Tiredness clung to his bones despite his mere 25 years of age. The dreaded meeting loomed in his near future, and nothing was good enough to please the associates, all looking for a way to get rid of him as soon as possible. Nothing would ever good enough for them.
His uncle Hermann and Gustav zu Löwenstein, the Magnus Commendator, along with Mladic Pavicevic, the Summus Marescalus were his only supporters, but they will account for nothing if he doesn’t get the required two-thirds of the votes, and he only controlled forty-two percent of them.
‘Just a year more, is all that I ask of them. All that I have built over the past year cannot be crushed in one day.'
He opened the door to the large Executive Suite, permanently rented for the past two years, and wondered why he had been so “stupid” as to keep it. 'It was meant to be just one night. Maybe two, but nothing else. He's the son of the Head in France! He's married to Maria Augusta! If the Vicomte finds out, he will kill me. Löwenstein will kill me for ruining his niece's marriage. I have to get rid of him! I will break up with him after tonight!'
Standing in the middle of the living room, his eyes took in the baroque, golden-cream decoration. He sighed before he threw the portfolio over the red damask chair in front of the fireplace. On top of the small round coffee table was a tiny envelope and the young man opened it. The card only said “327” and he sighed again. 'Roger could at least show some enthusiasm to see me or use the other bedroom. He loves to make me crawl to his own dingy place.'
One crazy night of champagne and oysters had been all that he had needed to ruin his life. Their liason was never meant to be, but it was, and he couldn't find a way to break free from the invisible chains pulling him into Roger de Lisle's bed. 'We never took it seriously, and yet, here we are. I, working like a madman in Manhattan to finish all pending issues, almost living in the Concorde, just to be here at eight o'clock for a cold dinner and a good night of fun.'
He loosened his silk tie and threw it over the chair, to be followed by the jacket, crumpled over it. He flexed his sore neck's muscles and looked around once more, unable to identify the source of the sudden sadness that had overtaken him. 'Why? I'm only going to meet with Roger. His wife is in London. It should be easy.'
“What you feel for this man has one name, Konrad von Lintorff: Lust. As simple as that,” his Tutor had scolded him not a week ago, after he had confessed his forbidden relationship. “You like the danger and the risk, nothing else. Love is not what you're describing.”
“What can you know about love?” Konrad had yelled, completely out of himself. He didn't need to be told off like a little boy; he needed some support and understanding. “You were never married or lived with anyone!”
Konrad had immediately regretted his words because no one had felt his father's death some years ago like Friederich. The Tutor had been at his sick bed without complaints till the last moment, while Konrad had been busy trying to solve some investments in South East Asia. Ashamed, he cast his eyes down, unable to hold the azure gaze examining him.
“I know more than you can imagine, boy,” Friederich had growled. “To love is to sacrifice for the other person. Love is companionship and generosity. What you feel is only lust. Satisfy it but don't call it love.”
But Konrad didn't know how to retreat, he had not been educated to relinquish his position, so he answered as he had been taught by his late father. “I will do as I see fit, Friederich. Thank you.”
Hearing that, the Austrian had turned around and left the room. Konrad knew that it would take some time for his Tutor's fury at his ungrateful words to lessen. 'Friederich has to understand that I'm not his boy any longer. I am the Duke now, and Roger loves me as I him. Friederich does not understand how things are done nowadays. He's as outdated as all of the other members. For them, banking is just lending money to buy a house or selling insurance policies to public servants!'
'Only Roger can understand me. If only he would take me more seriously, everything would be perfect.'
Konrad opened the door to the main bedroom and took an informal outfit from the closet, a pair of beige jeans, a light blue Lacoste polo shirt, and a V neck pink angora jersey. He quickly undressed himself, revelling in the freedom of being able to leave the clothes scattered all around, with no one to tell him to fold them and put them on a chair. He hated disorder but the strict discipline under which he had lived as Friederich's pupil tempted him to behave like a pig, especially when he was away from home.
The shower brought him back to life, the hot water spray, relaxing tired muscles and making him feel once more his 25 years of age instead of like an old man. 'While Albert was probably dating Carolina, and Ferdinand was looking for a way to escape Gertrud, I was in a room full of people with suspenders so their trousers could feel free to strangle them.' Konrad chuckled like a boy at the image of the old von Ribbentrop, wearing his trousers “well atop of the Equator Line”, firmly held up with black-and-red-striped suspenders, adorned with the newest trend in fashion; golden loops. 'Why can't they adopt my views if they're willing to wear such ridiculous things? I should bribe their girlfriends so they talk about emerging markets instead of fashion.'
Chuckling like a boy, he dried his blond hair with the towel and threw it onto the floor, combing the mess towards the right in three precise moves. He got dressed quickly and once more acting, like a child, ran to the bathroom to check if his looks were good enough to meet with Roger. His hair was in disarray after putting on the shirt and he combed it again, and then, he remembered to put on some of that apple scented cologne his lover had given him some weeks ago, the same he always wore. With trembling fingers he fastened the Rolex President around his wrist and tied the jersey around his shoulders.
Still smiling, he pushed the elevator call button, only to remember that, “Educated people don't smile like dodos, Konrad.” He regained his composure and serious air, straightening his back, just before the elevator's door opened.
'How can dodos smile if they have beaks?' Konrad wondered as he bowed his head to the two ladies dressed with flashy cocktail dresses -'Their hairs are longer than their skirts. Don't they realise how ridiculous they look in those outfits? So much fabric in that puffed skirt, but all wrongly used. What a waste!'- he thought, moving to one side of the corridor to let them pass.
He was almost bouncing on his feet when he reached the fourth floor and knocked twice on the wooden door.
