TS3 Chapter 11

Chapter 11

May 19^th, 2014 

Zurich

“I'm off to work,” Guntram said to the informally dressed at 9:30 Konrad. “You're going to be late for the bank.” 

“I'm staying home today,” Konrad mumbled without rising his eyes from the copy of the Financial Times spread all over the breakfast remains. 

“Do you feel all right?” Guntram frowned as Konrad had only missed work twice in all their years together. 

“Perfectly fine,” he answered and Guntram looked at him with clear distrust. “Just taking a day off.” 

“Does Monika know it? Did she grant you permission?” 

“Of course she does.” Konrad seemed upset at the question and loudly folded the newspaper to show his displeasure to the world.

“All markets are open today, your agenda is full until 2027 so there must be a reason why you're staying at home.” 

“None at all,” Konrad answered nonchalantly as he directed all his attention to the forgotten Frankfurter Allgemeine copy. 

“Well, I'm going to work,” Guntram said.

“Be back at eleven.” 

“At eleven? Can I go to the disco again?” 

“Eleven a.m., dear,” Konrad replied acidly. “No, no more discos for you. I had enough with your last escapade.” 

“That's in two hours! And it was Gulya's idea to take the plane and fly to Paris. I was with Fedérico and I still don't know why Alexei had to tag along with us. Uninvited.” 

“We eat at 12:30. Antonov was only doing his job and you came home the next morning... in the afternoon.” 

“Konrad, you're old enough as to eat alone or with Kurt. He also stays at home today, but he's busy till 12:30.” Guntram preferred to leave the discussion out of the picture. Konrad was still sore about his “escapade” to Paris with Gulya and that stupid photo of them together in the “Paris At Night” magazine. He had not even got drunk! It was pure business and the need to know better his model. 'It's not my fault people have Twitter or Instagram nowadays,' he thought when he remembered all the comments (and offers) he received because of a single photo.

“You have to lunch with Friederich, his relative, your beloved husband and our common friend from America.” Konrad reminded Guntram with a forced smile. “It was your idea.” 

“What?” croaked Guntram totally clueless. 

“The great Christoph zu Sonderburg-Habsburg will honor us with his presence for lunch and I don't want any amateurs doodling on St. Anne's fresco. Besides, he's a Habsburg.” 

“You mean, you stay home because John's here and I'm here too.” 

“Of course not!” Konrad protested.

“Then why are you still here?”

“It's a rare occasion when two German Electors sit at your table. I think, it doesn't happen since... the end of the Great War.” 

“You can't miss it, of course,” Guntram quipped. “Quite on time too, I think... A hundred years after the Sarajevo Magnicide. Come on, Konrad, you used to be better at making up excuses to control me.”

“Am I not allowed to stay in my own home?” Konrad seethed. “Perhaps I should take the plane and go to Venice where at least, nobody will expel me from my own rooms. All I had planned for today was to stay for lunch and then magically disappear at three to take Kurt to the Science Museum or for a walk in the forest.” 

Guntram was taken aback by the sudden burst of temper. In normal days, Konrad would find a way to get away with murder and still make Guntram feel like he was the guilty part.  'Lately, he doesn't even bother to do it any more.'

“Why aren't you going to work? You, the man who wakes up at 5:30 just to pass by the office before he takes the plane at 8:00?” 

“I'm not welcome there today,” Konrad mumbled, embarrassed of the truth. 

“You didn't care much about the terror you presence instilled in your employees before.” 

“Goran doesn't want me there today.” Konrad whispered and Guntram had to strain his ears to hear the slurred words. 

“What?” 

“Today, the Komturen visit us and he doesn't want me there. My presence could hinder his authority.”

“Maybe somebody missed my resignation e-mail,” he added ironically some seconds later as Guntram gaped at him, not quite understanding his words.

“Goran kicked you out from your own office in your own bank? Well, in the bank your family owns since the XVIII century?” Guntram asked slowly, having trouble to understand Konrad's words. His husband mortified look was a good confirmation of what he had heard but he still couldn't believe his ears.  

“I was gently asked to keep my presence away from today's meeting.” 

“Is he nuts?” shouted Guntram. “He brings the Komturen -no less- to your bank? We'll get the fucking FBI, CIA and the Interpol in our home the minute they see all European mobsters together in one place!” 

“Guntram, it isn't like that.” Konrad protested feebly, slightly intimidated by the blue eyes glaring at him. 

“Of course not, they're men of honor who just happen to look like The Sopranos.” Guntram nearly yelled at his passive husband. “You'd have never allowed this in the past! Konrad, I thought you knew better.” 

“I know better. I never met so publicly with the Komturen or ever had them here, but Di Mattei and Gorgazali are councillors now. They will have to pass by the office now and then.” 

“Goran should go to a hotel. There are hotels for that.” Guntram said very upset but unable to discern if he was furious with his friend for getting such ideas or with his husband for allowing it to happen and his careless attitude. 

“You start to sound like me.” 

“I'm starting to sound like common sense. What was he thinking?” 

“Nothing, I guess,” replied Konrad and watched how Guntram paced along their private living-room like a caged lion. Deep inside him, the upcoming confrontation between them already tired his mind. “There's nothing you can do now,” he said in a conciliatory voice.  

“But later, yes,” barked Guntram back. “Goran crossed all lines with this one.” 

“Guntram, he's our Hochmeister.” 

“And we are a family and he's breaking the basic rule of no shitting in your nest. If he wants to shit, he should get his own nest.” 

“Guntram, it's just a meeting...” Konrad tried to calm him down. Being yelled at that early hour was too much for his nerves. He was supposed to be reading his newspaper and enjoying his first “free day” in five or six years. He had even fantasied about going back to bed with Guntram and spending the rest of the morning there but the young man's sombre expression was a good deterrent for his imagination. 

“A meeting? Of course you won't mind to have half of the Interpol guys listening to your phones or just wondering what Pablo Escobar does at your office.” 

“Guntram, I'll speak with him, but he told me yesterday and I had no way to back off.” 

“I will speak with him.” 

“You will do nothing.” 

“He's still your employee, isn't he?” 

“Just as much as Ferdinand is. They're friends.” 

“Who happen to collect over twenty-million Swiss francs bonuses each at your bank.” Guntram was incensed with Konrad's passivity. “Goran is out of control and leaves his trash at our doorstep.”

“I will....” 

“You will do nothing as usual,” Guntram replied seriously. “I know you. You will be quiet because he's the boss now and you obey him just to preserve the Order. In case you haven't noticed, there's nothing else for us there. You're only footing the bill for people who don't accept us. Our marriage changed everything. They can't turn a blind eye on us like they used to.” 

“It's not like that,” Konrad protested softly. 

“It is and you know it. You're the official champagne provider now; Sir Kay, the Seneschal.” 

“Guntram, ironies never were your best trait.”

“It isn't an ironic remark, it's the truth. Either you lash Goran back or you go out completely. He would be very happy with your decision.” 

“Don't you think I don't know that already?” Konrad snapped. “I can't go away. I will not go away. My ancestors built all this. I gave my life to it. I can't go against Goran because he's our friend and I can't overrule him in front of the others, therefore, even if I hate it, I have to keep distance from my office today.” 

