“Can this be true?” a very shocked Oblomov asked when his friend finished his tale. The bottle on his side of the desk was almost empty and he was certain that Tatiana would never believe that he was drinking with Constantin. “Every word. I even saw photos of Lintorff with the uncle and his letters. That explains his abnormal behaviour when he was here,” Constantin lighted a cigarette inside his house for the first time in his life. Oblomov poured himself another glass.
“He jumped on Guntram, that's for sure. Shit! Our dirty laundry is nothing compared with Lintorff's!”
“Exactly. I want my angel back. I swear I will gut Lintorff alive if he pollutes him with his filthy hands.”
Constantin crushed the cigarette against the ashtray and lighted another one, his gaze lost in his children's portrait hanging on the opposite wall. It was Guntram's last piece and it was his best so far.
“Lintorff will not back off, I'm sure. He took a great risk to steal the boy from you. First, I thought he was being paranoid about his money, then that he wanted to punish you and finally wanted to gather some intelligence on you, but never this. That explains why he said that Guntram belonged to him!” Oblomov mumbled taking the boy's picture in a silver frame from the desk.
“According to the Order's rules, the boy is his since 1989 and he should treat him with courtesy. He's a hostage, exactly like when they were trading kings' children in the Middle Ages. The moment his father signed the documents—yes, they even have the forms for such trades, Ivan Ivanovich—provided the information about the traitors, admitted his crimes toward the organization and offered his life, the boy became Lintorff's responsibility and he could do whatever he wanted with him.” Constantin explained while removed the frame from Oblomov's hands.
“Fucking amazing.” Oblomov drank his sixth glass of bourbon since Constantin had started to speak.
“The German is crazier than we ever thought.”
“He's not crazy. He knows exactly what he wants and will do whatever it takes to get it,” Constantin mumbled, his fury partly dissolved after the long talk. “He will not relinquish Guntram no matter if we pay or not.
According to this Lacroix, he thinks that my angel is his property now. He was nearly driving his uncle mad to get him in bed and once he was in, he didn't let him out till the last day. And now he wants to make sausages out of him!”
“If I would have been burned like he was, the last person I would touch is Guntram! Is Lacroix the boy's father?”
“He didn't say it, but I'd bet my savings box that he is. Clever man. Faked his own death to escape the Order and crossed to our side and we never knew it! Boris tells me that this Lefèbre's buffet is excellent.”
“You need good logistics to do something like that, in front of the whole Order! This man has my respect boss!” Ivan chuckled, “but my mother-in-law will be a kindergarten teacher compared to him!”
“That's my aunt Ivan Ivanovich,” Constantin rebuked his friend with an acid tone. “De Lisle, Lacroix or the Easter Bunny, hid Guntram in plain sight, his money and continued to work for us. In Europe, no less! I'm impressed.”
“But he was sick! We read the autopsy reports!”
“And had four or five grams alcohol in his blood before he jumped. There was no way he could have walked toward the window! The police turned a blind eye. I always thought that the Serbs had made it look like a suicide. Lefèbre identified the body. With his salary in the bank and profits, he must have had hidden somewhere more than twenty million dollars at that time. More than enough as to buy a body and keep his child according to his status till he could return for him.”
“Let's be glad that Edmond Dantès is not against us, boss,” Oblomov shuddered, wondering how he was going to fix the mess they were in. 'Now Constantin had every reason in the world to fight to have his boy back and Lintorff had every reason to keep him. There’s no way to stop war now, it's personal now. Shit! One good deed in my whole life and now we all are going to die.'
“But, is he on our side?” Constantin pondered, switching his computer on to resume his work. Lacroix was right, he should stay low and pay Lintorff back so he would ease his defences down. It was all a matter of planning and patience. He was a very patient man and now he had an incentive for Guntram to return to his side; the father he had always longed for.
Chapter 21
San Capistrano
July 13th
In the evening, Konrad was pleased with his day so far. He and Guntram had spent the morning and afternoon in Rome, visiting the Villa Giulia and the Etruscan Museum, having lunch there. As the mercury was not too high, they remained in the restaurant's terrace; he, reading some documents sent in the morning by his secretary and the boy, drawing the gardens or the villa in a small pad he had in his pocket, without interfering with his work.
Konrad decided to walk along the river before asking his bodyguard to wait for him with the car at the Castel Sant'Angelo. He enjoyed the boy's silent and amiable companionship, his acute questions and that he was really listening his to answers. They visited the fortress and at 8 o'clock both were back in San Capistrano, sitting in the grand living room, waiting for dinner.
Guntram was very tired, but glad to have been out for a full day and Lintorff could be funny when he was not stressed or playing the big bad banker with his associates. His sense of humour was very dark, but it suited him and he could take a joke on him much better than any other man he had known. Yesterday, when they had arrived with the limo from the airport and he was a bit sore after their talk in the plane—'admit it Guntram, he's a bone to big for you'—Konrad had murmured the minute he had seen the twenty something employees standing in line to receive him; “just a second Guntram, I have to make the Duke's parade. The serfs need to see their master” and he had giggled at his royal and serious tone.
