Money Can't Buy It

Money Can’t Buy It

by

Helma Pietsch

Copyright Smashwords Edition 2015

© Helma Pietsch

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 A Tough Life

Chapter 2 Daydreaming

Chapter 3 Bad News

Chapter 4 A Family Meeting

Chapter 5 The Sultan

Chapter 6 Watching A Miracle

Chapter 7 Rising Temperature

Chapter 8 Home Sweet Home

Chapter 9 Marshmallows

Chapter 10 The Costume Ball

Chapter 11 An Art Exhibition

Chapter 12 Libby

Chapter 13 Secrets

Chapter 14 Queen Mary 2

Chapter 15 Baldwin von Laudenhall

Epilogue

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Please note:

‘Money Can’t Buy It’ is the 3rd book of a fictional family history, which you can read on its own, or as a continuation from the 2nd book ‘Kissing The Wind’ with the 1st book ‘The Wind Never Smiles’.

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Acknowledgement:

* This book is written in British English.

* Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination in this book and any unique resemblance is purely coincidental.

* The author respectfully acknowledges the trademark status of various products, which have been mentioned in this work of fiction.

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Adult-content rating:

* This book contains contents, which is unsuitable for legally underaged readers.

* On the subject of customs, or any religion, this book could be offensive to some readers of all ages, for different reasons.

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Chapter 1

A Tough Life

Amir came out of the tent, still half asleep and sat down at the beach, ready for another day of solitude. Oh yes, I am so done with the opposite sex.

He was reminiscing about his life, especially regarding the numerous experiences with women. Damned, who said that at one time? You can’t live with them, but you can’t live without them. I wouldn’t be surprised, if it was good old Shakespeare. That man has a lot to answer for, especially with his Romeo and Juliet story. Since then, men are expected to twirl around women, writing poetic songs and sending bunches of flowers.

Gradually, he pushed his toes into the soft sand, then shoved the sand between his feet from one foot to the other and looked disinterested at some seagulls along the shoreline, all of it did not help him at all with his problem, once again, he had another annoyingly one-sided talk, without ever coming to any real conclusion, Hah, if one more time somebody is telling me, I’m lucky, living such a privileged beautiful life, I will punch the daylight out of him.

He was the youngest with two brothers and they both called him always, in an unconcerned way, the baby of the family. Edward was the first born, the one purposely born in London, to have a British nationality. Herbert was born five years later in Hamburg, to receive a German passport and Amir was born five years later in Lausanne, to be a Swiss citizen by birth.

All three boys had different mothers, respectively selected in the different countries by their calculative father for one purpose only.

Amir’s two older brothers had slightly olive skin and black hair, inherited from their Egyptian father Omar and big brown eyes, apart from Amir, the only one in this family with blue eyes and he was blessed with good genes from both sides, always looking the textbook image of a handsome ski instructor, tall, photogenic facial features, in plain English he was damn good looking, boisterous hair, tanned skin, the picture perfect for any sport magazine.

I am thirty years old and bored shitless with life, because there is nothing more to do, which I haven’t done already, again and again, including travelling to exotic places, meeting all over the world celebrities from film and sport, buying another sports car or having sex with women from any civilized nationality. That last leisure interest was really turning into sheer boredom, always the same. First, everything is wrapped in a cocoon of harmony, laughter, fun and sex, which is great. As soon as they know my father has billions of Dollars, suddenly they show their fangs and the claws are sharpened. It doesn’t matter to those bitches that I have done nothing to achieve those billions, as long as there was a chance for them to have a slice of the cake. I’m tired looking into their greedy gleaming eyes.

He was feeling absentminded his beard and moustache, I bet nobody would recognize me now, since my many months old growth comes along just fine. I couldn’t remember to have that much facial hair, full and bushy, so soft to feel after the first few weeks of stubbles, also my body hair is growing once more, without hair removal on a weekly basis. I like myself this way. It looks sexy to me, but not accordingly to the female species. Prostitutes don’t count, they take anything for the right amount of cash, but to have non-professional unpaid sex these days, one has to howl like a pack of wolfs by full moon, which I truly did, when I was experiencing the pain of my first body wax treatment.

