Bregovic & Mihailovic Dating Service- Part II

Bregovic & Mihailovic Dating Service. Part II 

November 9^th, 2012

Zurich

“Honestly, my wedding was something spontaneous and not really planned,” Guntram insisted miserably, and the Serb rose an eyebrow as he placed the glasses over the kitchen's countertop. The younger man took a seat on one of the stools, feeling a bit stupid after his last remark.

“Really? How long does it take for a Breguet to be manufactured?” he challenged Guntram.

“I don't know,” Guntram answered sheepishly. “Some weeks?”

“Yes, Guntram, some weeks,” Goran snorted. “Not even pictures!”

“Alexei took some with his mobile phone. I sent them to you by e-mail.”

“Big thing,” Goran snorted again. “I'm still upset with the Duke, and nothing you say will make me change my mind.”

“Konrad had the best intentions in mind. He never wanted to insult you or anyone in the family.”

“Yes, I've heard that excuse already. All right, I can't do a thing if your husband is a bit brain-challenged. Ferdinand's shouting was good enough.”

“And don't forget Albert, Adolf, Elisabetta, Tita, Carolina and a long list of other upset people yelling at him too,” Guntram said with a smile. “I could have not coped with a four hundred people wedding, my friend.”

“That's the only thing preventing me from breaking his neck,” Goran said partly smiling.

“How about you? Don't you want to marry?” Guntram asked casually.

“Marry? No. What for? I'm perfectly fine as I am,” Goran answered in a blink.

“To have children of your own. You manage very well with Kurt.”

“Exactly. I have your boy and you take him away when he starts to cry or needs to be cleaned. Ideal situation for me.”

“Maybe a little company would do you some good.”

“Since I was sponsored as the next Hochmeister, I have had to suffer more company than ever before. All of them mendicants for millions or favours. I'm glad to come home to an empty house.”

“Yes, I see your point, but maybe it would be good to have someone to take your mind away from the problems,” Guntram suggested. “How about a home-made dinner?” he asked when he saw Goran get the already served dishes out of the large refrigerator and place them over the kitchen's marble countertop.

“Guntram, in which century do you live? A wife and a home-made dinner don't necessarily go together,” smirked Goran. “In fact, any woman nowadays would kill you if you say something like that—unless she works as a chef in a restaurant. My relationship with the microwave is more than satisfactory for both of us.” Nonchalantly, he pushed the start button. “Besides, Nicoletta cooks very well.”

Seeing that he was heading towards a lost battle, Guntram decided to change his tactic. “Do you know I'm getting a babysitter?”

“Are you not a bit too old for that?” Goran retorted immediately.

“Not for me,” Guntram growled, upset that, no matter how many years had passed, all the men still considered him ‘the baby of the pack’. “It's for Kurt, for when we are here. I'm afraid one day he will drink the turpentine. He moves so fast and escapes from everywhere I put him that I can't follow him.”

“That's true,” Goran chuckled as he placed the second dish inside his longtime friend, the microwave, and served the first one to Guntram. “I thought you didn't want to have new service around,” he added a bit puzzled.

“Her name is Natalya, and Ratko recommended her. Someone he knows through his wife, Mirjana. From her same village. She's a grad student and will be coming to Zurich to start a master's degree,” Guntram said, keeping a straight face.

“A Serbian woman here?” Goran asked bewildered.

“Yes, I see no problem. She speaks English, and if I don't understand her, you can translate. She likes children.”

“I'm glad you are hiring someone to help you. Your little one is very active, and it's hard to keep up with him.”

“I wouldn't have anyone if it were by me, but I have to start putting my fears aside or my whole life will be pure hell. To tell you the truth, Constantin was able to keep Kurt entertained all the time as they both had the same enormous amounts of energy. I simply cannot do it.”

“Guntram, you have a heart condition, and he has more energy than your other two boys put together. True, he's much nicer than any other child I've ever met, but he's permanently investigating things.”

“Or escaping from wherever you put him in. Constantin had the idea of letting him roam free, and now he considers it to be his right,” Guntram said and carefully checked how Goran had taken the fact that he had mentioned Repin, but the Serb didn't look impressed at all. Inwardly, he sighed in relief; just as Konrad, nobody was judging or testing him. 'That makes the nightmare less horrible than it was and easier to forget.'

“I wouldn't like to be caged either, Guntram. Babies are stronger than you think. Just keep him out of harm's way and everything will be all right. How old is she?” Goran asked distractedly, and Guntram almost smiled, certain that Goran had bitten the bait.

“She must be around twenty-seven.”

