Chapter 7
October
15th,
2010
Milan
The chill breeze was nothing for
Alexei as he crossed the Piazza della Scala and entered in the
Galleria Vittorio Emanuele. 'Just like the Passazh back home,' he
thought, feeling a pang of longing as the high glass-vaulted arcades
reminded him of St. Petersburg. He walked to the centre, where the
arcades intersected and formed an octagon bathed with the sunlight.
'It's next to the Borsalino Store. Who does still buy such hats?' he
thought and the memory of him walking with his mother to the
Children's World section assaulted him.
'Focus yourself! This is not the
moment to be sentimental. They are dead and you have work to do!' he
scolded himself and walked faster to the small store.
The old man who had always been
behind the counter was not there any longer, but a man on his forties stood there.
Alexei hesitated a bit but entered and tried with his limited Italian
to get on the man good side 'Always do your best to start in Italian.
The Italians will laugh at you and switch to English, but you will
have half of the negotiation done,' had told him the Duke once and it
was true. Italians were more receptive and cooperative after it.
“Bon
giorno, signore,”
Alexei said. “Mi
dispiace ma il mio italiano รจ molto cattivo.”
“Please, sir. I will be
delighted to help you,” the man answered obsequiously with a soft
voice and Alexei checked him from head to toes.
“Thank you very much,” the
Russian answered, lowering his voice two tones and watched how the
man unwillingly shivered. 'Gay, no doubt. Piece of cake.' “I wanted
to order a fragrance for a friend of mine birthday and I was hoping
to meet the old gentleman who used to be here.”
“Oh, you must mean my uncle
Enrico. He retired two months ago as his nose was giving him a hard
time.”
“That's very regrettable.”
“Yes indeed, he ran the store
for forty-three years. I returned from Grasse to continue with the
family business.”
“I was looking for a perfume
created for a family and perhaps you could ask your uncle...”
“If you are so kind as to tell
me the name. I can look in the records and have it ready in two weeks
time if the ingredients are not too exotic.”
“It should be on your
computer. My friend ordered it last year.”
“My uncle didn't believe in
computers,” the man answered with a smile. “I have to look into
his folders, but everything is methodically ordered. I'm thinking to
change the way we used to do business. Perfumes on demand are not
exactly at their highest point.”
“It's a real pity. This one is
a very special scent. The family wears it since the XIX century.”
“Ah,
the old Russian nobility,” the man said as he finally could
identify the accent and elegant demeanour of his customer. “Nothing
like them, according to my grandfather. We used to be providers for
the Czar and my great grandfather kept the undelivered boxes until
the Duce
came
to power.”
“No, in fact it's old German
nobility,” Alexei answered, slightly amused that he had been
mistaken by an aristocrat. 'My grandfather was picking up potatoes in
the fields and my father was the first of us who went to high
school.' “The name is Guntram de Lisle.” he said with a soft
smile and the man bent over the counter to get a large rectangular
box filled with cards to look for the name.
“Yes, here it is. “Gutenberg
Sachsen Family. Number 347. One of the oldest preparations. One
minute, please.” He disappeared into the back room and returned
with a large leather bounded volume, passing the pages very carefully
and slowly.
“We have to update all this to
the twenty first century. Some of the ingredients are not even
existing any longer or go by different names.
“When was this book made?”
Alexei asked
“I believe this copy is from
1905. My uncle didn't want to change a single thing here.”
'The Duke should shop here,'
Alexei thought with his gaze fixed on the man reading the old
document. 'Wait, he does.'
“We have luck, sir. This one
is still produced and till recently.” the perfumer announced and
went to search into his own computer. “My uncle prepared some
twenty bottles a year ago,” he announced after browsing the
inventory. “I could have it ready for tomorrow.”
“Was he expecting so many
customers?” Alexei asked innocently.
“I don't know, but it had some
demand according to the sales. I'm trying to enter the past data to
have an idea of what sells and what not.”
“Oh, if you say that, maybe
another friend could have ordered and I would look like an idiot,”
Alexei pouted. “It's horrible to show up with the same present.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” the
man answered, lost in the big blue eyes.
“This is very unusual but
could you give me a list of the buyers? Maybe one of my friends is
there. The birthday is in October and I would be very grateful to you
if you could save me an embarrassing moment,” Alexei said with a
raspy voice and watched how the other swallowed hard.
“I'm not supposed to do so,”
he hesitated
“Please.”
“Well, I could give you the
initials, only,” the man doubted.
“You could do it while we have
lunch,” Alexei said softly and saw the pupils broaden. “Perhaps
you know a good place in Milan. I'm just passing by,” he added
seductively.
“Yes, I know a good place.
Discreet.”
“Perfect. How about at one?”
Alexei fixed his eyes on his prey.
“At one,” the other
answered, unable to believe that the gorgeous Russian could be
interested in him.
* * *
Alexei quietly left the bed he
shared with the perfumer in the small hotel in Corso Buenos Aires.
The sun shone and he knew he had to be fast to get everything done.
He took the man's trousers and found the wade of keys. 'I just need a
Yale type. Easy. Good old uncle didn't change the lock since the Czar
was around,' Alexei smirked.
He closed the bathroom's door
and tore one of the courtesy soaps open and placed it over the sink
before he heated the key with a lighter and pressed it against the
soft white surface, melting it under the warmth. The key was washed
and carefully dried before it was returned with the others in the
keyring. Alexei hid the mould in the cabinet and went back to the
bedroom to sent the man home.