Amir had an involuntary shudder when he vividly remembered that particular morning in a beauty salon, years ago, when 36 hours before, he had his eyes set on an American film star, approached her, shortly afterwards he made her an unmistakable blatant proposition and she commented about his mop of unruly hair, I hope the rest of your body is smooth and hairless, like a baby’s bottom, when we meet tomorrow evening. I prefer men clean, in a Brazilian way clean, the same hairless way as I am, without me searching for the goodies in a forest.

He was unable to show up at their early evening date. His upper legs were really sore to touch, particularly all around his groin area, with the red swelling still noticeable late afternoon and his thoughts were far away from sex. Judging in honesty his own situation, he commented, You are walking like an old duck. No sex for you tonight. From then on, it was only hair removal crème for him.

Instead of sex that particular evening, revenge was on his mind, a typical male chauvinistic character symptom, blaming others for his own fiasco, that he was unable to enjoy another satisfying conquest.

Large amounts of money always talked when he wanted to have it his way. In this case, thanks to a ruthless paparazzi and the Internet, it showed five days later on Twitter and Facebook a selection of hideous photos from the American film star. Her face without make-up in the shower, praise to technology, taken with a motion activated small metal attachment next to the adjustment lever from the shower head.

The photos were so shocking, her publicity manager tried to tell reporters, it was only the stunt double from the last movie and not his client.

Amir went for revenge number 2, by offering the financially struggling stunt double the best team of legal eagles to sue the film star for defamation of character, mental trauma from false accusation, occurring nightmares and whatever else the firm of solicitors could think of.

It also taught him the fundamental lesson to avoid seeing the reality of a woman’s feature without any make-up, no false eyelashes, no hair extensions, or a push-up bra and it became often a shocking wake-up call for him, in the morning after sex; because a bucket of ice-water would have been more humane.

He started to apply his own rule; after a passionate night, apart from having to endure in the morning a loud snoring female with her mouth wide open and bad breath, for Amir’s opinion miles away from beguiling sex, therefore, without wasting a look at the woman on the pillow next to him, he sneaked out of the bedroom, then had a 20 lap swim in an unheated pool, maybe rock climbing, or shooting some rabbits, anything, whatever was available, until the female picture of perfection was restored to face another day.

It was his firm believe, that the well-known expression of a ‘Morning Glory’ was a satirical comment and had nothing to do with sex.

For him the reality was, that for some ridiculous amount, say a million Dollars, he could get any female Oskar nominee to visit him on the family yacht for 24 hours, which he did on two occasions and he was fairly certain that for another million, he could have had the Oskar winner, but stayed away from the idea, after he did see some of them after the event, celebrating their accolades. At close-range, it was nearly scary; they were wearing thick layers of make-up, accurately applied with a spatula to hide the real face, not only the dark liver spots, also the crater deep scars from acne.

Botox, face lifts and boob jobs were so the norm in the film industry at the time, no reporter was able to sell an article on those details alone to any magazine.

Amir was yearning for a natural girl, without false eyelashes, no hair extensions and best of all, no silicone breasts. Unfortunately, all the ones he came across, were usually falling short on 2 out of his 3 special Christmas wishes, therefore they were never considered suitable to be placed onto the invisible pedestal to make him a proud man, by calling himself a husband.

He was yearning to wear with pride a wedding ring for all the world to see and bathing himself in the sound of an untrained instantaneous giggling laughter from her, absolutely spontaneous, as a reaction to one of his lame jokes and in return he would be spoiling her endlessly.

His aim was, finding a make-up free natural woman, with beauty and a wide spectrum of intelligence, for him to decide in a spur of a moment using the private jet, attending together an opera premiere in another country, to be engulfed in an orgy of beautiful music, with a romantic six course dinner afterwards, classed as normal in his life.

