Into the Lion's Den (18 page)

Massaiev sat in front of the latest transcriptions and translations from the boy's emails and chats for the past week in London. The e-mails were mostly with school friends lamenting over the mess his country had turned into, but nothing of a personal kind or any comments on his relationship with Repin. 'Weird, they normally brag in front of the others about their catches.'

The copies of his diary showed that he was truly happy living with his employer and in love with him.

Repin would be pleased to read it.

The only disturbing issue was the many e-mails between Guntram and his school-mate, Federico Martiarena Alvear as the later seemed to be very interested in the boy's dealings with the boss. The many sexual offers he was making and refused or laughed at, were already bordering on sexual harassment. The fact that he had asked Guntram to meet him in Paris or in Italy could pose some problems for him as Repin was very possessive of the child and the least he needed was to have a punk causing havoc, after the boy was behaving so well and doing exactly what was expected from him. A true gem.

'I'll speak with the boss before we fly to the continent. I want clear instructions if this turns out to be something more. The boy has not much experience and could be easily tangled into a cobweb.'

Chapter 7

“Hi, pumpkin.” Guntram read on his screen, already hating the noisy messenger bird. 'Is any way to shut up this thing? I'm starting to hate it too,' he angrily thought before writing back; “Hi, Fefo.”

“Where you are?”

“In the hotel, still in Florence. I went to Perugia today. Very beautiful place. I was in the Galleria dell'

Umbra.”

“Ugh! Again in a fucking Museum? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I like it. Most Perugino is there. Too bad the clerks don't let you sketch. Have to be happy with the book they sell for a good price.”

“Guntram, you're nineteen. What are you doing tonight?”

“Dinning and going to bed. Tomorrow we take the train to Arezzo. All Piero della Francesca is there.”

“Are you telling me you plan to be in bed at ten?”

“Sure.”

“You're crazy. Get rid of the Russian and go out! You're in Florence!”

“It's very cold and rainy.”

“OK, grandpa. How about we go out for some beers?”

“Not very clever; you're in Paris; I'm in Florence.”

“I'm in Milan, can be there in a few hours, tomorrow for example.”

“What are you doing in Milan?”

“Travelling. I had enough of my father and his bimbo, Solange. Snotty bitch!”

“Poor baby. Sorry, I can't. Tomorrow I go to Arezzo and I'm not sure when we'll be back. “

“OK, we'll see each other on the fourth. Which hotel are you staying?”

Guntram hesitated; he didn't want to see Fefo as he feared his more than expected scorn at his relationship with Constantin. 'It's not that I'm ashamed of it; it's just I don't want to fight over it', but on the other side, he didn't deny himself to his best friend. 'He might be very bored, alone in Europe.'

“Posh place. You'll have to shower to enter.”

“Ha, ha. How witty you're.”

“I'm in the Grand Hotel. In front of the Arno River in Piazza Ognissanti. The suite us under Mr.

Massaiev's name. At 8 p.m?”

“OK, sounds like a date to me.”

“Idiot!”

Mikhail Massaiev was crossed when Guntram informed him that he was going to have dinner with his school friend, Federico and that they would meet at the hotel's lobby at 8 p.m. “We'll go around, for a pizza and some beers. I'll be back around twelve.” Repin was going to kill him! His boy with another punk—especially this one who had already crossed him to no end with “his constant meddling with my angel”—Repin would come all the way from Moscow just to kill the impudent youth… and then, shoot him. He was leaving very clearly that his job was to look after Guntram, take him to Museums, check that he works, and eliminate any kind of competition that might appear.

No hot blooded Italian, or any kind, hunters around his angel. “You know what to do.” The only rule: “Guntram has to be always well treated. No yelling or hitting him. If you touch a single hair from him or if I get a single complaint about you, you're dead. Use your intelligence to lead him; he's perfectly bendable if you know how to treat him.”

“Finding and getting rid of boys was an easier job,” he mumbled before dialling his boss' private number.

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“How is my angel, Mikhail Petrovich?”

“He's perfectly well, sir. Drawing everything that moves and not. Today we went to the Ufizzi, again.

