Brent Lockyer boarded the ship just in time; that last game had been a close one, and if not for the habits of drunken sailors he might have come on board a lot poorer.  As it stood he now had enough to pay his fare on the Queen of Normandy, with 22 francs, 110 rubles, 1 pound sterling, and 200 lire to the better, whatever that rolled out to in Normal Money.

Add to that, there was a woman up on the top deck of the cruise ship, a long cool one with jet black hair, a form that would make an angel fall from grace, and all of it dressed in ruby red silk and flashing diamonds.  This looked...promising.

The ship itself was a nice one, well-suited to someone who wanted to enjoy life.  A casino, plenty of decks to stroll along, well-appointed cabins and staterooms, and loads of swarthy little men in uniform waiting to hand him off drinks.  He could get used to this.

Brent was chuffed with himself - a fool and his money are some party! For a glimmering moment Brent felt a little bad for taking advantage of the sailors but they chose to drink but the big mistake was to buy into his double-bluff. Brent remembered the look on their faces and grinned, God he loved winning.

"My good man, could you show me to my cabin?" Brent had caught the attention of a crew member and was eager to ditch his bags and go searching for that lady in red. She looked so good that a well-behaved dog would break it's lead. Brent couldn't get her out his mind.

Brent's cabin was not a cheap one.  It had a portside view and a soft bed, a small desk and chair and a wardrobe.  It was far enough from the engines that it wasn't noisy or smoky, and all was right enough with his world.  "Dinner, Senor, at eight of the clock,"  his latest server said, another nameless swarthy man in a white uniform, who ably carried Brent's luggage.

He had a couple of hours to spend before dinner.

As he was putting his luggage into the wardrobe, he heard a shrill voice screeching a name over and over..."BERTIE !  BERTIE !" in a rage.  Finally it ended, for which he was grateful.

After bouncing on the bed - as everyone does in a new room - Brent got about sorting his luggage, especially which currency he'd used first. Then that name 'Bertie', his grandma used to call him that and to hear it again made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, he hated it.

'It's Brent nan - Brent' He almost spat the 'T' as his gran sure that she used to wind him up on purpose. Thankfully he always beat her at her favourite card games, that used to make the day visiting his gran worth while.

Finishing his unpacking and opting for the francs, he could pretend he was well travelled and with knowing a little French this white lie would add to his 'charisma' Brent thought to himself. Once the lucky shirt was on and Brent thought he looked good he stepped out of his room heading for the casino, a quick hour before dinner couldn't hurt anyone. Brent crossed his fingers as he made his way to the casino, hoping not to run into Bertie or the owner of that shrill iritating voice at any point on this trip, although it was almost inevitable.

Brent trotted along to the casino, brushing past a polished, dark-haired man in a plain black suit as he entered.  It was small, but everything he needed was there.  The poker table was empty, but two passengers were playing at Roulette, and three at Baccarat.  No one really stood out in here, apart from the tiny fluffball of a poodle that was wagging its ridiculously poofed tail at him.

"Moof !  Miff !"  the dog yapped, apparently delighted to see him.

Brent wasn't a man to stroke dogs but the cute thing did bring a little grin, definately taking his attention from the guy walking into him, Brent hated that. The clink of the Roulette ball drew Brent like a moth to the flames, it was a quick easy game that he could walk away from for dinner. Nodding politely to the other two playing he turned to the croupier 'Could I have a few francs worth of chips, thank you? Could you make them the winners as well?

The croupier, a serious-looking fellow, replied in accented English. "Here you are, Monsieur,"  and gave Brent a few franc's worth of chips...the lowest denomination of chips, and a tiny stack it was.  "As for luck, that you must bring with you."  The plump lady in grey tweed smiled at him, and placed a small stack of ten-Franc chips onto number 17, while the other man, a thin-faced fellow in a brown suit, departed the table. The first time the wheel spun, she lost and Brent lost.  The second time, she lost, and Brent doubled his money. The third time, she won, and Brent lost.

"That's my luck, today,"  she said happily, scooping up her chips. The little poodle responded to her happy tone and barked excitedly.

'Congratulations madam, I'm sure I will see you again before the journey is through, my name is Brent.' Brent was a man taught to be polite and it came as second nature. 'I have no-one to go to dinner with, would it be rude to invite myself onto your table?'

The lady picked up her poodle too, its poofy tail thumping on her side.  She was the image of middle-aged well-being.  And the string of pearls she wore was tasteful, and expensive.  "Thank you, young man,"  she said.  "My name is Mrs. Elizabeth Waters, but do call me Liza, everyone does.  I would be delighted if you would share my table...I have just enough time to dress before dinner.  It's table 17.  See you there !"  Dimpling prettily, she went out.

Alwysa good to get to know gamblers, hopefully she didn't just play roulette, a game of poker might remove her of some money that she clearly had enough of! Brent grinned to himself, this was going to be a good cruise. Brent now had enough to do a lap of the boat to get himself accustomed to the ship and keep an eye out for that lady in red. Then to dinner with Liza and her undoubtable wealthy friends!

Brent strolled around the ship's deck, noting that it seemed to be a well-run
ship.  The lady in red was nowhere to be seen, but a few middle-class couples
were strolling along contentedly.

Dinnertime came along, and he was perfectly groomed for it.  He spotted table
17 instantly, the handsome Liza Waters wearing a shining blue gown with a
white silk wrap.  She was chatting pleasantly with the other two at her table,
a white-whiskered bald man with a monocle and a thin-faced woman in green,
with grey hair piled up under an expensive gold comb, no doubt the man's wife.

 "Oh, it is Mr. Brent Lockyer," Mrs. Waters said, "Mr. Lockyer, please meet
Mrs. and Colonel Davidson-Heartly.  The Colonel served in India."
"Pleased to hmeet hyou,"  The Colonel said, plummy English Uppercrust accent
hard enough to cut ice.  "Delighted,"  murmured the wife, politely.

'May I first thank you for sharing your table, I do detest travelling alone and dinner time is such a social event for me.' Brent was on form, oozing charm as he settled into his seat ordering the table a relatively expensive but top quality bottled of red wine. Brent kept up the polite small talk as well as keeping a keen eye for that red dress. It was becoming an obsession.

"We're happy to have you, Mr Lockyer,"  Liza Waters said sweetly. They chattered pleasantly enough about the weather (splendid) and the ship (quality).  Then he saw Her.

She was easing into the dining room on the arm of a man in uniform, with epaulettes and suchlike in gold, and she was wearing a silk wine-red gown and black diamonds, her impossibly black gleaming hair put up with more diamond-dressed combs.  He caught her smile; it was a siren's call.  They walked on towards the Captain's table, since the man escorting her was the captain himself.  After a while, Brent felt someone gently patting his arm.  It was Liza Waters, a mischievous smile on her face.  "She's the Baroness von Schoen,"  she whispered.  "She's very rich, if those gems are any indication.  She dances, so you can try to meet her after dinner.  I'll foxtrot you over to her and then, my lad, it's up to you."

'I'm sorry, was i being that obvious.' Brent flushed a little red with embaressment. 'Do you know the Baroness, or do you just know of her?' Brent was getting lost in his own imagination. If she was a Baroness there was probably a Baron Brent thought to himself, but then she had smiled at him.

"Oh, she's the sort of woman who people find out about," replied Liza Waters lightly. "Came on in Italy, in Brindisi."
"A Hun," grumped the Colonel.
"Now, dear," soothed Mrs. the Colonel, whose name was Daphne.
"Well, we've all passed a lot of water since then,"  Liza Waters said, and changed the topic back to the safer climes of travel and entertainment.