Mr. Frog

Mr. Frog

July 9th, 2008

Zurich

It had been jumping all over the small pond and hiding under the large Victoria Regina round leaves, but patience, effort and team spirit had finally paid off. Triumphal, like the Victory Column in Berlin, Klaus held in the air the small green amphibian caught after a long fight.

“Let me see it,” Karl rushed to his brother's side, peering to catch a glimpse of the animal, held securely in Klaus’ hands.

“Be careful, don't let it go,” answered the other boy, removing his right hand so his twin could see the amphibian's shiny, deep green head. The four-and-a-half-year-old boy looked at it in awe.

“Do you think Guntram will like this frog?” Karl asked.

“Of course, he will! He will let us have it.”

“But he's not here,” Karl said sadly.

“He will come back, and he will let us have it,” Klaus affirmed, certain that their tutor would soon return and everything would be back to normal.

“What if it's like the witch said and he's furious with us? We were mean.”

“Guntram was not upset with us. He's upset with Papa, and he's right. Papa brought the witch home!” Klaus defended their position.

“We did many nasty things to Guntram. You threw all your clothes that night!”

“I picked them up when he told me to. You didn't want to bathe, and you didn't finish your dinner,” Klaus retaliated.

“It was boiled fish! You also gave pieces to Mopsi!”

“Yes, but I didn't stain the carpet like you did. Guntram had to clean it!”

“He said it was an accident! He wasn't upset!” Karl defended himself. “He's gone because we are bad.”

“He's gone because Papa was nasty to him! Stefania too! Papa got this new woman, and she's in Guntram's room. We have to get her out!” Klaus shouted back.

“How?”

“I don't know. Papa hates it when we shout or disobey him. He goes away when we drive him mad, like when we were in Rome, or in that place with Mickey Mouse.”

“When it's too much for him, he calls Guntram to take care of us.”

“Right. We have to drive him mad, and he will apologise to Guntram, and he will come back,” Klaus explained the plan he had been maturing over the past two weeks since they had returned from London to find that their tutor was gone, all his paintings had been burned down and, on top, the portrait “of them all”, as Klaus had said when he saw it, had been confiscated by their father, claiming that they “could ruin it with your dirty and clumsy hands. You can have back it when you turn 35 years old.” Now, said painting hung at their papa’s own private studio, and he had forbid them to go inside it just because of a few papers they had painted once! Life was so unfair.

“Papa will be furious with us. He can shout a lot,” Karl preferred to tell his impulsive brother about the consequences before making a decision.

“I'm more afraid of Guntram being mad at us. Remember when he made us sweep the entire courtyard because we made a mess of the stack of leaves Johannes had made that morning?”

“If you're old enough as to destroy a full morning's work, you're old enough as to fix it,” Karl said, imitating Guntram's voice. “The whole afternoon picking leaves up! Papa shouted at Guntram for making us work so much!”

“And Friederich shouted at Papa for spilling us.”

“Spoiling us,” Karl corrected his brother with a clear voice.

“Sorry, Mr. Perfect,” Klaus mocked his brother. “So, do we?”

“Sure, but how?”

“First, nanny down.”

“Papa will be furious with us. This one has a degree in something for children.”

“She's quite boring with her degree. Do you know what's a degree?”

“It's nothing for eating. Give me the frog. It's my turn to hold it.”

“Careful,” Klaus said, waiting for his brother to form a bowl with his hands where he could drop the amphibian.

“It's nice and soft, but wet,” Karl laughed at the tickles he felt in his hands at the animal's contact. “Do you think we can do it?”

“We are two, and Papa is only one. He can't do a thing against us.”

* * *

Both Serb bodyguards were on their break. The young princes were once more missing—had escaped from their new American nanny—, but the men were not worried. Probably, the children would be into some mischief now that their tutor was away. Finding the little devils was the woman's work, not theirs, and it was their cigarette break. Enduring her pedantry was too much for the men, so it was better to keep their distance.

“Those two look very pleased with themselves. I'm sure they're up to something,” Ratko snorted when he saw the two princes being escorted to the rear entrance, both boys dripping water and partly covered in mud.

“Don't be like that. They're just children,” Milan said while he lighted another cigarette and leaned against one of the cars parked in the garage.

“Klaus Maria is hiding something in his pocket. I have three children at home, and I can tell when they're up to something. Those two without Guntram are very dangerous. Don't trust them.”

“The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Ratko. Time for the Duke to tame those two,” Milan chuckled. “He's going to get a few grey hairs, though.”

“Guntram kept them in a shorter leash than him! I prefer Goran as a boss a hundred times over that boy,” Ratko joined his friend's chuckles, very amused at the thought.

“Yes, the boy has a way with them.”

“When we were in Rome, with the Duke and the children, I wanted to take the first plane to Iraq. Those two were horribly loud and nasty. They drove absolutely nuts the nanny because they wanted to spend Christmas with Guntram and not with their father. In Euro Disney, there's not a single photo of them because they ruined them all. I lost count of how many outfits the bitch lost because of their dirty hands and spilled beverages. I'm sure those two can vomit at will. My children's doctor told me kids can do it when they're young,” Ratko told his friend with great satisfaction pouring from his voice.

“Last time I had to look after Guntram on a holiday trip it wasn't easy for me, neither!” Milan protested.

“What? Walking around London, going to the Opera and drinking with Ivan Ivanovich?” Ratko sneered, still crossed at his friend always having the easy part. He got to babysit Guntram while he had to cope with the young and old brats.

“Oblomov is funny when we're at peace. He swears he knows nothing about Guntram's whereabouts, and I believe him.”

“Yeah, Goran scared the shit out of him after he fell for Olga Repin's ruse in London a year and a half ago. What was he thinking? He knows that witch better than anyone!”

“She wouldn't have touched a single hair on Guntram’s head if he was there, or I for that matter. Goran was right to let her approach us. He didn't think our Duke would react so strongly when Guntram told him he wanted to paint that stupid portrait of her daughter.”

“Yes, that boy has no sense of self preservation. How can you be so dumb as to tell the Duke that you're disregarding a direct order?”