“Too old.”

“Too old?” Guntram repeated dismayed.

“We need an eighteen-year-old who can run after him,” Goran said pensively. “Married?”

“No, not yet,” Guntram answered, recovering from his shock because for a second he had thought Goran wanted a much younger wife. “Judging by the photos, she looks to be very beautiful.”

“Beautiful and not married at twenty-seven? There is something wrong with her.”

“Are you the same man who has just asked me in which century do I live?” Guntram retorted with a smirk. “Women marry when they want to or feel prepared for it, you know.”

“Touché. You said she is from Krajina?” Goran asked, and Guntram had to bit his lips to prevent a smile to come to his lips.

* * *

Kurt couldn't believe his bad luck that morning. First, Papa had brought a woman to the flat and the first thing she had done was to lock him inside the playpen. He had cried at the top of his lungs and she had come many times to offer him more toys to play with, without realising that he only wanted his freedom back. How much clearer did she need him to say it than “Bear no, out!” to understand him?

Finally, his father had left him roam free in his studio while he painted and she went out for some time. Just when he was about to snatch his father's new watch, abandoned over a chair, to inspect it more closely, the woman had returned and said, “No, baby, no. This is for grown ups,” as she took it away.

Watching his lost treasure, once more securely placed on a high shelf, from inside the playpen, had been the candied cherry on top of the cake. Kurt had yelled his rage so much that even his father had decided he needed to buy a new oil tube right now.

Uncle Goran had passed by the flat after lunch, and he had spoken for a long while with the woman before he decided to accompany the new nanny and Kurt to the park in front of the house.

At least he had been set free in the sandbox as both grown ups continued to speak ignoring him.

Kurt watched how she would laugh or smile at Goran and wondered what was so funny as he rhythmically hit the sand with his mini-shovel.

* * *

“The pigeon flew over,” Guntram mumbled over his mobile phone as he finished cleaning his—once more all smiles, rosy as ever—son.

“What?” Ratko blurted out.

“Is not that what you say when a mission has to be aborted?” Guntram fired back, sitting a very cooperative toddler over the changer to better fix the buttons of his brown jumpsuit.

“Come again?”

“Goran is away and Natalya is furious with me. I simply don't get it. I left them alone, and according to the doorman, they went to the park conversing between them, and everything was fine. Two hours later, I get a hysterical woman back in my flat plus a very upset Goran, and you know what it means. I had to send her to your wife's.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know, maybe Kurt is getting the flu or it was something he ate. I mean, he threw up all over her and she went crazy. She told me I'm an idiot for sending a baby to their date.”

“She was upset just because of that?”

“Like The Exorcist child.”

“I see. Fine, don't worry. Mirjana will fix it. Goran was upset?”

“He said something along the lines of with women like her it really makes no sense to have children. I don't know. He slammed the door when he left home.”

“All right, she's out. We move to candidate number two,” Ratko sighed.

* * *

Two weeks later

“Come here, little one,” Goran said with a smile, saving Kurt from his confinement, once more trapped inside the abhorred playpen. “I'll take you out and we will have a good piece of cherry cake together.”

“Were you not supposed to be at the meeting?” Guntram asked a bit shocked to see him standing at his door as his son jumped, holding from the bars of his playpen, hoping to be picked up and hugged.

“What for? I already told the Duke my ideas on the matter, and he should deal with them. Associates like him better as he is not a poor brute like me,” Goran said in a mocking tone. “Councillors do work, you know, Guntram.”

“But you are the Hochmeister,” Guntram protested.

“Exactly. The less they see me, the better. You don't get to see the king every day,” he smirked. “If you allow them to do so, you lose their respect as he becomes one of the bunch. The Duke was too democratic for my taste, with all those endless meetings and gatherings.”

“Tomorrow comes the new au pair girl. She is going to stay here,” Guntram said out of the blue while Goran was holding his son.

“As long as she is not a Muslim like the previous one.”

“She was only considering converting to Islam,” Guntram retorted.

“Enough for me. Muslim. I don't want a Muslim near my godchild.”

“Goran, Islam is not contagious, you know?” Guntram said, but Goran fixed his eyes on him and the young man felt very uneasy.

“Very well,” murmured Guntram in defeat as he turned around to go for Kurt's coat. Candidate number two was definitively out and number three was on her way.

* * *

With the toddler securely held in his arms, Goran leaned forward to let the child push the elevator's button, and he smiled infected by the boy's delight when the child heard the elevator start to move. “We’ll go to Sprüngli and get you a piece of cake. You have to be nice and let me do my papers. Is that clear?”