From 8 a.m. till closing time. It was Bronzino's day.” Mikhail slightly complained, knowing that if he sang his praises perhaps Repin would be partly appeased when he heard the news. “He was looking the painting and then, running to the cafeteria to copy it. He has a very good visual memory and I'm dead from running up and down the whole day.

He's drawing in his room now, some people he saw while we dined.”

“But…”

“He has agreed to meet this friend of his tomorrow at 8 p.m. The boy is currently in Milan, sir. What should I do?”

“Nothing. I'll speak with Guntram about this. Go with them. Don't leave him alone under any circumstance.”

“I don't understand a word in Spanish, Mr. Repin.”

“Guntram is too polite to speak Spanish if you're there. He will only speak English. Record the conversation.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take Guntram to Rome on the fifth; to the St. Regis'. Don't let that boy come near him ever again. I'll take care of that small nuisance. For some unknown reason, he's against me and does whatever he can to ruin my relationship with my angel. Stay in Rome for a week only and then, go to Paris to the flat in Place Vendôme. Leave him under Malchenko's care and come to London. I have to speak with you.”

The annoying sound was again bothering him when Guntram realised that it was his own phone, forgotten in his jacket, and he dashed to answer it.

“The fourth time is the winner. I was considering to start a relationship with your answering machine. It's always there,” a slightly annoyed Constantin greeted Guntram before he could say anything.

“Hello, Constantin. I didn't realise it was the phone. I'm not used to it. I thought it was something else,”

the boy confessed very ashamed at his slip.

“Why don't you tell me the truth? You were drawing and perhaps a volcano explosion could have gotten your attention.”

“How do you know it?” Guntram said very shocked and made the other man laugh.

“Because I know you. I'd bet that Mikhail has to send you to bed too.”

“He can be impossible sometimes. He's very nice and polite, but I swear that one day he will tuck in bed.

Too much of a mother hen in him.”

“It's his work, angel.”

“More than a mentor, he's like a nanny. He knows a lot about history and arts, but he forbade me to go into the Burger King! It's not as if I was going to ask him to eat there. I just wanted to have a coffee.” Guntram whined, becoming more frustrated when he heard the Russian's chuckles.

“What have you been doing, besides almost food poisoning my employee?”

“I was at the Uffizi today, walking around with him and then, here. Tomorrow, I want to go to San Marco, but they close at noon. Perhaps he wants to go again to Santa Maria Maggiore.”

“And later, more drawing?”

“Ah, I forgot to tell you. I'm having dinner with a friend of mine: Federico. We were roommates in school. He's a bit dense, but a good friend. He's in Paris, no wait, Milan and comes here.”

“Why?”

“I suppose he's bored. He hates this “museum stuff.”

“And you?”

“I love it. I don't know how I am going to live without them. Everything screams of beauty. I'll truly miss it. It's not just the museums; it's everything. Even the light. Constantin, could I ask you something?”

“What is my dear?”

“Are you serious about the scholarship offer? I think you were right. I don't know if I would ever be able to support myself as an artist, but I would love a job in a Museum, even as the security guard or tourist guide.”

“The board already signed the papers. It's for five years and unless you reject it or if your grades are below the minimum required, it's a binding contract and being sued by a student looks very bad for my company.

What I mean is, regardless, of what becomes of us as couple, you should continue to study Art History and work in a Gallery, Museum or antiquity shop, as I'm convinced that you're an artist. I'm very glad that you have realised it. Live with me in London, if we don't work at all, move to a flat nearby the University and finish your studies then. The money you have is more than sufficient to support yourself. Many students do.”

“I don't want to mix things, Constantin.”

“Guntram, if you fail one single test because you were not studying for it, you won't like my reaction.

This I can promise.”

“No, I don't want to be at odds with you. You showed me a new world, one I never thought could exist.

I'm very grateful to you.”

“I miss you, angel. I wish you were here with me.”

“Where's here?”

