are you certain you don't remember his name? The boy's.”

“No, Gertrud knows it well. Perhaps you saw him in Sylt. After our break up, he took him to Sylt and introduced him to most of our friends! It's The Talk among Germans! I will only concentrate in my projects from now on.”

“Yes, of course, dear. It's for the best,” Dudu comforted Stefania, still unable to believe her good luck.

With such a story, she was back to the central pages! Two billionaires, homosexuality and a twenty-three-year-old little whore? Not even Berlusconi and his girlfriends could match this! She could hardly hear any more what Stefania was telling about her TV program and her plans for the future. She needed urgently to get a copy of this “Notes d'Art. ”

January 12th

Brussels

The room was in complete darkness as he needed to meditate on what he had read. The words were engraved into his brain. No more than a few lines could ruin a man's life. Michel had been tempted to throw the offending piece to the fireplace, but he had done a supreme effort to control himself and read it once more.

Modern Patronage

by J.F. Winklers

Once more I had the opportunity to reaffirm my strong commitment to Art during the latest exhibition of

“1989” a well known gallery in Berlin belonging to Andreas Volcker. Every year, he gathers a group of unknown artists and kindly offers them the opportunity to show their work for a month in one of the city's leading galleries. I've assisted many times to this event and in general I can say that the results have been satisfactory; young artists struggling to find new ways to express themselves.

But this year, I was disappointed like never before. Along the intriguing concepts of Anne Ho or the bold traces of Thorsten Wald or the magnificent use of colour and light in Maria Herbada's abstract painting, was the work of Guntram de Lisle.

What could this critic said? Nothing. It makes no sense at all to waste my time and the readers' too. Mr.

de Lisle, twenty-three years old, can accurately draw but nothing else. Good use of the technique but this is not the High School Annual Exhibition where our Grandmother chooses something for her living room. His paintings are simply dull and affected. No substance or message behind. A drawing of dirty children, some frogs in a pond, women in painting class. I examined his work for a long time trying to find out why he had the support of one of our most respected experts and I couldn't find it.

His young age could be used as an excuse and we could easily forget him after this exhibition if not were by the fact that he has already inflicted his corny view of the world upon us in 2004 in London at Robertson's, a well respected gallery in a solo exhibition. I asked myself why anyone would risk his reputation on someone with more skills to design Cereal packs than for painting and voilà, if found it; Modern patronage. Mr. de Lisle is only known because of his patrons; a well known Russian collector and a Swiss banker now. Patronage is a key word in Arts and real artists like Caravaggio benefited from it and offered us their creations.

Mr. de Lisle should read this critic and realise that he has not yet achieved, or ever will, the level of Masaccio, Leonardo or Rafaello, who were a credit to their sponsors, and go back to school or stop painting and do us all a favour.”

Alone in his living room, Michel couldn't understand the reason of it. He sipped some more from his cognac and his brain searched for an answer. 'Why a French Art Magazine would publish this? They never go beyond Paris, London, Geneva or Bern and much less take care of young artists. I simply don't understand it. The critics from the Germans were good. The painting with the frogs was luminous and I had to fight with one of the Ribbentrops to get it. Similar to Cécile's, but more intense and much more mastery behind.'

'This can only come from one place: Repin. Lintorff would have never done something so beneath his upbringing. That's his vendetta for not returning to him in December and using the exhibition as excuse. He destroyed my Guntram through this stupid critic! All the others were good and the Vatican experts can not be so wrong! Not a real single line to justify his opinion about his work; only personal attacks and acid remarks. This is not a critic but a libel against my child!'

'Why would Repin do this? I'm convinced he loves him. He remained with him all the time in the hospital and in St. Petersburg and took him to his own family. He encouraged Guntram to paint and when he returned from Rome he told me how impressed he was with his artistic maturation. 'His talent is a reality, not a promise any longer. You should have seen his sketches, Mr. Lacroix. All of them were alive and full of light. He's finally flying on his own.'

'That's it. Guntram has grown up and doesn't need anyone to paint. He has a will of his own. He's not a child any more. He needs help and many cares but he will not bend to anyone.'

