The Substitute - Book 2. Chapter 7 - Second Part

January 13^th 2009

Wednesday night

London

Finding Goran standing at the door of the meetings room had always been a bad omen for Konrad. He knew that the Serb loathed to cross his path with the associates or other bankers and put as much distance as possible between he and them.

“My Griffin,” Goran only said and Konrad nodded and walked directly to his office, telling the young secretary to entertain the next two persons.

Konrad sat behind his large desk and Goran imitated him. “A situation arose in Madrid, sir. The Komtur was stabbed six days ago.”

“Why I was not informed before?”

“His people only found it out three days ago. They're questioning the culprits as we speak.”

“Who's his replacement?” Konrad asked, digesting the bad news. A direct attack on him could make his whole structure crumble. Komturen were simply sacred and always highly protected.

“He's alive and on the way of recovery. My cousin, Majardze was always a very strong man.” Goran said softly. “I've sent uncle Mladic to control the situation as his Georgians respect him enormously.”

“Was he not the one who...?”

“Yes, December 2005, near Madrid. He took care of the remaining traitor. Guntram only knows his uncle died in a car accident and is buried there.”
“Could it be related?” Konrad asked as he knew none of the rival organizations would have been so crazy as to attack a Komtur in his own land. Once, there was an attack and the pile of heads of the perpetrators and their families at his rival's garden in Tokyo was enough to convince the Yakuza boss that both were speaking the same language.

“Who? Guntram? Impossible! It's an inside job. The perpetrators are young Salvadorian gangsters from a Mara. Teenagers all of them.”

“What happened?”

“The Komtur went to a meeting with one of his contacts from Colombia to a poor neighbourhood in Madrid, Villaverde Alto and he was attacked there. Seven stab-wounds before Majardze got three of the gangsters too. When they were about to finish him, a waiter saw the fight and the attackers panicked.

“Gangsters panicked at a simple waiter?” Konrad asked in disbelief.

“It just probes how amateurish it was, sire. The young man called the police and saved our Komtur's life. He has no idea who were those people.”

“Question him.”

“It makes no sense, sire.”

“Are you defying an order?” Konrad asked with a dangerous edge to his voice.

“He's retarded. The police got nothing out of him and he was willing to help. He's one of those people hired only to keep your taxes low. Two days ago, the Spanish member who spoke with him found out that he remembered almost nothing about the attack.”

“Goran...” Kornad growled.

“His testimony is useless. The police almost threw him out of the station when they found out he suffers a rare type of amnesia. The officer in charge of the investigation was looking for someone called Pelayo de Amaya, Duque de Cantabria, when he realised it was useless. This person was also there.” Goran said very sarcastically.

“Duque as Duke?”

“Of Cantabria, in the northern part of the country, sire.” Goran supplied the information with a soft voice.

“This is outrageous! To mock my own title!”

“Indeed, sire.”

“Find this person!”

“I have already, but he, I mean, it is not willing to speak. The locals already tried, but it hasn't opened its duckbill so far. Very thought adversary, indeed.”

“Goran, interrogate this person by yourself if you have to. I don't believe for a minute that this young man had nothing to do! And speak properly!”

“Duckbill is not the correct term for platypuses' mouths?”

Konrad looked at the Serb in shock unable to comprehend the sentence.

“Pelayo de Amaya, Duque de Cantabria is a stuffed platypus, sire. The boy keeps it with him all the time and told the police the animal explained him how to stop the bleeding. Middle Ages healing methods saved Majardze's life. This young man is as crazy as you can be, and the attackers too. Heavily drugged at the moment of the attack. One of them swears that there was a demon with the boy!” Goran chortled.

“Who are they?” Konrad asked in disbelief.

“Teenagers, small dealers and thieves, amateurs all of them. The Georgians tell me they spoke after the first round. They got €300 from a black immigrant to rob and kill the Komtur. They don't know his identity but he was not from Spain.”

“Leave them to the Georgians to set an example. Who then? Russians?”

“Majardze had several disputes with the Colombians trying to use our ports in the north for free. He has no pending issues with the Russians in the south. Everything points in that direction. They're returning the favour to us.”

“What has Majardze said?”

“Not much. He will make it, but he made no sense at all, according to my uncle Mladic. He said that he saw the Angel of Death and another angel saved his life. A clear hallucination because the boy who saved his life looks like one of those models used  in the Renaissance.”

“Send someone of your most absolute trust to investigate all this. We will retaliate in their territory with full power, but I want sound evidences before I give the order.”