“I bet she wanted to use the portrait to accuse Guntram of being in league with Repin and have him executed for treason; tell the Duke that they were lovers or some shit of that kind. I'm sure of it. She was counting on him being silent. Hey, I got £10.000 to keep my mouth shut! But Goran used it as a way to cut any kind of contact between the boy and that fucking Russian. All this mess has been the Duke's fault. He pressed the boy too much,” Milan said. “Anyway, that job in Minsk taught Oblomov not to fuck with us.”

“Serves him well.”

“Right.”

“I bet they're smuggling a frog,” Ratko said dreamingly, remembering how carefully Klaus put his hand in his trousers’ right pocket.

“For the nanny or for the father? A hundred francs to the nanny,”

“The father. In his closet,” Ratko accepted the bet, getting the money out of his wallet.

“Too classical. It must be something epic what they're planning,” Milan sneered, also showing the bank notes.

* * *

Jean Jacques felt lost in bliss with each thrust of his partner's hips, enjoying the feeling of the big man on top of him. 'God, Alexei knows how to do it,' he thought briefly, sensing that he was going to change his angle and transport him into another level of pleasure. Jean Jacques contemplated the blond man: his blue eyes half-closed because of the ecstasy he also felt in each of his moves, his body half-supported on his strong arms, doing his best to avoid crushing his smaller companion with his weight. Jean Jacques lifted his hands to the nape of his lover’s neck and stroked the short hair the wrong way, to bury finally his fingers in the mane on top of his head. He moaned, unable to control himself any longer. Alexei could be in bed for hours before achieving his release, driving him mad with a mix of unbound passion and strong control of his desires, driving him to the edge of pleasure just to stop and start all over again.

The first time they had made love in the cellar of the Königshalle, Jean Jacques had felt that he had been a virgin all his life till he had met the big Russian, who looked and behaved like a little lamb or a mouse, but became the most incredible lover of the many he had met in his life.

'Alexei is like a drug, one sip and you want more,' he thought amid pants once they had sated their lust. 'Do they have a training course for this at the KGB?'

Nevertheless, there was something amiss in all the display—not that he was going to complain—, starting by Alexei dropping unannounced by Jean Jacques' flat the previous night—when he was allegedly in Iran doing some business—with a 4 oz can of incredible real Sturgeon, black caviar (its export banned since 2002) in one hand and some flowers in the other.

Strange, very strange indeed as this show didn't look like one of Alexei's fits of jealousy or one of his 'search parties', looking for some imaginary lover hidden under the bed or in his oven.

“All right, Alexei, will you tell me what is it now? Why are you here, and to what do I owe the honour of such a party?”

“I'm just celebrating an early 14 Julliet. Isn't that your National Day?” Alexei answered, sounding like an innocent lamb.

“You're after something, Alexei Gregorevich Antonov. I know you well enough.”

“I? I only wanted to spend some time with you! I spent the past week in the middle of an unfriendly place and flew 27 hours just to be with you today!”

“Don't forget to mention that you took a big detour to Rostov to get this. It tastes like wild Beluga, but I'm not certain. It's been years since I tried one.”

“It's Beluga, Jean,” Alexei answered quickly, glad to divert the other man's attention for a while.

“I know someone who would kill for this,” Jean Jacques chuckled. “Iranian should do for him.”

“Keep this one safe. You can buy the other one here. I wanted something very special, something from my own land.”

“Where did you get it? Don't you have to be a big Mafia boss to buy it?

“Not always. At Anatoly's bakery. He had some. Don't know from where he got it.”

“In a bakery?” the chef asked shocked.

“Where else? I guess he knows somebody who knows somebody who knows another somebody who has a third degree cousin who knows a poacher.”

“The can says Malossol.”

“Yes, that is the Russian word for ‘caviar, little salt’. Someone must have stolen the tins from a factory. This is wild caviar, not from a farm. Much better. I had to buy a special bag to keep it refrigerated and bring it into the plane. Had to bribe the Customs officer, too. For a second, I thought I was going to be caught in Zurich, but the woman in front of me started to argue with the officer because she had six cartons of cigarettes and they let me go. I flew to Rostov from Tabriz, to meet an old pal from the war. He has a bakery and four children now. The best Supplies Officer I've ever met. We used to tell that he could smuggle vodka through a Taliban camp. He got this in less than 24 hours. Only cash, does not take credit cards.”

“Well, don't tell your boss you were eating this. He might have a fit.”

“No, I brought some for Guntram too. It's in the refrigerator at my place. The caviar should hold for five weeks long.”

“Poor man, he really screwed things up this time. It was just a matter of time Guntram would have enough of him,” Jean Jacques sighed, his resentment against the Duke for taking his wife's side in a clear case of labour harassment against him almost forgotten.

“He's trying to do his best to fix it. He's going to divorce her, according to Michael Dähler.”

“Good riddance, but I don't think Guntram will return, not even if he crawls and begs for forgiveness. The Duke crossed the line of what is acceptable when he married that vulgar slut in front of him. Lord, my stomach churns at the memory!”

“Guntram pushed the Duke to the limit of his endurance too!” Alexei retorted heatedly. “He was friends with Repin, no matter how many times I told him he was slime, and he rejected the Duke's peace offerings every time he could!”

“What is your problem with that Russian? He's just an art collector! That he was after Guntram is no surprise. The Duke should have appreciated better what he had at home instead of fucking around!”

“I have no problems with the Russian. It's just he's no good!” Alexei bellowed and lied at the same time. “A true piece of shit, Jean Jacques!”

“All right, you know more Russians than I. But your precious Duke screwed it up when he brought that vulgar, low class, cheap slut to the house!”

“The bitch is no slut!” Alexei shouted out of himself. “She's the Duchess now!”

“Have you heard yourself, Alexei? 'The bitch is no slut'? What is she, then? An old, super top model in need of a fixed income? Age is hard if you have no talent.”

“You can't tell that about the Duchess!”

“Why not? I don’t work there any longer. I don't have to cope with their stupidity. How do you call a woman who gets €10.000 per month for bringing girls for your banker friends? How do you call a woman that gets jewels or something expensive after you fuck her once or twice per month, if there's nothing else available, and you can call her for that only two hours in advance. All, since 1993. She got fired because he was with Guntram.”