“Be careful, your Grace when you throw the bone. If you get one in the eye, you will have to pay for it.”
“I know. Bismark was a dangerous revolutionary with all those social laws,” had been his answer, in his best “business meetings” voice, but a mischievous glint in his eyes. “The secret lies in throwing only one bone with all of the meat attached.”
Guntram had had a very hard time trying to control his laughter in front of the Italian—“inheritance from my father”—butler. He had fallen in love with the incredible Art collection in the house and with two real Bronzino drawings in one of the corridors. He was not surprised that his bedroom was near the Duke's private stances and had a view over the countryside, in the middle of the Lazio area.
Konrad had promised him to take him to St. Peter's to see the Treasury and later the Trajan Market or the Capitol Hill where you could enjoy a breathtaking view of the city. To his surprise, Konrad could speak Italian very well and had been very kind to a young child, no more than five or six, who had asked him if he was a giant. “No, unfortunately not. Giants are five centimetres larger than I,” he had told the boy mimicking his seriousness and the small one had been very happy with the answer.
'He's not the man I thought, really not. Those eyes of his are really something. He looks like a million dollars, but he takes it naturally. I could speak for hours with him and he doesn't make me feel as if he's cross examining me like Constantin used to do some times. Good, he doesn't like art so much.'
“Madame Barberini is here to visit his Grace,” the butler announced with a mortified face, already fearing the more than probably outburst from his master. The Duke had behaved so well since he had arrived with his ward, not complaining at all over small things, or inspecting the house from roof to the cellar, or changing his mind every two minutes about something. He had preferred to stay in the living room, reading peacefully with the boy sitting next to him, not upset that his dinner was delayed till nine. 'Mr. Elsässer has a hard work'.
“I don't receive people tonight, Mario.”
“The lady insists, Sire.”
“Take her to the library,” Konrad said with
a face that forebode nothing good for his security staff, the butler and the woman.
“Immediately, Sire,” the butler answered, turning to leave the room and nearly bumped into Stefania, dressed with a blue short cocktail dress.
“It's incredible Konrad, sitting in your living room in a wonderful evening. Hello, dear,” she said, going over the butler, now fearing for his thirty-six years old job, two years before retirement.
“It's all right, Mario,” Konrad dismissed him while Guntram stood from the comfortable sofa he was sharing with him, leaving his sketch pad aside. He couldn't help to smooth his shirt's wrinkles, like a child, when he felt Stefania's x-ray eyes on him. He kept his eyes down, while Konrad took his time to stand up.
“Stefania, this is my ward, Guntram de Lisle. He's staying with me for the holidays,” he said, his eyes fulminating her, but she didn't pay attention to him and offered her hand to the boy, seemingly frightened of her. He kissed it and bowed his head, but said nothing, too disturbed at her interruption and bewildered because of the palpable aura of fury emanating from Konrad.
“How do you, Mr. de Lisle? Are you French? I was under the impression that you were Russian,” she said haughtily and Guntram blanched.
“My parents were French. I lived all my life in Argentina,” he mumbled nervously, looking to Konrad for help or permission to escape.
“Guntram is the son of one of my best lawyers. He's studying Arts in Zürich.”
“Really? People told me you were coming from St. Petersburg.”
“I lived there for six months and in London too, Madam.”
“Stefania, sit down. This is starting to look like a police interview, darling,” Konrad said very dryly, not waiting for her to sit down to sit. “Something to drink?”
“No, I was hoping you would accompany me to “Sotto Voce”. It's a new lounge bar and it's the best place in the city. You can't miss it if you're here, even if you keep closed your house in Villa Borghese and hide here.”
“I'm in holidays, Stefania: looking for peace. Besides Guntram has a heart condition and needs to rest after spending the whole day in Rome.” Konrad decided to cut off the upcoming argument as fast as he could.
“Please, don't worry about me Konrad. I don't do well in such places,” Guntram cut his escape route earnestly.
“Guntram, there's no reason to go out. Mrs. Barberini can have dinner with us if she wants,” he said after briefly considering that throwing her out, 'as the vixen certainly deserved for breaking into his house and spoiling his evening', was bad for his public image. He could feel the boy was already softening to him, immediately blushing every time he was fixing his eyes on him.
“Konrad, dear, you're still not fifty! Come on, we can have dinner downtown. They have a Spanish chef who worked under Adrià.”
'Excellent, just excellent. Chateubriand mousse and broccoli ice cream for dinner! We have canetons with that raisins sauce here!' Konrad opened his mouth to defend his dinner, but Guntram once again commented,
“Sounds very nice. Is he not the one who was named Chef of the Year?”
“Exactly, that one,” Stefania said with a triumphant smile.
“Do you want to come with us?” Konrad grunted.
“No, I can't eat it. The doctor forbid me to do it,” Guntram said with an earnest smile at Konrad, melting his fury at the youth for being so stupid as to take that woman's side. 'Doesn't he realise that she's competition of the worst kind?'
“In that case, we could stay here,” Konrad said quickly and Stefania made her best impersonation of big puppy eyes at Guntram.
“It would be a pity to waste a dress like the one Miss Barberini is wearing, Konrad. You should take her out.”