“It will be done as you wish, sire.” Goran said and left the room.

Konrad leaned against his chair and sighed. 'Things get crazier and crazier in this world. Demons, gangsters, angels and platypuses? What's next? Why can't people hire a good professional any longer? Killing a man worth several million for €300? Nothing makes sense, even for Latin Americans!'

'What is this fixation of mobsters with angels? Repin also was calling my Guntram angel. They shouldn't enter in this game if remorse bites their hearts.'

'In a way, I was also saved by an angel. Our Lord's ways are unfathomable. I will never thank him enough for sending me Guntram.'

Still smiling at the memory of his asleep Kitten some days ago, he took out one of his personal cards from his desk. As usual an unwelcome wave of shyness engulfed him when he wanted to write the words down. 'It's always better when I speak, like with the fountain pen, but this Spanish mess will delay my return for several days more. Those birds are really nice and well achieved.'

A soft knock on his door announced one of his secretaries who visibly nervous reminded him of his meeting with the Royal New Scotia Bank Director.

“Send him in and put this card in the box that arrived this morning from Christies'. Send it to Monika immediately,” Konrad said while he went for the protocol and safe: “For your new home, K.” and slid the white engraved with his arms card inside an envelope.

* * *

The “Mess in Madrid” was still giving headaches to Konrad when his limo parked very late in the night in front of his house. Weary from a hellish week in London and Frankfurt, he got out of the car, forgetting his briefcase behind him, but his chauffeur picked it up in a blink. Konrad walked through the entrance and stopped in the foyer to give his coat to Friederich, standing there alone.

“Is Guntram sleeping?” Konrad asked Friederich.

“He was very tired from the week and suffering from headaches. I sent him to bed before the young princes and he didn't complain at all. He fell asleep before dinner,” Friederich answered and went away.

Konrad noticed the bodyguard holding his briefcase for him and he took it mind absently, and checked his watch: 1 a.m. Knowing that he was alone in the room, he sighed tiredly and climbed the stairs up to his bedroom. 'How right was my father when he told me, once you're fifty, the years will run over you, Konrad. Fix your life before because later you will only think in getting under the covers.'

'Guntram must be really beaten from all this. I told Elisabetta to keep it slow, but she almost killed Holgersen with her running. There's no hurry at all to finish that place. He's not moving there anytime soon! Just a few chairs and a table to paint in peace, away from the children. They destroyed one set of his illustrations when they were playing around. Guntram is too nice to tell them off, but he had to stay up late for three nights to recover the lost work. He can't afford such stress any longer. I almost killed him with the pressure all those years. Guntram doesn't know when to stop and I'm no better than him. I do hope that having this house calms him down. He needs his own space and he's old enough as to have it. Armin is one year younger and he's running wild since I married Stefania. I should put him back to the castle. One more razzle and he's grounded till he turns thirty. Why can't he be like my Guntram?'

He left his briefcase on one of the chairs and loosened his tie in his studio, fighting against the temptation of checking if he had an e-mail or the news. He removed his jacket and left it on the chair briefly thinking, “tomorrow Friederich will tell me something.”

On tiptoes he entered in the bedroom, walking insecurely in the darkness as he didn't want switch on the lights and wake up Guntram. Silently, he removed his clothes, taking in the cuddled form in his bed. He couldn't see his features, but he instinctively knew that his love was exhausted. 'Probably, he will do his best to hide it. I thought he was just lazy at the beginning, but he was already sick and stressed. I should have never pushed him to do so many things or ran after me. He just couldn't keep up with the pace. He ran from me to save his life and I didn't realise because I was blind.'

Very carefully Konrad, removed the covers on his side of the bed -repressing the urge to hold his Kitten- and laid down and smiled when he felt Guntram turning around in his sleep to face him, loosing his cover in the process. 'Still the same, getting cold at the first chance,' thought Konrad while he arranged the thick cover around Guntram. 'Sleeps like a log. He only caught me once during those two years, when I was there twice or more per week to check he had his window closed, was warm or he had gathered his pencils before stabbing himself in his sleep.'

Guntram woke up when the mattress under him moved under the new weight and half opened his eyelids to find Konrad there. Still uncertain of his lover's mood, he preferred to play the lamb with a soft whispered “hi, you're back” and a kiss to test the waters.

Konrad answered with passion the chaste kiss, almost crushing Guntram under his much larger frame and let the younger man push him playfully against the bed, to climb on top of him, ravaging his face with his kisses. 'No one ever kissed me like Guntram,' he thought briefly but the flashback of his latest talk with the doctor crossed his mind and Konrad stopped his kisses. 'He has to rest, maybe tomorrow if the children behave.'