“We are no one to judge his Excellency's choice of friends” Alexei said in a haughty voice.

“Alexei, there's a very thin line between loyalty and stupidity, my love. Sometimes I worry about you,” Jean Jacques said and kissed his lover on the temples with great tenderness.

“Did you find a place?” Alexei asked out of the blue, and Jean Jacques’ alarms sprang to life. So, that was it. Now that Alexei was making more money than him, he wanted Jean to stay at home, away from the heat.

“No, I haven't found a place to my liking. There's a spot in front of the lake with a perfect view and the rent is not that bad, but I'm not so sure. It's a bit far away from the posh area, and I'm not a 100% sure.”

“Yes, of course. It's an important investment for you.”

“It's not about the money, dear. I'm also considering an offer I got from a private German TV network to work as judge in one of their contests. Something about regular people attempting to cook like professionals. I know the one in charge; he was at the Bocuse D'Or when I won it. Not bad, but nothing extraordinary. He has a restaurant in Berlin, and he thought that a remake of this 'Hell's Kitchen' could be a good idea. Peter says that I have enough temper as to burn down Hell and wants me there for several of the trials.”

“TV, Jean Jacques?” Alexei asked, not liking the idea a bit. 'Fuck, the less I need in this life is he on a TV program, full with hot-looking models and wannabe chefs eager to be fucked to get a tip on how to boil an egg!'

“Yes, I'm bored of writing books, and I need something more challenging. I won three Michelin stars, and I would like to be back on the top ten of the World's Best Restaurants. I'm not sure. I’ve been out of the hassle since 1996. That's almost 12 years. I'm 47 years old, and I have still a lot to offer.”

“Why don't you return to the Duke's service, Jean? He will give you a rise and the opportunity to do whatever you please in the kitchen. The Duchess Bitch will go away.”

“The fact is that I don't want to return, chaton. I took this month to relax and speak with all my former colleagues, and a lot of people miss me.”

“If you start to work like before, I would never be able to see you. You were in that restaurant almost 16 hours per day!”

“Yes, it's going to be hard until I find good people. It's a nightmare. I just made a suggestion about opening my own place, and I got 145 CVs! I've made a pre-selection. They also want me in another TV program, but this one is about health because of my book, Haute Cuisine for Heart Patients. Guntram was a most wonderful guinea pig. Jean Marie also liked it very much. The idea is to cook several recipes each week, so it's only one day of work when you record everything. It would be set in Paris, but I'm pressing to do it in Poitiers, where Jean Marie’s restaurant is. That man taught me everything I know, so people should know of him.”

“I miss you, Jean," Alexei decided to use the pleading kitten strategy.

“You're always working or travelling since you became one the Heads of Strategic Planning, whatever that means.”

“I'm doing my best to give you a better life! Is that a crime?”

“Did I ask for it? I make more money than you with my books!”

“Jean, let's don't argue over something as trivial as money. I'm only asking you to reconsider to come back to the castle. The boys miss you so much, especially Karl Maria. Mr. Elsässer told me he always asks about you and refuses to eat any puff pastry that has not been made by you.”

“The little one has taste. Hans is clueless regarding puff pastry. He simply can't get it. He should go to the supermarket and make us all a favour. I never let him come near my own ones.”

“And that raspberry yoghurt cake of yours!” Alexei sighed falsely, glad that he had identified the proper course of action: Jean Jacques' ego.

“Yes, the boys love it, and also Guntram. He can have it as it has almost no fat.”

“Did you speak with him before…?

“No, and that's what worries me. He knows the Duke is not my favourite person in the world. He said he was going to your place in the morning, and in the afternoon he changed his mind? It's very strange, and I'm sure the Duke is not telling the whole story, as usual. That boy has burned karma for many reincarnations after living with that man for five years. I still don't get it how a sweet and kind person can stand that crazy German if not because of his money, the only positive thing about him. He's not hot looking. He's boring to the point of tears, crazy, megalomaniac, egoistic, priggish, blind, narrow-minded, and can only speak about economics, finance and history. A real dinosaur!”

“Love has no reasons,” Alexei whispered. “But Guntram loved and still loves the Duke. I don't know what they fought about, but it was very big. Goran knows, but he says nothing. Heindrik told me something about photos from a former lover, but the whole thing is so out of scale.”

“That man is an Asshole with a capital ‘a’. He destroyed all his chances of recovering Guntram by bringing that whore into the house. Can you believe that she sent the poor lad to buy the champagne, the flowers and hundreds of small things related to the wedding? The Duke did nothing at all! In fact, he ordered Guntram to obey her! I would have made him eat his fucking ring!”

“Perhaps the Duke was forcing him to react.”

“React? Sure, after picking up the flowers he should have jumped to Lintorff's arms asking to be taken back! Are you stupid or just nuts? That boy has more dignity than all of you together! I'm sure the bitch was the one who framed Guntram with those hideous photos! She and that little slut, Lisette! The bitch hated him since she moved to the castle! For years she had hoped to get that position, and Lintorff dumped her with a flat in Rome and some money to start a TV program! I'm so glad she was humiliated with that portrait. She had it coming! Bitch! She was pitting the Duke against Guntram every day, and he never said a thing against her!”

“Jean, let's not argue, really. I have my opinion of the matter. It was a stupid move from the Duke, but it could have played out fine.”

“Sure, hit me, bite me, piss all over me and I'll love you more? Idiots, all of you, idiots! I'm glad he's gone and will restart his life away from that bastard. He has more talent in one of his fingers than all of you together!”

“Jean, you know I don't want to argue with you for something that is not related to us. It's their problem, and we're not supposed to get in the middle,” Alexei said, returning to his original strategy, well aware that this road would lead him to be thrown out of Jean's flat in the next ten minutes as he was on Guntram's side one hundred percent. 'Lord, he coped with the witch just to stay with Guntram and the babies. If he didn't poison her, it was because the cyanide would have ruined the taste of the dish.'

