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You were meant to call...
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Disclaimer
This is a work of amature fiction, no contravention of copyright is intended and no profit is made from this endeavour.
There were days he hated it, the pouting Prima Dona’s, the strutting queens and the doyens of society who simpered almost psychopathically over his designs. It was fabric, it was textile, it was meant to be fun, but oh no. In America nothing was ever that simple, not only was it a job it was more often than not lately a nightmare. He ducked his head around the corner at Vanya’s looking about him like a demented ex spy and then smiled and realised he was.
The swatch book of the new fabrics clutched tightly under his arm, Illya took a back route to his office and sneaked inside, avoiding the demands of those around him. A headache brewed behind his eyes and he slipped two aspirin in his hand as a glass of water appeared in front of him. Admitting defeat he took the pills before looking up at his secretary.
Carla was, well elderly, and a force to be reckoned with. She marshalled her charge like an overbearing grandmother, leaving food on his table when he forgot to eat. Making tea when he got that look in his eyes and on occasion taking him home to eat real Russian food when he looked lost and tired. He’d spent several nights at her house amidst the noise and haste of her life, finding feelings of home and safety that he often lacked. Illya smiled gratefully as she answered his phone and curtly told the caller that Mr. Kuryakin was in a meeting not to be disturbed, she would pass on a message if they were so inclined to leave one.
“And that was?” Illya asked as he dropped into the sofa in his office, his eyes scanning the clear blue sky out of the large window. It felt like months since he sat in the park or walked under the sun. With a sinking feeling he knew he wouldn’t be able to today either.
“Mary Steen from Vogue has been calling about your invitation to their launch, do you intend on going?” Carla poured a cup of tea and sweetened it with cherry preserve.
“Send the invitation down to PR and have Rebecca go in my place. Take a couple of photographers and give her a gold pass to the next story launch.”
“Alright, you were supposed to have dinner with the Ambassador tomorrow night at the Embassy ball.”
“Which Ambassador?”
“Russian.” Carla smiled. “Or shall I go in your place, again?”
“Spasibo.” Illya looked up hopefully and caught the glint in her eye. “Alright, I’ll do the Embassy shuffle but I want you to clear my calendar for the weekend. I’m tired Carla.”
“Da luybenkov I know. I have kept you schedule to a minimum but there are a few I’ll let you decide on.”
She opened the large diary and sat down next to him. “You have a meeting in two hours with the man from the computer company; mostly everything else you have today is suppliers. There is a small problem down on the cutting floor but I’ve called Toby in from his day off to pin the frocks up. The tacked items will be racked by six and I’ll have them sent up.”
“Do we know who the computer company are sending?” Illya leaned back against the sofa closing his eyes for a moment, the headache finally receding.
“Ah no, there was a mix up they were sending a technician to discuss the dial up and mainframe, but he wont be attending, one of the managers I imagine.”
“Just so long as he can negotiate a price, I’m sick of these people who make assumptions about my business.” Illya scowled.
“Vanya’s is hugely successful dushka, they believe that you are not as careful with your money as others are in the industry.”
“Which means I don’t do enough avant garde work?”
“I think you could do more, we have a number of graduate students who would benefit from a new line.”
“Yes you’ve been pushing that particular barrow for a while now. I’ll set a budget at the next meeting and have the department heads choose a candidate from their staff to work on a new range. Non functional art pieces. We’ll introduce it at the spring show and see what response we get.”
Carla kissed him gently on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet.”
“In the meantime you have time for lunch and the new swatches have come in. Your flight to Milan has been cancelled, the manufacturers are not ready and we’ve found similar items in Berlin. I have samples on the way. And your lunch is on the table.”
“Chicken sandwich?”
“Hardly, today I make lunch you have piroshki and borsch. I’ll keep them all away for an hour.”
“I should have married you.” Illya smiled.
“Oh yes, if I were twenty years younger, had no children perhaps you’d look at me twice, though I doubt it.” She kissed him on the other cheek and left him alone.
~~~oooOOOooo~~~
It had been almost ten years since Napoleon had come back to New York. Sir John had told him that Illya was well and out of the industry but he would give him no other details. Even when Alexander died and they held the state funeral in England he had scanned the crowd for the gold hair and it was missing. Things had fallen far from grace and as he walked along the streets of the lower east forties he felt the familiar ache and longing in his heart.