“Why do you stop?” Guntram asked a bit irked.

“We both are tired, tomorrow Kitten,” Konrad promised. “It's more than one in the morning and tomorrow is Saturday and the boys stay at home.”

“I was thinking to take them to see the new flat, if you agree, of course.”

'Why does he need my permission? Not again one of your set ups, I'm beaten to endure one!' “Of course, take them but warn Goran in advance. I think he will prefer to evacuate the premises.” Konrad said jovially.

“You're also invited,” Guntram pressed.

“I'll be very busy in the morning. Hundreds of papers around and beggars to speak with.”

“Oh, I was thinking to go after lunch. The boys have to do their homework first and read. I was planning to take them to the movies later. They told me they enjoyed very much going with you.”

'Trapped like a rat. If I refuse, I'm a bad father. If I agree, is another afternoon spent in hell. I can always go to the flat and waste time and offer to go for an ice cream or cake to Sprüngli and save me the Disney nightmare.' “Kitten, I could try to join you but I'm not sure if I can. Ferdinand will pass by tomorrow and Adolf too. I guess he wants to bring his daughters to play with Klaus and Karl. I already notified the insurance company.”

“They can stay for lunch too. I'll tell Jean Jacques tomorrow morning. We can drive at four then.”

“All right, Kitten.” Konrad mumbled defeated, ready to sleep.

“Do you want something?” Guntram said very softly and caressed his lover's back.

“No, I had dinner in the plane.” Konrad answered without paying attention.

'Normally he jumps over me and now he wants to sleep only? It's worse than I thought.' “Why did you give me the birds, Konrad?”

“I saw them at Christies' and found them very classical. Early pieces and they're very nicely made.”

“Strange you chose two fighting roosters,”

“Why? Kändler made many of them. Those are very rare models as they are placed over branches. Unusual set. The tailor and the goat was too much for my taste.”

“So it's just an artwork?”

“Are you trying to tell me something? Do you want to exchange them for the parrots I have?”

“That's a real a fall in the zoological scale; from my national bird to a talking record with feathers,” Guntram mumbled.

'What's wrong with him? He liked them! He told me so! I hate when he starts these games! Why can't he say things straight in my face?' “Then, the roosters stay, Guntram! It's your national bird!” Konrad barked.

“Yes, of course, they're befitting.” Guntram said using a sarcastic voice.

“See? I was right. Roosters are very French. They behave like them too.” Konrad grunted and turned around to sleep, with the firm conviction of not starting a fight so late.

Guntram also turned around wondering why Konrad had mentioned “I had something in the plane” 'I was referring to sex and he must know it! I know he had dinner already! Was he up to something? He has been out for almost two weeks and didn't call me at all. He has been into something. I'm sure of it! Just like in Christmas!'

* * *

Guntram de Lisle's Diary

January 17^th 2009

This afternoon I took the boys to see the new flat and they were very excited about it. First they were not happy with the idea that I would have a place away from the house and they almost drove me mad when they realised that all my oil paintings were removed from the house to be sent there. I had to explain them that I was still living here and the place was just to paint alone when they were in the school. I had to show them that all my clothes were still in my closet.

Konrad decided not to join us and Merry Mirko came with us (clever man, ran away at the sight of my moving, but returned yesterday, just when Heindrik was feeling more comfortable with the IKEA things around) Klaus and Karl jumped from the car and almost ran over the poor doorman and I had to catch them. Inside my flat was Goran with Milan and I don't know what they were checking. He looked worried about something and I hope he's not too cross because we made some noise when we hung the pictures and brought the furnitures. They all disappeared and the boys were more interested in their new bedroom and toys.

“Can we stay here?”

“No, we go home later. It's just if one day I have to stay in the city and you don't want to go back home after school, if your father is away.” I explained Klaus. “I can't cook.”

“Are you going to paint here?”

“The oils mostly. The room is very big and I can make all the mess I want.”

“Why papa is not here?” Karl asked.

“He had to work. He will come by later. Do you want to play a little while I organise my studio?” I said in a hurry and fortunately they bought it. I escaped to my studio to set my things in order there and heard them playing restaurant with the wooden kitchen they have. Pity Karl overcharges and Klaus is a difficult customer. Yes, the apple does not fall far from the tree.