“Think how happy the boys would be if they see you again,” Alexei said as his arms surrounded the infuriated man. “Guntram told you many times that they miss you a lot. The one who's in your place doesn't let them inside the kitchen and much less cooks what they bring from the garden. Karl misses that you let him cook sometimes.”

“Whisking a pair of eggs is not cooking,” Jean buffed half convinced.

“Of course not, he was just learning from you. Didn't you learn from that old man in Poitiers?”

“Yes, thanks to Jean Marie I had my first decent meal. My mother was a fan of those canned soups or sausages. It seems that feminism and a kitchen don't match well. Thank God my father had a delivery truck and one day he took me to Jean Marie’s restaurant. He offered me some broccoli, and I knew then that there was life beyond Campbell's. Have I told you that I would run after school to his place to clean the floors and fold the napkins just to have lunch there?”

“No, never,” Alexei said very softly. “I guess Karl is like you.”

“It was bad for me. I weighted 27 kilos at 9 years old and starved the whole day. I never ate at home. It was truly impossible to swallow my mother’s food. My sister also thought the same. Have you never realised that whenever I visit my mother is for tea time, never for lunch or dinner? I can't understand why she cooks so badly! My father had a good greengrocery store, but she couldn't slice a carrot! She never had time for cooking, because she was always busy with her school or private students. My rebel years were spent working as a kitchen hand at Jean Marie's restaurant. Every night since the time I was thirteen years old.”

“That must have been very hard for you,” Alexei said sympathetically.

“I can well understand what Karl Maria is going through,” Jean Jacques sighed.

“Why don't you speak with Mr. Elsässer? Friederich would do anything for you to come back. Now that the bitch is away, Guntram will come back. We are looking for him everywhere. The Duke is very concerned about him. I'm certain he will return the minute he hears she's out. He can't live without those babies, and when he does, he will need a friend like you.” Alexei held his breath. 'Bombs dropped. No return from this point.'

“I have a career,” Jean Jacques refused mildly. “I want a restaurant of my own.”

“Where else could you cook for the most powerful people in the world? You were very happy when that famous cello player visited the Duke a few years ago.”

“Yes, he was kind enough as to ask to meet the chef,” Jean Jacques chuckled. “He signed one of his CDs for me in exchange for one of my books.”

“Do you really want to spend sixteen hours of your day in a kitchen with twenty dorks that only ruin your things while you fight with the Health Inspector or the Tax Office? Only for another Michelin star? Or bear one of those frustrated, untalented critics? If they could cook like you do, they would be in a kitchen, not behind a desk.”

“He has to apologise,” Jean Jacques said determinedly.

“Sorry?”

“The Duke. He has to apologise for what I suffered under his wife. She told me to go back to school!”

“His Excellency would kiss your feet if you come back. He has been nastier than usual since you’ve gone. I bet he had that argument with Guntram because she drove him mad and the sous chef ruined his dinner. Temper and stomach are linked.”

“More than you can imagine, chaton.”

“Would you tell your conditions to Friederich? I'm sure the Duke is willing to grant you a rise and more privileges,” Alexei suggested, renewing his kisses all over his lover's face.

“All right, I'll see the old Austrian this afternoon, but his days of checking my shopping list are over, and the Duke has to apologise. A lesson in humility will not be bad for him.”

'You're certainly right, my love,' Alexei thought while he deepened his kiss. 'Mission accomplished. Chef back. Now Goran has to get rid of the bitch, and Michael has to find Guntram. It's much better when we leave Ferdinand out of the mess. He nags like an old lady, and the Duke is driving all of us crazy!'

* * *

An imperceptible sign from his brother alerted Klaus that it was time to set their plan in motion. In the middle of the scold both boys were receiving for playing in the mud, and without any kind of preambles, Karl Maria burst into one of the biggest fits of tears he had ever suffered.

The nanny just looked at him astonished, wondering what could she had said for the second brother to cry like he was doing at that particular moment, right in the middle of the kitchen and making all the cooks to stop their tasks. She knelt in front of the boy, trying to calm him, but Karl howled louder, throwing himself to the floor, exactly as his friend Henrietta did at school.

The boy's howls attracted Friederich in no time, along with some of the bodyguards, including the new one, Soren Larsen, who looked dumbfounded at the scene.

“What is this noise, Miss Ford?” Friederich asked in a stern voice.

“I don't understand this, Mr. Elsässer! I was just reprehending them for playing in the pond when they know they should not be there unattended!” she answered desperate and prying that Klaus wouldn't start now.

“Did you leave the children alone near the water?”

“Just for five minutes!”

“I slipped in the mud!” Klaus cried, joining the party after dropping the frog into an empty jar and closing it quickly while all eyes were focused on his brother and the argument between the two grown-ups. The animal could be retrieved later, when the cooks were busy with dinner and not paying attention to anything that wasn't their meal. Miss Ford would get a visitor in her bedroom tonight. That was a good start to make their father upset.

But his ruse went not unseen. Jean Jacques, who had left Friederich's office, smirked when he saw the little boy smuggling something into his set of porcelain containers from Provence. 'The last I need is those two little devils messing around with my products.' But he said nothing and kept a straight face while the new nanny argued with Friederich over her duties and the children's lack of education as Karl and Klaus howled at the top of their lungs. 'If they fail as bankers, they can always go to Factor X. I had no idea they could yell so much. So, the story of them driving the father mad in Rome is true. They must have provided quite a show. I can totally side with Herod.'

“Miss Ford, we should discuss this in the library. I was a school teacher long before you were born, and I assure you, children stay were you put them if you give them enough incentives,” Friederich said through gritted teeth after the woman had accused him of having no idea of psychology. “Mr. Chesnay, would you be so kind as to wait for me for a few minutes?”

“Certainly, Mr. Elsässer,” Jean Jacques answered and contemplated the sobbing boys, who had magically reduced their apotheotic crying to a quiet and hurt whining. 'Certainly a good work. An Oscar winner.'

“Come outside, children,” Jean Jacques said when the bodyguards left the place and the maids ran away in haste before one of them would have to take care of the young princes. The sous chef gulped and started to check on the pigeons as he was certain that Jean Jacques would shout at him as the cooking gravy was not at its right temperature and had too much leek.