'You can kill a man but you can't take away his honour.'

'Repin is not good for Guntram, but I need him to get my child away from Lintorff.'

'But how?'

January 13th

Zurich

Rudolf Ostermann was righteously furious with that stupid and unknown critic. He had called the editor of Notes d'Art to ask for an explanation and she had no idea at all of the article. His shouts in French were heard by all the ladies working in his studio and Coco van Breda had the good idea to stop Guntram right at the entrance and take him out for a coffee “to discuss business without that dragon you have for manager”. None of them could believe that strange review of such an unbelievable bad taste. Even Tita had bought from Guntram and Mathilda von Ribbentrop was furious because an unknown Belgian collector had “stolen” the painting with the frogs she loved so much.

The small café was almost empty at this hour and Guntram had ordered some tea for Coco van Breda, one of the students at Meister Ostermann's class and the owner of a small printing company specialized in greeting cards and artistic reproductions. Her main source of incomes were the greeting cards or the catalogues printed for many art galleries or auction houses. According to Coco, she needed to find new sources of income or her husband will finally close her business. “I can't compete with the Chinese. Last year, I lost 237.000 francs and Joseph said that it's not the amount, but the fact that he loses money with one of his companies! He prefers that I spend it on a boutique than in the company!”

Guntram was dumbfounded as he didn't know how he could be of any use to her, but Coco immediately repeated her idea; to print a book with children's stories and sell it for the next Christmas campaign. She had tried to buy several books for her friends' children but she had found nothing “sufficiently elegant and classical as to give as present; all of them horrible!”

“Guntram, there's a market out there waiting for us to be colonized! Children like books despite TV and computers; look this Harry Potter saga! They kill each other to buy a copy! You should take some classical stories—

those without copyrights—illustrate them and make a book. Let's say five or six of them; No more than fifty pages, full colour. I can give you part of the profits as payment.”

“Coco, with all due respect, I can't negotiate anything with you without Ostermann. He will kill me if I make any kind of compromise with your company. I'm glad to work in that book, but perhaps it's too much. I'm not known and who knows if this could be sold.”

“Nonsense Guntram. You paint, I print and Ostermann collects the money,” she laughed, happy that the young man was willing to work on it. “I've seen your work and I like it. I saw those illustrations you made for those Russian folk tales and I loved them. All of us in the studio loved them. If women love them, they buy the book for their children and we make money.”

“What if you lose money?”

“I will not and this year, I got the Lintorff Foundation catalogue. I was surprised that Elisabetta called me for this, but with what it costs, I can recycle the profits to print your book.”

Guntram felt bad that he was indirectly going to use Konrad's money for this. “Coco, charge them less.

The auction is for charity!”

“Never! They settled the price in 100 francs and normally sell more than four thousand copies of it. Why don't you choose one story and make more preliminary drawings and then we speak with Ostermann about the terms?”

“I'm supposed to study and paint now for the auction something good. Meister Ostermann thinks that he can make some money with my paintings after the exhibition in Berlin. The critics were relatively good. I will not see a single cent from it, but it will be good. The new president, Elisabetta von Lintorff told me that all the money I make will be sent to Argentina. It seems that there is a pact that the minimum you offer is 5,000 Francs and that's a large amount for Father Patricio.”

“I'm sure you could find some free time and give it a try.”

“All right, Coco, but I can't promise you anything.”

They walked back to the studio where Ostermann had finished shouting with the editor and threatened her with never writing a single line for the magazine and speak with many of his own clients to withdraw their support. “Did you take a look at his work? Start to pray that he doesn't go to courts for defamation!”

Guntram went to his usual place to continue to work with some sketches in coal, surprised that most of the women were looking at him with a mix of concern, curiosity and pity. He saw them, passing a magazine along like teenagers in the school.

“Is that Notes d'Art? I haven't seen one in years,” Guntram said and asked if he could take a look.

“No, dear, it's a stupid magazine,” One of them said.

“Stupid? It's one of the leading magazines in Art” Guntram protested. “Just a look, please.”

