Into the Lion's Den (81 page)

The auction is for charity!”

“Never! They settled the price in 100 francs and normally sell more than four thousand copies of it. Why don't you choose one story and make more preliminary drawings and then we speak with Ostermann about the terms?”

“I'm supposed to study and paint now for the auction something good. Meister Ostermann thinks that he can make some money with my paintings after the exhibition in Berlin. The critics were relatively good. I will not see a single cent from it, but it will be good. The new president, Elisabetta von Lintorff told me that all the money I make will be sent to Argentina. It seems that there is a pact that the minimum you offer is 5,000 Francs and that's a large amount for Father Patricio.”

“I'm sure you could find some free time and give it a try.”

“All right, Coco, but I can't promise you anything.”

They walked back to the studio where Ostermann had finished shouting with the editor and threatened her with never writing a single line for the magazine and speak with many of his own clients to withdraw their support. “Did you take a look at his work? Start to pray that he doesn't go to courts for defamation!”

Guntram went to his usual place to continue to work with some sketches in coal, surprised that most of the women were looking at him with a mix of concern, curiosity and pity. He saw them, passing a magazine along like teenagers in the school.

“Is that
Notes d'Art
? I haven't seen one in years,” Guntram said and asked if he could take a look.

“No, dear, it's a stupid magazine,” One of them said.

“Stupid? It's one of the leading magazines in Art” Guntram protested. “Just a look, please.”

The mortified woman had to give the magazine to the youth who sat at his chair and started to quickly pass the pages till he got to the article on “
The New Russian Avant Garde
” and focused his attention on it. He was surprised that his name was mentioned and chuckled a little at the idea that he had been mistaken by a Russian. 'I don't even have a Russian name! But I'm on
Notes d'Art
. Wait till Ostermann sees it.”

“I'm here! Three lines, but that's a lot!” He announced to the shocked ladies, astonished that he had taken it so well. “Guntram de Lisle's style is refreshing at the same time he shows a great academic background. His compositions on daily life, deceptively simple, denote a classical, but complex conception, with excellent use of light and colour. One of Russia's youngest promises whose name we will be hearing in the future.” It's signed by Alain Duprès! Perhaps I should frame it.”

All of the women looked at each other in shock. “May I see it?” A very tall one asked and read aloud what Guntram had just spoken.

“Are they mad?” Coco asked.

“It's not that bad how I paint! Guntram protested, bursting out in laughter. “I could do much better, but Alain Duprès is one of the best in his field. I don't like to be called Russian, but most of my work is there. I sold many things there. Irina Shayluk is also mentioned. She makes fantastic nudes. I met her in Paris during an exhibition and I admire her work.”

“Guntram, I'm afraid that there's another critic of you for your exhibition in Berlin. We missed this one and the other is so awful!”

“You shouldn't care what the press writes; they do anything to sell a newspaper!”

“They wrote about my cousin going to a cabaret every time he was in business meetings in Thailand!”

Full of dread, Guntram ceased to hear the women and looked for the Art Critics Section and found his own. He had to read it twice because he couldn't believe that Constantin and Konrad had been mentioned. He had to sit again because he felt sick and embarrassed. His mind was in turmoil as he could only think in Konrad and how furious he would be that their relationship was in a magazine.

“If there's another critic so good, perhaps it's an internal problem and they used you to vent up their frustrations,” one of the ladies suggested.

“That's must be. You should speak with Ostermann. He knows all of them much better than us. I can only say that I like what you paint and I'm not a grandmother!” Ms. Esterhazy protested with the other ladies joining her soon.

“Neither am I!”

“I wanted to buy the painting with our class, but Clara wants it too and she's there.”

“If you want to buy something from Guntram, you should wait for the auction!”

“No, no, no. I'm going to publish a children's storybook illustrated by Guntram for next Christmas and I'm confident that you will all buy a copy for your own little ones,” Coco intervened immediately, rising a collective murmur of assent.