The baby's babbling made him chuckle and he put him down, holding him by the hand. The first snowflakes that had started to fall made Goran reconsider his decision of walking all the way to the café, and instead he drove his car to the bank's garage and from there walked the remaining two hundred metres at a very slow pace, allowing the small one to walk on his own.

The confectionery was crowded with tourists, who were standing even along the bar, and Goran huffed as he detested being in crowded closed spaces. “This is too noisy,” he said to the baby. “Do you want to see my office?” he asked him as a sort of compensation for the missed cake, and Kurt nodded.

“Wait, Mirko told me about a new place nearby, in Fraumünsterstrasse. The Argentinean found it some days ago. I forgot to tell your father. It seems they have this local cake he likes very much. Should we give it a try?”

Kurt only dedicated him a broad smile and pulled from his trousers asking to be carried.

Some ten minutes later, Goran stood in front of the new confectionery: a small shop with only four marble tables, two counters filled with cakes, and some shelves with glass jars full of candies in different colours and sizes. What struck him most was that the decoration was very old fashioned; dark brown walls with restored turn of the century mouldings contrasted with the white high ceiling and its Tiffany glass lamps. 'We should send the Duke here,' thought Goran.

“Hello,” a medium-sized woman with dark hair greeted him. “May I help you?”

“Is it possible to have coffee at this hour?” Goran asked as the place was empty and obviously she was the only person taking care of the shop.

“Yes, of course,” she answered, coming from behind the counter with a menu on her hand. She showed him to a table next to the window, and he noticed that there was a colourful rubber puzzle carpet with some wooden toys on it.

“Can I leave the child there?” he asked surprised.

“Yes, of course. We have not had many children yet, but this is a confectionery and it's the natural place for them. We expect to have some women come with their children for coffee after shopping. He is our first young customer. Hello, baby,” she said with a big smile as she caressed Kurt's head, and he smiled back in a shy way.

“At this hour children are in school or at the day care centre,” Goran answered, but she was not paying him attention anymore, totally focused on the baby. 'Kurt will have no trouble to get a woman,' he thought as he sat him in one of the chairs to release him from his coat before putting him on the carpet as the lady ran away to close the glass doors to prevent the child from escaping to the street. Kurt followed her very happy, and once more she smiled at him.

'Pity she already has a job, would be a good babysitter for you,' thought Goran as he sat and took the menu left on the table.

“Today we have cherry cake, Dobos torte, apple crumble and lemon pie. I think the best for the child would be the apple crumble as the others have too much cream or butter for him,” she said, and Goran noticed her accent. He watched the window with the name “Marie Antoinette's” painted in white.

“No Black Forest cake?” Goran asked.

“I'm afraid not, Black Forest is on Saturdays and Thursdays. We bake different cakes according to the day of the week.”

'No out of the assembly line cakes?' thought Goran. “Then, I'll take the cherry one, a black coffee and the apple crumble for the child.”

“Very well, sir,” she answered as she disappeared behind the counter to slice their cakes and prepare his coffee in the machine. Without speaking another word, she served him and returned to her place behind the counter to take care of two customers who had just entered.

Goran tasted the cake after watching how fast Kurt devoured his own piece and felt in bliss. 'Sprüngli just lost a customer,' he thought and looked at the woman, greeting a young girl that had entered the store and was donning an apron. From that moment onwards, the shop became an ebb and flow of people, all buying things but nobody staying to have a coffee. 'Strange,' he thought, but as he saw that Kurt was busy with some blocks, he got his iPad out to read his e-mails and work.

He was a bit surprised when, instead of the young Swiss helper, it was the woman who brought him the tab, and again her attention focused on the baby. “Does he eat chocolate?” she asked, and Goran said yes.

“Here, for you,” she said, giving the child a small frog shaped chocolate which Kurt took with delight.

* * *

February 20^th, 2013

Guntram was overwhelmed. Five different candidates in three months and none of them had tickled Goran's fancy.

'He's more complicate than we all thought. Let's try with number six.

'Really, Milan or Ratko should take over. Even Marko got a girlfriend out of this parade of women. I can't do it any longer,' he thought as he watched Goran drive away in his BMW with his son to have coffee at that new shop they were always going.

'Finding him a place to eat cake was easier than finding him a wife.'

* * *

March 14^th, 2013

“How is the operation going?” Konrad asked over the phone.

“Excuse me?” Guntram replied astonished. “What operation?” he added as he retouched once more some details of Kurt's sleeve in the portrait of his three sons.

“Miss Serbia 2013.”