“What's going to be next? Trading offices? He might need a bigger one soon.” 

Konrad remained sullenly silent. 

“It won’t come to that,” he mumbled and averted his eyes from Guntram's. He felt cornered and didn't know what to do. 

“Of course it will,” Guntram said softly, knowing that if he pressed too much his husband, he would snap again and do whatever he wanted, regardless of his opinion. His only hope now was to reason with Konrad, who was already looking like a brat denied of his candy. “And you know it. This has to stop before it gets completely out of control.” 

“I can't leave the Order.” 

“I know.” 

“I can't come back to it. I won't come back to it... I nearly lost you because of it,” Konrad confessed what had been consuming him for the past year.  

“Then your answer is already in your mind.” Guntram spoke very softly. “Do you want that I speak with him?” 

“Last time you did, he was very upset with you. I'm afraid you have inherited your grandfather's diplomatic skills. My father used to be very cranky for several weeks after the Christmas or Easter meetings.” 

“The best would be that we split. Physically, at least. Goran needs a place of his own. Like when you moved Gertrud out of the bank. It will be money well invested. Send him and Alexei to another building, away from the financial area. He hates it anyway.” 

“I would like to keep Dähler with me,” mumbled Konrad. 

“How about a new department of... institutional relations? A building of their own, in front of the lake, if possible. Name him President or Supreme Leader and keep him away from your money. You don't have to foot the bill for the whole Order. Get a third party to pay for their salaries. My father can help you with that if I ask him to do it.” 

Konrad seemed hesitant, torn between what he considered his duty and his desire of a simple life, away from everything. “Goran is our friend.” 

“Mobsters having tea at your own bank isn't a good idea. Our children eat from there.” Guntram said emphatically. “I'm willing to give up my flat if Goran wants to have an office there.” 

“No, that won't be necessary. I have the perfect place. We own a building near the Eden Hotel. It's very near the Opera and Sprüngli and big enough to host the Easter meeting there.” 

“He already has a place to eat cake.” Guntram said with a tired smile. “Sprüngli times are over.” 

“Just in case he loses his cake eating-place. With his moody-me attitude, I wouldn't be surprised if the lady sends him to hell.” 

“She has the patience of a saint.” 

“The crucifix remains here. I'm not giving it away. It was a present to our family from Enrico di Molinari, just like San Capistrano was.” 

“Of course,” Guntram nodded and bit his tongue before he could ask about his family's cup's fate. ‘Some other time.' 

“Goran will be... upset.” 

“Or relieved that he doesn't have to deal with you any longer. He's not stupid and will understand that the best he can aspire is to keep you away from him and happy. He can't force you to be his puppy just to keep the associates in line. ” 

“We're looking for a new balance of things.” Konrad took Guntram's hands, hoping he would find the courage and the support he needed to take that last step in his career. Part time retirement was harder than he had envisioned. 

Guntram smiled back at Konrad and kissed his hand with tenderness, wishing he could cast away the inner struggle Konrad was facing once more. 

“Konrad, we burned down all our ships when we married. There's no place for us within the Order and you know it.” Guntram repeated seriously. 

“I know but I have to stay for the people who were loyal to me or to my father before me. Albert and I are perfectly aware that we are the last of the Lintorffs in the Order. Even Armin thinks about going out.”

“Will that be so bad?” 

“Times have changed and not for good.” 

“You can't carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders.” 

“I'm beginning to realize it.” Konrad slowly rose to his feet and watched at the cold, abandoned coffee on the table. “I'll ask Monika to take care of the moving. Goran should be out in less than a month.” 

“What if he doesn't?” 

“He will or will know the nasty side of me as employer.” Konrad said seriously and for a second Guntram saw again the same dangerous predator he had seen more than a decade ago in Venice and that filled him with pride. 

“I'll see to Kurt now,” Konrad announced regally but the sight of the child's nanny, shyly standing at the door made him stop. “What is it?” he asked with barely contained patience. 

“If your Grace would be so kind as to...,” she cleared her throat nervously. “Come to the kitchen.” Birgitte seemed unsure as both men looked at her in total disbelief. 

“Or if the Vicomte could have a word with the young prince. Mr. Elsässer is entertaining his guest and there is nobody else who can speak with the young sir.” She clutched her hands nervously. “Monsieur de Chesnay is about to lose his temper.”  

“What is the problem now?” Konrad asked upset. 

“If you would be so kind as to follow me, your Grace.” She answered and turned around to walk away as fast as she could. 

“I'll go,” said Konrad. 

“No, I'll do it,” objected Guntram. “I'm the official ogre for Kurt.” 

“Therefore I'll go.” Konrad was faster to reach the door, already imaging his youngest had broken something in the kitchen and the chef was about to throw a tantrum. Guntram would only shout at Kurt and side with the Frenchman.

Guntram frowned at Konrad's new display of paternal protectiveness as it always ended with Kurt literally getting away with murder no matter with he had done and if he had upset the chef, the whole family was in great trouble. 

Nothing prepared Guntram for the scene unfolded in front of his eyes the minute he set a foot in the industrial kitchen. All of the aides and maids cowered along the kitchen sides and whispered among themselves. Next to one of the working aisles, crouching on the floor and holding dear a large white box while crying hysterically was his son. Jean Jacques stood in front of him, looking more upset than ever as his foot tapped the checkered floor rhythmically.

“Kurt, stop this nonsense and stand up. You are not a baby any more.” Guntram intoned seriously and the child cried louder than before, making Konrad glance disapprovingly at his husband. 

“If the Vicomte would be so kind as to ask the young man to return tomorrow's piéce de résistance, I'd be very grateful and happy to return to work.” Jean Jacques said and pointed his finger towards the white box. 

By the louder than before cries his son made, Guntram knew that there was no way he could reason with him. Sighing, he knelt down near the mass of tears and mucus that was his son and firmly took the box away from his hands, provoking an even louder explosion. 

Guntram had not even set the box on the aisle when his son began to hit him on the leg, crying and crying. Before he could tell his youngster off, Konrad quickly took the child in his arms and the boy began to sob and wail over his father’s shoulder. 

Returning the dirty glance earlier cast by Konrad with a matching one, Guntram rose the lid of the box and quickly covered it back. 

“What the hell is this?” he asked not quite recovered from the fright. 

“A blue lobster from Maine. Homarus Americanus. It arrived this morning.” Jean Jacques replied upset that nobody in the whole kitchen was able to identify it, not even his allegedly qualified aides.  

“It's alive!” Guntram protested as the memory of the well-tightly tied up menacing claws flashed through his minds eye. 

“All lobsters must be alive before you stuck a knife in the brain and sunk it into scalding water. I was going to put it in the tank with the others.”

Jean Jacques' plans for the lobster's future caused a second storm of tears and cries, this time rendering Konrad's tweet jacket into a dirty mess.

“Excellent, Greenpeace has a new member,” Jean Jacques mumbled in French as Guntram frowned at him disapprovingly. “Lobsters must be cooked that way. If not the scent of the sea trapped in the flesh is lost and there's not much difference with crab substitute.” 