All this was impossible when someone was only a picture without any substance behind the facade, had no idea about the composer or the lyrics and never knew the reason for five different forks, thought Chagall was a singer, also believed Albert Einstein to be a film producer and every second question was, How much did this cost? A real turn off.

Sometimes, only to see her real character, he invited one to the family estate, which could have been the 20room ski lodge in the Swiss Alps, or the restored castle along the Rhine River, maybe the sprawling winery in southern France, perhaps the vast horse ranch on Mallorca, there were a few more properties his father owned, but not on Amir’s list of favourite family places.

Each time, he noticed the look in their eyes changed, also their attitude changed, but not for the better, it was greed all the way and automatically the full stop for him, closing another affair for good, often disappointed but also determent not to fall into the vicious trap of emotions.

The true family residence was the ‘Summer Palace’ in Alexandria, where he never went with any of his flames. It was previously owned by King Farouk, not a large palace, but it gave the three boys and their father Omar, this somehow sentimental feeling of a home.

In England, the Royals of Windsor had more of a so-called family life, compared to the three sons of Omar, who himself had an interesting background, but nothing to be proud of and again, in contrast to Omar’s upbringing, the history of the House of Windsor was in comparison, a dull place to live.

Omar was living in a man’s world, where a woman was considered similar to a precious jewel, always admired and treated accordingly with utmost respect, always faithful to her and full of pride to be her husband, but no woman ever made it to that point of his admiration, presenting perfection in every way of femininity. It never happened to Omar and he was not a man of tolerating second bests in anything.

Instead, he decided on business’ transactions of his choice, to get himself some healthy heirs, by searching for perfect donor eggs, suitable for his own sperm. First in some sperm banks, but eventually he contacted the European security firm I. & S. Inc. to find the right person, a young widow with two children, the best proof for a healthy baby.

After the company made some lengthy investigations about the woman’s family background, education and health, I. & S. was instructed to offer a million Dollars.

I. & S. Inc. was then moving on with the hunt for an appropriate belly, aka surrogate,healthy, perfect age, intelligent, detailed background and again the preference was a young widow with a good pregnancy history, including breastfeeding, also with grandparents available to look after her children, while Mum was ‘going overseas for a year’ to get paid big Dollars for a so-called dream job, offered to her through a well-known reputable solicitor firm, a proposal of five million Dollars, paid in two payments.

An IVF bank did the final testing for the eggs and the rest was waiting time for the scanning and the verification that it was a healthy male.

During the pregnancy, the surrogate mother was living in luxury at an Austrian resort under medical supervision.

By any possibility of deformity, or the wrong gender, it was the woman’s sole decision to continue the pregnancy or abort, in either case, the first payment of one million was already available in her account at a private bank, also part of Omar’s different businesses. The catch was, a second million would then only be paid in $100,000 annual payments, if she continued with the wrong pregnancy, as a trust fund for the child.

One word from her to anybody in public and the payments were stopped and the bank account frozen. Additionally, the woman had never any written proof at all about the arrangement, apart from owning suddenly a very healthy bank balance, which looked more likely to be proof of an elaborate blackmailing stunt and could boomerang back to her, because the real story seemed too far-fetched to be true.

It all would have been her strange story against the word from a reputable solicitor company, who apparently knew nothing about this far-fetched scheme the woman claimed and therefore, they would put a caveat on her bank account, suing for the lot as retribution. All this was explained to the woman, making it perfectly clear to her in plain language, not getting any funny ideas.

In a positive case and after the successful birth in a private hospital of the designated country, the woman was breastfeeding for three months while living at a holiday-resort, last check-ups for the infant, she then received the payment of four million from the solicitor firm, when she handed over the baby.

It was also explained to her direct in the beginning of the agreement, if she would have second thoughts and refused the handover, all that previous money could disappear overnight and the local bank-manager honestly never met her personally, because when the account started, she was out of town, also unfortunately sometimes with computers, there can be a glitch and records can be wiped clean with the push of a button.

