Napoleon Solo rubbed his face ruefully, watching Olivia Bletchley stride angrily away. His cheek smarted where she had slapped him. He looked round the room, suddenly aware that all conversations in the commissary had stopped. There were eyes, eyes everywhere. Illya was in the corner at their table, studiously fixing his eyes on his plate of food instead.
No, no if he went and sat down by Illya, then people might get the idea that he was going to start discussing Olivia. That would not do. He followed Olivia out of the door.
He found her at her desk in translations. She glanced up briefly as he paused inside the door, then deliberately turned her back on him, picked up a telephone and started to dial a number. Shaking his head sadly, he left the room and returned to his office. He had just sat down when the door opened and his partner entered. Illya nodded and sat down, eyeing his pile of paperwork with distaste.
"Sometimes I wonder if all these forms and reports don't reproduce themselves when our backs are turned." He glanced up at Napoleon who was sitting with his chin in his hands.
"Are you alright, my friend?"
Napoleon grunted, then looked up.
"I thought I had a pretty good bead on women. I spend a lot of time working hard to understand them, the way they think and feel, the subjects that interest them, and usually I do all right."
"Not this time?"
He shook his head.
"I apparently misread Olivia completely. She has a pretty strong right arm too. My cheek still stings. I could swear the sound of that slap echoed off the walls."
"What are you going to do?"
"Try to apologize."
"Knowing you my friend, you will have already tried that. So…a gift?"
Napoleon nodded.
"It has to be something…I don't know…unique…"
Illya raised an eyebrow.
"I have an idea."
He wrote down an address on a sheet of paper and handed it to his friend.
"Go to this place right now, ask for Yaroslav Dunayevsky. Tell him I sent you."
"For sure?"
Illya nodded.
"He's a friend. Napoleon, just go. I'll see to your paperwork, go now."
Napoleon smiled.
"Thanks Illya."
Napoleon found himself driving to a small, out of the way, pleasant backstreet in Queens, a very nice red brick house sitting back from the road with a large front lawn. He rang the bell and almost at once the door was opened and a tall, broad man, thick black hair, full faced beard with muscles like Hercules stood there. He was almost the complete antithesis of Illya.
"Er…Hello, Yaroslav Dunayevsky? I am Napoleon Solo. I'm a good friend of Illya Nikovich Kuryakin. He sent me to see you."
The fierce look in the man's eyes melted and he grinned, showing a perfect set of teeth. He spoke good English in a very thick Russian accent."
"Ahhh, yes, my good friend Illya Nikovich! Come in! come in! What can I do for you Napoleon Solo?"
Haltingly, wondering why he was here, Napoleon explained briefly his conversation with Illya and the man laughed.
"I know why my good friend sent you to me. You want one of my monks!"
Napoleon blinked.
"A monk? I don't think….!"
But the big Russian slapped him heartily on the back.
"Yes, my new friend Napoleon Solo, you want something special for your lady friend. Something she will never get anywhere else. I show you. Come, come"
He led the way through the house to the rear of the property where the large garden was given over, in part to a long greenhouse. Napoleon followed his new friend along rows and rows of seedling plants, then to rows of roses in varying stages of maturity. Finally, into a special tented area at the furthest end, which was kept locked.
"As you see, I create and cultivate flowers. I specialize in roses. Now you see my greatest creation, Napoleon Solo. One I think your lady will admire. I call it The Blue Monk."
Napoleon stared. Several rows of beautifully formed roses, a glorious deep blue in colour, bluer still than Illya's eyes. Tentatively he touched one and Yaroslav laughed.
"They are quite genuine, and impossible to find in nature. They are also hybrid, and they lack the ability to reproduce themselves, meaning that each bloom is individually created and unique."
"They are astonishing…and stunning! They must cost a fortune to produce!"
"Tsh! They are priceless, but between friends, especially friends of my good pal Illya, it is a gift. Choose your favourite, and I hope my Blue Monk will help to melt your lady's heart!"
Napoleon wrung the man's hand, and selected a deep blue rose, almost, but not quite in full bloom. Yaroslav nodded in approval, and handed Napoleon a small card.
"Give this to the lady. It will give her some advice on how to keep her Blue Monk alive for as long as possible."
Napoleon arrived back in headquarters and went straight down to translations. The room was full and busy. Olivia was speaking on the telephone. Napoleon waited patiently, and when she was done he stepped forward and before she had chance to say a word, he handed her the blue rose. She stared at it, completely dumbfounded. Napoleon smiled.
"It is called the Blue Monk Rose, and each one is specially created and quite unique. I think it is very fitting, because that is what you pointed out to me about women and you are quite right. I should never make assumptions about anyone. I apologize, and I promise never to make that same mistake again. Will you forgive me Olivia?"
"It's…it's beautiful!" she replied, still staring at the rose in her hand. Napoleon handed her the card.
"Its creator wants you to have this. To keep the rose alive for longer…"
Olivia took the card, looked at it and smiled.
"Thank you Napoleon. I'll see you tonight?"