“Honestly, I will not eat it.” Guntram said firmly. “It looks like something coming out from Fukushima.” 

At his father's words, Kurt magically stopped all cries and lifted his head from Konrad's shoulder. 

“Keep it?” the young one asked. 

“Of course not!” Guntram answered “Send it back.” 

“Do you know how hard was to get it?” Jean Jacques roared and Guntram's eyes shone with that particular glint that preceded the biggest storms (in Konrad's opinion). 

“Whose lobster is that?” Konrad asked nonchalantly, ready to enter into the negotiations phase. He was well aware that he wouldn't survive another round with his chef, and the few months after Stefania had fired the Frenchman had been truly hellish for his stomach. “Only one animal is nothing for this house needs.” 

“It's for tomorrow's dinner and it's meant for the centerpiece. It's a very valuable animal. Unique.” Jean Jacques was upset for the lack of culinary expertise of his employers. As far as he knew, the duke only cared that his dinner was served on time. “It's not to be sauté in butter,” he added sarcastically. 

“But I assume you will have to cook or leash it in some way. I really have no wish to chase it over the table if it starts to run.” Konrad said. 

“Only one every two million lobsters.” Jean Jacques was out of his mind because all his efforts were discarded -as usual- as if they were nothing. “It took me nearly two years to get one.” 

“If it is so rare, we can't cook it.” Konrad said firmly. “Lobsters are something that anyone can cook. Beneath you, Monsieur de Chesnay.” 

“Of course it is, but as this is such a rare animal, and tomorrow's dinner is so important, I thought I could make an exemption.” Jean Jacques was wound in his pride but he was still not ready to give up. 

“Konrad,” Guntram bit his lips as he knew that his husband was spoiling Kurt once more. “Kurt has to learn the value of property and not to play with food. This isn't his lobster. It's Mr. de Chesnay's.” he added, knowing that the chef considered the kitchen and the pantry to be his. 

“You were the first person to say you won't eat it. I'm sure Mr. de Chesnay can prepare something a hundred times more elaborate and delicate. This is only a children's play for him.” 

“As you say, I have no doubts about Jean Jacques' abilities, but this isn't the point here. The boy shouldn't disrupt this household's working entourage so blatantly. The lobster goes away.” 

“Nobody takes used food back. Health regulations.” 

“It isn't used. Maybe they want it at the Königshalle.” Guntram felt his blood boil. 

“I could never eat there again if I know they killed the animal. Maybe it's something on the endangered species list. Like rhinos for example.”

“We don't serve rhinos or pandas in this house.” Guntram counter-attacked, more than ready to escalade the confrontation. 

“Do you want it Kurt?” Konrad ignored Guntram's furious stare. 

“Yes!!” the boy shouted and his face brimmed with expectation. 

“Then you can have it.” Konrad agreed before Guntram would have said a word. “Tomorrow's dinner is Goran's idea,” he added coldly, glad that he had saved his aces for the last move. 

“Serve crab substitute,” Guntram growled and left the kitchen in a whirlwind, furious that he had been so easily defeated. 

“Fine by you, Mr. de Chesnay?” Konrad asked as he put the little boy back on the floor. “I'm sure you can do something better.” 

“Yes, you are right. Lobsters are so from the eighties,” Jean Jacques agreed sweetly as he watched the little boy doing his best to peer inside the box harboring his treasure. “I'll send it to the tank with the others.” 

“Do that.” Konrad couldn't let anyone else to have the last word. “Dieter, phone Monika and tell her to arrange for a salt water aquarium to be installed in the boys' nursery,” he ordered. 

“Kurt, this animal is not for playing. You must leave it alone in its aquarium. You can only look it or it will attack you with its claws,” he explained to the boy who nodded with his most serious face. 

Satisfied that the little crisis had been resolved so easily and everything was going so well, Konrad motioned to Birgitte who nearly ran to get the small one in her arms and took him out of the kitchen, mentally swearing that this was the last time she would take him if funny things were to be cooked. Mr. Elssaser should have never told the child about the blue monster and she shouldn't have been so naïve as to take the boy there. The cook was also peaceful and had taken it very well as he was giving the box with the lobster to Dieter without much of a fuss. 

At least, the Western front was quiet now. Konrad was sure he could return to his newspapers and enjoy the little peace he had certainly earned before lunchtime but before that, he would have to change his crumpled jacket. 

“Molecular Gastronomy is what we need tomorrow.” Jean Jacques commented as the duke passed next to him on his grand exit. The chef was well aware that Konrad hated anything that wasn't coming out from a Cordon Bleu or the Landfrauen traditional cookbooks. 

“I'm sure we can deconstruct some old thing,” he added evilly, knowing the man would not sleep tonight, thinking hard on the endless possibilities the phrase enthralled. 

* * * 

“Fuck, prince. You’ve got peacocks in your garden!” John couldn't help to yell the minute he saw six large birds idly walking along the esplanade of the English garden at the backside of the castle. 

“They're a wedding present. Two couples as one wasn’t enough. Then Konrad read somewhere that males need two wives each and bought two peacocks more. We farm them now.” Guntram explained for the hundredth time as he gloomily contemplated the birds brushing the pebbles with their long tails. “The gardener must have set them free.”  

“You can't say you ain't royalty if you’ve got peacocks in your garden,” John chuckled completely amused at the hard time his friend seemed to have with the birds.  

“I'm waiting for them to lay eggs or do something more besides squeaking or losing feathers everywhere.” 

“Start your own feather company.” 

“I'm waiting for someone else to get married and ship them away.” 

“Yeah, what happened to the times when people gave bibelots?” John asked dramatically and Guntram chuckled. 

“You can always serve them for Christmas,” John added, happy that the prince was leaving his brooding nature behind. Since he had arrived, he couldn't help to notice how taciturn the young man was. When they had met for the first time, Guntram had been nervous to the point of paranoia but attentive and more than ready to fight back with a retort that would freeze anyone's blood. Now, Guntram was polite to him and the twenty minutes they had been sitting together in the living-room had been the dullest in his entire life.  

The boy had even spoken about the weather! 

“The cutie you have for me, is he nice?” John asked. 

“Nice looking? Yes, I guess so.” Guntram frowned a bit. 

“That bad?” 

“Well, he's a Habsburg,” Guntram said embarrassed.  

“Like the Austrian Emperor? Like those puny kings in Spain?” 

“Big nose and big chin. It's a Habsburg trait.” Guntram confessed. “Very beautiful blue eyes,” he added immediately before John would complain. 'Or was it Friederich’s?' 

“Fuck, prince. You of all people, know what I like best.” 

“There aren't many single gay royals to choose from,” Guntram said defensively. 

“Now you tell me what's inside matters and size matters not?” 

“I wouldn't dare to preach such self-evident truths to you,” Guntram gulped nervously. 

“Oh God, it's worse than I thought if you start to speak like Jane Austen.” 

“I don't speak like Jane Austen!” Guntram protested and John snorted. “Besides, I didn't have a good chance to see him well. I was busy with my youngest son when he arrived and Konrad took him to the chapel. I only said “hello” and that was it.” 