The bell rang and I expected to see Goran, Alexei, Jean Jacques (inspection visit, of course) or even Konrad, but at my door was Sybille von Lippe, my father's former suitor (is that the right expression? Because they were never sweethearts) and a man about my age, tall, blue eyed and blonder than I.

“Hello, Guntram,” she told me with a big smile. “I came to Zurich for the opening of a new store and I brought along your cousin, Eberhard Guttenberg Sachsen.”

I was shocked but asked them to come in and sit on the new living room. She praised me for the decoration and good taste (Elisabetta's doing. I would have put the chairs against the wall, not like she did) and introduced me again to my cousin, who was very shy but nice to speak with. He's a schoolteacher and poet with two books published and left me a copy of the latest (poor guy, got a copy of my own one. Our egos can be pleased) Sybille was very entertained by the fact that we both look very similar and it's true, the nose and chin is the same and the eye colour too. “you two look like brothers!” she said many times.

When she was telling me about her new store (expensive clothes but from a fair trade organization) and the designers she had working there (no idea who they're), my two boys jumped on top of me and wanted to know who he was. They liked Eberhard on the spot and he's good with children and in a way he's exactly like his father Gerhard. Karl and Klaus decided to show him his toys and room (big honour) and he went with them.

“Poor Eberhard, he's not half of the man he used to be,” Sybille sighed.

“He seems very nice.”

“Yes, of course, he's an excellent person. Doing his best to work and cope with the loss, but you should have seen him three years ago! He was so full of life.”

“What happened?”

“Horrible car accident. His boyfriend died when their motorbike hit a truck. Eberhard survived by little and he was in the hospital for five months. He feels responsible because his boyfriend had been drinking just a bit and he should have never let him drive. He's only thirty-tree but lives as if he were seventy.”

“I'm very sorry for him.” and I understood why his grandfather was not expecting children from his side.

“You two seem to get along very well. How old are you dear?”

“I'm almost twenty-seven and practically married.” I chuckled.

“Oh, no!” she laughed. “Anyway, divorce is always an option, darling. I was thinking that perhaps you could be friends. He's an artist too and was speaking to you very enthusiastically. He's not ready for any kind of relationship with anyone.”

“Do you want to see my things Sybille? I have almost everything here now, and my mother's portrait is there.” I asked and she went to the former fumoir- gentlemen's room now transformed into studio with my canvases and two lecterns and a large wooden table to put my colours and paints, some chairs and a stool and white shelves to store my books and catalogues. Sybille looked very carefully at the paintings and I offered her to take one if she liked one. She was delighted and refused telling me that I was already in Mountpleasant's (auction due in ten days) I insisted and she chose one painting of two young women and her children that I had reserved for Lacroix.

“Ouch, Sybille. I had that one for friend of mine, well my new lawyer.”

“Oh, I'll choose something else. Who's your lawyer?”

“He's not exactly my lawyer. I mean, he does not charge me at all because he says my father already paid his firm years ago, but he has done much more than necessary. He runs a buffet, Löwensohn and Partners in Brussels, Paris and Geneva.”

“Michel Lacroix, perhaps?” She said with a grin. “I know him very well. He runs my legal affairs with an iron fist. You can trust him with your life, but don't cross him or he will sue you! Quite terrifying in the courtrooms.”

“Do you know him, too?” I asked very shocked.

“Dear, most people use his buffet's services. He never speaks with the clients, only looks at their papers. He's quite a hermit, with a very short temper. His associate partner is much nicer to speak with and was a good friend to your father. Nicholas, He recommended Lacroix to me and I'm very glad he did.”

“Have you ever seen him?”

“Of course! He does not like to be around people but you can have a talk with him now and then. He must be around his sixties, younger than I. Clever and impossible to catch in courts,” she told me and I smiled because that words were exactly as Nicholas had described my father on our first encounter. “I'll leave this painting alone. I don't want Michel to be after my throat,” she added and went for a nice landscape made after some sketches I did in Spain when I was alone. “This plain shows a haunting beauty.”

“I took a train from Madrid to León. I thought a lot over those four hours. I think better on trains.”

“What is in León?”

“An old an beautiful city. I stayed there two nights, made some sketches, met the local goats, visited the Cathedral and the Colegiatura. Beware of the Spanish goats, they have a temper.” I said remembering a specially recalcitrant beige one, determined to eat my papers and rubbers, doing its best to get the head out of the corral.

“What were you doing there? It's far away from everything!”

“I needed to think and I went there because I read somewhere about the place. I went later to Paris. I had some troubles with Konrad and needed to be on my own.”