It was all done through a solicitor’s office in London, without the woman ever meeting Omar and that is how Edward was born. Then the same way five years later in Hamburg with a German solicitor firm, to bring Herbert into the world and later on it was Amir’s birth in Lausanne organized by a Swiss solicitor team.

For sentimental reasons, Omar gave his third son an Arabic name, Amir = Prince.

He was obviously his father’s favourite, also encouraged by his two brothers to enjoy life and be an international playboy.

Edward had four women who adored him and he therefore treated them equally without preference.

Herbert owned a harem of 12 women, but none of them had the substance as a favourite to be shown to the world. They lived together with Edward’s women in a separate building behind the palace, away from unauthorized eyes.

Both boys were trained to negotiate multi-million Dollar international transactions without raising an eyebrow and along the years they both gave up on finding endless love on cloud 9, when there was a big contract to be finalized, instead of it.

All three boys went to privileged boarding schools and Universities in their individual birth country, also they were fully aware of their detailed contract beginning, knowing the fact that each woman only did it for the money as an unemotional business transaction, therefore, all three boys never had the slightest desire to search for their surrogate mother, or the egg donor.

For Amir’s 21st birthday, he received from his father the instruction, You can spend from now on any amount of money, all over the globe, without a hint of a scandal attached, never use any kind of drug and always try to avoid conversations about our family.

Amir was good looking, well spoken, with impeccable manners and he always spent seemingly unlimited money. The international jet-set society invited him constantly to any of their events, where he was each time a welcomed guest, everywhere in company of beautiful women and over the years he became the target for many wealthy families, to announce a proposal, which never occurred, but the liaisons mostly finished on a friendly note with a sophisticated gift attached for her.

None of his presents were ever returned and people continued welcoming him afterwards as a guest, probably hoping that he may change his mind.

An American oil heiress was keen to catch Amir, even using sly trickery by trying to make him drunk and then she intended using sex without a condom in the hope for a pregnancy at the right time of the month to conceive.

Luckily for Amir, he was not drunk enough and knew the scheme. There was no farewell present for her and he was from then on, more cautious than ever before. It was one of the main reasons that he concentrated more and more, the use of high-class escorts, which eliminated the often-annoying statements, he was somebody’s new beau on their Twitter and Facebook page.

He considered escorts to be a business transaction, similar to many men renting a Lamborghini, cruising around, having a macho time, without any responsibility. Amir was his own man and nobody’s property.

At functions he always posed politely towards the press, but never gave an interview, which made him more interesting for the constantly presence of social editorial reporters, than any half-naked upcoming star in company of her – over the hill – sugar daddy.

So, who is the lucky one in our family? Edward is running the machinery empire on the Balkan and Herbert is looking after the pharmaceutical factories in Pakistan, while father is overseeing the lot to run smoothly in harmony, including his European banking business and the gold mine in Africa. I am constantly told to enjoy myself and have fun. After having so-called fun for nearly ten years, all over the globe, it is becoming boring and stale.

Some deep-down desire occasionally began to nag his mind, until one day it dawned on him, when a servant was asking which one of his cars to prepare for the day.

He looked at his car collection. How many cars can a man drive at the same time?

All of them were sports cars, from the latest Bugatti, to a vintage Mercedes 300SL in pristine condition and he had no idea why he bought gradually 10 cars, or why he stopped buying another car. For him it was more of a visual enjoyment than the thrill of driving a powerful car, parked next to the other, correspondingly to their personalized number plates, Eins, Zwei, Drei, Vier, Fuenf, Sechs, Sieben, Acht, Neun, Zehn, because Amir hated nick-names of any kind.

His true pleasure was visiting large museums all over the world, vanishing for days in the halls of classical art, admiring some drawings from Rubens, or a Rodin statue.