'Is this boy an idiot? His uncle was a hundred times better for bending me to his will!' Konrad thought and he caught Guntram smiling at her encouragingly, in an attempt to ease her faked pained face. 'A kind hearted idiot.
Well, someone has to pay for women like Stefania. I'll get her out before she does something to him. She obviously wants trouble.' “I have to change myself, Stefania.”
“Do it, dear,” she said while Konrad stormed out of the room.
The Duke saw Mario standing at the end of the corridor. “Do something! Get the boy out and don't leave him with the witch alone. You should know better which people are allowed to enter this house! This is a family residence!” he said with a low voice. “Elsässer will explain you your new duties.”
“Yes, your Grace,” the man answered very sheepishly.
In his bedroom, Konrad jerked the drawers open to vent his fury before he would do or say something he might regret later in front of Guntram. 'How can he be so dumb? Doesn't he realise that woman wants to have sex with me to get him out? That's it! He doesn't want anything with me and kicks me to her bed! Once more, they're toying with me! Exactly as Roger, with his doll face and lies! Fuck with the tie. I'll change the shirt and she should be glad!'
Still cursing softly in German, he laced the shoes and put on a Patek Philippe, and heard a soft knock on the door. He went like a thunderbolt to open it, finding Guntram at his doorstep, clutching a big sketchpad.
“Hello. Excuse me Konrad, but the butler told me you wanted me to show my drawings to Miss Stefania and I wondered if this would be acceptable.”
“Yes, she won't understand it.”
“Ah. You look great with a blue jacket,” Guntram said distractedly. “I'll meet her downstairs. She's very beautiful. Do you think she would let me paint her?”
“She's a professional model.”
“Yes, you're right. She must have hundreds of people wanting to do it. I should not bother her. I go now.
I don't want to keep her waiting.”
'No, not playing with me. Hopeless case of good will.' Konrad sighed. 'Did he say that I look great in blue?' Suddenly, his fury had disappeared.
“Go to bed early, Guntram. Don't stay up late drawing like you always do,” Konrad barked the minute he entered the living room to fetch Stefania, ready for a forgettable night out. He nearly gasped when he saw Guntram sitting next to her, after showing her his drawings of some chickens he had seen in the farm near the castle, smiling softly at him, beautiful and unaware of the geyser he was sitting on. 'Like a child without malice. I will have to protect him from people like her.' “Yes, Konrad. Good night, Madam,” the boy replied, slightly bowing his head to Stefania, looking at him with clear scorn in her eyes. That little mouse couldn't compete with her. She had been so foolish to be concerned about a “young, very handsome and kind boy” living with Lintorff, as one of her special friends, a banker from Milan, had described him at her request.
“Perhaps we will see each other sometime,” she said, extending her hand.
'Not if I have something to say in the matter.' Konrad thought before taking Stefania by the waist and steering her out of the room with long strides. 'Bloody nuisance of a woman. All of them good for nothing.'
The faint echoes of disco music were still banging onto his brain when Konrad sat back in his limousine, with Stefania at his side, chatting with herself because he couldn't care less what she was prattling about. 'Lounge bar? It was a despicable joint for vulgar people. TV artists! They give a bad name to the real ones!' the Duke thought, doing a supreme effort to keep a straight face and his mouth shut before losing his temper, exactly as he had been forced to do for the whole night in front of forty total strangers, all famous, with invitation only, considering than pouring bottles of champagne on top of a half nude starlette was the top of refinement. The place had been crowded with “celebrities reporters” (tattle tale of the worst kind) and Stefania had been more than glad to be photographed several times. His bodyguards, Ricardo and Piero had spent the whole night keeping the paparazzi away from him; therefore he had to look for a table in a secluded corner bearing with Stefania's pouting and kissing good-bye his dinner.
The cognac was Hennessy when he had clearly asked for a Louis XIII, Rémy M
artin… and a heretic had dared to put ice on it! His people knew he only drank that brand. How right was his father to tell him: “Choose one drink and stick to it. With any luck, the waiters will learn it.” What kind of place was this that they didn't have the Rémy Martin XO?
'The incompetents forgot the funny umbrella,' was his unspoken remark and left the glass on the table, after one sip, refusing to drink it.
He had enough of all this.
Time to put an end. He had much better at home. Ten minutes talking with Guntram or watching him draw were more entertaining than two hours of idiotic prattle from a TV soap operas producer.
“Stefania, darling, allow me to drive you home,” Konrad interrupted her vivid talk with another woman.
“We just arrived darling and …”
“Please.” One word sentences were his best.
She pouted again and made a little girl's face, something he hated, but one of his looks convinced her that Lintorff had enough for one night and she should better keep her low profile if she wanted to fix what had been broken that night in Zürich. After all, the “stronzo” had not called her at all. She was not going to throw ten years of work to the trash, especially knowing how touchy Lintorff was.
“Of course, dear.”
She was doing her best to distract him by telling him that funny story about the D&G fashion show in Milan, but he kept ignoring her, brooding and fuming as usual. 'This man is impossible!'
“Do you want to come in for a drink?” she suggested when the limo parked in front of her elegant apartment building.
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