“You are just calling me because now it is your candidate the one who is on the spot and you fear she will fail.”

“I always bet to winners,” Konrad retorted.

“Fine. He took her out two nights ago. Dinner somewhere, not the Königshalle,” Guntram told him as he frowned, thinking that perhaps the teddy bear in Kurt's hands was not painted as exactly as it should be.

“You don't sound too enthusiastic.”

“This one is candidate number six. Do you have any idea of what is to have six different women in four months living under your roof? When this is over, I'm moving to a monastery.”

Konrad chuckled visibly amused. “You should have consulted me a long time ago, Maus. See? He took her out. That's more than what he did with the previous five.”

“Number three looked like she stood a chance, but I don't know what happened. Goran tells me nothing. He only laughs when I tell him that I have a new babysitter and comes to ‘inspect her’ so we don't have a repeat of the mess with the almost Muslim one.”

“That was a most stupid thing to do.”

“Old data,” Guntram growled offended at Konrad's words. “And she was considering conversion. She was only taking the study courses.”

“Yes, of course. Because to consider conversion is like buying a new hat,” Konrad smirked. “So, he took my candidate to dinner?”

“Yes, you can collect whatever you might have bet with Ferdinand,” Guntram gritted. “How childish can you all be?”

“I didn't bet on this. I'm merely returning the favour to Goran for marrying my own family.”

“What?”

“First, Armin with his goddaughter, who, by the way, was an excellent choice and saved us all a lot of time; and then your cousin Eberhard with the lawyer. I didn't have to fire him because he left us to go live with Lanusse. I believe that even Ratko Bregovic was happy with that solution.”

“Matchmaking is an art that none of you master. Let Goran be,” Guntram sighed. “I'm not capable of continuing with all this.”

“Number six is the winner, trust me. I never make mistakes with these things,” Konrad said with sufficiency.

* * *

The young apprentice baker suffocated a chuckle when she saw the silent and brooding foreigner who had been having coffee at their shop three times a week for the past few months—almost since her employer had opened the store—crossing the opposite street. 'Obviously, Mr. Banker does not come for the cake only,' the blonde girl thought as she removed her plastic gloves and dove into the kitchen to call her boss.

“Mrs. Hurst? It's time for my break,” she said aloud to the brunette woman busily arranging some strawberry cake pieces on a plate.

“Now?”

“There are no customers,” the girl said innocently.

“All right, go now, and when you return, start with those meringues ordered this morning,” she said, but the girl had already escaped through the back entrance.

The sound of the front door being opened made her leave what she was doing and she went to attend the newcomer. She was slightly disappointed to see the dark-haired, elegant man had come without the little child that was always accompanying him. The man had already taken his usual place at the table next to the window.

“Good afternoon,” she said with a soft smile as she placed the menu in Goran's hands. “Is your son not coming today?”

“He is my godson,” Goran answered. “He stayed with his nanny today.”

“Oh,” she sounded disappointed. “He's very nice to have around.”

“Do you like children? I'll take the one with apricots.”

“Yes, of course,” she said as she turned around and walked behind the counter to prepare the coffee and slice the cake. “But I don't have them yet.”

“Neither do I,” answered Goran, and she looked at him wondering why he was so talkative today. Normally, he would order what he wanted, leave the child to play on the carpet and busy himself with his iPad or with his strange mobile phone.

“Oh, that's a pity. You manage very well with your godson.”

“When my mother passed away, I took care of my brother. He was several years younger than I,” Goran told to a perfect stranger and wondered why he had done it. The woman's eyes were certainly kind, but there was no way he could be sure of her intentions.

“Where are you from? You are not Swiss, although you speak German very well.”

“I've been living here for the past twenty years; since 1989. I'm from Krajina. Banja Luka to be more precise.”

“Where is that?”

“It used to be a part of Serbia.”

“Did you leave because of the war? I also left Mexico because of the violence,” she said softly as she settled the cake and the cup of coffee on his table.

“Yes, partly. My brother died on the war.”

“I'm sorry. My fiancé was killed because some drug dealers began to shoot randomly and they got him. His murderers were not even fighting, just playing because they were bored. They were never prosecuted. I couldn't stand the city any longer and moved to the most different place I could think of. I lived in Munich for a while with my uncle and his family. He gave me the money to rent this place and open the store.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” Goran said quietly, feeling strangely moved. 'A casualty is a casualty,' he chastised himself, upset at this odd display of feelings.

