Diamond and Pearl by InSilva

Summary: Basher summons some help for one good friend from two others. Rated for profanity.

Disclaimer: just borrowed Danny, Rusty and Basher. It's a great library, isn't it!

Chapter One: Clear As

"So, how do you address a lady anyway?" Danny asked as they stood in front of the huge doors to the stately home.

They'd landed last night at Heathrow in what had seemed a monsoon but today, the June sun was bright and strong and Rusty looked over the top of his sunglasses at him. "Don't you know any?"

"You know, is it ma'am or…"

"Your excellency?" Rusty suggested innocently. "Your majesty?"

Danny ignored him. "I mean is it your ladyship? Your lady? My lady…?"

The doors remained resolutely shut.

"Maybe I should-"

"Maybe you should."

Rusty rang the doorbell again. They could hear it echoing long and loud in the hall within. Finally, footsteps approached.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rusty could see Danny still fidgeting.

"What?"

"Do you think we should have worn ties?"

The door swung open to reveal a butler, silver-haired and elegant.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Impeccable English. Intimidating as hell. As one, Rusty and Danny pulled their sunglasses off.

"Basher-"

"That is, Mr Tarr," Danny interrupted, "has asked us to meet him here. We're Mr Ryan and Mr Ocean."

The butler looked them over and Rusty caught Danny standing a little straighter. He hid a smile: he was going to have so much fun with this later.

"Do come in, sirs. Her ladyship and Mr Tarr are currently engaged in inspecting the gardens but I believe they have requested that you await their return in the main drawing room. Please follow me."

Rusty had been concentrating on the sentence, almost hypnotised by the starched accent. He threw a glance at Danny.

Do people really speak like this? I thought it was just in movies.

As they followed the butler down a long stone corridor, they could not help but take in the antiques on display. Silverware and porcelain decorated cabinets, rich tapestries hung off the walls and every so often there was a marble bust of someone probably famous and almost certainly long dead.

"You have some nice things here," Danny said, being polite but meaning it.

The butler did not turn round but over his shoulder, they heard:

"Thank you, sir. The collection was founded by the seventh Marquess who brought back several fine pieces from his Grand Tour."

"Grand Tour?" Rusty queried.

"His Grand Tour of Europe," the butler elaborated with a hint of exasperation that would be barely perceptible except to two such excellent readers of tone. "He visited various countries and then returned with artefacts from the places he had explored."

Rather like us, then.

Yeah.

They arrived at a large room with French doors out to a terrace, a sumptuous, burgundy carpet, mahogany furniture and portraits of eighteenth-century English nobility.

"If you care to wait here, gentlemen, her ladyship and Mr Tarr will be with you shortly." He exited, closing the door behind him.

Rusty and Danny looked around with semi-professional curiosity. Rusty let out a low whistle.

"Exactly," Danny agreed.

Raised voices were coming from the terrace outside and the glass doors were flung open.

"Sal, Sal," they heard Basher saying, "just slow down, won't you?"

A five foot two bundle of fury stormed into the drawing room closely followed by Basher. Both were covered in what Rusty hoped was mud, although you never knew with Basher.

"You are the living end, Basher Tarr!" the woman declared loudly in a voice that sounded as if she had been brought up not two doors away from Basher himself. She rounded on him. "If you dare tread dirt into the Wilton, I will have your hide. Stand there and strip off."

Basher rooted himself to the spot by the door as she jerked her head in Rusty and Danny's direction by way of acknowledgement and then yanked on a bell pull. The butler arrived at once.

"Hot soap and water, Simmons, please, and a towel. And bring Mr Tarr a change of clothes."

"Very good, my lady," Simmons answered and Rusty and Danny looked harder at the woman. This was…

"Rusty, Danny," Basher gave them a grin of welcome, "this is my very good friend, Sal Swan. Also known as Lady Chumley."

"I thought it was Cholmondley." Danny pronounced it with three separate syllables. He was sure that was the way Basher had spelt it in the text message.

Sal rolled her eyes.

"You say it 'Chumley'," Basher corrected hurriedly.

Why don't they spell it that way, then?

Rusty had no answer to that one.

Basher carried on with the introductions. "Sal, this is Rusty Ryan and Danny Ocean, two of the best."