“To the chapel? Ain't we taking things a bit too fast?” 

“To show him the fresco he has to fix.” Guntram replied dryly. “We have a damp wall and he's a restorer.”   

“Well, two out of three. Nobleman and partly artist. Your husband did a poor job, if you want to know my opinion.” 

“What?” 

“Nobleman, artist and good-looking. That's you. Konrad got me a replacement so I can move my ass back to the States.” 

“Konrad would never do such a thing!” Guntram protested. “I did,” he admitted a few seconds later, truly ashamed. “You asked me to.” 

“I?” 

“That letter you sent me.” 

“That was a joke!” John snorted. “It didn't mean anything!” 

“It didn't look like that.” 

“Look prince. It was a bad joke and maybe I was feeling a bit down. You know, over forty-five, nothing fix, jobless and maybe I started to give some thought to what it could have been between us.” 

“John... I never…” 

“I know. Old John isn't stupid or slow witted. What we had was brief but incredible but I know it won't happen again.” 

“John, I...”

“Say nothing,” John cut Guntram's apologies. “Show me the cutie, feed me well, keep that husband of yours away from me or better away from my cash and we'll be fine.” 

“Kurt will be happy to see you in the afternoon,” Guntram changed the topic as he felt overwhelmed by the casual way John had brushed his own feelings away. 

“I'd love to see him. He must be very big now.” 

“As big as they get,” Guntram replied with a smile. “He's quite a handful.”

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because, this morning, twenty minutes before the heir of the throne of Austria was here, Kurt threw the biggest tantrum of the year over a lobster.” 

“More royals around me,” John chuckled amused. “Lobster issues.” 

“No, no, he didn't want to eat it. He wants to keep it as pet.” 

“A lobster? Prince, spare a dime and buy him a real pet. Dogs are nice.” 

“It's a monstrous four kilos thing that the chef ordered from Nova Scotia. It has a brilliant blue shade. Kurt saw it and wanted it, nearly snatching it from its tank. The maids had to call us to remove the child from the kitchen and yet, he didn't give up.” 

“So no lobster today?” John's mocked despair made Guntram smile. 

“It wasn't for today but for another day. The chef is furious because the thing was meant for a banquet or something. It's very a rare and old thing and Konrad decided that Kurt can keep it.” 

“A royal blue blooded lobster. Prince, I'll make fun of you till your last breath.” 

“I have to find someone who makes sea salt aquariums in a very large size and live with that thing for the next ten years.” 

“Or sixty years. Those things live up to be a hundred years old. Coming to thing, you'll redeem your investment sooner than with a dog. Think on it as a future heritage for your grandchildren,” he chuckled.

“Do they live for so long?” Guntram asked shocked. 

“Oysters live up to four hundred years, but in lobsters it's something like the heavier the older. Four kilos must be around forty years old.” 

“Why couldn't my son ask for a Transformer or a Pokemon?” 

“Because he's your son.”

* * * 

Guntram de Lisle's diary 

Things couldn't go worse with the Althorpe-Habsburg Affair. It's not my fault at all. I did nothing wrong. I just sat there and ate my food, doing my best to keep Konrad under control. 

No matter what John's thinks, Christoph isn't a bad looking guy. Of course, he won't be modeling for Calvin Klein or Julius will ever hire him. He's regular looking with brown hair and blue eyes that look very much like Friederich's. Tall and in a way, he reminds me of Konrad.

We had a relatively peaceful lunch and I did my best to engage John into a conversation with Christoph but it was a lost battle and that was Konrad's fault. Konrad was so concerned about his fresco that he bombarded the poor man with questions and he was happy to bore us to death with some pigments’ formulas. On top, Friederich was interested in that too and I had to fake some interest too. 

John didn't bother at all. 

Then, Christoph wanted to know about my artistic career and I nearly got the dessert stuck in my throat. That was not the point for inviting you! Konrad began to speak about my paintings in the Vatican Museums and the Städel and I wanted to dig a hole in the ground. 

Who cares about who are my influences? I don't even know that! I just paint but it looks “bad” to say that to people, so you have to make up a story.

It seems I'm a good story teller because Christoph bought it and quite happily began to talk about the Italian Renaissance and it was interesting what he had to say and I began to talk with him and time flew. John had no idea of painting and was very quiet all the time. Konrad was quiet too and fortunately Friederich was talking too, so it didn't look as if we were monopolizing the conversation.

Finally, I invited him to see my atelier tomorrow, hoping that John would tag along and improve his chances. 

It was about five o'clock when Christoph said good-bye and we watched him leave. 

“Prince, if anyone got a boyfriend here, it was you.” John told me when Konrad was way out of range. I have to thank him for that. 

“What the hell?” I seethed and he chuckled. 

“Oops someone isn't talking properly.” John was very amused by my more than reasonable outburst at his accusation. 

“I'm just married and you tell me I'm having an affair with someone I just met? When? During dessert?” 

“Cool down! I ain't saying that.” He nearly choked in his laughter. “Wow, temper, temper.” 

“It isn't funny!” 

“Sorry,” he told me. “I didn't mean to offend you, but the little bird was more interested in you than in me, the official “prince charming” for the day.” 

“He's into Arts and I'm an artist. That was only professional interest.” 

“Right,” he chuckled. “Anyway, your husband will kill him if he makes a move.”

“He will only see my work and you're invited by the way.” 

“Me? Your chaperone? No, no way.” 

“Please?” I made big eyes. “You could give him another chance.” 

“Why? I don't like him. Not my type.” 

That was a clear cut. I gulped thinking hard how to get out of the mess. After all, the “non stressful environment” wasn't working for them at all and the Habsburg had not even dedicated a glance to John. He was more interested in discussing with Konrad and Friederich the holes made in the Vassari at Palazzo Vecchio, looking for a hidden Leonardo than in John. We got even an explanation (for free) of the origins of the word “gesso” and the superiority of the Parisian materials for that.

“I really appreciate your efforts, prince, but this isn't working.” John repeated just in case I didn't get it. 

“I'm sure you'll get someone soon.” I said with a conviction I didn't feel. 

“Maybe,” he answered dreamingly. “Let's see those birds again. I want to pluck their tails.” 

That made me laugh. “Don't try it. They're nasty and are highly proficient in the field of protecting their tails from three children.” Those birds are the equivalent of the Blackwater guys for the animal kingdom. 

We went to the garden and just when we were watching one of the males considering to open its tail for one of his ladies, we heard Klaus and Karl bitterly   (and loudly) arguing as they came to us. 

It seems Klaus' girlfriend decided to transfer her affections to Karl as he had a “Nutella sandwich” and was giving it away, unlike Klaus. I don't know what concerns me more; the fact that they call Jean Jacques' chocolate-pistachio-hazelnuts crème “Nutella” or that they fight over a young lady's affections. 

I did my best to solve the problem as John stood there very quietly. Finally, both boys made their peace and went to have tea with Kurt. 

“I'm sorry for the mess,” I said to John but he looked at me -gaped- transfixed. 

