Into the Lion's Den

by Tionne Rogers

  “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 o
wner 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.”