“Darling, next time you have troubles with him, call me and stay with me. Or go to the Guttenberg Sachsen's; they liked you enormously. The old Udo spoke about you so many times.”

“Yes, we write to each other once per week. He's like a grandfather to me.” I offered her a tea and thought about rescuing Eberhard, but she told me to let him with the boys. “He can fend for himself. He faces 25 children every morning.” At six it was very dark and she decided to go home, taking my cousin with her. We spoke briefly but we exchanged our e-mails addresses and he promised to send me some of his new material.

Around seven p.m., just when I was “packing” the boys -very happy with my cousin (hey, he got them to do their homework! I simply love the man for saving me from a tiresome battle), Konrad arrived with full regalia (can't he not drive a car like I do?) to take the children to dine downtown. Had it not been because the boys dragged him inside to look at the flat, Konrad would have stayed in the foyer. I know for sure he hates the place because he took quite a cursory look at the house and said: “You have it quite well organized for just a pied à terre.”

“Do you take the boys  away now?” I asked.

“Yes, of course. Get them into their coats,” he told me and got his bloody blackberry out to type the Divine Comedy. I was furious but for the boys' sake I kept my mouth shut and dressed them with the coats. When they were ready, and I still didn't know if I was invited at all.

“You put the birds on the mantelpiece. I was right about they would look great,” he told me with sufficiency and I only stared at him.

“Yes, they're very good pieces. Thank you. We'll see us tomorrow at Mass.”

“Are you not coming?” he asked me, sounding genuinely surprised.

“No, good night. The children have finished their homework.”

“Should I send the car for you?”

“No, thank you. I'll sleep here and drive tomorrow morning.”

“Come boys, Guntram has a headache again,” he growled and the boys followed him without complaining as they knew their father was on the brink of one of his famous explosions.

All right, this is not how I imagined my first night here. Stupid me thought it would be a romantic evening with Konrad, but I'm old enough as to know that dreams are dreams and there's nothing in my reality to back them up.

* * *

January 31^st , 2009

London

I never expected to see Konrad at the auction. I mean, it was supposed to be my great opportunity, but our relation is strained at the moment. We are not fighting or anything, just evading us in the way we can only do. We share the bed but nothing else. He wakes up and goes to work after his training. I take the children to school and then I paint till four in the afternoon when I pick them up and bring them back home. Konrad organized two of his big dinners and I excused myself. Twenty people around was too much for my nerves and hearing some bankers complaining about the fall in their profits or how people don't pay their mortgages back is like approaching a lightened match to a bomb.

I flew to London with Meister Ostermann -happy like a child that one of his “living” pupils was auctioned at Mountpleasant's- on a regular flight and I was surprised to find the car waiting for us. It drove us to Melbury road and Ostermann made a full inventory of the furniture and porcelain (he's after Elisabetta's two big cabinets in my dinning room) We were speaking till very late and he can be quite funny when he's not pressed to play “the grumpy teacher”.

In the morning I had to work; yeah, another book signing in a big bookstore this time. I finished just on time to catch a cab to the auction house, glad to be already dressed for it and very hungry because I had nothing but a glass of water in the six hours I was there.

It was a huge shock to see my things in atriles in that large room next to the real artists. Only the portrait of Sofia remained as the other things were already removed for the auction. I looked at it and felt a lump in my throat when I remembered how happy had been Constantin to have it. Sofia was a dazzling girl and I guess I did capture her sparkling spirit. She wanted to be a fashion designer and I hope she fulfils her dream. I took in all the details, the flashbacks hitting me permanently, like when I fought with Konrad over it and agreed to stop talking to Constantin just to paint it. I realised that moment that painting was what had kept me alive all this time. It was not my love for the children but the need to create, to go to the extreme as much as I could. I love Klaus and Karl more than my own life, but they're not mine no matter what Konrad says. They're his and he's powerful enough as to put me out of the picture if he wants so. My paintings are solely mine. I can sell them, but I could recover them at any time.

I looked at Sofia's portrait once more and the memory of my first meeting with Constantin assaulted me, expecting him to cross the door once more, but he didn't come back. My eyes roamed the pug sitting at the foot of the bed and I realised it. The collar was wrong. The painting was not mine.

I looked at the portrait again and the signature and everything looked as mine, but it wasn't. It was fake. A copy. When I painted it, I opened a cola can and the drink splashed all over the dog. I had to remake it and the collar was not a hundred percent right. Ostermann told me to leave it as it was because “it's a portrait, not a photo”.