Once the chef was out in the back garden, he took the boys to the orchard, discreetly followed by Milan.

“Are you coming back, Jean Jacques?” Klaus asked full of hope while he cleaned his nose with his shirt. He took the raspberry the man gave him and his brother mimicked his actions.

“That remains to be seen.”

“Please, stay. Hans does not cook like you do, and he can't make a cake like you do!” Karl said half pleadingly.

“I have to speak with Friederich, and you two are in trouble with him, if I see correctly.”

“We don't like the nanny. We want Guntram only,” Karl said, taking the next berry.

“Your tutor was fired by the b—witch.”

“We know that. Papa has to apologise, and he will come back. Guntram always forgives us when we break something,” Klaus said.

“We have to get Papa to do it. He won't do it unless he needs Guntram back,” Karl finished the idea, and his brother elbowed him very strongly for revealing the plan. “What? Jean Jacques is a friend!”

“You two are much worse than I credited you for!” Jean Jacques chuckled. “Your big plan is to fight with your father?”

“Not with him. With the nanny. We want Guntram!”

“Papa can't stand it if we cry and always runs to Guntram.”

“Guntram says that Papa doesn't know how to say sorry.”

“If you already know all that at four and a half years, I don't want to be on your list of enemies in ten years. All right, I'll help you. I also want Guntram back.”

Both boys jumped in excitement and happiness as a grown-up had agreed to go with their plan, but Jean Jacques shushed them and they became quiet. “I want to know what you dropped into my priceless spice containers.”

“It's a frog. We caught it at the pond. Guntram will let us have it.”

“I see. Why didn't you give it to Friederich and hide it in my kitchen?”

“First we want to use it.”

“As long as it doesn't land on top of one of my dishes, it's not my problem what you do with it. But it needs a place to stay, and I think I have the perfect house for... How do you call it?”

“Frog.”

“Yes, ‘Stefania’ would be too much, and the poor frog doesn't deserve such a fate. Come with me. You have to keep it in a little water, and you will return it tomorrow morning to the pond. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Jean Jacques,” both boys said judiciously.

* * *

With the ease and certainty of the position he held in the house, Jean Jacques opened one of the cabinets that contained the daily china set for dinner. A satisfied grin played on his lips as he contemplated the white porcelain tureen, and the Medusa engraved on its front returned his regard. He took it from the highest shelf and turned around to present the trophy to the boys, who gasped in awe at the golden handles and the symbol of Mercury on the lid.

“Mr. Frog is going to be very happy in here. It’s Rosenthal porcelain, designed by the late Gianni Versace; appropriate for a frog of our friend's quality.”

“Are these not Stefania's new dishes?” Karl asked while Klaus dropped the frog inside with infinite care, through the small opening that Jean Jacques had created.

“Your father paid for them, and if she wants them after the divorce, I will buy her a new set. They are quite cheap in my opinion. Nothing is going to be really lost if this one breaks.”

“They're very fragile. Friederich complained to Papa that Annette and Birgitte have broken lots of dishes and glasses during the past months,” Klaus said. “Papa also broke many of the new cognac glasses, and Stefania was very upset with him.”

“He leaves them on the border of the library's fireplace, and they fall,” Karl supplied more information, glad to be useful and update their friend on the house’s doings.

“The new glass carafe fell from the small table next to the door in his studio. Ratko pushed it when he opened the door, but Papa said it was an accident.”

“Well, it's no problem at all. Accidents happen, and this Medusa was a bad girl, turning people into stone. Better keep her away from here,” Jean Jacques ended the conversation before the children would tell him more about his former—his new employer's private affairs. “Now, fetch one of the maids and ask her to help you with your clothes. If your father sees you like this...” Jean Jacques suggested, and both boys ran away giggling, with Klaus holding their new treasure. 'Good luck, Miss Nanny. It's just a 10,500 square feet residence and a 60 acres garden to look around.'

Fast as a lightening bolt, Jean Jacques caught the main butler, Dieter, by the arm and forced the man to look at the contents of the cabinet with a, “Can you explain this?”

“It's the new dinner service. The Duchess ordered it last December.”

“Where is the Schwanenservice from Meissen? The one his Excellency uses everyday?”

“Packed and stored in the basement.”

“Why is it still there?”

“Because it was replaced by the Greek Goddess service.”

“Are you telling me that since the Duchess left the house, the Duke has been forced to eat in this?”

“Mr. Elsässer said nothing about it.”

“How is your relation with His Excellency?” Jean Jacques asked ironically, and the man paled. “The Schwanenservice is one of the oldest models. A classic. The Lintorff family uses it since 1815, and you know how attached to tradition His Excellency is. Use the Wellenspielen relief service at least! What are you using for formal dinners?”

“Since the Duchess has gone, we have only had one,” Dieter answered meekly.

“Please don't tell me you used the other atrocity!”

“Yes, we did.”

“You were born a second time that night, Dieter. Get the blue B-Form service and call the Red Cross or Caritas. Perhaps they will make us the charity of getting rid of all this.”

“I'll have to ask Mr. Elsässer first. He's the manager, and you're asking me to discard a €25.000 service.”

“Do as you're told, Dieter,” Friederich said joining the men. “I forgot to tell you to change the dinnerware.” He waited for the butler to leave the corridor before asking Jean Jacques to follow him.

It was no later than 4 p.m. and, as he made his way back to his office, the French cook walking at his side, Friederich felt very tired and frustrated with all the things he had had to endure lately. The most hurtful one was seeing his former pupil almost mad with concern about Guntram's fate, on the brink of a nervous breakdown and hiding it like always behind a mask of coldness and indifference. Stefania's fight on the courtrooms, and her tactics to drag Konrad's name through the media mud, a place she loved to be in, certainly contributed to his general sorrow.

“I lost my mind when I saw those papers breaking his commitment to my sons, Friederich. I knew it was all over at that time. I never wanted to attack him. Shout at him because he was vulgar to Stefania, yes; but when Guntram showed me that she was trying to use my boys as her new monkeys, I felt like a total dunce. The doctor said that it was a great luck that I had those pills with me. Otherwise, he could have had another heart attack, and he wouldn't have survived it. I almost killed what I love the most, not once but twice.”