He purchased classical paintings at auctions and then donated them the next day to a nearby museum, destined as an enjoyment for the general public, instead of giving some investors the chance to lock a master piece into a climate-controlled vault, never to be seen again, only to be classed as an insurance and investment object, without appreciating the beauty of it.

Over the years, he started copying with a soft pencil some old masters from memory, hiding his drawings, locking them away, until to the day when the servant asked him about which car to prepare, Amir realized suddenly, he was a closet artist, yearning to be free and he intended to call a family meeting after breakfast, but found out he was the only one from his family that particular day staying in the Alexandrian palace.

Without noticing it, his father was gone since early morning and Edward with Herbert the day before. It must have been something important and Amir had no intention to find out the reason, as it always resulted in silence. They all worked in the different family businesses, not him.

Another peculiar family habit, whenever any of them was outside the Alexandrian palace, they were avoiding their own Smartphone, constantly switched off, using it only when essential, never for social conversations, as it could be used against them by others, as a modern tracking device, but Amir had no idea about the people, classed as the others.

Inside the Alexandrian palace was everywhere a sophisticated intercom system, connected by a push of a button to the dozens of surveillance cameras outside the palace, reaching far beyond the perimeter of the vast property, an electronic security system, running on solar power.

It worked constantly, 24 hours non-stop, instead of using manpower. Guards can get tired after a few hours on duty and they can’t be everywhere at the same time.

Six years earlier, Amir’s intention was to join the family emporium and he wanted to manage the small, although extremely profitable gold mine in Africa, but that was connected somehow to the pharmaceutical factories in Pakistan and the machinery empire situated on the Balkan and could not be managed separately. Afterwards, he gave up and turned to parties again, his brothers and his father were glad he was so easily distracted from his idea, to run part of the family business.

One burning desire came slowly, but gradually, to the surface, I want to be free from all this, no secrets, no fortune. I take my American Express card with me which only has a few million Dollars on it, my helicopter and a few bits and pieces.

*~*~*

Chapter 2

Daydreaming

For the past few months, Amir was living the life of a hermit on a tiny island along the German coast. Once a week he walked five miles to the only shop on the island, replenishing his food supply and gave the shop owner occasionally one of his drawings as a thank you.

It was an enjoyment for him to do his own chores, without any servant jumping at his demand, waiting for an order to be done. Amir cherished the feeling of undisturbed freedom without a pair of eyes watching each one of his steps.

Maybe, I can stay here forever, to build a cabin, only reality is, I probably would kill myself with a battery charged electrical tool. Yes Amir, you are freaking hopeless in anything, except as a competitive tennis player, a smooth dancer and a mean poker player. Without all the mega millions in the background, who in their right mind would consider me to be a good catch as a husband?

He stopped shuffling the sand with his feet, got up, to check as a daily routine, the two fishing rods for any catch, then walked further on along the isolated beach and attended to his helicopter, warmed up the engine, while he went systematically through the complete check list.

Once a month he took his helicopter to the island Borkum, inhaled the smell of civilisation while he topped up the fuel, but each time he was glad to leave as soon as possible and returned to his isolated retreat on the tiny island of Foehr.

When he came closer to his helicopter, he noticed further along the beach a small sailboat wedged between two large rocks. It was stuck; the waves from the high tide must have pushed it onto the sand and the rocks were holding the dingy firm in place, without any sign of anchorage.

He evaluated, Perfection in sailing or blunt stupidity, which was more likely, because the sail was not rolled, just flapping in the wind, swinging from side to side and rocking the boat sideways like a cradle.

Amir looked around for any occupants, walked closer to the boat, then noticed a female face down in the boat, sleeping. He gazed at her longer than necessary, probably only because he had not seen any attractive female for many months so close by.

To him she looked gorgeous, stretched out, face down in the boat, slim long legs, wearing tight jeans, tennis shoes, an oversized cotton shirt and cuddling in her arms in the most alluring way, a roll of rough rope.

The best of all was her mane of reddish copper shiny hair, hundreds of little waves and curls. He had never seen hair like this, untamed,