“Who's the prince?” the asked with a voice as if he were in a cloud. 

“Klaus and Karl. Normally they're nicer and quieter, but not today.”

“NO, not the babies. The dark haired prince.” 

???? There were only the boys and Ratko -looking like the picture of suffering itself- and John already knows him. 

“Who?” I said. 

“There,” he pointed at the far away entrance to the courtyard and it was my turn to gape. 

“Fefo?” I said out loud to convince my brain of what I was seeing. 

“Is that his name? Do you think you can introduce us? What does he do? Does he like sushi?” That was an avalanche of questions I didn't know if I was ready to answer. 

“Do you mean the man in the dark blue suit?” I needed confirmation. The words “Prince” and “Fefo” don't go together in the same sentence or aristocracy has gone way down the lane. 

“Yes, the one with those fantastic brown eyes.” 

“That's one of the boys’ bodyguards,” I started slowly and John looked at me anxiously. “I mean, his name is Fedérico Martiarena Alvear and he's from Argentina. We were schoolmates.”

“Introduce me to him.” John didn't wait from my answer and walked fast back to the courtyard. 

Fefo? Of all people? Well, maybe John needs to hit his head against a wall to come back to his senses. Fefo a prince? Fortunately, John wasn't sharing the same refectory with him as I did. Fefo had a way of propelling the purée that it could reach the ceiling or a victim at the end of a very long table. I know it's been fifteen years since we finished school, but come on! 

I followed John and Fefo was getting the boys' backpacks out of the trunk of the car. 

“Hi Guti,” he greeted me casually. 

Forget it, he will never learn I'm supposed to be his superior and be treated accordingly. I only hope he doesn't do it in front of Konrad. 

“Your boys are in love of a cheap she-fox,” he told me. “Should I tell them something?” 

“No, thank you.” I quickly said before Klaus and Karl would get a piece of his wisdom on the feminine world. “I'll speak with them later.” 

“You shouldn't pack Nutella sandwiches,” he informed me with a smile and I could see John melting under it. I had to get his act together before he would screw it up. 

“Fedérico, this is my good friend John Althorpe,” I said and Fefo automatically extended his hand to him. 

“How do you do?” Fefo greeted him warmly. “Guntram only speaks good things about you.”  

So it seems Fefo knows how to be polite, considering the way he behaved the first time he met Konrad. 

“Hello,” said our love-struck friend. 

“I was telling John we went together to school.” 

“Indeed,” Fedérico said like an English gentleman. “Those were good times. Guntram was the serious one and I, the black sheep.”  And he left it at that. Incredible! “Guntram was top of his class and it was a miracle he got me to pass Chemistry and Maths.” 

Is this man the same Fefo I know? 

“Do you like sushi?” John asked out of the blue and if he shocked Fefo with his weirdness, he didn't show it at all. Konrad also made a stupid remark when he met me and even said his own name wrong. It must be true love, then. 

“I'm afraid I'm more of a barbecue-man but I know a good place where you can go if you like it.” 

“I also like meat,” John said miserably as he had probably realized how dumb he sounded. “Raw fish ain't my thing. That's for snobs.” 

“In that case, there is an Uruguayan place near Guntram's flat. You can go with him. I'll give you the address.” 

It's clear; no Mirko, no religious diets any longer. I guess Fefo has even stopped having lunch with the others. He's mostly with me all the time and eats at my place. To be honest, he cooks a hundred times better than me. 

John still gaped at him, blinking now and then and I felt bad for him, standing there and looking like a perfect dodo. 

“Guntram, I'm afraid I have to go now. I have an appointment to see a flat. I'll see you tomorrow.” 

“Good,” I said and extended my hand to him. Maybe he vacates the premises soon. This “divorce” is grating my nerves. 

“It's been a pleasure meeting you, John,” Fefo shook his hand again and before John could utter something, he was back in the car and away. 

“He's a prince,” he said to me and I smiled, uncomfortable with the thought. 

“He comes from a noble family in Argentina. Founders of many things back there and at some point, rich like the Vanderbilts.” I worded carefully. 

“He's pleased to meet me.”

Should I tell John that's a conventional phrase? No, it'll be hopeless. 

“Will you see him tomorrow at your flat?” 

'Like always,' I thought. “Yes, he takes care of my security,” I said instead. 

“Then, I'll visit your atelier. Get rid of the Austrian Emperor. That's what I call a true prince.” 

And just like that, John Althorpe “fell in love” with Fefo. 

Konrad is “disappointed” that after “all the work he took with John” he has fallen for the “Gaucho brat that's still lingering around” (on his budget too). On top, there's no way I can “get rid of Christoph”. 1. He's Friederich's relative. 2. He's a Habsburg and deserves our respect. 3. It's John's fault he can't discern what's good for him. 4. Christoph is more the kind of people I should hang out with (??) I told him what John thinks about Christoph and me. 5. I'm nuts if I think that a noble member of the house of the Habsburgs would stain the marriage of the man who shared the salt and bread in his house with him, no less. 6. He would take a thousand times better if I go out with Christoph than with that Russian naked girl.

So tomorrow I have to chaperone two love-birds and Fefo. 

When will I have the time to finish that bloody portrait?

* * * 

May 20^th, 2014

This morning I had not even hung up my jacket when John rang my bell. Didn't we say at 11:30? 

He was bringing me coffee and doughnuts and I don't know from where he got them. 

“Is the prince here?” he asked me. 

“No, gone shopping,” I replied. 

Fefo can do his own grocery shopping and he should leave things a bit more tidy because Nicoletta starts to look at me sideways and it has nothing to do with my disagreements with Goran. The kitchen is always a mess and why on earth does he need to leave a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink? Can't he put them inside the dishwasher? That machine hasn't bitten me once in all the years we've been together. 

“How can you send him to do the shopping?” John accused me of that horrible crime. 

“Because I don't know what he eats... and I'm not ready to find it out.” I replied dryly. “He's living here (‘and not foreseeable plans that he moves out any time soon’) for the moment. Sort of going through a divorce.” 

“That's good news,” John told me earnestly. Well, good news depending on whom you ask that. “Wifey not coming back?” 

“It's another man and no, I doubt he's having second thoughts. I know him and he's quite determined and consequent with his ideas.” That to put it mildly. 

“Excellent.” John was very happy about it. 

“Look John, Fedérico isn't going through a good phase. Let it be.” 

“No way. I'm giving it a try.” 

OK, hit your head against the wall. None of my business. Fefo doesn't stop whining about his lost love... and I'm sick of it. 

He needs to get laid and soon. Both of them need to do it soon. 

I began to show my material to John and he wasn't very impressed. I don't blame him. I recently experienced a Lousy Period but thanks to Gulya's portrait I'm getting over it. Half an hour later, the “prince” returned and he was gracious enough as to invite us both to have lunch with him in a place he knows. How does Fedérico do it? I mean, I need a guide to know which restaurant is worth the trouble of going and sitting there and he doesn't even speak German and gets the best places to eat! He even fished a girlfriend for Goran!

