"and so, in conclusion, I want thank each and every one of you for your tremendous support in our work. I am truly overwhelmed by your generosity."
"Impressive," Napoleon whispered, "brains and beauty, you sly Russian dog. I see why you wanted to keep her hidden."
"Indeed," Kuryakin responded. "She is quite…remarkable."
He was about to return to the bar for another drink when Moira came up and set a double vodka on the table next to him.
"I flirted a bit with the bartender and he went back in the kitchen and got the chef's bottle of Stoli. I'm trusting my cake is intact, sweetheart."
"Guarded it with my life, my little cabbage. So, you are not…"
"A prostitute? No, I'm not. I'm a physician, more precisely, I'm a pediatric epidemiologist specializing in public health in at risk populations—there's a mouthful for ya."
"Yes, I gleaned that from your speech."
"And before you mount that high horse about people misrepresenting their line of work, Illya Kuryakin, you are not in the importing business."
"Of course I—"
She placed her fingers over his lips silencing him. "Ten years ago, I was in Mexico on a WHO fact finding mission. We were abducted by members of a criminal organization called Thrush. You and your friend Napoleon were part of the extraction team that rescued us."
"Yes, I remember that mission—the young woman in the helicopter, that was you, "he said nodding his understanding. "You were gravely injured. They didn't think you'd make it."
"I told you I was terrified of flying in a helicopter. You took my hand and told me you wouldn't let go until the helicopter landed. The whole way back to the base you sang me these strange songs I didn't understand."
"They were Russian folk songs my mother used to sing."
"When you chased off that slimy pimp, I realized why you looked familiar."
"Why didn't you say something?"
"I don't know. The whole thing was all so absurd. You were trying to hire a prostitute as a dinner date—for a dinner I was already going to. At first, I thought you were playing some elaborate prank on me- like that funny show on the telly. Then I thought it would just be a bit of craic—fun. But then it started feeling like an adventure and I found I was rather enjoying it all- then, the farther along we got the harder it was to tell you—and maybe…"
"And maybe?"
"I might have been a bit vexed you didn't remember me. You know, you being this big-time intelligence agent and all. I'd have thought you had a better memory."
"In my defense you were covered in bruises and blood, and we were in nearly total darkness, but I'll cede the point as a good will gesture," he responded with a soft laugh.
"I guess I should apologize, for having on with ya like that."
"I don't suppose you'll be returning my three-hundred dollars?"
"Well, technically, as you got the dinner companionship, and my scintillating small talk with your mates I'm going to have to invoke my strict 'no refunds' policy. Besides, I already donated the money when we got here. I'll make sure you get a very nice thank you note.
"However," she added, "I truly am mostly sorry, and I actually paid Madame Matilde for the dress and the shoes while you were out getting your tuxedo so you won't' be getting a bill from her."
"Mostly sorry?"
"I've had a surprisingly lovely time with you today—I'm having trouble regretting that part."
"I'm not sure about lovely, but it's certainly been surprising."
"Look, I'm going to make a bit of restitution here," she whispered as took his hand and rose from the table.
"Mr. Waverly, Mags, I'd like to thank you for a wonderful evening and for your very generous support of our work at ShelterHouse. I apologize for dragging Illya away, but I have a meeting tomorrow with the UN ECOSOC and I've got some premeeting reports to get finished up tonight."
"Of course, Dr. Murtagh," Mr. Waverly responded as he rose and came around to them. "It was delightful finally getting to meet you. Mags says we'll be seeing you and Mr. Kuryakin for brunch on Sunday?"
"I'm afraid I'll have to decline, sir," Illya responded. "I'd planned on getting the reports finished from the affair in Carcassonne this weekend."
"Nonsense," Waverly responded. "Mr. Solo, can come in and finish the reports on Sunday, can't you Mr. Solo? Yes, of course he can," the old gentleman said not waiting for Napoleon to respond.
As Moira headed toward the door, Mr. Waverly placed his hand on Illya's shoulder.
"Nicely done there, Mr. Kuryakin. Nicely done indeed." He shifted his gaze to Mags for a moment and smiled. "My experience is that when you finally find the right woman, everything else just comes together."