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Disclaimer:
This page is an unofficial site that exists only for the fun of it. All characters and situations from the television show "The Man from U.N.C.L.E." are property of Norman Felton and Warner Bros. Nothing ill is intended by this use of any television characters in these amateur efforts. Any fiction linked to these pages is the intellectual property of the amateur author who created it and is not presented here for profit.

Classification: T for Teen (or used to be PG-13 or so)

Author's Notes: Just because she's too good to be true, does that
make her a problem?

Pairing: Unknown

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Cheri changed into her one and only "little black dress", a flow of black silk caught with jet beads at the shoulders, floating over a sheath style under dress of black on black silk brocade, slit to the top of her thigh. The whole thing was deceptively simple looking and concealed a number of handy items, should she need them.

She stepped across the hall to her double's room, tapped and was told to enter. The glitzy, psychedelic whirl of pattern on the other brought her up short. "No." The word was out of her mouth before she could stop it. The half grin softened the denial, but didn't remove it.

"It is fashionable."

"It is horrible, and you know it," Cheri retorted. She could see it in the other's face. She hated the dress.

"Caleb wishes me to be … more current."

"I don't disagree. But there's "current" and "hideous". Obviously Caleb doesn't know the difference." Tears brimmed in her twin's eyes. "Aw .. no. Don't. It's OK. We'll fix it, honest." She put her arms around the thinner woman and held on for a few seconds before shifting back to look into her face. "Really. You just have to figure out what works for you instead of against you. This," she touched the dress, "too much color against your skin. Makes you look horridly sallow. Not a good idea. Let me see what else there is to work with."

Within half an hour, Cheri was grinning over her twin's shoulder, both of them reflected in the full length mirror. "Better?" she prompted.

"Much."

Better was a deep turquoise bell-sleeved satin mini-dress layered over a forest green velvet skirt, shimmering silver stockings and silver spike heels. The masses of blue-black hair pulled into a doubled twist and secured by mother of pearl inlaid hair sticks, as well as a couple of fragile looking silver filigree butterfly clips softened her usually severe look. Pearls at wrist, neck and ears completed the outfit. While the result wasn't Carnaby Street mod, it was timeless, revealing the beauty she worked so hard to hide. Or ignore, Cheri thought.

They met Napoleon and Illya in the hallway just after the dinner gong struck. There was obvious admiration on both their faces as each offered an arm to a lady and escorted the two down to dinner.

Cheri refrained from a Cheshire Cat grin as Caleb almost didn't make the right call on which of the two was his companion. He looked a little shaken by his Cheri's transformation from Middle European drudge to elegant lady. The agent thought he was about to offer her his escort in to dinner when Derek Rayne, very smart in white shirt and European tailored suit, nipped in and offered his arm first. Whether the gesture was due to his father's prompting or his own upbringing, none of the others could tell. He certainly seemed content with his offer as he walked into the dining room. Winston Rayne snorted slightly as his host followed, leaving the rest of them to go in as they wished.

Dinner was excellent. Conversation was tightly controlled, except for Derek Rayne and the resident Cheri. Both seemed to have slipped the bonds of reserve that normally kept them restrained in the presence of others. Derek touched on his travels with his father, keeping them entertained with his impressions of foreign lands while Cheri contributed a few of her own interesting comments on growing up in on a farm in Illinois with a father who spoke Russian, French and some English.

After dinner, they retired to the drawing room/library for a while. One Cheri gravitated to her superiors while the other gave Derek a tour of the library. Napoleon asked if the evening dress was her idea.

"Given what she was intent on wearing, oh yes."

"Both it and she look lovely."

High praise from such a stickler as Napoleon. She curtseyed slightly in response. "Thank you. If we've got some time tomorrow, I'm going to weed out her closet and put things together for her. Woman has no sense of style."

"I think she's developing one," he observed, watching the boy talking animatedly to the woman.

Cheri followed his gaze. "He's a little young," she observed dryly. "But there are a lot of ways in which she isn't much older … emotionally, socially. Poor thing seems to have been badly abused."

"Father?"

"Mother. Notice all the stories were Papa and pre-pubescent? No, I think Maman was the problem. Pity the woman didn't drop dead at an opportune moment."

"That's a little cold."