When I was about to fetch my jacket, I remembered the other pest; the heir to the Austrian crown announced for 12:30. “I can't go out with you, guys,” I said. “I've got another appointment here. Don't worry Fefo, he's fine.” I said to Fedérico who was already looking at me alarmed that someone was coming to visit me.

“Are you sure you don't want me around?” Fefo asked me. 

“No, it's all right. Enjoy your lunch.” Why did John wink at me? I don't know, but knowing him, it won't be long till he tries his luck with the new prince and if Fefo isn't a prick, he might enjoy it as well. John is a good match for anyone who isn't me. 

Only rule; not in my flat. Get your own hotel room. Both can afford it.  

“I'll be painting here till four, then I'll pick the boys from school. Ratko can drive me home.” Just like that, Fefo got a free day. John has a lot to thank me for. Both men went away talking very merrily as Fefo wanted to know how San Francisco was (I think someone is about to get a free-ride in a tramway)

Like the good Friederich’s relative that he is, Christoph arrived at 12:30 p.m sharp. Not a second earlier, not a second later. We said “hello” and he was relieved to see that my “American friend” was nowhere to be seen (or heard). 

“He was here earlier but ran away after he saw my paintings. Clever man,” I said. 

“Art, sometimes, can be difficult to grasp,” he answered and there I knew, he was Friederich's true heir and that there wasn't any chance of he “hooking up” with John. 

I showed him my work and he praised my technique but said nothing about the themes (I was grateful for that; too corny). “I'm in the middle of a creative impasse,” I said because he's right; the past months were a disaster. “But it's getting better.” I defended myself and removed the cloth that was covering Gulya's unfinished portrait; she against the mirror, naked her face as a reflection. 

He looked at it for a very long time. 

“It isn't finished,” I said nervously. 

“I can see that, but that's not what I'm uncomfortable with,” he answered and yes, the guy is a restorer but he's quite used to work on top of real masterpieces. 

“The nudity?” 

“Spent two years of my life with a Rubens,” he smiled and shook his head. “No, it's the selfie quality what drives me... nervous,” he told me. 

The guy is right. She does looks like a bum-tramp caught doing a selfie, but she liked it. I mean, the other, the “classical” one, she dismissed it without a second thought. 

“Well, the new modernity,” I shrugged. Damn if I change it again. This thing is becoming as difficult as Stefania's portrait was. Gulya can keep both paintings and hang whichever she likes best. Christoph frowned at me and went to the table where I had the original “Classical” portrait with Merlin, the pest. 

“This is one is more of your style,” he said after a brief inspection. 

“She doesn't like it.” End of story for me.

“In Arts, it's not what the customer wants but what reflects the artist's views.” 

“Many princesses got their husbands thanks their painters' imaginations, starting by Anne of Cleves. She likes this one.” I defended my creation. 

“Do you like it?”

“Under the circumstances, I would say yes.” I trailed. 

“Which one do you like best?” he asked me. 

“The first one,” I replied without a doubt. It's more my style and it isn't a problem with nudity because I have several nudes stored somewhere... It is because... I was drinking blind with the model? Well, and not that much “drinking blind”. Two glasses of Roederer and one of Rémy Martin because she wanted to try it. I footed the bill. No way I'd let a lady pay. And I saw Kim and Kanye live, but this can't be told to Konrad (I'm sure Alexei already did). Fefo got her autograph on his white tie. 

“Then you should work on that one. I can see that this painting is well executed but I can't still see your personality in it. To be honest, the nude looks like a spicy photo for the Facebook or the cover of a videogame.” 

“The falcon was photobombing it,” I commented sourly. That bird is a pest. I still don't get how a nice young lady like Gulya can stand it. She should have bought a cat or a dog. 

“No, the falcon is the best. Did you copy it from live?” 

“Indeed, it will cost me a new floor and curtains.”

“Artists should work with what they feel more comfortable with.” 

“You're right, but...” 

“It's up to you, but it's the artist who decides how he will portrait nature or the world. The one with the falcon suggests me a story behind it, the other can be forgotten once the scandal is over.” 

“I think the lady wants to hang it at the entrance of her Chelsea flat.” I said mischievously. “The scandal will not be forgotten any time soon.” And knowing Gulya like I do now, I think she'll make a full reportage for the Hello Magazine or something like that. Heck! I'm sure she'll be on the next season of “Filthy Rich Russians of Kensington”. For her, it's just a game. 

Christoph only rose and eyebrow and said nothing. Ok, he made that particular face Friederich was doing each time he saw Stefania. 

“I always admired your artistic integrity. It can be seen in your children's books.” 

Do the Habsburgs have a boot-camp for diplomacy? 

“You're right. I will stay with canon and with what I like best. All the work and nerves spent over that bird can't be lost.” I replied and suddenly I wanted to go back to work with children's stories. They're hard critics, but they don't come up with new troubles. 

I'm a prude and I'll die a prude. If she wanted something shocking, she should have called Damian Hirst or Jeff Koons. The original plan was to do a nice portrait, something she can hang in a public place and have tea with Tita or Elizabetta sitting under it. 

But if she continues to party like that, Tita and Elizabetta won't come to her petites soirées. I never thought a lady could throw a bottle of champagne so high and Fefo says that it takes a lot of practice and technique to achieve the right momentum angle. Not even Kanye could match it. 

“Do you want to have lunch with me? It's the least I can do after destroying your work.” Christoph told me and I agreed. 

He's a nice fellow and quite interesting too. He was telling me about his time in Holland working on the Rubens along with a large team. Then, we returned to my flat and he kept me company while I showed him how I normally work. He didn't want to stay for tea and told me that in a week or two he would start with St. Anne's fresco. 

Around three, Fefo returned and he looked happy and relaxed. John was nowhere to be seen and I preferred it that way. The whole thing could have been very violent for all of us. After all, I was in the same place I imagine Fefo just was. I asked nothing too, only told Fefo not to smoke my flat again with that grilling of his. I went home for the dinner with Goran and his new pals. Oh joy! 

* * * 

Guntram loathed the “penguin dress” but as one of the hosts, he was forced to wear it. A perfect evening, in his view, included a nice family dinner with his children and Konrad, getting the boys in bed without too much of a fuss and spending some hours talking with Konrad in the library before heading to bed. 

Tonight wasn't one of those nights. First, he had had a bit of a row with his youngest child as an eight o'clock bedtime didn't suit his chosen lifestyle and sense of justice as his two older brothers were allowed to stay up up to nine o'clock. Half an hour later than he expected Guntram, had to struggle to recover the lost time and be dressed on time.  

The dirty look he received from Goran for being ten minutes late to the party soured his dark mood. Guntram chose to ignore it and dedicated his attention to the lady that accompanied him, secretly wondering where Maria could be. Konrad on the other hand, was busy with some Komturen and he had no wish to meet with them longer than necessary. 

Engulfed in a long conversation about the Met season with the lady who sat next to him, Guntram forgot about the rest of the world. When the last of the seventeen guests left the house, he felt drained and not in the mood for a further conversation with Konrad or Goran as they both looked like they felt like. 

“Is there any reason why you're avoiding me?” Goran fired the question in the deserted grandiose living-room and Konrad nodded. 