Ostermann left his office, still enraged with the woman; seeing all the women chatting like parrots and a very silent Guntram sitting in his place, looking utterly defeated, was too much for his nerves. “Boy, you shouldn't care about that idiot. D'Annunzio likes you and I think that if you work, maybe it will be good in a few years.”

“D'Annunzio likes me because of the Duke's collection. Nothing else. This is not the first time I hear something like this,” Guntram answered.

“Rubbish! If you were bad, he wouldn't have bought that
Madonna
from you! The man is almost as good as I!”

“
Meister
Ostermann, Guntram has a very good critic at the same journal. Is it not strange? Here, in the Russian painters' article,” Coco said and showed the magazine again to the teacher.

“Damned old queens! They should fix their problems at home and mix no one else! I'm going to kill that little idiot, excuse of an Editor! You, stop whining like a little girl and start to work! I want to see those sketches finished by this afternoon!” he roared.

“Does it make sense?”

“If you want to return home in one piece today, yes, it does. Go back to work. You have wasted a full morning of my precious time,” Ostermann slammed his office door.

“I never wanted to get the Duke in the middle of this,” Guntram whispered.

“Dear, don't worry. He's old enough as to endure some critics. You should consider speaking with a lawyer,” Esterhazy advised him with her voice loaded with real affection. “It's very bad what he writes about your art.”

“Oh, he can write whatever he wants about my stuff. I paint because I like it, nothing else. If you don't like it, go to the next gallery. This is not the first time someone calls me “corny”. I had many of these critics over the years and they all came from the same kind of people; envious and untalented. What leaves me a foul aftertaste is that the Duke was mentioned. He was never my sponsor or helped me in my career! This man makes him look like an idiot when he's well versed in Arts. It's so unfair! I had a scholarship with the Lara Arseniev Foundation and as you most know, a past relationship with its president, and he was the one who discovered my work in Buenos Aires. We never mixed my career and our relationship. I earned all my grades in the University and my previous manager, Mr.

Robertson sold my drawings to banks, insurance companies, private collectors that had nothing to do with Constantin Repin. My critics over my exhibition in London were good. Perhaps I should be more aggressive and “paint with a message”, but who am I to tell people what to think? I hate it and it always looked to me so staged. I paint what I see because I love it and nothing else.”

Konrad was in a fit of rage like he had not felt in many years after Ostermann's call. He had faxed copies of both articles till Monika could get a copy of the magazine. He couldn't believe that they had dared to publish such a blatant lie and he was determined to finish that sorry excuse for publication.

“My Duke, this is simply outrageous! I know personally both experts and they're fixing some problems they had in the past using Guntram's name and ours. The editor was not even aware that he had been mentioned twice in the same number! She never saw a single photo of his work! They offer to publish a rectification and a new critic of his work, this time made by an independent consultant.”

“I'm more concerned about Guntram's reaction.”

“He's working like always, but worried that you have been involved. He told me it's not the first time he's criticized and he doesn't care at all.”

“I understand, thank you Meister Ostermann.”

Konrad called Ferdinand and Michael to his office. It was time to show the price for crossing him.

Michael gathered his papers and prepared himself for the meeting at 7 p.m. He was still wondering why he had been asked to investigate a small publication that belonged to one of the minor members; Marcel Theriault, owner of the Luxury Publishing Group, with loans to the Lintorff Privatbank for €78.9 million. Everything seemed to be in order with the man and his magazines respected the Order's rules of no nudity, no scandalous articles, no vulgarity and mostly focused on jet set articles, performing arts, fashion, decoration and traditional lifestyles. Their gem was something called “Jet Set Today” and covered boring things like the Red Cross Ball or some other charity event, a politician wife kissing some babies or harmless articles about movie stars. Acceptable results for it. “We keep it only to create a good image and keep people out of the other trash.”

He straightened his tie and left his office to go to the private meeting room but Monika stopped him and sent him to the Duke's office with a “Mr. Theriault is already waiting outside, Dr. Dähler.”