Also the brush strokes were not mine. I don't do such strokes. I cover the area with one colour and add the details later.

I was very sure it was not mine. I turned around the lectern and looked for the marks GdL I always do in pencil, but there were none. They're very small. It was not my portrait.

A guard almost kicked me out of the place for touching the painting till I shouted him I was the Vicomte de Marignac with a voice very much like Konrad's. “Take me to the commissar of this auction. This is impossible!”

The poor man lost all his bravado. “The auction has started.”

“Your house is about to sell a falsehood. A very good one, but worthless.” I said and the man looked ashen. I went to the room and it was a frenzy. I tried to speak with Ostermann, but he shut me up. I saw Konrad already sitting in the front, bidding for a Cèzanne, with Tita von Olsztyn at his side. I saw many others I know and I told one of the girls with the company's tag to get the expert on Modern Arts, but the man was busy with something and didn't want to hear me. I saw Oblomov at the distance standing in a corner and went to him to ask him if he knew where was Olga Fedorovna Repin.

“Somewhere,” he shrugged. “My wife will ruin me tonight, Sable.”

“We can't auction my paintings!”

“Should I shoot the auctioneer? I'm already willing to. The cretin told my wife to buy that loathsome thing.”

“No, thank you,” I whispered and paled when I realised that my “Dogs” were in auction. It was sold for 45.000 pounds to an internet bidder and then came the portrait held by two employees.

“Lot 79 is “Portrait of a young lady with dog” by Guntram de Lisle. Let's start with £20.000.”

I saw several pads rising and Tita's too and I felt like shit. When the auctioneer was at £24.000 I shouted: “Excuse me,” and I got everybody's attention at a posh place like Mountpleasant's.

“This is not the way to place a bid,” the man scolded me.

“The portrait is a bad copy. I'm the artist and this is not mine.” I blurted out in one of my greatest diplomatic moments. I saw Konrad looking at me in shock.

“I beg you pardon?”

“It's not mine. It has not my signature on the back and the dog is different. You see, I dropped coca cola on the original and had to redo it and the collar was never so straight.”

“Are you Guntram de Lisle?” The man asked me in shock, after consulting his catalogue.

“Yes, I am.” and at that point the whispers were already a murmur of protest. “You can't sell it until it's authenticated by a professional.”

“Very well, we will continue to lot number eighty,” the man said with a lot of poise and I wanted to dig and crawl into a hole because the next was the children's portrait Konrad liked so much and was still after.

“I'm not sure about it too. If you would let me see it. The book's spine must have an Imperial mark.” I confessed embarrassed to no end.

“Excuse me?”

“It's a symbol from Star Wars, It's an octagon with a sun inside, sir.” I said with all the dignity you can have in such moments. “It's one or two shades darker than the spine.” The man got his spectacles out and inspected it and said that it was there and I said that it was certainly mine then.

The auctioneer offered the painting for 10.000 but no one bid and he lowered the price to 5.000 and there, Konrad placed a bid. Of course, no one contested his opinion and after six years he got the painting he liked so much for a fraction of what he was willing to pay.

The auctioneer jumped to lot 84, “a vibrant example of pop art” and I left the room to take two white pills.

“What the hell was that?” Michael Dähler asked me, and I was surprised not to have seen him before.

“That thing is not mine. I can swear it. I tried to speak with someone here but no one paid attention to me. Ostermann was too busy with his friends and Olga Fedorovna was away! She should have stopped this!”

“I don't care about her business. Are you sure about the dog?”

“Of course, I am! I always leave some rubbish behind. It's like a joke!”

“Do you have any idea of what you did?”

“Saving people the problem of being cheated?”

“Most of them will return their purchases or ask for a second evaluation!! This house is good as ruined after your number! The Duke will be furious with you! Such exposure. Your career is ruined too!”

“I give a damn about all of you.” I almost shouted and left the place to stop a cab and tell him to drive to the airport. I had my passport with me and I walked to the information desk to get a ticket back to Zurich. I was just paying it with the bloody credit card when a out of breath Mirko caught up with me.

“Sir, please return home.”

“I'm going home. My own home. Call Mr. Pavicevic and tell him I'm staying in the flat tonight so he doesn't shoot me,” I growled and the girl, just looked at him in shock. I picked up my ticket and thanked her before I walked toward the security control. Mirko trotted behind me.

“Sir, this is not safe, not after tonight.”