“We all die. It is not our fault, and we all have to move on. It's the natural law,” she sighed dejectedly. “I have to make this business flourish, and you probably have to work,” she continued with a broken smile, and Goran fixed his eyes on hers, knowing the long desert she was now crossing on her own.

“What is your name? Mine is Goran Pavicevic,” he asked before he could think about it, and the brunette only smiled again as her eyes gestured towards the letters written on the shop’s front window— “Marie Antoinette's”—before she disappeared inside the kitchen, leaving him behind.

* * *

“Come on, Guntram! For old times sake!” Milan whined.

“No!”

“One more girl. I'm sure that, now that we know what we are looking for, we are going to succeed. My aunt knows what to look for.”

“Why don't you take him to ‘Forty Dates in an Hour’?” Guntram exploded. “Six different women living in my flat! I can't stand it any longer!”

“Number six lasted three weeks,” pointed out Ratko. “Goran took her out several times. A record.”

“And he poured a whole bloody bottle of wine over her most expensive shoes! How can he be so dumb?” Guntram shouted exasperated.

“Did he do that?” Milan asked in real shock. “What did she do?”

“She shouted at him like crazy.”

“Send her home. It's over,” Ratko sighed. “And get her a new pair of shoes.”

“No need to. Goran sent her a voucher for Manolo Blahnik's or something. How can you say it's over? She's gone, but they promised to exchange letters.”

Both Serbs looked at each other and shook their heads slowly. Milan sat on a kitchen stool and Ratko did the same, readying themselves to explain a few things to the obviously clueless Guntram.

“Oh, great, I foresee a talk,” Guntram growled.

“First, you have lived with the same person for the past ten years. I assume before that you didn't fool around much, did you?” Milan said in a fatherly tone.

“What does this have to do with Goran fussing over every woman?”

“Everything. You were not testing the market, so to speak,” Milan answered. “For men like us it is not that easy to find a suitable… partner,” he said holding the word “wife” in his mouth.

“Therefore, we have to test them. If Goran did that, he was considering her good wife-material,” Ratko sentenced. “It was a test. She didn't pass it, and he paid her for her time.”

“Making a mess of my kitchen is a Serbian mating ritual?” Guntram sneered.

“The vehicle is immaterial; it is the reaction what counts,” Ratko explained him, using the voice he reserved for his children.

“Wine does destroy shoes. That ‘reaction’ was proved that night,” Guntram answered sarcastically.

“No. He was testing her character. Anything would have done the trick. Normally, shoes are a very sensitive thing for women. If she would have laughed, he would have married her the next day, but she shouted at him. Her loss. He paid her for her services and that was that.”

“You aren’t making any sense, Ratko,” Guntram said, unable to believe that the Serbs could be so chauvinist and proud of it.

“One Sunday, I told Mirjana I wanted to go have dinner at a posh place. Unfortunately, my car went dead in the middle of the road to the castle we were having dinner at, and we had to cross the forest on foot to get there. It had rained a lot, and her shoes and dress were ruined, but she laughed all the way and did her best to cheer me up.”

“Yeah, such things happen if you drive with an empty tank,” sneered Milan. “Or if your buddies empty it for you.”

“You did that on purpose?”

“One pair of ruined shoes is nothing compared to the mess a bad wife can cause in your life,” Ratko answered very convinced of his ideas. “My aunt recommended it. Wise woman.”

“Now you have to shop for purses everywhere for her,” Milan chortled visibly amused. “Pity. That girl had good chances, but she ruined them.”

“Incredible,” Guntram muttered, deciding to let the whole issue go. Arguing with Milan and Ratko was simply impossible as they would not change their views at all, and it seemed even ‘modern’ Goran adhere to them.

“Where is Goran now?” Milan asked. “I haven't seen him the whole day.”

“Out to that place he likes so much. With Kurt too,” Guntram answered laconically, starting to mentally prepare for the arrival of candidate number seven.

* * *

April 12^th, 2013

“So, here is where you hide?” Konrad said in good humour as he sat at the small round table already occupied with Goran's documents and iPad. “By the look of all this, I would say you have a new office.”

“The coffee here is much better than at the bank,” Goran replied nonchalantly.

“Yes, it's a nice place,” Konrad commented, appreciating the wooden shelves and the very traditional decoration. “When I was a child, Friederich used to bring me to a very similar confiserie,” he remembered. “But the walls were beige… Catholic too. Strange,” he commented when he saw the small framed embroidery depicting 500 Ablässe —indulgences— next to an image of the Virgin.

“The owner is Mexican. Her family is from the south of Germany, but they left for Mexico after the war. They returned to Europe five years ago. The niece takes care of the shop.”