The mortified woman had to give the magazine to the youth who sat at his chair and started to quickly pass the pages till he got to the article on “The New Russian Avant Garde” and focused his attention on it. He was surprised that his name was mentioned and chuckled a little at the idea that he had been mistaken by a Russian. 'I don't even have a Russian name! But I'm on Notes d'Art. Wait till Ostermann sees it.”

“I'm here! Three lines, but that's a lot!” He announced to the shocked ladies, astonished that he had taken it so well. “Guntram de Lisle's style is refreshing at the same time he shows a great academic background. His compositions on daily life, deceptively simple, denote a classical, but complex conception, with excellent use of light and colour. One of Russia's youngest promises whose name we will be hearing in the future.” It's signed by Alain Duprès! Perhaps I should frame it.”

All of the women looked at each other in shock. “May I see it?” A very tall one asked and read aloud what Guntram had just spoken.

“Are they mad?” Coco asked.

“It's not that bad how I paint! Guntram protested, bursting out in laughter. “I could do much better, but Alain Duprès is one of the best in his field. I don't like to be called Russian, but most of my work is there. I sold many things there. Irina Shayluk is also mentioned. She makes fantastic nudes. I met her in Paris during an exhibition and I admire her work.”

“Guntram, I'm afraid that there's another critic of you for your exhibition in Berlin. We missed this one and the other is so awful!”

“You shouldn't care what the press writes; they do anything to sell a newspaper!”

“They wrote about my cousin going to a cabaret every time he was in business meetings in Thailand!”

Full of dread, Guntram ceased to hear the women and looked for the Art Critics Section and found his own. He had to read it twice because he couldn't believe that Constantin and Konrad had been mentioned. He had to sit again because he felt sick and embarrassed. His mind was in turmoil as he could only think in Konrad and how furious he would be that their relationship was in a magazine.

“If there's another critic so good, perhaps it's an internal problem and they used you to vent up their frustrations,” one of the ladies suggested.

“That's must be. You should speak with Ostermann. He knows all of them much better than us. I can only say that I like what you paint and I'm not a grandmother!” Ms. Esterhazy protested with the other ladies joining her soon.

“Neither am I!”

“I wanted to buy the painting with our class, but Clara wants it too and she's there.”

“If you want to buy something from Guntram, you should wait for the auction!”

“No, no, no. I'm going to publish a children's storybook illustrated by Guntram for next Christmas and I'm confident that you will all buy a copy for your own little ones,” Coco intervened immediately, rising a collective murmur of assent.

Ostermann left his office, still enraged with the woman; seeing all the women chatting like parrots and a very silent Guntram sitting in his place, looking utterly defeated, was too much for his nerves. “Boy, you shouldn't care about that idiot. D'Annunzio likes you and I think that if you work, maybe it will be good in a few years.”

“D'Annunzio likes me because of the Duke's collection. Nothing else. This is not the first time I hear something like this,” Guntram answered.

“Rubbish! If you were bad, he wouldn't have bought that Madonna from you! The man is almost as good as I!”

“Meister Ostermann, Guntram has a very good critic at the same journal. Is it not strange? Here, in the Russian painters' article,” Coco said and showed the magazine again to the teacher.

“Damned old queens! They should fix their problems at home and mix no one else! I'm going to kill that little idiot, excuse of an Editor! You, stop whining like a little girl and start to work! I want to see those sketches finished by this afternoon!” he roared.

“Does it make sense?”

“If you want to return home in one piece today, yes, it does. Go back to work. You have wasted a full morning of my precious time,” Ostermann slammed his office door.

“I never wanted to get the Duke in the middle of this,” Guntram whispered.

“Dear, don't worry. He's old enough as to endure some critics. You should consider speaking with a lawyer,” Esterhazy advised him with her voice loaded with real affection. “It's very bad what he writes about your art.”

“Oh, he can write whatever he wants about my stuff. I paint because I like it, nothing else. If you don't like it, go to the next gallery. This is not the first time someone calls me “corny”. I had many of these critics over the years and they all came from the same kind of people; envious and untalented. What leaves me a foul aftertaste is that the Duke was mentioned. He was never my sponsor or helped me in my career! This man makes him look like an idiot when he's well versed in Arts. It's so unfair! I had a scholarship with the Lara Arseniev Foundation and as you most know, a past relationship with its president, and he was the one who discovered my work in Buenos Aires. We never mixed my career and our relationship. I earned all my grades in the University and my previous manager, Mr.