“I had enough of being told like a five years old. Tell the Hochmeister that I resign from my commission, position, job or whatever you call it. This nonsense is killing me and if you'd excuse me, I have a plane to catch in an hour.”

“Guntram,” I looked at him surprised because this was the first time he had called me by my first name. “what happened today is dangerous. Please, stay here. I'll go with you tomorrow. Why was your painting substituted? It makes no sense at all! You're not a valuable artist!”

“I'm going away Mirko. I don't want to argue with the Duke. I need my space tonight. If I go with you, it will end bad. I'll take a taxi home.”

“Someone will be waiting for you, sire,” he said and I had to run to catch the flight at 21:20.

I arrived very late, at almost 1 a.m. And there was someone waiting for me: Goran. He shouted with me all the way from the airport for breaking the security procedures so blatantly. Then he started to press me on the false painting and I shouted with him very vulgarly telling him that I had no fucking idea who was so crazy as to spend money on this. Perhaps Repin made a copy for his plane or something and the wife mistook it for the original.

“The Duke is very upset about all this, little brother,” he told me somewhat appeased.

“Yes, his pure Consort was mingled in a scandal,” I smirked. “Next time, I will like some forewarning if someone plans to make a scam with my things!”

“You just screw a mobster's job up!” Goran roared.

“Constantin is dead! Get it into your head!”

“The wife!! After you left, nobody was bidding for anything else! And many are asking for new appraisals! She's socially ruined! Imagine, trying to sell a fake! Olga Fedorovna hates you and she will kill you for this! You costed her several millions tonight! The Duke is very concerned about you!”

“I tried to tell it but no one heard me! Von Olsztyn's widow was buying that crap! Should I let a friend of us be cheated?”

“You should have been quiet, and the Duke would have offered to compensate her!”

My phone started to ring and I answered it expecting to be it Konrad, but it was Ivan Oblomov, Constantin's former henchman and his own Judas. He was the person the less I wanted to speak in this world. “Hello, Sable” he rumbled with his deep voice. “Or should I said lemming?”

“That's not funny, Ivan Ivanovich,” I said clearly and loudly so Goran would know who was on the other side of the line and Oblomov laughed.

“I had no idea you could put such a show on, sable. Most entertaining. Olga Fedorovna wants to skin you alive for ruining her night. You have saved me several million too as I forced Tatiana to return the bloody things. Are you certain about the picture?”

“Yes, I'm not an idiot! I know my own stuff! Don't you know yours? Should I help you with the list?”

“Sable, keep your mouth shut,” he growled me.

“Keep your threats to yourself, Ivan Ivanovich. This is not your territory. Your people did this.”

“Tell Pavicevic to look after you; women are vengeful creatures, Sable and this is a friendly advise. I like you no matter what you think. I have no further issues with you. Sables are for royalty; stay there.” He hung up on me.

I was silent for the rest of the trip and followed Goran to his flat like a little lamb. His mobile rang and he only said, “yes, sire. He's with me,” and gave it to me.

I took a deep breath and took the phone with a “hello Konrad.” Goran disappeared into his own kitchen.

“Why did you leave London?”

“I lost my mind. I argued with someone and I had enough. I've just destroyed my career and picked up a fight with a mobster lady. Is that the proper term?”

“I don't know, but it suits her. Stay with Goran tonight. In his flat, not in yours. Tomorrow he will drive you home and we will speak.”

“Was Tita very angry with me?”

“No, she's upset with the people at Mountpleasant's. It's a scandal and she wants to return all her purchases, but I have convinced her to accept the sales and sue them if the pieces are not authentic,” he told me very softly and he wasn't upset at all. “I got the one I liked so much,” he added.

“That one was original. Now everyone knows I'm a Star Wars fan.”

“Maybe Leonardo was cheering for the Fiorentina, but we don't know it for certain,” he chuckled. “Answer me this, Guntram, have you painted something like this in the works you sent to the Vatican?”

“Of course not!”

“Really?”

“Well, in the Indigenous Madonna, if you look carefully at her clothes, you'll find just the edge of a pacifier and in the Cardinal's portrait, one of the children has a package of very well known cookies. We used to give them to the children in the slum,” I confessed.

He chuckled and that was not the reaction I was expecting. “I suppose the pacifier can be related to the Christ's human nature. Try to follow the canon next time and brace yourself when you tell it to Pater Bruno next Sunday.”

“I will. Konrad?”

“We'll speak later. Are you certain about the girl's portrait?”

“Yes, I am. Oblomov asked the same.”