“The same why you send your cleaning lady as your errand-boy?” Guntram fired back as he dropped himself over one of the sofas. 

“Guntram!” Konrad admonished him but went to sit near him. “This is your friend Goran.” 

“Is he a friend of yours too? Or of our family?” Guntram seethed at his husband. Of all times, this was not the most better timed as he was getting tired of Konrad's new allergy to conflict. He just ducked his head when the missiles were flying over him and hoped for the best possible outcome.  

“We must solve this problem among us soon because the air needs to be cleared up.” Konrad stated seriously much to Guntram's utter disbelief. “This cold war between you two is leading us nowhere.” 

Guntram only glared at Konrad. He felt that his husband, no matter what Goran would do, he had sided with him once more, Guntram felt like the movie's villain. He felt betrayed by the fact that his husband's recovered bravado was directed at him and not at Goran who was the source of all trouble.  

“We must expose and our grievances and try to reach a compromise. I understand that my presence in the Order might hinder Goran's position. It's quite an unusual situation that two Hochmeisters are still in place.” Konrad said, hoping to calm down Guntram if he explained to him how hard things were for both of them.  

“Only one,” Goran corrected him darkly. “The other is retired. Isn't he?” 

“Of course I am.” Konrad replied immediately. 

“Well, you treat him worse than a dog,” Guntram spat the words. “As if you'd love to get rid of him.” 

“Since I was appointed, people only look for my replacement, Guntram,” Goran said. “You were among the first persons to do it. Goran must marry. Remember?” 

“I did nothing against you. That's your guilty conscience speaking.” 

“Guntram!” Konrad admonished Guntram. 

“Let him be,” Goran shut up Konrad. “Let's hear what he has to say.” 

“I have nothing to say. In fact, I would love that you take your shit out of my life. I don't want the Komturen camping in my house, Russian heiresses, backstabbing former boyfriends and that... How did you call it? Ah, yes, “taking out the trash for you,” Goran.” 

“It was your idea to move me out of the bank. A secretary told me.” Goran accused Guntram, incensed at the youth's tirade. 

“Of course, it was,” replied Guntram and shut up Konrad with a single glare. “Ever heard the expression you shit away from your nest? Well, it seems you love to do it inside it.”

Goran rose to his feet and glared at Guntram trying to frighten him. “Forget it, Goran. Repin was a thousand times more impressive than you. You are a lamb compared to his pal Dima Klatschko. You haven't still mastered the art of cutting fingers off with rusted secateurs. You still need a scalpel.”  

“I will not forget this insult, Guntram.” 

“I will not bend for you, my friend,” Guntram replied coldly. “Save it, Goran. I suffer from PTSD and shot two men in cold blood, do you think any court in this world would judge me?” 

“Hardly a tenth of what I had to go through because of you,” barked Goran. 

“Try me.” 

“Can we please stop all this nonsense?” Konrad's voice boomed through the room and Guntram looked at him astonished. Since he had returned from Russia, Konrad had seem to be spineless, never shouting or saying something against anything when before even a dish out of place was like waving a red flag in front of a fighting bull.  

“Guntram say clearly why you're so upset with our Hochmeister.” Konrad stated and Guntram knew once more that the man he had sometimes feared in the past, was still there, now, only hidden behind a wall of depression and utter fatigue. 

“Kicking you as if you were a dog isn't a good enough reason?” Guntram said belligerently but with less bravado than the earlier tone used with Goran. 

“My disagreements with Goran are mine alone.” Konrad said seriously with that tone that punctuated each one of his words. “I have no complaints about his behavior.” 

“They aren't yours alone the moment our family is threatened by his actions. You never mixed things.” 

“Goran and I have spoken about it and we agreed to part ways.” Konrad said slowly. “He will move to another building and that will be all.” 

“Another building which you pay for.” 

“Guntram, mentioning money is tacky, frankly.” Konrad huffed. 

“How can you put up with all this?” Guntram asked his husband. “He treats you like a stray dog when you were his superior. I hardly recognize you.” 

“Because he's our Hochmeister and I have pledged my allegiance to him. You did the same too.” 

“No, I don't remember doing that.” 

“He's the godfather of your child!” Konrad finally exploded. “Respect that at least.” 

“Fine!” brooded Guntram, truly upset to be scolded like a little child. 

“Goran, why are you so upset with Guntram?” Konrad asked once he recovered his inner calm. 

“It's his attitude. He's always so defensive and attacking anyone for the slightest thing. Sometimes, I think he blames me for something he does not even know what it is.” 

“I blame you for nothing! I'm only furious because you treat Konrad like a dog!” 

“I need to create a strong foundation for my power. The Duke's presence hinders it. I thought you knew that,” Goran said. “These people are really impossible. Whatever I say needs to be challenged. I do my best to fit in, play the dance they do, but I only find scorn and betrayal. If it weren't by the Duke, I would resign tomorrow.”  

“It seems you already chose a successor. When is the wedding?” Guntram fired with resentment. 

“What?” Konrad asked disoriented by the turn of the conversation.

“Mirko Bregovic's wedding,” Guntram explained him sweetly. “Didn't you know? Goran wasn't sure about who should be his successor; he or Fedérico Martiarena. I guess we have a winner now. How did you do it Goran? How did you split them?” 

“Do you think I would get in the middle of two pups' romps?” Goran looked disgusted at the thought. “They split because who knows what. I have bigger problems than two schoolboys fighting in the school yard. This is ridiculous.”  

“Didn't you?” 

“I only separated them to avoid a bigger clash. Do you give M16's to two former lovers? There are other people in their teams besides them. Really, Guntram, I thought you knew me better.”

“Maybe I misjudged you, Goran,” Guntram said slowly, feeling a bit embarrassed that he had judged his friend in such a rush.  

“Yes, indeed.” Goran growled but his fire tempered down. “I didn't think of the consequences to your family with my actions. I was only looking for the best way to assert my power, but it seems I've failed again. I offer you my apologies.” 

“I should have spoken with you first. In private but I let my emotions run over me. I also must apology to you, my friend.” 

“You are the person who knows me better than anyone else.” Goran said. “I really thought you knew.” 

“I thought you were driven mad by power. It really hurt me when you sent Nicoletta for the baby as if I were a leper.” 

“You were so upset with me that I preferred to avoid a further confrontation, little brother. I didn't mean to offend you or the Duke.” 

“It was just a matter of speaking things out.” Konrad said proudly, glad that he had defused a bomb. The last thing he wanted was more trouble in his life. Konrad only wanted to enjoy his family and nothing else. For all what he cared, he was through with the Order.  

“We are not finished, my Duke.” Goran said. “I still resent that you sent your Hochmeister away, like a dog.” 

“I offer you my apologies but everything was a case of disastrous bad timing. This girl was new and spoke out of time. Monika has fixed the issue,” Konrad said with that peculiar tone he used with his employees when he was brushing them aside. Couldn't Goran understand that he was really out and strongly refused to partake in any games against his newly established rule? Goran should grow a thicker skin against criticism, just like he did when he was twenty and the whole Order wanted him dead. 

