Women and Children First: Bravery, love and fate: the untold story of the doomed Titanic. Gill Paul

at the entrance. He wasn’t looking their way. ‘Hold out your hand.’

      Reg did as she asked, holding it out flat. Her gloved hand came down on top of his and she placed something there then bent his fingers over so that it wouldn’t show.

      ‘This is from me, not my husband. It’s to say that I’m grateful for the way you’ve been looking after us. I don’t want to hear any more about it, though. I’m going down to my room now and we won’t mention it again.’

      Reg pulled back her chair. ‘Thank you very much, ma’am,’ he said quietly. ‘It means a lot to me.’

      ‘You’re very welcome, Reg. I’ll see you at breakfast.’

      Reg could feel that there was some kind of banknote in his palm but he didn’t dare check which denomination, so he put it directly into his trouser pocket and finished clearing his tables, then set them for breakfast. It was only later when he went to the lav that he fished it out and nearly fell backwards with shock. It was a five-pound note. He whistled out loud. He’d never even held one of these in his hands before, never mind one that was his to keep. It was green, with a picture of King George on it. Straight away, he decided not to tell anyone, not even John, because it would make the others jealous. They might even report him and he’d be forced to hand it back. He would keep it in his trouser pocket and never be separated from it. There was too much chance of pilfering if he left it unsupervised with his few possessions in the dorm for even five minutes.

      Good old Mrs Grayling. What on earth would he say when he saw her the next morning? How could he ever thank her? Did she have any idea that it represented more than a month’s wages to him? Reg felt his cheeks grow hot with excitement. With money like this, maybe he could get a stall and sell meat pies to the seamen who came ashore at Southampton. The Seaview Café wouldn’t be happy about the competition, but all was fair in love and business. Where would he make his pies, though? His mum would never let him use her kitchen and he’d have no income to pay rent on a place of his own. Was there anything else he could do?

      He wished he could ask advice from some of the millionaires on board. What gave Mr Straus the idea of setting up Macy’s department store in New York? Why did Mr Cardeza decide to get into manufacturing blue jeans? How had Mr Grayling raised the money to invest in South American copper mines?

      But then none of them had been born in a two-bed terrace in Albert Street, Northam, with no father to look after them and no money. Someone had surely helped them take the first step up the ladder. The likes of the Astors and Guggenheims and Vanderbilts were a different kettle of fish because they had inherited their wealth, but how could you leap from poverty to business success? He needed to have a good idea, and save money until he had enough to start up. Think about what people need and don’t yet have, he urged himself, but no matter how hard he concentrated, that crucial bright idea wouldn’t come. He didn’t have the technical know-how to invent a way of transmitting telephone calls from New York to London. All he knew was the restaurant trade.

      He lay on top of his bunk fully dressed, listening to the sounds of all the other stewards in the dorm chatting quietly to each other, their voices disappearing one by one as they drifted off to sleep. Reg knew he wouldn’t sleep for ages because he had too much on his mind. He felt restless and unsettled. He was twenty-one years old and still waiting for his life to begin, but he didn’t know how to get started, didn’t even know what it was he really wanted. John wasn’t ambitious like him, and he was probably a much happier person as a result. All John wanted was to find a good woman to marry, and maybe to make it up the ranks to be a sommelier or chief steward one day – although privately Reg couldn’t see that happening because he was too broad in his accent, too coarse in his looks. They liked their head waiting staff to be easier on the eye. Reg could have done it, but he was insubordinate at heart. He followed the White Star Line rules but sometimes felt as though his head might explode. He’d rather be his own boss one day.

      Maybe too much contact with the rich had spoiled him, giving him airs above his station. Face facts: the only thing he was good at was waiting on table; the only money he had was a five-pound note. He should accept his lot, go home and put down a deposit on a nice engagement ring for Florence. Mrs Grayling would probably be delighted if he told her that was the way he planned on spending her money.

      But he knew he wasn’t going to do that. That’s not what it had come to him for. It was his chance to do something that would change his life once and for all. He got fed up lying there with his thoughts swirling round and decided to get up. He jumped lightly to the floor, pulled on his shoes and wandered out into Scotland Road. He hadn’t consciously chosen a destination but his feet led him, almost without thinking, up the five flights of staff stairs to the boat deck

      It was peaceful up there. The ocean was like a millpond. No wonder there was no swell on the ship because there was none on the ocean either. The stars seemed a little brighter than the night before, which meant there was less cloud in the upper atmosphere. The ship’s engines made a mere humming vibration up on deck, like a cat purring in its sleep. They were noisier down below where he slept.

      An officer descended from the bridge and walked across to the officers’ quarters. Reg looked over the railing towards the surface of the water and saw someone’s head protruding through a porthole, smoking a cigarette. Otherwise all was still and silent as the grave. It occurred to him to wonder whether Mr Grayling might have another assignation with the boat deck girl. It had been around that time the previous evening when he saw them. Neither of them appeared, though. Why would they? It was after one a.m. on the White Star Line ‘Honour and Glory’ clock when Reg slipped down the Grand Staircase and back to his dorm.

      Chapter Eleven

      After breakfast on Sunday morning, Annie McGeown went with her children and her new friends from Mayo to the church service led by Captain Smith up in the first-class dining saloon. She wore her best green frock, her only hat and a beige wool jacket, and she combed the boys’ hair over to the side the way she had seen on the boys up in first class.

      It was only one deck up from their cabin, on D Deck, but there was no mistaking it was another world. Her feet sank into the plush carpet. She could see her reflection in the dark wood panels. Everything gleamed with polish and it smelled more expensive than their third-class dining room, in a way that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. But Annie wasn’t one for yearning after what she didn’t have. She was excited to be there among the first-class ladies in their jewels and towering hats with peacock feathers. She was curious to see Captain Smith, and when he came in she was impressed by his smart uniform and air of authority. He had kind eyes, she decided, and a gentle voice. She clutched the baby – fortunately asleep – and squeezed her daughter’s hand tightly.

      The captain read at length from a prayer book Annie didn’t recognise, and the boys soon began to fidget. She had to swipe Patrick on the back of the head when his whispers grew too loud. Annie wasn’t listening to the service herself, though, too busy gawping at the grand clothes, the fine fabric of the gents’ suits, the fancy plasterwork on the ceiling, the elegant curve of the legs of the chairs. The tables were covered in spotless white damask cloths and the sunlight streaming in through the big picture windows sparkled on the chandeliers up above. Annie felt overwhelmingly privileged to be there.

      When the captain finished speaking, a quintet began to play and the congregation of some three or four hundred all sang along to the hymns. There were nervous glances when it was announced they were to sing the one entitled ‘For those in peril on the sea’ but Annie felt it had a nice tune to it. As she sang, she thought about fishermen way out on the ocean in their tiny craft trying to earn an honest living. That’s who it was about.

      And then it was over and people were filing out towards their cabins to freshen up before luncheon.

      Finbarr tugged at her sleeve. ‘Ma, is he really the captain of the whole ship?’ he asked. When she said he was indeed, Finbarr continued, ‘Can I go and talk to him?’

      ‘He’s busy right now,