“Ah,” answered Konrad already engulfed on the menu. “How is the Dobos tarte?”

“Everything is very good here. You should bring your children. All is freshly made.”

“Good,” Konrad answered, his mind made up as the woman approached him. “The Dobos and a coffee,” he told her, and for a second he thought that her eyes were very pretty, but dismissed the thought almost immediately.

“Will you join us in Copenhagen this year?” Konrad asked Goran once they were alone.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Some of the associates have felt neglected over the past months,” Konrad said acidly.

“They had the answers they were looking for. Kissing each other will not solve their problems.”

“Goran, you are perfectly aware of your responsibilities as our leader.”

“This is a new kind of leadership, different from yours,” Goran retorted very seriously. “Mine is a leadership for wartime. Yours was for times of abundance. Your duty was to expand our power. Mine is to preserve it and defend what we have. I'm not here to socialize or make new acquaintances. I was brought up not to be a prince but a warrior, and I will lead our brotherhood to a safe port until a new generation is ready to take over. Personally, I don't believe we need another prince at all. I fulfil my duties well.”

“I am only suggesting that you should pay more attention to our associates,” Konrad growled, feeling slightly irritated at Goran's patronizing tone. “Copenhagen is the perfect occasion to meet with them.”

“I will go to Copenhagen and play the dance you are suggesting, but I will not change my views on the matter.”

“Fine.”

“One-word sentences never worked with me, my Griffin,” Goran retorted without paying much attention to Konrad as he retrieved a small piece of paper from his inside pocket. “This is the list of people I want to have invited to Copenhagen.” He unfolded the sheet and gave it to the Duke.

Konrad glared at Goran, but he returned his gaze coldly while the other man folded back the paper and stored it in his pocket before rising from his chair and stomping out of the shop furious beyond himself.

“Oh, is your friend gone?” the woman asked as she held the tray with the cake and the coffee.

“Remembered he had to run some errands,” Goran explained her in good humour. He watched her face and briefly compared her tanned skin with the long-legged blonde Guntram had hired as babysitter a few weeks ago. 'Why does everybody think that a beautiful woman should be good looking?' “His loss,” he said aloud as his finger pointed at the cake, glad that she immediately understood his sign and placed the piece in front of him without wasting time with words or questions.

'That blonde was nothing more than dinner and bed. What a waste of time.'

* * *

April 30^th, 2013

“Why do you need another babysitter, Guntram? Didn't you like the previous one?”

'Of course, I did! The problem was you,' thought the young man as he forced a smile. “Anja, Marko's girlfriend, recommended her. She's an Erasmus student of—” he searched his memory for the girl's occupation but it eluded him, lost in the sea of files.

“Birgitte or my maid are more than capable of handling Kurt. He's a very nice fellow,” Goran said puzzled.

“—violoncello! That's right. She studies music and was part of the Bratislava Symphony,” Guntram said, finally remembering the data of candidate number nine. “Blonde with big blue eyes,” he added sheepishly, and Goran looked at him.

“Looks like you're searching for a model. Have her sign a work contract before you ask her to remove her clothes,” Goran commented dryly.

“I'm not going to paint my son's babysitter!” Guntram protested, feeling completely miserable. 'Hope this time the ‘male touch’ helps because even the matchmaker is losing her patience with Goran's rejections. This one looks very good.'

“Well for the last five months it seems as if you have had a casting for hot-looking babysitters going on,” Goran sneered. “Every two weeks there's a different one camping in your guest bedroom.”

“It's hard to get good help.”

“Guntram, answer me this: are things going well between you and the Duke?”

“Yes, of course. Where did you get that idea?” Guntram answered very nervous and pretended to be very busy sorting out Kurt's wooden blocks. As he did so, a frowning baby removed them from the box where his father was piling them without any kind of order or method.

“You have been acting very strangely these past months, and if we add to that this new mania of yours of adopting Serbian students… I just wondered if I should be concerned or not.”

The expression of utter guilt crossing Guntram's face told Goran that he was on the right path to get a confession. “You can trust me, little brother.”

“This whole story is driving me mad! The Serbian Connection!” Guntram finally exploded and threw five blocks in one go inside the metal box.

“Papa no!” Kurt said firmly and poured empty the whole box, unable to stand any longer the mess his father was doing with his things.

“I'm sorry, Kurt,” Guntram mumbled, but the baby had turned his back to him and was busy enthusiastically piling up the blocks by colour, one on top of the other.

Goran bided his time patiently as Guntram rose from the carpet.

“Everything is fine between Konrad and I.”