He knew that Illya was probably no longer in the country, there had been nothing here to keep him and his offer of his heart had obviously not been enough, not then, not now. Illya simply vanished and Napoleon buried himself in work and family matters. Even briefly marrying before realising his mistake and extricating himself from her beautiful and mundane clutches.
Now he gathered the pain to his chest and locked it away not daring to look at it, not daring to see it for what it was. Still impeccably dressed he had become a successful entrepreneur, government contracts not withstanding his company was on the very cutting edge of research and development, his computer modules and mainframes sought by most of the larger corporations in the world and it afforded him a lifestyle that suited his playboy image.
He caught sight of himself in the large window of the store he was standing outside of. The grey at his temples making him appear distinguished, his body still strong and fit and his manner now bordered on arrogant acceptance of his own ego. But it was superficial, his life had become meaningless and he often considered the offers Sir John threw at him to come back to work for UNCLE. At least then he’d felt alive, those last days, the last time he saw the blue eyes that shone with betrayal as he walked away from the better part of himself. Expecting Illya to follow, to call to do something but not a word, almost fifteen years and he hadn’t had a word.
Napoleon stopped looking, he couldn’t remember when but he did. The sights and sounds of New York thrilled him and yet his heart crawled begging him to conclude his business as soon as possible and flee to the safety of his mountain retreat.
He hurried, there was a time when entering into a fashion house, filled with beautiful women would have been a dream come true. A bevy of beauties to beguile and to seduce now he saw them through jaded eyes seeking only what his bank account had to offer without genuine affection. Life hadn’t changed that much expect now he felt like the prey and not the hunter.
“I have an appointment with Vanya.” He announced at the front desk as he handed over his card.
“Yes sir.” The uniformed guard buzzed ahead and checked with the correct authorities. “You will need to wear the security tag sir, take the second elevator on the left up to the fourth floor, I’ve buzzed you through Mrs Natoli with see you into the main office.”
Napoleon smiled as he clipped on the pass. “Thank you.”
Mrs Natoli was exactly how Napoleon envisioned her to be, an older Ukrainian lady if he was still good with accents, hair neatly pulled back into a sever bun and with wide hips and stern expression.
“I have an appointment with Vanya.” Napoleon informed her and she nodded.
“You’re from Bytes Software, yes I know. Vanya will be with you in a moment.” She eyed him coolly and sat him in the plush external office. He didn’t need to wait long; his appointment was punctual and buzzed through only a moment or two late, Solo was relieved. He really wanted to be out of New York as soon as possible.
His predecessor had a contract in place with the fashion house but failed to deliver. It was a lucrative 5 year term and since becoming the CEO of the company he’d had to wait months before Vanya would deign to talk to his office.
Finally the Solo charm had struck gold and he’d secured an appointment to discuss the renewal of the contract. Words of warning of the prickly and temperamental nature of Vanya rang in his ears, and with long experience with people in the fashion industry he was certain he would need to tread warily. They were a finicky lot, often given to histrionics and mood swings. He prayed Edward had been wrong. He had managed to rub Napoleon up the wrong way continuously, it would not be hard, the ex CEO had the people skills of a llama.
He fixed a smile onto his face and stepped into the large well appointed office. Swatches of fabric hung from pegs against the wall, racks of frocks pinned and complete along another wall. A large drawing desk with pads of sketches by the window and another with a light box and streams of processed negatives and a square magnifier for looking at the pictures in detail.
The room was ordered clutter with the sofa and coffee table cleared away as Napoleon took in his surroundings and the pair of cold blue eyes that regarded him. His heart stopped as his hand convulsively clutched the handle of the attaché case.
“You, ah, were meant to call Illya.” Napoleon finally found his breath and delight spread in his chest as he took a step forward and found himself frozen on the spot by the look of cool regard.
“Spasibo Carla.” Illya said to his secretary. “Mr. Solo has his tea the same as I do.”
Carla looked between the two men and scowled at Napoleon before leaving the office.
