Luck of Henri

Finished, Arnaud fell back on one of the ship's bunks and stared expectantly at the door of the cabin as he panted until his breathing became regular and, at length, he slept.

Henri dragged himself up from the floor, moaning, and collapsed on the bunk opposite to Arnaud's and kept vigil on Arnaud through the night. He didn't bother to look at the cabin door, as he knew it wouldn't open—or, if it did, Bertie would be full of spice and unapologetic. Henri also knew that whether or not Arnaud flew into a rage over this, it would be Henri, not Bertie, who would get the beating.

Now, twenty-two years after Arnaud had first debauched him, Henri was ready to accept that nothing would change here. And suddenly he had no desire to go to America whatsoever. In the wee hours of the morning, as the ship docked in Queenstown for its short, last stop in the old world before sailing to the new world, Henri stood, took up his great coat and bag, and left the cabin.

When Arnaud awoke, he was alone in the cabin. He staggered up and went in search of his "sons." Bertie wasn't hard to find. He was breakfasting at the captain's table and was receiving close, jolly attention from more than one of the ship's officers, who had their arms around Bertie's shoulder and hands on his crotch. Bertie waved jauntily at Arnaud when their eyes met, but his eyes immediately slipped off to devour those of yet another hearty blond in pure whites who had a hand possessively on Bertie's thigh.

Arnaud rushed back to the cabin to see if there was any sort of clue where Henri might have gone. Seeing Henri's bag and great coat gone, it dawned on Arnaud that Henri must have left the ship.

"Well, all right, you ungrateful cur," Arnaud muttered to the four walls of the cabin. "After all of these years, you desert me. Just see if I care."

But then he took another look at the two great coats hanging on the hook on the wall, and his eyes opened wide in fear and consternation. There was Bertie's flamboyant one and there . . . there was the one slightly too small for Arnaud.

Henri had taken his great coat by mistake. Or was it a mistake at all? All of those raw diamonds sewn into the seams of Arnaud's great coat—by Henri himself. What were the chances that Henri had taken the wrong coat?

Arnaud's mind was screaming, "Thief!" His fortune was on the run.

Instinctively, without a thought to any consequences, Arnaud ran out of the cabin, along the deck, and to the gangplank leading down to the Queenstown dock. Scrabbling down the gangway, he ran into the streets of Queenstown and started searching high and low through the pubs and hotel lobbies near the docks for Henri—and, more pointedly for his great coat.

At a bit beyond 2:00 in the afternoon, Arnaud found Henri in a pub, drinking his third beer and trying to stitch his circumstances back together again.

"Henri!" Arnaud cried out accusingly.

"Monsieur Arnaud," Henri said in surprise, clutching his coat about him. "Why have you sought me out? You have said I am nothing but bad luck and a nuisance for you. You have your Bertie and your new life in America. You must get back to the docks. Your ship will―"

"My coat. You took my coat, thief," Arnaud cried out. "The diamonds. You took the diamonds!"

"Your coat? This is my . . . oh, Monsieur, you are right this is your coat. In my haste . . . I did not know."

Henri's last statement came in a totally silent drinking room that, until Arnaud had cried out the word "diamonds," had been filled with boisterous talk and raucous laughter.

All eyes were turned to Arnaud and Henri, the interest of all was piqued, lips were wetted.

And above all, floating out over the sounds of the street outside, was the great blast of the horn as the greatest passenger ship in the world, the Titanic, cleared the Queenstown harbor for its momentous maiden—and last—voyage to New York.

Elsewhere in the world there was an old gypsy woman who stopped suddenly in the process of threading her needle, inclined her head at the knowledge that her fortune for Arnaud Van Briand had finely come to fruition, and then cackled a happy laugh and returned to her sewing.