Robertson sold my drawings to banks, insurance companies, private collectors that had nothing to do with Constantin Repin. My critics over my exhibition in London were good. Perhaps I should be more aggressive and “paint with a message”, but who am I to tell people what to think? I hate it and it always looked to me so staged. I paint what I see because I love it and nothing else.”

Konrad was in a fit of rage like he had not felt in many years after Ostermann's call. He had faxed copies of both articles till Monika could get a copy of the magazine. He couldn't believe that they had dared to publish such a blatant lie and he was determined to finish that sorry excuse for publication.

“My Duke, this is simply outrageous! I know personally both experts and they're fixing some problems they had in the past using Guntram's name and ours. The editor was not even aware that he had been mentioned twice in the same number! She never saw a single photo of his work! They offer to publish a rectification and a new critic of his work, this time made by an independent consultant.”

“I'm more concerned about Guntram's reaction.”

“He's working like always, but worried that you have been involved. He told me it's not the first time he's criticized and he doesn't care at all.”

“I understand, thank you Meister Ostermann.”

Konrad called Ferdinand and Michael to his office. It was time to show the price for crossing him.

Michael gathered his papers and prepared himself for the meeting at 7 p.m. He was still wondering why he had been asked to investigate a small publication that belonged to one of the minor members; Marcel Theriault, owner of the Luxury Publishing Group, with loans to the Lintorff Privatbank for €78.9 million. Everything seemed to be in order with the man and his magazines respected the Order's rules of no nudity, no scandalous articles, no vulgarity and mostly focused on jet set articles, performing arts, fashion, decoration and traditional lifestyles. Their gem was something called “Jet Set Today” and covered boring things like the Red Cross Ball or some other charity event, a politician wife kissing some babies or harmless articles about movie stars. Acceptable results for it. “We keep it only to create a good image and keep people out of the other trash.”

He straightened his tie and left his office to go to the private meeting room but Monika stopped him and sent him to the Duke's office with a “Mr. Theriault is already waiting outside, Dr. Dähler.”

“Thank you, Monika,” He smiled but only received a cold stare from her that cooled him down. He passed by the fifty-something man, sitting with a miserable face under the Pisarro the Duke had bought some months ago and knocked on the heavy door. Inside the large office, Ferdinand was sitting in one of the couches in front of the small table, looking very upset about something.

“What is their situation?” Ferdinand asked

“Fine so far. Their debts should be renewed in two months. We estimate that we could ask a five point seven percent interest as the group stands much better than before. The total due is €78.9 million and they have always been good members,” Michael answered.

“Very well, tell Theriault to come in,” Konrad said flatly and Michael obeyed, guiding the man toward the sofas.

“My Duke, it's an honour to be received by you,” Theriault spoke very fast and frankly nervous about the reason he had been summoned by Ferdinand von Kleist himself, with a “the Hochmeister wishes to see you at seven in Zurich.”

“How long have you been a member, Theriault?” Konrad said with a polite voice, but leaving all niceties and formalities aside.

“Our family was accepted in 1953, my Duke. We are invited to the annual meeting since 1997.”

“Therefore you're well aware of our rules.”

“Yes, Sire.” Theriault felt a lump in his throat after hearing the cold voice asking it. His mind frantically searched his memory for something they might have published about a member but nothing came out.

“I never liked the press and this morning I find my and the Consort's names sullied by one of your magazines,” Konrad intoned, showing him the article about the critic for Berlin.

The man partly read it and blanched at the “a Swiss banker” part implying that he was somehow involved with an adventurer. Who was this Guntram de Lisle? Consort? Which Consort?

“I will speak with the editor tonight, sire. We will fix this error.”

“You need to speak more with your editor because there is another critic for the same person in the same journal. Anyone would think this is a deliberate campaign against our Hochmeister and his Consort. Look in page thirty-six, it's marked,” Ferdinand said.