“Very well, stay with Goran. Good night, Guntram,” and he hung up on me.

In a way I was disappointed with him. Years ago he would have shouted me, tell me that I'm a stupid for going so naively through this life, and in a way, it showed me that he was concerned about me. Not today. A brief call, courteous too, some orders and nothing else.

I guess it's over no matter how many times he tells me he wants to recover what we had.

It's simply impossible to recover what we had. I'm not that innocent boy who ate from his hand and he's not the hero I wanted. We did hurt each other and some scars run so deep that no love can close them.

I go to bed now. I'm beaten like a dog.

* * *

Babysitter Goran allowed me to go back to my own flat in the morning to paint, but Milan got stuck with me. Yes, he has to drive me back when I'm finished and the nanny will pick up the boys from the school. I'm crossed with Goran, Konrad or whoever had the idea or “reducing the risks” by shunning me from the kids.

I forgot to have lunch as I was very busy working. I got a call from Ostermann but I chose to ignore it. I had enough and tomorrow we can yell at each other for “ruining” my career.

As I said to Michael, I don't give a damn. I paint because I like it. Nothing else. I can always get a job as accountant to pay for my bills.

My mobile rang once more and when I was about to turn it off, I noticed the call was from Michel Lacroix. “I wondered if you needed the services of a lawyer,” he told me sounding very amused.

“I just avoided the scam accusation, sir.”

“Call me Michel, please. I was thinking more on the lines of damages. You must have been banned from Mountpleasant's for life.”

“I didn't think at all. I tried the diplomatic approach but no one heard me. I'm not happy with my behaviour too. I pretty much ruined my chances.”

“Quite the contrary, you are already being copied!” he chuckled.

“How do you know this? Was I in The Sun?”

“No, internet.”

“Already making fun of me on the internet?” I said dismayed.

“No, internet biding; LiveStream. I wanted to see how your things were doing.”

“Excellent, I made a fool of myself in front of several million people.”

“A video in You Tube is embarrassing. It wasn't your fault. Companies are supposed to check their materials first, Guntram. Forget it, tomorrow no one will remember it.”

“I ruined the owner's chances of getting good prices. I didn't realise at the moment. She needs the money for her children.”

“Who is she?”

I hated to tell the truth, but I had to say it. “Do you remember the man I was with in Paris? She's his wife. He was very important collector and had many of my paintings. She asked me to paint her daughter and I did, fighting with Konrad in the meantime.”

“Why did you do it?”

“I wanted to give Constantin a good farewell present. He and Konrad never had a good relationship because of me and he was a very good friend to me. He risked everything he had for our friendship and in the end it was too much for him. She must truly hate me now. I didn't realise my acts could affect her. Perhaps it was just a mistake with my work. Constantin would have never had a copy in his collection.”

“One of my clients also saw you in the internet. She bought the previous painting.”

“Oh, I will look at it, free of charge, of course. I can offer her something else, if she wants.”

“Guntram, you need a lawyer in your life, indeed!” he laughed. “Stop giving your work for free! Nothing what happened is your fault, child! My customer has asked me to write the papers for naming you her heir.”

“I beg you pardon?” I asked.

“Her name is Sybille von Lippe. She met your father years ago and she has no natural heirs. Everything would have been passed to charity organizations or her Foundation after her death, but she wants to leave it to you. Seeing you yesterday convinced her that you're a good and decent person, exactly as your father was. It's a very large sum.”

“I don't want any of it, sir.” I said automatically.

“Why is that?” he asked me shocked.

“I have more than enough with what my father left me. I will work hard and make some more on my own. That money could be used by someone who really needs it. She had this project for fair trade stores and a few euros can make a huge difference for them. I'll continue to paint and sell books on my own. My father wanted me to fend for myself.”

“I understand, Guntram. Your father would have been very proud of you, child.”

“I don't want to be rude to her. She's a good woman and I would be taking advantage of my father's good name, Michel. I don't know how to tell it to her because I don't want to hurt her after she has been so generous to me.”

“Leave it to me. You can reject a legacy, Guntram and not many would have rejected several billion euros.”

“Several billion euros? You should have said that first!” I joked and he laughed. “No, a good Foundation would be better.”

“All right, I'll speak with her. You still owe me a lunch, Guntram.”

“Can I pay you with paintings? After yesterday's mess, I will not have many customers in a long time. Originals, of course.”

“You'll be my guest next time I'm in Zurich. Good bye, Guntram.”

I continued to work on Cecilia's portrait. I hope Ferdinand doesn't sue me.