Friederich dismissed the words constantly playing in his mind before taking his place in front of his desk and motioning for Jean Jacques to take the other chair. “I'm glad to hear that you're returning to us, Mr. Chesnay.”

“There are a few things I would like to set straight before I make any commitment.”

“I hear you.”

“First, the Duke has to offer his apologies to me. My credentials are too good to have been treated that way.”

“His Excellency regrets deeply the circumstances regarding your departure. We worked together for more than twelve years, and I never had any doubts about your professionalism and dedication towards your work, Mr. Chesnay. I heard the Duke telling the former Duchess that you were an artist, and as such, you should be left to your own devices. I'm certain that His Excellency will speak with you tomorrow morning.”

“Second, I make my own list of products. Give me an allowance of 20.000 francs per month and I will manage it by myself. I accept that you check my numbers, but you will not tell me which truffles to buy, Mr. Elsässer.”

“As you wish, Mr. Chesnay,” Friederich growled, making the sacrifice of relinquishing his control over the chef just for his boy's sake.

“As you have seen, I can't cook with that kind of china around, and I expect the old sets to be reinstated as soon as possible.”

“Yes, of course.”

“And these are my financial conditions,” Jean Jacques said, extending a piece of paper to Friederich, who paled when he saw the figure. “I also want to take a leave once per week, when I’ll fly to Cologne or Paris to record some TV shows. I want to continue with my career.”

Friederich took a deep breath. It was not about the money itself. Konrad had to learn that he was not the centre of the universe, as Guntram had showed him countless times. 'There's a lesson for all of us in this,' he briefly thought. “Very well, Mr. Chesnay. We will be very pleased to have you with us once more. When can you start?”

“Immediately. Somebody has to save those poor birds,” Jean Jacques replied and extended his right hand.

“Indeed.” Friederich shook hands with the French.

* * *

“Do you think she will find us?” Karl asked his brother from their crouched position in the large mansard.

“No, she's not clever. Guntram could, but she can't.”

“What's your plan now?”

“We stay hidden until Papa comes. You heard Jean Jacques.”

“Jump on him covered in mud?” Karl asked, full of hope.

“Sure! And we can keep the tureen after we leave the frog in her bed," Klaus said.

“But after Papa shouts because we're dirty and wet, not before,” the younger twin instructed.

Klaus quickly understood the hidden meaning behind his brother's words. Once Karl decided to play along, he was more naughty than him, and stubborn to an incredible point. Pity no one believed him because all the old ladies loved his brother's shinning smiles and politeness.

“At dinner time,” he replied.

“Mr. Frog looks truly funny. Maybe we should give it to Papa,” Karl suggested while he petted the animal's head, peering from his sibling's hands. “He likes frogs and toads. He told me he had salamanders from the forest when he was a child.”

* * *

Late in the afternoon, the Duke of Wittstock and Adolf zu Löwenstein were waiting for Albert von Lintorff at the airport’s private jets area. The need to finish some details concerning the meeting with the Templeton people and several other bankers on the 11^th at St. Petersburg was going to force the men to work all night before Adolf and Konrad would fly to Russia the next morning.

Albert descended the plane's narrow stairs almost jumping over the steps, glad that his cousin had finally released his pack of lawyers on that disagreeable woman. Things were getting back in place, and he couldn't agree more with Ferdinand's opinion: “It took some effort, but Konrad's thick head has understood what a mistake all this mess has been. Guntram does his work well as Tutor and Consort. Most of Michael's latest strategies have come from his thesis, and our figures look very well so far. And the lad was perfectly right about leaving the fields in Argentina alone. The profits are staggering despite the government's efforts to get as much as they can from us. We should give him a commission. Not to mention Adolf almost adores him after he made his father's passing so peaceful. Lord, I would have spat the old man on the face!”

The flood of memories stopped when Albert took a good look at his cousin's face. The joke he had prepared about 'divorce suits you' died on his lips when he saw the sunken eyes and the slightly hunched shoulders. 'I should have kidnapped Guntram the day I heard the bitch was coming home and take him to Torino, no matter his protests. Carolina would have soothed him in no time, and he would have avoided a bad moment with the whore.'

“Hello, Konrad, Adolf,” Albert greeted the men and gave a hug to his cousin. “Armin will be back to work next week.”

“Good, Dähler misses his slave,” Konrad answered absentmindedly. “Let's drive home, shall we? Monika told me that the cook is back.”

“That is incredible good news.”

“I have to humiliate myself tomorrow morning because of Stefania's doings,” Konrad growled.

“It's not the first time you have to do it, but it's for an excellent cause: my stomach,” Albert smirked. “Do you need some lessons in the art of appeasing a pissed-off wife?”

“It's just the cook,” Konrad mumbled miserably before entering his limo, leaving Albert and Adolf behind, who exchanged inquisitive looks between them.

“Touchy, very touchy,” Adolf whispered to his friend, before getting inside the car and taking the seat in front of Konrad.

During the journey back to the castle, Adolf elaborated on Lehman's Brothers figures and the joint plan from several banks to rescue the company before the American government were to intervene the institution and save it from the collapse. However, he noticed how his cousin didn't pay any attention at all to Adolf's precise speech and just looked through the window, more interested in the landscape than in the talk.

“I will not give or offer a single cent for them, Adolf. It's their problem. I'll only focus on our brothers, and I will not divert our resources for people who do not share on our views.”

“If the FED intervenes, it could be a total collapse for many of our friends. We don't need a Congress investigation from the Americans.”

“They should have heard us back in 2006 and stopped being so greedy. I prefer to support our national industries and the developing countries. I've asked Ferdinand, and now you, to elaborate a list of the capital needs of our companies. I want to avoid as much as we can a rise in the unemployment rate. The working class should not pay for the excesses of the privileged class. I'm only going to St. Petersburg to asses how desperate our friends are.”