Theriault was shocked. “I simply don't understand, Sire. This must be a typing error or a mistake. Notes d'Art has been on the market for almost thirty-five years and is one of the most respected publications in its category. I don't understand their fixation on one artist.”

“This is more than one bad review for an artist. Guntram de Lisle was appointed Consort by the Council five months ago,” Ferdinand explained. “This can only be a direct attack from you to us.”

“No, never! We are grateful to the Order and have always done our best to serve it!”

“You will close this magazine before February. I don't want any of its employees relocated within your companies.”

“My Duke, you can't ask this from us! This magazine has been for over thirty-five years in the market!

It's like the National Geographic for contemporary artists!”

“If you use defamation and scandal as a way to gain more readers, the Order has no interest in keeping you among its ranks, Mr. Theriault. May I remind you of the pending renegotiation of your debts?” Ferdinand said in a polite tone.

“I will fire all the upper staff. I have several millions invested in this publication!”

“Do you refuse to comply with a direct order?” Konrad asked in a dangerous way.

“No, of course not, sire. I just need to find a way. To close the magazine will cost me a lot of money! I can't do it!”

“It will be much more if you refuse. Your debts will not be refinanced and we will go against you,”

Ferdinand growled.

“My Hochmeister, at least let me keep the oldest workers and relocate them! The French laws are very strict. The new editor will write an article with much better critics for the Consort.”

“No, you will never mention his name again in any of your publications. Close the magazine before February or you will face the storm I'll unleash over your companies. Dismissed,” Konrad barked and Michael rose from his place and took the man out of the office.

Guntram was so engrossed in the catalogues that he didn't hear Konrad approaching and kissing him on the forehead. He jumped surprised and laugh when he saw it was just his love.

“Do I have to be jealous of furniture catalogues too? Your papers and pencils are enough to ignore me, kitten!” Konrad said falsely upset.

“I forgot about the time. I was taking a look at these ones for ideas for Karl and Klaus' room. Friederich had them today and gave them to me.”

Guntram, is it not simpler if you hire a decorator and then choose what you like?”

“I wanted that we do it by ourselves!”

“Kitten, I have no idea of such things. Just nothing from Disney or any of its factories and no vulgarity.

No electronic toys at all or plastics; look for good wooden German toys. Go to Steiff or to Kösen for plush animals and perhaps a Märklin train. I liked them very much when I was a child.”

“Konrad, they are babies! They can't play with a train! All kids love Mickey Mouse!”

“I hate that rat. It does not enter in this house.”

“All children have them as decoration; half of the furniture has one character from Disney!”

“Says the man who used to have a Bronzino in his room?”

“I never knew what it was! I just liked it!”

“Then, you see my point. We shouldn't ruin the boys' aesthetic taste. Soft colours in the walls, good furniture and look for something functional.”

“All books say that bright colours stimulate babies!”

“If they're blood of my blood, you will be planning to put a tranquillizer in their bottles very soon.

Lintorffs don't need external stimuli to make troubles. Ask Friederich to tell you how was a typical afternoon with Albert, Ferdinand and I in the playroom after we had finished our homework. I believe my father sent me to the boarding school at fourteen to save Friederich from a stroke. If my cousin Armin was invited, we had to warn the insurance company in advance.”

“You're so exaggerated!” Guntram protested.

“No, it's the naked truth. Ask Friederich.”

“He told me you studied the whole time! That you made your homework several times till it was perfect!”

“Yes, that it's partially true. He forced me to work very hard in a useless attempt to make me tired. The problem was after it was finished and we were free to play. When I was ten or eleven years old, I wanted to get one of the Rotweillers inside to sleep with me. Totally forbidden. I tried several methods to smuggle one inside, but Friederich was always catching me. One day we, Ferdinand, Albert and I, decided to built a pulley system and lift the dog and get it through the window. It worked.”

“Poor animal! Did it survive?”

“Yes, of course. The dog didn't like heights any longer and the cherry tree needed some extra gardening, but Friederich caught us and punished me. I had to clean the kennels for a month and wash several of the dogs.”

“I understand why he has white hairs!”