“It’s good to see you Illya.” Napoleon ventured as Illya slumped against his desk, arms folded across his body and feet crossed at the ankles. His posture was defensive and arrogant a look Napoleon remembered well. The fine white linen shirt open at the neck, the sleeves rolled partway up to reveal strong corded arms. The shock of gold hair glowing against the backlight from the window and the eyes that had always stolen his breath blazed furiously at him.
“No doubt.” The first words dripped with sarcasm and cold comfort. “Shall we conduct this interview standing or would you prefer to sit down.
“Sitting if you don’t mind.” Napoleon felt the world fall away from him as he managed to keep his dignity wrapped around him like a cloak.
“Not at all.” Illya indicated the sofa and smiled as Carla put the tea down on the table and left. “Please hold all my calls for the next two hours dushka, Mr. Solo and I have quiet a bit to discuss.”
“As you wish sir, I’ll have the new range delivered direct to the cutting room floor and have Jason quality check it before we start the line.”
“Spasibo.”
“Might I then assume that you are Vanya?” Napoleon asked at length as Illya poured tea and sipped.
“For the past twelve years, we have grown quiet a bit which is why I need a fully integrated office package to liaise between all my overseas offices.”
“How many are we talking about?”
“In total I have four in the US, one in Milan, one in Moscow and two in London, so a total of nine including this one.”
“And a totally different telecommunications structure in each country which will make it difficult to integrate the systems.”
“Edward promised me that he could do it and in two years nothing. We paid a good sum of cash up front for the R&D and I don’t even have a report.”
“Hence the legal documents and threat to sue.”
“Even in this day and age a hundred thousand is a lot of money. So are you the sacrificial lamb?” Illya asked coldly.
“No, I bought the company last year. I’ve been doing research and development for the government and have the patent on a new product which will probably suit your needs.”
“Good, then in that case you’d better show me what you have.”
“Alright.” Solo propped the attaché case on the table and clicked it open. “Might I assume that you’ll withdraw the legal documents that are encumbering my company?”
“If you fail to deliver or fulfil my needs then it is highly likely I will continue the suit against the company but I will name the previous CEO as the respondent.”
“The company was in debt when I purchased it Illya; from all the problems we’ve had I would think that Edward took French Leave with more than the payroll.”
“So you’re financing the company yourself?”
“Yes. I’m certainly not as wealthy as you are but I can manage.”
“This,” Illya waved his hand around. “Comes with a great cost, I have over four hundred direct employees and almost twice as many on contract and in sales. It takes its toll.”
“At least you have an assistant who seems fond of you.”
“Carla? She comes from the same village in the Ukraine that my grandmother was in; she used to sit me as a child.”
“Ah, a true treasure then. How is your grandmother?”
“She passed away last year. I went home for the service.”
“I’m sorry Illya.”
“No need she was nearly ninety seven. And you? How is your father?”
“He’s not well, just had heart surgery but we are hoping.”
“Ah the doctors now are very good, I’m sure he will be alright. I heard you got married.”
“Did you hear I got divorced the same year?” Napoleon frowned slightly. Illya had managed to keep tabs on him but he had been oblivious.
“No I didn’t, she was not what you wanted?” Illya poured another glass of tea.
“No she wasn’t and never would have been.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t changed my mind if that’s what your implying Illya. I told you fifteen years ago that I loved you, you think that dissipates in a moment.”
“Yes actually I do.” Illya grew cold again; the pleasantries of the last few minutes grating on his nerves and the headache barely stemmed throbbed behind his eyes.
“Okay, look I can give you the schematics of the new system, I have no doubt that you will be able to make out the details. Since it would be a part of R&D you would only be charged cost should you be interested and offer a waver to the debt that the company has in regard to the contract. We would need to appoint someone within both our offices to monitor and debug the networks and offer immediate support. I hasten to add it would simply be a prototype and there is no guarantee it would work.”
“I will need to look at the details first before I can give you and answer, but if it is as good as your research people suggest then I will have no problems coming to an agreement with your company.”
Napoleon nodded as he withdrew a folder from the case and placed it on the table between them. And clipped the case closed.
