3. Pranks

Isabel rolled her eyes. "Are you sure about this?"

"Positive." Rusty lay stretched out on the bed, his fingers interlaced beneath the back of his head, looking up at the ceiling. His hair was growing a little long once again, he thought, but Isabel liked it that way, so he would let it grow a bit more before getting a haircut once again. A really short haircut… or maybe not. Maybe he would permanently stick with this hairstyle.

On the other hand, though… he looked like he was applying for a post with the Beatles.

However. Isabel liked it.

"Robert… I'll be coming with you this time."

"It's not your fight," Rusty said flatly.

"Yes it is!" she protested, and he sat up in surprise at the intensity of her reaction. "When you're involved, it is! And I won't let you keep me away again!"

"Easy, easy," he tried to soothe her, but stopped when she scowled at him. "Now look, when you're thinking of getting Toulour back in the name of your father –"

"It was really nasty of him," she interrupted, "but that doesn't mean he's my business in any way."

"Really?" Rusty raised his eyebrows at his girlfriend. "Your father's involved, so you could reason it's your fight, if you want to call it thus. You just said that about me."

"Come on off it. It's my own problem."

"Yeah? And I'm not entitled to have my own problems anymore? Why don't you invite Toulour over for tea and tell him you'd like to whack him around the head or something?" Rusty teased her. "Then it would be a problem entirely of your own, and just you and him. Or you two could go and play paintball, that's a wonderful idea of getting rid of your aggression, don't you think?"

At first Isabel placed her fists on her hips and raised her chin aggressively, but then she let them sink again and sighed. "Look, let me just have a word with him…"

"Isabel." Rusty tried to sound as reasonable as possible. "You must admit that your father seriously screwed the man when we were having the competition. Moreover, your father is the best thief there is. He can deal with that problem himself. And besides, Toulour is a prankster. I'm sure he'll give it back eventually."

Isabel shrugged, clearly not satisfied. "Fine, if you think so… but be so kind and mention it. That really wasn't nice, filching the Fabergé egg from my father."

"Ah, that's the young generation that follows the old gentlemen," Rusty said wisely. "No fucking respect for anyone."

What he had meant to achieve really happened: Isabel laughed out loud. "Are you talking about yourself or what?"

"That's possible, of course." Rusty lay back once more. "What do you think, should I ring the old boy up in the middle of the night?"

"Do you expect him to be cooperative then?" Isabel sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. She looked lovely in her thin, slightly lacy white summer nightshirt.

"I might just accidentally have forgotten that it's a lot later than here, over in Europe."

"I doubt that'd help you. Really."

"But it'd be a nice prank," Rusty pointed out. "He did that to Danny once."

"Oh yes, you told me. Just the night before you all were arrested." Isabel tousled Rusty's hair. Ever since he had started growing it at her insistence, she did that a lot more often, and he appreciated it. "We had better get some sleep now, don't you think?"

Rusty considered it briefly, and decided this might just contain a few offers he could not possibly resist.

Though on the other hand… "Just a moment. I'd really like to speak to that arrogant snotrag first." Grinning hugely, he sat up and reached for his mobile phone.