“Moscow, which reminds me. On the fifth you have to go to Rome and be on the twelth in Paris. I need Massaiev in New York on the thirteenth at the latest. You will stay with my cousin Boris Malchenko. He will assign you another bodyguard and you can copy all what you want in the Louvre. They are student-friendly there. My flat is very near, you can walk to the museum every day and I'll meet you on the twentieth.”

“I also miss you, Constantin. I want to see you soon.”

“We'll be together in Paris for a few days and then, return to London. School starts in February and you've been accepted for some of the classes as the school year really starts in September. You can also take some painting lessons.”

“You're starting to sound like my former Headmaster.”

“My experience with artists has taught me that keeping them busy and on a short leash is the best; if not, you all start to dribble and work nothing or worst; you work like you don't care and the result is much worse.”

“I'm no artist and don't even know if I'm working at all. Painting is like breathing for me.”

“Contrary to your belief, you work a lot. Continue like this and everything will be fine.”

The evening was going to prove a fiasco for Mikhail Petrovich Massaiev, standing in the lobby at 8 p.m.

with a very nervous—and edgy—Guntram by his side. The boy had behaved reasonably well, not fighting over lunch time or complaining when his original idea of running all over Florence had been killed on the spot because Mikhail had forced him to visit several shops, till tea time, and then, he had remained in his room, quietly drawing and organizing his things for tomorrow's trip to Rome. 'At least, he obeyed the boss without complaints.' Ten minutes had passed after 8:00, and he was starting to lose his patience with the “Gaucho brat”.

“There he is, Mikhail,” Guntram announced and ran toward a tall dark haired boy, many years older than him. 'Were they not together in the same class?' He thought as he also went to meet his problem for the night.

“Mr. Massaiev, may I introduce you Federico Martiarena Alvear? We were in the same class,” Guntram said very politely. 'At least, he knows how to lose with elegance. Three hours ago, he nearly told me to piss off for the night,' Mikhail remembered while he extended his hand to the “native”, looking at him sullenly. 'Same school, different results.'

“How do you do?” Federico growled, hoping that would be all.

“Mr, Massaiev will join us, Federico,” Guntram whispered, inwardly praying that his friend would keep his temper in check. The Russian was very sensitive about status and protocol. Nothing like a gesture out of place to get a big—and hurtful—scold from him.

“Are you kidding me? Get rid of the fucker.” Federico told Guntram in very fast and slurred Spanish.

“I'm afraid, Mr. Massaiev does not understand our language, Federico. He has been with me all the time and knows Italy like the palm of his hand,” Guntram answered in English.

“Are you sure you want to come? It's only two teenagers eating pizza. Nothing for you,” Federico fired.

Mikhail had many troubles to refrain his desire to give a slap to the impudent brat. None of the boys he had trained for Mr. Repin would have ever dared to be so rude; not even those picked up from a poor rural area. He swallowed hard before giving his reply: “This hotel's restaurant is fine for me, Mr. Martiarena. Guntram has been feeling under the weather the past days and we have to leave very early tomorrow morning.”

During dinner, Mikhail lost interest in their conversation because both boys spoke about Argentina and the current political situation. Guntram told his friend about his decision about staying in London to study and the other boy showed no reaction at all, only a “Juan is also there. Architecture. All the Dollenbergs want to move there.”

Around dessert, Guntram had the poor idea of inviting the boy to his room to show him all what he had sketched and painted over the past weeks. “We'll be quiet as mice, Mikhail. We need to catch up with gossip,” he half pleaded and the Russian had to agree much to his discomfort. 'Guntram you're so wrong if you think that you can hide this from Mr. Repin. Everything you say will be recorded.'

“Of course, Guntram. Young people need some time for themselves,” he said jovially.

Federico was not pleased at all in the change performed over his long time friend. First he looked better than ever before and he seemed to be happier than ever. His eyes shined like they had never done before. Second, he was not the mousy, sad and frightened boy he used to know, but a person who had his ideas and was clearly telling him that he had decided to throw everything out the window and stay in London, living with a much older—and richer

—man. Third; he looked absolutely gorgeous now.

“Guntram, how well do you know this Repin?”