“That's the natural ageing process. I was the serious one of the group,” Konrad said with a haughty voice. “Like nowadays,” he added and Guntram laughed with all his heart. 'That's the moment to check the damages,'

he thought and asked with a light tone: “how was your day, kitten?”

Guntram gulped and decided to go for the truth. Konrad had the right to know before Ostermann would tell him. “Not very good, Konrad. I received some bad critics over my work in an important magazine. In short: I make exhibitions because I'm the lover of a Swiss banker and of a Russian collector. I'm terribly sorry that your name was hinted at. All of your friends must be laughing now,” Guntram confessed.

“Guntram, no one laughs at me. Most of the people I care about know you and I have never hidden my love for you. I'm only concerned that it might affect you.”

“It's not the first time I get critics like these. In fact, when I was in London from the teacher to the last pupil thought so, but I didn't care. I paint to the best of my abilities and can't do much more than that. Take it of leave it.”

“But you care a lot about Ostermann's opinion or mine.”

“Ostermann tells reasonable things and knows about it. He's generally right and I like working with him.

Coco van Breda offered me to publish a book for children with her. Traditional stories. We have to speak with Ostermann still.”

Konrad didn't like the idea not a single bit. The van Bredas were new money and parvenus who had built their fortune on transport and discount supermarkets. Obviously, that woman wanted to use Guntram to come near him. “Guntram, you're not an illustrator; you're an artist. Focus on what is important like the babies, your art and your studies. As you have finished the second year, perhaps it would be good that you consider to change University, and finish your studies in Zurich for example. Think about it and tell me your decision in a few days.”

“But I want to make that book!”

“Guntram, do it and we will look for a better publisher. I have no objections to the project, only to the people involved. I will speak with Ostermann about this.”

February 16th

Munich

The writing of this particular article had been exhausting for Dudu, but after almost a month of hard work, she felt great about the results. “Stars and Stories” was going to sell many issues with this one. Her own editor was very excited with all the interviews and photos. 'Pity he's gay! He has such a nice face and big blue eyes!' Dudu thought for the hundredth time while looking Guntram's picture, taken from the Robertson's catalogue. The only picture she had gotten from Konrad von Lintorff was from an old charity party. 'He looks like a real executioner. Lord!

Can this man smile at all?' About the other lover, the Russian, it had been impossible to get his name or picture. The boy had a scholarship in a foundation, but the owner was nowhere to be found. Stefania had refused to tell her the name because “poor man, he has enough with all this!” and Gertrud von Lintorff only told her that “he's very rich, almost like my cousin Konrad. Billionaire, he's into transport and oil. Lost his wife very recently. Look up in Fortune Magazine lists! At least she had confirmed the whole story and spoken very lengthy of this Guntram de Lisle, Vicomte de Marignac, a truly despicable little slug.

She had tried to speak with other people in her circles, but no one had said a word beyond, “Guntram? I believe he's Lintorff's ward. He paints fine. Tita bought several things from him and the Vatican too.” Or a: “If I were you, I would leave him alone. He's very shy and Konrad never appears in this kind of magazines. He's very discreet with his private life and business. You will not even find him in a specialized magazine. He never gives interviews.”

Once more she took a look at the text before submitting it to the editor.

February 27th

Munich

Since Marcel Theriault had troubles with his main financier, Alexander Weber checked personally all his magazines before they were distributed. It was the talk among the publishing industry. The man had loses for over seven millions euros and only because he had annoyed said banker with a stupid critic made by two old queens fighting with so much luck that they had dragged the banker's sweetheart's name to the mud. Poor Marcel was trying to get new financing, but most European banks had rejected his applications and those who accepted him demanded impossible to afford rates: twelve percent He had to close the magazine in an attempt to reduce his costs and sell the offices to pay the workers. If he was not able to refinance his debts with this banker, he was bankrupt. The name Konrad von Lintorff was one he would never forget and he had told all his editors that he didn't want a single line written about the man.

He took the copy of “Stars and Stories, Special Edition. New Baby at Brangelina's?” and looked distractedly the pages focused on Paris Hilton, the 'What Happened to?' section; several marriages; two divorces; recipes; diets for the upcoming summer, and his heart froze when he saw the two pages article about the same Konrad von Lintorff's boyfriend “Scandalous Past in Russia”.