She looked up into his sharp gaze. "Realistic. Abusive parents are the pits. Just because it's legal to beat your kids to death if they displease you, doesn't mean it's right." She realized just how much of a razor edge she'd put on the words at his reaction. Damn. Not what she'd meant to do. Now he had more to think about. "Sorry. Had a friend in school that died that way. 'Domestic dispute arising from rebellious attitude of child'."

"I'm surprised you didn't do anything about it."

"What makes you think I didn't?" she asked sweetly as she turned her attention to Caleb and Mr. Rayne. She walked away leaving Napoleon to think what he would. There were more important things at stake here and she was about to take at least one bull by the horns.

"Mr. Moorecock," she slid an arm through her host's and felt him stiffen. Was it the contact or that she'd easily sneaked up on him? "Mr. Rayne," she nodded to the older man. He was already pretty stiff, which had nothing to do with the after dinner drink in his hand. His eyes were that sort of sandy blue, not quite pale enough to count as startling, but not dark enough to make much of an impression. She got the feeling he was not happy about being interrupted or having to make nice with his host and the trio of guests Caleb had invited to stay.

"Miss … "

"Yuconovich. Caleb's partner and I share the name. Apparently Ellis Island wasn't very imaginative with her patronymic or mine. And with similar backgrounds, we landed with the same name. Explains how our luggage got confused, I guess." She let her gaze stray to where Derek and the other Cheri were engaged in a deep discussion of one of the books. "Attractive boy."

"Thank you," Winston ground out between gritted teeth. "Mr. Moorecock and I were –"

"Discussing the sale of Seris House to the – Luna Foundation, yes?"

The glare became more hard edged. Caleb, on the other hand, relaxed. A quick glance showed her a sardonic glint in his eye, a faint smile curling his lips. She quickly sat on her next reaction to that smile. This was neither the time nor the place to get distracted by her host's considerable charms.

"You're familiar with the Foundation?"

"Yes. I'm familiar with it's charitable – works. It must be exhausting to spend so much of your time away from home." She noted that Illya had eased closer on the pretext of inspecting some of the older volumes nearby while Napoleon had joined Derek and the other Cheri.

"The work is necessary."

This was going to be like pulling teeth. Then she discovered a nasty question and asked if he knew Giles Faversham who was responsible for many changes in the southern Sahara Desert. Caleb choked on his drink while Cheri looked innocently from one man to the other. Winston's face, not particularly mobile already, went frozen.

"You know Mr. Faversham?"

"Not personally," she admitted. "But I have heard quite a lot about him, including that he has an interest in this house."

Oh, yes. There was fire here. There was a raging forest fire and she had just stepped into a pile of kindling on the edge of it. Winston referred her to Caleb as the more knowledgeable about Mr. Faversham. Caleb laughed at that.

"He's referring to Giles Faversham, Sr. He was – owner of this house when I acquired it. He disappeared soon after." This was accompanied by a coolly speculative look that bordered on accusatory. "His son is interested in the house, as is the Foundation. I'm considering turning it into a bidding war." If looks could kill, Winston Rayne's gaze would have incinerated Caleb on the spot. Luckily, Winston wasn't blessed with that ability. "Or I may simply keep the place. It's comfortable."

Cheri was glad there were no bladed weapons nearby and that neither man was aware of how well armed three of Caleb's guests were. She wasn't certain things wouldn't have escalated had weapons been available. Napoleon made a comment about the bindings of one of the books he was holding, showing that the urbane agent also knew some things about bindery. The comment distracted Caleb who went to look and agreed with Napoleon's evaluation. The volume was set aside for further investigation.

Derek, stifling yawns for the last quarter hour, gave up and excused himself to go to bed. Both Cheries elected to escort him to his room. Illya followed with a trio of slim tomes while Napoleon opted to keep company with his host and Mr. Rayne.

Upstairs, Derek offered a small apology for his father's attitude. He looked uncomfortable recalling his father's curt responses. "He has a lot on his mind," he offered.

Cheri saw that he knew the excuse was lame, but recognized that any explanation of the truth was expressly forbidden the boy. If the two women pointed out that Caleb's guests were up to their butts in strange goings on, it would solve nothing. The agents were not Legacy and the Legacy was a jealous guardian of mysteries.