“I’ll have my people contact yours, I’m sure Mrs. Natoli can arrange suitable connections for us. In the meantime I won’t take up any more of your time.” Napoleon stood the mask firmly in place, the fine tremor that went through his hand did not go unnoticed and he almost made it to the door before he heard Illya speak.
“You seem to always be running away from me Napasha, why is that?” Illya had not moved.
“Is that what you think? That I was running out on you?” Napoleon turned, his face an unreadable mask but the eyes radiated such sorrow that it was nearly Illya’s undoing.
“What else am I to think, one day you are there doing routine work, and the next day you announce at midnight no less that you’re leaving the office and me.”
“I practically begged you to come with me.” Napoleon rounded.
“No you didn’t! Like everything else in your life you commanded it, demanded it and expected that I would drop everything and follow you without a blind bit of consideration to my circumstances.”
“It was your circumstances I was considering.” He stalked forward and Illya was immediately on his feet.
“Really?” sarcasm and bitterness dripped from the word. “Explain to me how you can walk into my apartment at midnight, tell me you love me but can’t live in secret and then just walk away. I never got the chance to say goodbye Napoleon, I never got the chance to talk to you the next day. You were gone, within the space it took me to pull my life back together that you so thoughtfully shattered, you were gone and there was nothing to discuss!”
“I wrote you within the month, told you how to contact me. Are you saying you didn’t get the letter?” Napoleon looked skeptical.
“Oh I got the letter alright, in between physio and surgeries. I was still with the agency, Alex was sick, it broke his heart when you left and I was pulling double duty. It was months later Napoleon, months before I could even look at the letter and not want to throw up.”
“I didn’t know you were hurt.”
“No like everything else in your life you assumed and you got it wrong, so very fucking wrong.” Illya dropped back into the sofa and sighed heavily.
“That’s twice.”
“What is?” Illya looked up confused.
“You swore again.”
“I never swear.”
“Yes you do, all the time; only mostly you expect people don’t understand Arabic, or Hebrew or German or any of the other sixteen languages you speak.” Napoleon came closer and sat next to his partner wanting nothing more than to reach out.
Illya smiled, it was the first one since he’d walked into the room and understood just how much he had hurt the reserved Russian, mindlessly running over his life and making assumptions. That night had haunted him for years, and he knew now that Illya had not dismissed him, in fact was compromised by his actions and he like a coward ran away.
He’d been a fool.
“Illya, I am so sorry.” Napoleon spoke gently as he reached across and twined their hands.
“I know, I’ve always known Napoleon.”
“You have?” Napoleon sat back on the sofa resting his back and shoulders along the high padded seat.
“Oh yes in between wanting to eviscerate you with a hot curling iron and hold you. I think I managed to understand your motivation. Doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you though.”
“Hot curling iron?”
“Yes, well maybe my profession has altered my perceptions somewhat.” A smile tugged at the corner of the lips.
“You think maybe you could forgive me?” Napoleon played with the wedding ring on Illya’s hand.
“Perhaps, I may have to make you suffer a great deal first.”
“I’ll take any punishment you see fit to give me.” Napoleon was earnest.
“We shall see.” Illya rubbed the back of his neck.
“Still hurts?” Illya frowned. “Your neck, it used to always bother you when you were stressed.”
“Da.” Illya closed his eyes. “If you run out on me again Napoleon I will make a complete ensemble with your skin.”
“Fashion design Illya?”
“Good way to meet girls.”
“And did you?”
“Oh yes, hundreds and hundreds of beautiful women and boys.”
“You didn’t keep any of them?”
“No Napoleon, they were children or worse employees. I would not do that.”
“So I guess it’s a bit late, but you’re still single?”
“Mostly.” Illya answered enigmatically.
“Ahah, so now you are torturing me?”
“Maybe.” Illya smiled and curled himself up on the sofa next to Napoleon, he only meant to close his eyes for a moment, really he did.
Two hours later Carla opened the door and found the dark haired man who had entered earlier sitting on the couch staring out over the city of Manhattan with Illya’s head in his lap. The blond looked the same as he did when he was a child, free of worry or distress and more importantly he looked at peace. Her eyes locked with the American for a second, she nodded and closed the door securely.
Vanya would be out for the rest of the day.
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