When the large limousine parked in front of the main entrance, Konrad was shocked to see his children jump out of nowhere wet, dirty and covered in mud. Shouting, “Papa, Papa!” the twins jumped at him, crushing him and ruining his suit at the same time with their filthy hands.

“What are you doing in such a state? You're supposed to be already bathed and about to go to bed!” Konrad shouted, and Albert and Adolf were clever enough as to keep their distance from the very dirty devils.

“We wanted to see you!” Klaus puckered, opening big his blue eyes.

“You don't love us!” Karl exclaimed, preferring to pass to the offensive phase. “You're never here!” he howled, and his brother quickly joined him in a louder tone.

“Be quiet! This is unacceptable! Impossible!” Konrad bellowed, but his children cried one pitch higher. “Did your tutor teach you to behave like this?” wanted to say the banker, but he couldn't finish his sentence after the word 'tutor' was pronounced and both boys went hysterical.

“You fired Guntram!”

“It's your fault he's gone!”

“Stefania says you did it!”

Many of the servants and the nanny ran to the entrance, and to their utter horror found that the Duke had two crying and very dirty boys grabbing him by the jacket. Friederich heard the commotion but preferred to remain in his office, checking the numbers from the estate in Nice, more than ever determined to reach a decision over the long-term repairs the terrace required.

“Miss Ford, is this the way to keep the boys? They should be already ready for bed!” Konrad shouted at the woman, and she flinched. “Take them away!” he added furiously, and disentangled himself from Karl to find Klaus cleaning his nose vigorously against his trousers’ leg.

Fighting against the disgust provoked by such an act, he peeled off the boy from his leg and muttered an, “Excuse me, please feel at home, my friends,” before entering his house to change his clothes like a hurricane.

“Someone has never seen a child becoming sick, it seems,” Albert grinned once the nanny and the servants were able to get the crying boys inside the house.

“I'm glad I have girls,” Adolf chuckled. “They're ferocious when they fight with each other, but they always look like coming from the cover of a magazine.”

“When you have five at home, they all get dirty. Ah, the silent work of the Tutor. We never saw anything like that before. Guntram kept them always clean and busy.”

“I'm glad the boys are human after all. They always behaved so perfectly that I was starting to doubt my parenting skills. … Did Konrad say 'the working class'?”

“The silent work of the Consort,” Albert chuckled. “However, I agree with our Griffin. We have enough crap at home to import some more from the States.”

“Where's Goran? I have not seen him for a few days.”

“Working on that project of his, but Konrad is unaware. We need his reactions to be realistic. He was upset because Antonov took a plane to Tabriz and Rostov on the Bank's account. His yelling kept him distracted long enough for Goran to get lost,” Albert chuckled, remembering the story the Serb had told him that same morning and the fit his cousin had had over some 19.000 lousy dollars. 'Konrad is like a geyser.'

“I see. Do we have the Magnus Comendator's blessing for this?”

“It's not necessary. Three Councillors and the Summus Marescalus approved it, as you know. Ferdinand's face of surprise is always priceless,” Albert chortled. “It's my land too.”

“Goran proved all his allegations against this woman to my entire satisfaction. Attacking the Consort is like going against any of us. I'm glad this is finally done.”

“Indeed. Let's get inside. I want to drink something before dinner.”

* * *

How his own children could transform a peaceful evening with Albert and Adolf into total chaos was something that he could still not fully understand. Konrad was well aware that when they wanted to make trouble, they would put all their energies into it, but why did they do it any time that Guntram was away? 'Klaus and Karl behave so fine with my kitten, but the minute he's away, they are like two Huns.'

Tired and worried beyond his forces, Konrad drew back the comforter to get inside his large bed. He took the right side as, after more than two years of separation from his beloved, he still couldn't get used to sleep in the centre as he had been doing for over twenty years, before Guntram had come to live with him. He turned around and touched the empty space next to him, feeling loneliness and remorse bite his heart once more.

'Where can he be? No medications, no money, no friends. What if he did something stupid like his father? He can't be running around with his heart condition! Even if he hates me, he knows I would have never tossed him to the streets like a dog! I wrote him a letter and left him under Friederich’s care! What else should have I done? Doesn't he know me enough as to know that I need to be alone for some time to think things over?

'How could he come to me with those hideous papers? I was never serious about taking our boys away from him! True, I went mad with the photos, but any father would have done the same. He forgave me and said that he understood me! I only wanted to frighten him a little so he would see reason, but everything went wrong!

'Even if he despises me, he has to return for his children. They need him, and he needs them. I don't believe that he thinks he's only their tutor. He loves Klaus and Karl unconditionally.

'This is all Guntram's fault. I begged him to stop the wedding, and he didn't care about me!'

Konrad sighed, already prepared for another sleepless night despite his weariness. 'Fortunately, it was only Albert and Adolf; otherwise, tonight's dinner could have been a total disaster.'

* * *

While the three men had been having a drink before dinner, a blood-curling cry was heard from upstairs, and when they reached the main stairwell, two bodyguards ran past them, driving Konrad truly nervous as they must have seen something in the security cameras. He ran to the nursery area located on the second floor and found Milan already there, putting his weapon back in its holster and looking with total scorn at the new nanny, crying hysterically in the middle of the corridor.

“It's nothing, Your Excellency. She says there's a frog in her room,” Milan sneered. The other two bodyguards snorted.

“It's true! It's big and ugly!” the woman shouted. “They put it in! They did it!”

“Maybe they were getting you a husband,” Milan couldn't help to tell to the uptight woman who was always criticizing his driving skills. “Poor dears, they still believe in princesses,” he added, and the two men with him chortled.

“Mihailovic, go back to your work!” Konrad growled, upset that something so trivial had almost provoked him a heart attack. "You, look for the frog!" he added to one of the snickering men.

“I quit. Tonight. I'm sick of your brats! They're evil and mean. I have had enough!” Miss Ford shouted to Konrad vulgarly. “I don't care if you're a duke. Never in my life have I seen such an uncaring father! Why did you have them if you don't like them? You're unfit to be a parent!”

“Leave my house tonight, madam,” Konrad said coldly and walked across the corridor to check on his children.

