Illya stared at the old and stately mansion as they passed it, until his partner parked the car nearby. They were heading down the street to meet their contact, and collect valuable files from him.
"I have very fond memories of that place," he nodded his head to Napoleon.
"Really? And what sort of fond memories may I be so bold as to ask."
Illya realized he'd put his foot in his mouth by saying that. Yet still, he stared at the statue of a large dragon that guarded the wrought iron gate to the estate. The place was, as he remembered it so long ago, nothing had changed and seemingly the robins were still banned from the grounds. It was forever peaceful and tranquil there.
The willow trees swayed gently in the breeze, as leaves of the oak and birch whispered; the heady fragrance a variety of English roses filled the air. The scent was of the classic old rose, probably the most beautiful and haunting of all the rose fragrances; he recalled who interestingly strong, complex and well-balanced the old rose scents were here.
He couldn't see her now, but he remembered just a hint of the woman's image who lived here...dressed in white as she peered out to the gardens below, through gossamer curtains from an upstairs window.
It was while he was still stationed in London Headquarters when he'd been tasked by Harry Beldon to guard this enigmatic woman, a cousin to the Queen and soon to be one of her ladies in waiting, and while doing so, the blond agent had made a rather serious mistake.
Illya became romantically involved with Lady Margaret Bowles-Lyon – niece of the Queen Mother and first cousin to the Queen. She was under scrutiny as there since had been much controversy surrounding her; Lady Margarets two sisters had been incarcerated since 1941 in the Royal Earlswood Asylum for Mental Defectives, at Redhill in Surrey.
There were concerns about her stability, and while much discussion ensued in the royal household, and those privy to their thoughts, Margaret awaited her appointment, or denial...
Yet the young U.N.C.L.E. agent found her to be most charming and intelligent in every sort of way, and in no way a threat to the royals that he could see.
He remembered their first innocent kiss...she'd dropped her book in the sitting room and as they both bent to retrieve it, their faces became dangerously close to each other, and before they knew it, they were locked in an embrace.
Margaret was beautiful, with long blonde hair, as golden as the Russian's but her eyes were so different, nearly an emerald green they were, with flecks of gold. Her figure was lithe and regal...she was a little taller than him, but that didn't matter when they were entwined in each others arms in her sumptuous bed.
It was a passionate affair, one that had to be hidden in the darkness, never to see the light of day. Deep down inside Illya knew it had been a mistake becoming involved with her, though he cared for Margaret more deeply than he wanted to admit.
He wished he could have slayed that blue-blooded dragon guarding that house on Breckenridge Lane, allowing them to go into the outside world, but sadly it was never meant to be. Margaret was technically out of his class, though he was in fact a Russian Count. That he never told her, as his title was worth nothing more than the piece of paper on which it could be written.
.
"So you were saying you had fond memories of that house?" Napoleon nudged him.
"Oh...yes. The people who lived here used to invite me for high-tea," Illya lied so seamlessly. "They served tea of course and sometimes freshly baked scones with cream and jam, or afternoon tea sandwiches made of thinly sliced cucumber with the crusts cut off."
"Figures your fond memories would be of food…"
"Yes, you know me and food very well, do you not?" Illya snickered his reply, satisfied he'd dodged the bullet that was Napoleon Solo's curiosity.