“Lacroix is making trouble?”

“No, he's still upset with Konrad about the wedding, but I think he will let it go in two or three months more,” Guntram said. “It's something else.”

“I'm listening to you,” Goran said as he sat in one of the armchairs and Guntram took the other near him.

“I really don't know how to explain it. You're going to hate me and with every reason.”

“Tell me and I will decide that.”

Very ashamed of his own foolishness, Guntram looked at his son, now busy with the red pyramid-shaped blocks as he was trying to place one on top of the other, failing many times over. He got lost in the intense look the toddler was giving to the blocks as he rotated them in his chubby hands until at last he smiled triumphantly when he discovered that he could face one against the other and form a much more stable cube.

“I think we have a genius in our hands,” Goran said softly.

“Please,” Guntram laughed nervously. “You say it because you love him.”

“No, not really. He's not supposed to do that at this age. Look at what he's building and you will find a pattern.”

“He does not even speak well, and he's two years old already.”

“That's because he's dealing with three languages simultaneously. English, German and Russian,” Goran observed, and Guntram looked at him devastated. “My maid speaks to him in Russian and he still understands her. The other day I gave him several complex orders in Russian and he obeyed me. You will not erase this so easily, and why should you? Speaking Russian is an advantage for him. Don't let your fears interfere with his education, little brother.”

“Goran, you know my reasons.”

“Yes, I do, but you should overcome your fears,” he said softly and noticed how Guntram visibly relaxed after hearing his words. “Now tell me what that horrible thing you have done is.”

“Conspire to get you married,” Guntram confessed in a slurred sentence.

“Come again?”

“We wanted to marry you to a nice Serbian lady, but you didn't like any of them.”

“Why on Earth would you want to marry me?” Goran barked in a very low voice. “Are you—?” but he bit his lips before he would have pronounced the abhorred word.

“No, I'm not crazy. I'm an idiot,” Guntram said sheepishly, keeping his voice so low that Goran had to approach his head to hear him.

“You better explain yourself, little brother.”

“The boys told me you were very lonely, and that you needed a woman and a child. I think you're great with children and agreed to their idea. I also wanted you to have an heir.”

“Define ‘the boys’.”

“Well, you know them,” Guntram answered nervously, hoping that it would be enough as to appease Goran, but he only stared at him. “Milan, Ratko, Marko, Mirko, Fedérico, Alexei, Ferdinand and Michael. We all thought it was a good idea,” he blurted out his confession.

“Only the Duke and Adolf zu Löwenstein are missing from your Dream Team, Guntram,” Goran snorted visibly upset. “Now tell me the plan.”

“Well, it was very simple. I was supposed to hire a babysitter, and as you like to take Kurt to the park, she would have to go with you… and you would meet a nice lady.”

“I fail to understand the logics behind this masterpiece of strategy.”

“The plan should have worked fine if you would have been a little more cooperative,” Guntram retorted very frustrated with himself, his friend and the world at large. “There were eight different women living in my house for the past four or five months, and you couldn't choose one! I’ve lost track of how many photos and CVs I’ve seen! Over twenty!”

“Ah, so that explains why the Duke did not explode after you told him you wanted to have a young, sexy au pair girl living under your roof.”

“He chose number six and was very disappointed when I had to send her away,” Guntram confessed.

“I see,” Goran said seriously, and Guntram looked at him feeling very ashamed.

“You have every right to be furious with me, Goran. I should have not interfered with your life. I offer you my deepest apologies.”

“Of Milan, Ratko and the others, including our Duke, I can believe they would try something so childish and stupid, but you? How did they convince you to be a part of this charade? What were you thinking? Throwing women at my feet so I would choose one!”

“I'm deeply sorry.”

“It's insulting! What do you all think I am? A stud bull?” Goran asked without raising his voice, and Guntram blushed even more. “I'm going to have a word with all of them.”

“Goran, don't be so upset. It ends today. I'll see to it.”

“No, I will see to it, and next time, don't listen to them!”

“I was afraid you would name Kurt your successor,” Guntram finally confessed.

“Is that what you thought? Get me to make a baby so I would spare your son a fate worse than death?”

“You know what I really think of the Order. I don't want any of this for Kurt.”

“I would never name him my successor! He's only two years old! And I know you would oppose to it!”

“Konrad thinks you will name his boys.”

“I haven't even been on ‘the throne’ for a year, and all of you are already looking for my replacement?”

“It was a move calculated to twenty years from now.”

Goran huffed and shook his head in disbelief. “Guntram, you concentrate on painting and don't think on politics, all right?” he barked.