“They're sleeping, my Duke. Nothing wakes them up,” Mirko Bregovic—one of Goran's new additions to the house staff—told him from his place in front of the twins’ bedroom.

“I see, thank you.” Konrad went inside to see his boys deeply asleep in their beds. 'This is too much for me. I can't do it alone.'

Sighing, already feeling more tired than before, he returned to the library and his friends laughed at the story, joking that perhaps the frog had been the ghost of Hubertus von der Teich, his own pet toad when he was four or five years old.

One of the bodyguards interrupted his dinner—better than any other he had had in many months and served in his old dishes—to tell him that the couldn't find any frog in the nanny's room and that the young princes had awoken and were running there, but one of the maids was taking care of the boys because the nanny went hysterical when she saw them.

* * *

Alone in his bed, Konrad tossed once more and turned his back to the empty space, doing his best to ignore it. An unmistakable loud croak inside his room, made him jump of the bed and turn on his bedside light.

There, sitting on the middle of the carpet, was an ugly and fat toad, looking at him with its expressionless eyes.

Swearing softly, Konrad put his slippers on, concerned that the amphibian might pee on the floor. 'Well, that explains the mystery of the ghost frog. It was a toad all the time.'

Very slowly, he approached the animal, but it jumped under one of the cabinets, and Konrad knew that it would be useless to go down on his knees to try to catch it. And if he moved the furniture, the animal could be hurt.

He exhaled a long sigh and prayed for patience, before going to fetch a wet towel from his bathroom. He took one of the hand towels and soaked it in cold water. 'The poor thing must be desperate for water. Tomorrow those two will hear me for not keeping it wet!'

He left the bathroom, taking another towel with him, and placed the dripping wet cloth in front of the cabinet. Next, he turned the light off and stood still near the trap for the toad.

Konrad heard the animal croak several times more. 'That's funny; their mating season is in April or May,’ he thought just before the toad jumped on top of the wet fabric.

With great care, Konrad dropped the other towel on top of the animal and caught it. He gathered the fluffy bundle of clothes and opened the end where he assumed was the head. 'Yes, a toad, definitively,' Konrad decided after a brief inspection.

“What do I do with you? Walking a full kilometre to the pond in the middle of the night is not my idea of fun,” he said aloud.

The toad croaked once more, and Konrad looked at it; a smile almost cracked his stern expression. “It will not work between us. It works only for frogs and young princesses. You're a toad and I'm an old Duke, in case you haven't noticed,” he chortled. “Bathtub it is.”

Konrad went into the bathroom, and still holding the animal, opened the tap to fill the bathtub with some water. “Chinese men say that if a person has one of your friends at home, they will be fortunate and their love will never go away. You could do me a favour in that sense, and I'll open the window and perhaps you catch something. I truly miss someone, and at this moment I would accept help from anyone or anything.”

Konrad didn't expect any kind of reply from the amphibian, but it croaked loudly twice and jumped into the water filling the bathtub, submerging in it. Konrad formed a small mountain with the towels so the animal could get out of the water if it wanted and opened the window over the bathtub.

“No croaking tonight and you will not be evicted. Perhaps my luck changes with you.”

He sneered at himself. 'This is a new low, even for me. I am back to asking for advice to a toad. At least Caligula had a horse. Much more impressive than a green thing.”

He closed the door and heard another loud croak. 'So much for deals with the animal kingdom.' He walked towards his bed and slid under the covers. 'Tomorrow my sons will hear me like never before. Guntram's punishments will look like a field day once I'm finished with them.'

He felt all the bones in his back stretch when he squirmed trying to find a comfortable position and closed his eyes.

The buzzing of his mobile phone took him out of his slumber, and he answered it with a barked “Lintorff.”

“Good morning, Mr. Lintorff, I mean, Duke,” a nervous voice with a Russian accent spoke. “I'm afraid I woke you up. Mr. Oblomov gave me this number.”

“What is it now?”

“I'm Dr. Rubljov. I'm in St. Petersburg, now. I arrived in a morning flight from Paris, from Place Vendôme,” the physician stuttered nervously.

“Yes, it's a nice location,” Konrad answered coldly. 'What is now with Ivan Ivanovich? Didn't he learn his lesson? Stupid Russians!'

“I had a patient there. A young man, 26 years old. I saw him on June 29^th. He suffers from heart failure, and his condition was serious due to his lack of medication. I've given him something to control his tachycardia and fluid retention. The latter can cause a severe medical complication if it's allowed to go untreated. He will need at least a full week of absolute bed rest and no stress at all as he was in a bad shape when I saw him. Mr. Oblomov asked me to inform you this and sends his compliments to you.”

“I understand,” Konrad was able to reply, almost frozen in shock. “Does the young man have somebody to look after him or will he need something else?”

“Mr. Boris Arseniev was there. I believe Mr. Repin went there a few days ago, but I don't know. I'm just a doctor willing to start again,” the man confessed what he wanted in an embarrassed tone of voice.

“Dr. Rubljov, tell Mr. Oblomov that I will see him tomorrow evening in St. Petersburg. He knows the place. Tell him that you must accompany him. We always need good doctors here.”

“And my family?”

“I'm also a family man. Have them ready to leave the country on the 12th. We will speak tomorrow. Thank you. You have earned my gratitude, sir.”

“I thank you, my Duke, and I'm looking forward to meet you,” the doctor said, but Konrad had already hung up the phone.

Konrad didn't known what to feel:

Relief beyond words because his kitten was alive and taking his pills once again. Sick, but recovering.

Fury because Guntram had been so idiotic as to run to Repin for help. ‘Of all places in the world! Why didn't he go to Goran's or Alexei's? They offered him shelter from me!’

Rage because the Russian had dared to put his dirty paws on Guntram, taking advantage of his frail mental and health condition. This time, the Russian had crossed all limits, and he was going to finish him off and get his wayward kitten back. Repin's own people were going to do the dirty work for him, and his dearest wife might get a chance to do all what she wanted. Olga Ivanovna had not a single bone of mercy in her body, and she would settle the score once and for all.

His luck had definitively taken a turn for better.