Sal gave them a nod. "Would shake your hand, gentlemen, but this prawn," and Rusty doubted she could have injected more caustic acid into the word, "managed to drown us in mud."

"It was an accident-"

"Yeah, 'cos no one would deliberately lay that charge up without checking ground moisture first. It's not like it's rained recently or anything."

Simmons reappeared. Sal plunged her hands into the bowl of soapy water and splashed it round her face, rubbing herself dry on the accompanying white fluffy towel. It didn't make her face mud-free but it at least let Danny and Rusty see her features more clearly: sharp, blue eyes and a firm mouth and jaw, wisps of red hair escaping from the makeshift ponytail.

Basher made a move towards the bowl but Sal pinned him in place with a look. "I told you to strip."

"Aw, Sal…" There was a silent battle and then he sighed and pulled his shoes and socks off and his shirt over his head.

"And the jeans."

He dropped them and kicked them off then stood glaring at her, clad in a pair of purple silk boxers. Rusty and Danny were trying very, very hard not to look at each other.

"Scowl at me all you like," Sal said in a voice that suggested she didn't much care and motioned Simmons forward.

The butler handed over a short-sleeved T and jeans and collected the offending items of clothing which he held at arms' length as he left the room. Basher pulled the clean clothes on and sulked his way across to the bowl of water.

"Honestly, Sal, I could have been going commando or anything," he muttered, cleaning his face and hands and trying to find a part of the towel which was still clean.

Sal ignored him and turned to face Danny and Rusty. She stared at their faces for a long time and then seemed to make her mind up. Reaching over, she shook their hands. Her grip was strong for a woman and caught them both unawares.

"Alright, chaps. Have a seat. Here's how it is."

They sat on a low sofa and watched Sal pace up and down in front of them. Basher leaned up against the wall and watched her too.

"My husband, Norman, is salt of the earth and generous to a fault. He is also totally crap at reading people. Last month, he bumped in to a man at his club called Anthony Warrender. Owns a company that plays the stock markets. Invited Norman to invest a few plums."

Rusty and Danny's eyes travelled to Basher.

"Few hundred thou'," he translated.

"Thou', right," Sal agreed, frowning at the interruption. "Only Mr Warrender has burrowed his way through that money and out the other side without Norman seeing a penny by way of return."

"He could just be unlucky," suggested Danny. "I mean stocks are notoriously difficult-"

"He could be unlucky," Sal agreed, "or he could be a thieving sack of shit who didn't bother investing the money in the first place and who thinks a couple of dinners at the Dorchester to update Norman on its progress will get him off the hook."

She glared at the pair of them.

"I went to the Dorchester with Norman and I can tell you right here and now Anthony Warrender took him for a ride. Now I'm very fond of my husband. I don't like to see anything happen to him and I especially don't like to see anyone take advantage. This piece of shit not only took him for a jolly jaunt as far as his money went, he also tried it on with me when Norman's back was turned."

"Really," Rusty said and then, aware that his tone had been edging towards ungallant rather than horrified, tried to redress the balance with "I mean that's just not on."

Sal fixed him with a look that said she had heard him the first time. "Really," she nodded. "And no, it isn't."

"What Sal wants to do-"

"What Sal wants to do is explain it herself, Basher."

"Sorry."

"I want to hit this bastard twice. I want to stitch him up personally and professionally. Basher's taking charge of the latter part of that and providing the office safe isn't buried in a field, he'll probably do a good job."

Basher rolled his eyes.

"I asked him to find a couple of people who could help with the other part. Guess that's you two."

"I guess," Danny said.

She looked them over again. "OK, Basher says you're good and I trust him but I want to see you in action before we go on because it's going to be pointless explaining further if you turn out to be a pair of incompetent tossers. Simmons?"

Danny looked startled. Simmons had ghosted into the room without either him or, judging by the raised eyebrow, Rusty noticing.

"My lady."

"It's four o'clock near enough. Set up some high tea on the terrace."

"Very good, my lady."

"I'm going upstairs to get cleaned up. Start tea without me, gentlemen. I'll be down in a while."

She swept out of the room and left the three men looking at each other.

"Well, she's-" Rusty began.

"She is." Danny agreed fervently.

"Oh, yeah." Basher nodded.

Danny looked closely at Rusty who had started beaming. What are you so happy about?

Then he answered his own question. "Food."