“You have no heir so far.”

“And? Things change dramatically from one day to the next, and you want me to fix our position for the next twenty years? My successor will be someone who is ten years younger than me, or less. I thought you knew this.”

“Who?”

“Don't tell this to anyone, not even to the Duke,” Goran said seriously. “I haven't made my mind up between Mirko Bregovic and Fedérico Martiarena Alvear. Both are good, but still need more training and to gain more experience. It's still not time to make a decision, and perhaps Armin von Lintorff's character improves now that he's more responsible.”

“Mirko or Fefo?” Guntram repeated shocked. “Not any of my children?”

“They are all babies! Really, I thought we had left behind this entire ‘rule by blood’ story.”

Guntram looked down very ashamed as Goran huffed once more. Kurt stood up from the carpet and walked towards his godfather smiling and gesturing to be picked up.

“No, young man. Say it with words,” the Serb said with a kind smile.

“Up, Uncle!” Kurt said, gently hitting the man's knees, but he didn't pick him up. “Please,” he added quickly.

Goran chuckled and sat the child on his lap. “Do you see, Guntram? Kurt seems to be cleverer than all of you together.”

“You are right, Goran.”

“I still can't believe that your great plan was to introduce me to several women and wait till I bit the hook. It's really offensive that you all think I'm so simple.”

“If you were not so picky, it would have worked without a hitch.”

“Whenever I want a wife, I will look for one all by myself,” Goran said sternly. “What was going to be your next move? Drug me and take me to an ‘express date’ service?”

“I don't know,” mumbled Guntram, ashamed that the idea had crossed his mind more than once.

“I'm taking this young gentleman to the park. Alone. And later, we will go for tea to a new place we both like very much.”

Guntram rose from his chair to pick his son from Goran's lap and went to the children’s bedroom to dress him in his shoes and coat as Goran still fumed in the living room. When father and son returned, he rose from his chair and seriously looked at his friend.

“Here, for you, Guntram,” Goran said after searching his jacket pockets. A Mars caramel bar appeared in front of the young man's mortified face.

“At least you're not sending me white calla lilies,” he commented, feeling more ashamed than before, but accepted the candy bar. “I totally deserve to be called a brat.”

“Italian messages are not my style, but I'm glad you understand.”

“It's perfectly clear.”

“Good.”

Goran turned around and softly called the small baby who came running to him, delighted to be picked up and hugged.

“Are you sure you don't want one of the girls to…?” Guntram insisted for his wounded pride's sake.

“We are going to have a piece of cake. We'll be back at four,” Goran answered fixing his eyes on his friend. “Human Relations is not your thing, little brother.”

“I really don't get it. Honestly. All of these women were simply stunning. Even I was having second thoughts about some of them. Today's one was sponsored by Milan himself, and she puts Claudia Schiffer to shame.”

“Then tell Milan to ask her out. Maybe he finally gets the wife he has been looking for desperately for the past twenty years.”

“Are you going to Sprüngli?” Guntram asked, changing the subject as he couldn't stand Goran's penetrating gaze any longer.

“No, it's too full with tourists. For the past four months we have been going to a new place near the bank. Real home-made cherry cake and good service. I think the lady who runs it also speaks Spanish,” Goran commented with a naughty smile as Guntram opened the door and absentmindedly nodded and kissed his son good-bye.

“By the way, Guntram, number three and number six were very sporty. Send my compliments to the Duke,” Goran said and winked just before pulling the door close after them, prying the handle from Guntram's petrified hands.

Alone in the elevator, the child held in his arms, he looked at his godson and chuckled at the memory of Guntram's face of total shock when he had admitted his own adventures with the girls. “Little one, sometimes I don't understand your father,” he told the baby, who laughed in return.

“Exactly my thoughts.”

'What was Guntram thinking? He helps to organize a parade of women for my benefit, and he expects me to do nothing? Was I supposed to choose one, declare my eternal love to her, marry, and only then, consume my love for her?

'…Did I just say, “consume my love for her”?' wondered Goran. “I'm spending too much time with your father, Kurt.”

“Goran! Papa's new watch!” the baby said, happy that finally someone was really listening to him.

“I still don't understand you,” answered Goran shaking his head and watching the boy with a mixture of tenderness and pride, amused at the child’s long sigh, the latter frustrated with the world's incomprehension. “We'll go to visit Maria Antonieta and maybe she has something good for you. Don't you agree she's very lovely?”

'Yes, that's a nice lady who likes children and cooks well. Perhaps I should take my chances with her.'