“Shit!” he cursed, and yelled his secretary to call “the idiot in charge of Stars and Stories. Get his fucking ass in here, right now! Stop the distribution of this shit too!”

'If this Lintorff has almost destroyed a forty-seven years company in less than a week for a stupid line, he will make sausages of me with only five years in business and four tabloids for the supermarket!'

The Chief Editor of “Stars and Stories” burst into his office totally upset that the printing and distribution had been stopped by the owner's direct orders. “Where's the integrity of this publishing house?” he yelled.

“Integrity? This is a business, idiot! Did you authorise this?”

“Of course, it will sell like crazy. Rich gays and clever little sluts. Old aristocracy on top. Everything is confirmed with interviews. Their lawyers can't touch us.”

“I don't care if they fuck in the middle of the street. This is a well known banker. He invites presidents for dinner at his house.”

“So? Our compromise is to the truth and to our public.”

“Not if I'm broke in the process! This is not the fucking Washington Post or the Watergate! Eat by yourself all the fucking magazines if you have to, but stop it!”

“They have to go to the distribution channels in four hours!”

“No! Remove those fucking pages!”

“It's a 700.000 issues circulation! It goes to all Germany and Austria!”

“Stop it!”

“It will cost us a lot of money and our market share. If we are not in the stands tomorrow, we are good as dead!”

“Get the idiots from the design team to put extra hours and redesign anew without this article if you want to keep your job!”

“We can't do that! I don't think we have enough paper to make another edition!”

“Print what you can!”

“What about the advertisers?”

“We'll worry about them later! Now, go to work and fix this!”

“Who's on the phone, Friederich?”

“His name is Alexander Weber and Marcel Theriault gave him your private number. He says it's most urgent that he speaks with you.”

Konrad sighed and left the cognac on top of the side table while Guntram continued to draw, oblivious to the butler's presence, with a frown in his face as he focused on the details. 'I could organize a meeting with the whole FED and he wouldn't notice,' Konrad thought briefly.

“Friederich, tell him to make an appointment with Monika!”

“He says it's related to Russia, sire. It's about a publication; Stars and Stories.”

Very upset, Konrad rose from his comfortable sofa and went to take the call to his own private studio.

“Lintorff,” he growled already upset with whoever was on the other side.

“Good evening, sir. My name is Alexander Weber and I'm the CEO of Weber Publishing Inc. Perhaps you know our magazine “Stars and Stories”. We have published a story about your relationship with a young man, Guntram de Lisle and his previous lover, a Russian industrial,” a young voice said on the other side of the line.

“If you print one single word about this, my lawyers will take care of your company,” Konrad said with barely contained fury.

“I'm holding the distribution of the magazine till we can reach a settlement that could satisfy us both.

The article is well documented.”

“Very well, we'll see each other in Courts.”

“There's no need to become upset with us. Imagine the scandal. You and a twenty-three year old, who happens to be the former little slut of another rich man? Don't bankers rely on their good names? Let's speak and I'm sure we can reach a solution.”

“I have nothing to hide and this is privacy invasion. I'm not a public figure.”

“We even have pictures,” Weber taunted Konrad, convinced that the man was playing hard.

“Very well, how much do you want?” Konrad asked, thinking that the man couldn't be so idiotic as to give a number.

“Look, I know you had already troubles with Theriault and I don't want the same mess here. I only want that you help me to cover the costs of withdrawing this edition.”

“No.”

“Mine is a very small company. We sell our products in Supermarkets. I can't afford the luxury of losing the entire run of a journal. We printed 700,000 copies and by sheer luck I found this rubbish before it was distributed.

I don't want troubles with you, but I can't carry on my shoulders the whole weight of fixing this inconvenience.

Publishing is not a flourishing business as finance, sir.”

“I'm listening Mr. Weber.”

“I sell each one of the copies for sixty-nine cents and we live mostly from our advertisers. If I stop the circulation, I'll get them on my neck for breaking the contract.”

“If your business can't survive a small inconvenience, then your business plan is very wrong.”