“Thank you, Monika,” He smiled but only received a cold stare from her that cooled him down. He passed by the fifty-something man, sitting with a miserable face under the Pisarro the Duke had bought some months ago and knocked on the heavy door. Inside the large office, Ferdinand was sitting in one of the couches in front of the small table, looking very upset about something.

“What is their situation?” Ferdinand asked

“Fine so far. Their debts should be renewed in two months. We estimate that we could ask a five point seven percent interest as the group stands much better than before. The total due is €78.9 million and they have always been good members,” Michael answered.

“Very well, tell Theriault to come in,” Konrad said flatly and Michael obeyed, guiding the man toward the sofas.

“My Duke, it's an honour to be received by you,” Theriault spoke very fast and frankly nervous about the reason he had been summoned by Ferdinand von Kleist himself, with a “the
Hochmeister
wishes to see you at seven in Zurich.”

“How long have you been a member, Theriault?” Konrad said with a polite voice, but leaving all niceties and formalities aside.

“Our family was accepted in 1953, my Duke. We are invited to the annual meeting since 1997.”

“Therefore you're well aware of our rules.”

“Yes, Sire.” Theriault felt a lump in his throat after hearing the cold voice asking it. His mind frantically searched his memory for something they might have published about a member but nothing came out.

“I never liked the press and this morning I find my and the Consort's names sullied by one of your magazines,” Konrad intoned, showing him the article about the critic for Berlin.

The man partly read it and blanched at the “a Swiss banker” part implying that he was somehow involved with an adventurer. Who was this Guntram de Lisle? Consort? Which Consort?

“I will speak with the editor tonight, sire. We will fix this error.”

“You need to speak more with your editor because there is another critic for the same person in the same journal. Anyone would think this is a deliberate campaign against our
Hochmeister
and his Consort. Look in page thirty-six, it's marked,” Ferdinand said.

Theriault was shocked. “I simply don't understand, Sire. This must be a typing error or a mistake.
Notes
d'Art
has been on the market for almost thirty-five years and is one of the most respected publications in its category. I don't understand their fixation on one artist.”

“This is more than one bad review for an artist. Guntram de Lisle was appointed Consort by the Council five months ago,” Ferdinand explained. “This can only be a direct attack from you to us.”

“No, never! We are grateful to the Order and have always done our best to serve it!”

“You will close this magazine before February. I don't want any of its employees relocated within your companies.”

“My Duke, you can't ask this from us! This magazine has been for over thirty-five years in the market!

It's like the National Geographic for contemporary artists!”

“If you use defamation and scandal as a way to gain more readers, the Order has no interest in keeping you among its ranks, Mr. Theriault. May I remind you of the pending renegotiation of your debts?” Ferdinand said in a polite tone.

“I will fire all the upper staff. I have several millions invested in this publication!”

“Do you refuse to comply with a direct order?” Konrad asked in a dangerous way.

“No, of course not, sire. I just need to find a way. To close the magazine will cost me a lot of money! I can't do it!”

“It will be much more if you refuse. Your debts will not be refinanced and we will go against you,”

Ferdinand growled.

“My
Hochmeister,
at least let me keep the oldest workers and relocate them! The French laws are very strict. The new editor will write an article with much better critics for the Consort.”

“No, you will never mention his name again in any of your publications. Close the magazine before February or you will face the storm I'll unleash over your companies. Dismissed,” Konrad barked and Michael rose from his place and took the man out of the office.

Guntram was so engrossed in the catalogues that he didn't hear Konrad approaching and kissing him on the forehead. He jumped surprised and laugh when he saw it was just his love.

“Do I have to be jealous of furniture catalogues too? Your papers and pencils are enough to ignore me, kitten!” Konrad said falsely upset.

“I forgot about the time. I was taking a look at these ones for ideas for Karl and Klaus' room. Friederich had them today and gave them to me.”

Guntram, is it not simpler if you hire a decorator and then choose what you like?”