“Can I meet you tonight,
Enrico? I would like to go out with you.”
“Really?” he asked
dumbfounded.
“Oh, you have plans?”
'I??' “No, not really. We
could go somewhere if you want.”
“Excellent. Why don't we meet
at the Duomo at eight o'clock?”
“I close the shop at nine.”
“Oh,” Alexei said, sounding
very disappointed and knelt on the mattress to kiss the man on the
lips as if he were trying to convince him to come. 'If I break in, it
has to be done in plain business hours. No one will suspect.'
“It's not that I have the
masses demanding for custom made perfumes.”
“No,
people have no taste any longer. One hot looking model and you sell
anything. I think, no one could appreciate a “nez”
any longer.”
“Yes, that's right,” the man
sighed. “I still can't place what you are wearing. It's nothing
from the common ones.”
'Shit! Jean Jacques gave me
bottle!' “Let's make a bet. If you can tell what this is made of, I
wait till nine and if you get it wrong, you come at eight,” Alexei
said with a playful smile.
“That's easy,” Enrico
answered smelling the man's neck. “It reacts quite well to your
skin and the base is real amber. Nothing mass marketed. Hugo Boss?”
he joked.
“You are at the Duomo at
seven.” Alexei smirked and the man pouted. “All right, I'll give
you another chance.”
“Ancient Indian Sandalwood,
Arabian Jasmine Sambac and touch of... That's the problem. Reminds me
of Number One from Clive Christian but it's not that one.”
“Almost on the bullseye. The
last ingredient is herb Clary Sage. A recipe from your family. Don't
know the number. It was a present from a friend of mine.”
“This Guntram?” Enrico asked
with and edge to his voice.
“Guntram is practically
married and his husband is taller than me. Yes, he gave me the
perfume, but we are nothing but good friends.”
“All right,” Enrico said. “I
have to go now.”
“See you at eight,” Alexei
winked.
* * *
From the distant corner, Alexei
watched how Enrico closed his store and walked hurriedly toward the
exit. 'The one who said Italians are not punctual was an idiot,' he
thought as he walked casually to the place and without any
hesitations opened the door and entered without switching on the
lights.
He walked toward the back room
where he had seen the computer and switched it on and opened the
files and searched for the sales of the perfume. He whistled at each
bottle price: Over €2.000 for 100 ml.
He felt his heart cringe when he
saw that Jean Jacques had ordered a small bottle in September. 'He
believes Guntram is coming back for his birthday. If he just knew who
has him, he wouldn't be so confident.' Friederich had ordered a year
ago nine bottles and Michel Lacroix other two just a few months ago.
No one else had placed any more
orders.
He sighed dejectedly and
inserted the pendrive in the computer to leave a virus that would
allow the techs to have future access to the database.
* * *
October
18th,
2010
Zurich
Konrad never expected to have
two bundles unceremoniously landing on top of his stomach in the
middle of the first blizzard.
“What are you doing here?”
he asked his sons, already sliding under his covers in the middle of
the night. “It's very late,” he protested but Klaus and Karl had
already installed themselves -with their plush animals and all- in
his bed.
“It's snowing,” Karl
informed him.
“Your window is well closed.
You are not staying tonight here,” Konrad said firmly.
“You let Guntram sleep with
you.”
“He was not letting you sleep
with him,” Konrad retorted heatedly but he had to move his body to
the right side of the bed as Karl kicked him to make room for
himself.
“That was he, not you,”
Klaus retorted stubbornly and slid deeper under the bedclothes,
determined to stay in his father's bed.
“You have your own beds, young
men. What's wrong with you two? You never wanted to invade my bed
before,” Konrad hushed, becoming more and more upset. “I was
never at my father's bed!” he protested but his children were not
impressed at all. 'If this is one of Eberhard's ideas of parental
bonding, I'm going to strangle him tomorrow. I had enough with going
to the Harry & the Dinosaurs Festival'
“Do you think Guntram
celebrates his birthday tomorrow?” Klaus asked tearfully. “We
don't know where to send him a present.”
'So, that was it.' “I don't
know,” Konrad said very slowly, carefully choosing the words.
“Maybe he does but he never cared much about presents. He was happy
to see a drawing from you or those ceramic boxes you made, the ones
where he keeps his quills.”
“When is he coming back?”
Karl asked. “I want to give him my present. I made it in school.”
“I don't know, my son,”
Konrad replied. “The man who took him away hides very well and we
can't find him. We are in better shape than before when we didn't
know what had happened but we still don't have a certain lead of
where he could be.”
“Why did he take him away from
us?” Karl asked with a small voice.
“Because he's bad,” Konrad
answered. “He wanted to have Guntram all to himself because he was
very good.”
“Do you think he's an angel
now?” Klaus enquired and looked at his father in the eyes. “Pater
Bruno says that very good people go to Heaven or are changed into
angels.”
“Transformed, Klaus,” Karl
corrected him and also looked expectantly at his father.
Konrad felt himself like crying
and wanted to deny it but he was also losing hopes. 'I have to let
him go, for the boy's sake. I can live my life in mourning, but
they're too young for this.'
“It is a possibility we should
consider, Klaus,” he answered with a heavy heart. “Guntram will
always look for you, even if he's not here.”
“He will be here for his next
birthday,” Klaus affirmed as his brother huddled himself against
his father's chest. “I know it.”
“Perhaps, Klaus, perhaps,”
Konrad said very softly as his hand caressed his eldest son's head.
He sighed and drew the comforter around his boys so they would be at
least warm.
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