“I accept them, but the problem still remains; the members prefer you over me. Do you want to return to your former position? I also dislike all this and I'd rather do something else.” 

“Perhaps, it would be for the best if I take a step down,” said Konrad. “My presence shouldn't diminish your chances of a fruitful term, Goran. When I started, I faced many, many challenges to my leadership but I endured them and kept the job for over thirty years.” Konrad let his gaze wander across the room to finally fix it on the closed door as his mind raced with thousands of past, present and future scenarios. The minutes ticked in as the other two men remained expectantly quiet while Konrad pondered his options. 

“Guntram, Goran is in charge now. All his orders are law now. He should lean more on Ferdinand or Adolf. They can speak with the members as I keep my distance.” Konrad spoke firmly. 

“Yes, that would be for the best,” Guntram agreed softly, impressed by the change of the tide. Konrad was still his bossy Konrad and in a way, it calmed down his troubled spirit. 

“You two had been close friends since the first day you met,” Konrad spoke again. “Like Ferdinand and I. Ferdinand used to disagree with me on a daily basis, Goran can tell you that, but we never attacked each other on personal grounds. I understand Goran's reasons to behave in the way he did over the past months, and I hold no grudge against him nor should you because, frankly, it's none of your business, dear. Trivial things like business shouldn't get in the middle of your friendship with Goran. It would be a shame.”

“Goran has saved my life many more times than I can count,” Guntram said softly and looked at his friend in the eyes. “I owe you that.” 

“You may not remember it, but you were the first person to look at me as a human being in many years,” Goran replied softly. 

“Goran, I always looked at you as my friend. Nothing can change that. You and Alexei stood by me always, no matter what happened. I couldn't have found a better man than you to be my son's godfather.” 

“Do you agree that we lay down our weapons?” 

“Only if we agree to count up to ten before we start shouting with each other,” Guntram answered with a tired smile as he extended his hand to his long-time friend. 

* * *

The best moment of the day for Konrad was that hour before he would finally go to sleep. Removing his suit, vest, tie and the rest of his clothes gave him an exuberant sense of freedom; the pyjamas just felt heavenly. Getting inside his bed and feel all the bones of his back being stretched, taking away the chronic aches, was a feeling very close to bliss. The feeling of each one of his vertebrae popping out one after the other when he plunged his body over the pillows relaxed him and restored his needed sense that everything was going to be all right again, and the clouds would be away once more. 

“I'm dead,” Guntram sighed as he removed the covers and slid under them, making Konrad move just a little to leave him some space.

“Who'd thought a peace treaty could take so much energy?” Konrad chuckled and kissed the frowning Guntram on his forehead. “Lighten up! It wasn't that bad.” 

“If you say peace treaty, then it means you think we will argue again.” 

“Like most people do,” Konrad shrugged. “It's unavoidable.” 

“I think this has been one of our worst ideas ever. Goran isn't fit for the job and he hates it.” 

“No, our worst idea ever was to argue so much in the past. This is just a nuisance. He'll get over it. He's been in greater battles.”  

“No, it won't be a nuisance the moment we run into trouble because of his Komturen happy hours at the bank. Secrecy laws are out and you could face an investigation about your customers.” 

“I'm not supposed to follow that “know thy customer” rule. That's for Americans and secrecy is only lifted for a few restricted cases and none of the people I do business with have a penchant for terrorism.” 

“My father isn't happy about the situation, Konrad.” 

“When is he happy about anything? Just keep him away from me.” 

'Silence is best,' thought Guntram and opened the book to pretend a huge interest on it. 

“What's your father up to now?” growled Konrad as he was well aware of what those silences meant. 

'Now or never. At least, he's happy with Goran.' Guntram cleared his throat before he spoke slowly, as if he were confessing a big crime. 

“There is a certain item that belongs to my family and that is in your hands now, or that's what my father thinks because he lost track of it in 1992.” Guntram watched how Konrad's face became very serious. 

“What kind of object if I may ask?” 

“A cup. You know what it is. It's very valuable for us. Do you have it?” 

“What kind of cup?” 

“Made out of two Roman glasses 

 glued together, embellished with many stones and gold and I really don't know what else because I've never seen it.” 

“What's your interest on it?” Konrad eyes were fixed upon Guntram's. 

“My father wants it back and I think you should give it back, so he's happy and leaves us alone.” 

“Do you know what it is?” 

“He tells a funny story about it, which I don't believe, but if it belongs to my family, I would like to have it back.” 

“No. Why? It is in your family still. We are married, remember?” 

Guntram was well aware where that belligerent tone would lead them both. “Of course we are a family, but I would like to see it. I'm just curious.” 

“It's just an antiquity and it's well protected in a specially designed vault; like any other artwork we custody.” 

“May I see it?” 

“No.” 

Guntram's blood began to boil as he slammed the book against the mahogany night table. “Why not? It's not that I'm Sir Galahad or Sir Lancelot and going to start running around with it.” 

“I said no. That thing is well protected where it is. It only causes trouble.” 

“I don't believe a single word of what my father told me. In fact, I think it's only an elaborate ruse to play who knows what.”

“Then why do you bring all this up?” 

“Because, as I said, I want to see it. Call it professional curiosity.” 

“It's nothing that you can't see at the Roman Glass Museum in Cologne,” Konrad replied haughtily. “As for the legend surrounding the cup, it's nonsense. There are many inconsistencies around it.” 

“Like?” 

“The glass is from the third or fourth century. End of story for me.” 

“Oh, did you radiocarbon it?” Guntram asked ironically. 

“Glass can't be subjected to that kind of tests. An independent group of historians and archaeologists dated it. With all the modifications done in the twelfth century any historical value it might had had, was completely lost.” 

“Then I'm failing to see why you're so upset about it. If this is nothing but a family antiquity, let me see it and be done with it.” 

“I will not let you see it because that's what that man wants. He's driving a wedge between us.” 

“That thing has nothing to do with us.” Guntram rejected Konrad's line of thinking. “I only want to see it and then tell my father to... fuck off.” 

“To fuck off? He? Never in his life. After you see it, he will want it back and we will argue over something that is not so important really.” 

“He doesn't want it back, Konrad. He told me so. He says it's my problem now.” 

“The tooth fairy leaves money under the twins' pillows each time they loose a tooth.” Konrad answered back. “Don't you know him already?” he barked.

“Konrad, if I didn't you know better, I'd think you're hiding something, my love,” Guntram stroke back. 

“Now you start with your endless suspicions. It's impossible!” Konrad protested incensed. 

“What Am I supposed to think? It's you who's refusing to do something so simple as to tell me where is the bloody cup.” 

“Mind your language, Guntram. You can't say such things.”

“Great, something which means nothing accuses me of sacrilege.” Guntram rolled his eyes. 

“I have not the power to let you see it. It belongs to the Order now. Your father gave it freely.” 

“Really? Should I ask Goran for his permission?” 

“All right! See it if that's what you want. I'll take you there but the cup will not leave the vault and will remain in there. Your father can't come along.”

“Thank you, Konrad,” Guntram answered sweetly but his husband turned around in the bed to turn off his light and pretend to sleep.