“I need a minimum of €600,000 to cover costs and keep the advertisers happy, sir.”

'At least he's honest with the numbers.' “What do you suggest, Mr. Weber?”

“If you could lend me the money so I can cover the costs and print another issue. I could pay you back in let's say, three years.”

“How old are you Mr. Weber?” 'Hopeless idiot or very inexperienced'.

“What? I'm twenty-six.”

“I understand. All right,” Konrad chuckled. “Obviously you have no idea with whom you're speaking and it's refreshing in some way. Most people would have asked much more from me.”

“I'm not blackmailing you! I'm only looking for a way out of this mess!”

“You have the manners of a rascal,” Lintorff laughed. “I will buy all the copies you have at forty cents.

You can tell your advertisers that you sold them all and I'll give you a credit for €350,000 at one percent for a year.

You have to destroy all the copies tonight and tomorrow someone will contact you on my name. I want all the material you might have on me. Is this satisfactory for you?”

“Very much, sir. Thank you.”

“Good-bye, we will in contact with you. One more thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Fire all the people who misled you so blatantly. I also started with twenty-two and my first lesson was keeping all my underlings in line with an iron fist. People mistakes young age with softness.”

“Yes, sir,” Alexander answered, feeling like a dunce in front of the school teacher.

“Good-bye, if we are pleased with your work, we might consider you for further deals in the future.”

Konrad hung the phone before the other could say anything. 'Ferdinand has to solve this tomorrow. He's back from Frankfurt and behaving very well since he was almost expelled by the board. Perhaps the separation from Gertrud might have been beneficial for him. And the Colombian girl was too much to have around. He was distracted all the time, like a teenager.'

“Hello, Ferdinand.”

“Hello, Konrad. Something wrong?” Ferdinand asked.

“It's contained. A sleazy tabloid wanted to publish some lies about me and Guntram. I have reached an agreement with the owner. We buy all the magazines for €280,000 and give him a loan for €350,000 more at one percent for a year. I want that you send someone to arrange the details and check the company thoroughly. The name is Alexander Weber and the magazine is “Stars and Stories”.

“Which magazine and he only wants that??”

“Give all the material he gives you to Goran. I'm sick of these attacks on Guntram. Sooner or later, one of them will affect him and this I will not consent this.”

“Twice in a month? This looks very suspicious.”

“Someone is behind and we have to find out who was it. I will not let that anyone hurts Guntram to attack me. He's out of all this.”

“Konrad, since he became your Consort, he's in, whether you like it or not.”

Guntram lifted his gaze from the drawing and noticed his love entering in the room looking very worried. “Is everything all right, Konrad?”

The Duke preferred to ignore the question and focus on the sketch pad and the images of a group of bears dressed like humans. “That's quite a change in your style. Is this for this book?”

“Not really, I dropped the idea as you're so against it. Ostermann gave me a lecture too on not dealing without his presence and much less taking commissions that he has not approved before. These are sketches for watercolours for Klaus and Karl's bedroom. I still think they should have something on their walls and if you don't like Mickey Mouse, I thought perhaps traditional stories would be fine. We are not going to hang a Monet or a Degas!”

“That would be very nice of you. Who are those bears?”

“Goldilocks. The official trespasser.”

“Well, there's a moral in the original version; the bears cast her out because they couldn't eat her as she was an ugly, bony old woman, worthy of being sent to a working house,” Konrad intoned very seriously.

“That's not possible! They returned the little girl to her house and became friends!”

“Read the original English story. Those are three male bears living together, but in different sizes.”

“I'm not so sure if this is a good idea.”

“Do you know that the original Red Riding Hood was the wolf's dinner, according to Perrault? Good advise for women; don't trust strangers and wolves with a silver tongue are the most dangerous of them all.”

“Are you really all right, Konrad?” Guntram asked when he heard the sullen tones in his voice.

“Yes, now I am. Everything is fine, my love. Should we make a list of stories?” Konrad said, recovering once more his inner peace while he held his kitten closer and heard his soft voice speaking about the unborn babies.

'He's more excited about their coming than I. I only hope those little rascals agree to share him with me.'