Illya heaved a sigh and plumped himself down on the stool in front of the bulb fringed mirror, trying manfully to control his tutu, as he began to remove the heavy white make up caking his face.
Napoleon leaned against the dressing room door frame watching his partner as he concentrated intently on removing every last vestige of the garish maquillage, offering helpfully ''Don't forget behind your ears.''
Illya scowled but twisted in his seat to try and examine the reflection of that most awkwardly placed part of his anatomy.
''And red has always been my favourite lip colour'' observed Napoleon ''though I'm not sure about it on a nose.''
Illya turned his scowl on the offending red prosthetic, currently residing in a pristine ashtray. ''Shouldn't you be escorting the lovely Miss Templeton to her train?''
''And miss you in that tutu? Besides, I never think it's playing fair if the lady is shackled.''
''I have always been willing to give my life for U.N.C.L.E., but I have some objection to giving my dignity'' complained Illya dourly.
''Ah, the things we do for Uncle Sam.''
''I have only one U.N.C.L.E., I consider that more than sufficient.''
''Nevertheless, I think the Old Boy would be glad to know that all his missiles are safely tucked away in their silos.''
''I too am glad of that Napoleon, as I am sure are the people of Bolivia, at whom they were aimed. However I will go to my grave a happy man if I never see another sequin.''
''I thought you made a lovely swan.''
''I am quite familiar with the works of Tchaikovsky, until now I had failed to spot a flat footed Caliban in the ranks of the corps de ballet.''
''You must still be at the ugly duckling stage.''
''Are you sure there is nowhere else you should be, Napoleon?''
''Oh, quite sure my friend.''
''And just why is it that I had to play vaudeville's answer to Coco the Clown, while you got to be the dilettante playboy?''
''You have more experience on stage.''
''And whose fault is that?''
''A little unreasonable, don't you think?''
''At this precise moment, no I do not.''
''Just for that, I shall refrain from telling you that you have a run in your stocking.''
''What?''
''At the back. I believe nail polish is the recommended remedy.''
''And you say I have a mind for trivia.''
''But the legs of a gazelle.''
Illya winced, bemoaning unhappily ''I'm never going to live this down, am I?''
''Not if I have anything to do with it.''
''Please tell me that the miniature camera got broken when the lovely Miss Templeton attempted to strangle you with your own tie, an act with which I find myself increasingly in sympathy.''
''I cannot tell a lie.''
''You gave the negatives to the lab?''
Still in the doorway, Napoleon struck a noble attitude, placing one hand over his heart ''I have an example to set. Duty before all else.''
''In my country I was trained to kill Americans. If I was still in England they'd probably let me, if only for what you do to their language.''
Sensing he may have pushed a dangerous man a little too far, Napoleon relented ''Allow me to make amends for my misdeeds, real and perceived, by taking you to dinner...''
Illya's ruffled feathers, and crumpled tutu, settled a little.
''...and dancing...''
Napoleon only just made his escape in time.
END
