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

She missed the days when they used to be a team, lying in bed together discussing Alice’s small triumphs. She missed the occasional gesture of physical affection. Even a simple peck on the cheek would mean so much now but there was no chance of that. Never again.

      She’d hoped this trip to Europe could achieve some kind of rapprochement. She’d begged him to bring her along, hoping that the unfamiliar surroundings might re-ignite some companionship at least, but to no avail. He had left her on her own for several weeks in a hotel in Bologna, claiming that he had business to conduct, then insisted on cutting short the vacation and rushing to catch Titanic’s maiden voyage. Nothing had been gained by the trip. They were returning to the aching loneliness of the mansion where they lived separate lives under the same roof.

      Should she go against God’s will and give George his divorce so that each had a chance of happiness in the future? The more she observed other marriages, the more she believed that women seemed most content who lived on their own.

      There was a Canadian couple in the dining saloon, the Howsons, who were a terrible advertisement for the institution. Married less than a year, they were already disappointed in each other. Neither had fulfilled the other’s expectations. Margaret knew them slightly and could see where the fault lines lay. She hated that he gambled or, more particularly, that he gambled and lost. He hated the money she spent on clothes and fripperies. He’d been a bachelor throughout his twenties and had never realised quite how much a new gown cost, nor how many were required to see a fashionable woman through the season. On the Titanic, first-class women would never dare turn up to dinner in a gown they had worn before. Each evening required a lavish new creation.

      There was something more, Margaret mused. They had moved to New York after their marriage and he had hoped to gain immediate acceptance in high society through his wife, who came from a better family. He had no concept that to reach the inner circle of the kind of high-society grandees travelling on the ship would take careful calculation and manoeuvring over at least a year, and even then they might never get there since he worked in property. Being Canadian stood against them as well. They might be endured for the course of the voyage but no new invitations would be delivered to their butler on their return.

      Margaret could view all this from a distance and see the futility of their ambitions and desires in the context of a life. So many other things were more important, but the young could never understand that. To them social position was everything, since a wag had said back in the 1880s that there were only four hundred fashionable people in New York (the exact number that would fit in Mrs William Astor’s ballroom). The term ‘The Four Hundred’ had been coined and instantly everyone began scrabbling for their place in the hallowed ranks. The irony was that the harder you tried, the less eligible you appeared, and she knew the Howsons would never get there. Would that prove a rupture that would tear their marriage apart?

      Mrs Howson’s flirtatiousness with Reg was awkward for the boy. He dealt with it professionally, but it couldn’t be easy when you are trained to be polite to all passengers. You can’t take sides between husband and wife.

      She wondered if marriage would be easier when you came from Reg’s class. Surely things would be simpler without all the rules about status that bedevilled her own class? His girl, Florence, sounded like a sweetheart, but Reg had intimated that he was hesitating about taking the step of getting engaged. Maybe it was hardly surprising given all the bickering couples he saw on the ships where he worked. He didn’t want to make a mistake. He was a good person, and wouldn’t have led her on for – what was it? – two years now if he didn’t genuinely love her.

      Margaret had taken a liking to Reg. He had the looks of a moving picture star but seemed unaware of it. There was no trace of the vanity that afflicted many handsome men she had met, who checked their appearance in every reflective surface and strutted arrogantly into rooms, watching for a reaction. Reg seemed modest and introspective, and an all-round good sort.

      During the Mediterranean voyage, she had witnessed an incident that he didn’t know she had seen. His friend John had been looking very queasy during breakfast service one morning, as if he had a stomach upset, and he had suddenly rushed off, leaving a pile of soiled plates on a table near the entrance, where arriving guests would see them. The chief steward noticed them and became instantly enraged. His eyes swept the room looking for someone to blame, and in an instant Reg was by his side. Margaret was close enough to overhear their exchange.

      ‘I’m sorry, sir, I only put them down for a moment. It won’t happen again,’ Reg said, and relayed them quickly to the pantry, letting John off the hook.

      That’s one of the reasons he was Margaret’s favourite steward, but she also liked a sense that he had hidden depths. He was a sensitive person, who thought about the world and all that he saw of it. When they talked, he really looked at her and seemed to see beneath the surface.

      There was something else, as well. Reg was an independent type. Deep down, despite his bosom friendship with John, she sensed a loneliness in him, and that’s what attracted her. They were alike in that, for she was herself perhaps the loneliest woman in the world.

      Chapter Seven

      At luncheon, first-class passengers could choose from a set menu with soup, fish, chicken, eggs or beef; they could have items from the grill, such as mutton chops or sirloin steak; or they could select from a buffet with salad, cold cuts and seafood dishes, such as salmon mayonnaise, Norwegian anchovies or potted shrimp. Reg hovered near the buffet to help serve passengers when they’d made their decision, or to retrieve the food they dropped while serving themselves.

      Most of the ladies had changed since breakfast. First thing in the morning they wore skirts and blouses but for lunch they wore suits with long jackets – some of them caught at the back like a bustle, others slim and fitting on the hips – and all topped with the obligatory hat. Personally, Reg thought it was silly wearing a hat to eat a meal because they kept having to flick back those long floaty feathers and ribbons to stop them dipping in the food.

      The Howsons sat down at their table and Reg spread the napkin on Mrs Howson’s lap in a swift fluttering motion, without touching her or encroaching on her line of sight, just as he’d been taught. Straight away she began bothering him with her dozens of inane questions.

      ‘Have you ever been skiing, Reg? You’d love it. You should visit Calgary some time and we’ll take you out on the slopes.’

      ‘Thank you, ma’am, but my work keeps me too busy.’

      ‘You’ve got such a good figure, you must play some sports. What do you play, Reg?’

      ‘I like a bit of football when I’m back home.’

      ‘What in God’s name is football?’

      ‘It’s a game with two teams where you kick a ball into a goal, ma’am.’

      The husband sat scowling throughout their exchange; then as soon as Reg left the table, he heard the hiss of their argument.

      ‘It’s vulgar to talk to the staff like that. You shouldn’t be overfamiliar. Didn’t your mother teach you anything?’

      ‘You’re such a snob.’

      ‘You’re so common.’

      The tension grew as they ate, and Reg tried to keep himself well clear of them. When he came to collect their plates, Mrs Howson’s face was pink with fury.

      ‘My husband thinks I shouldn’t fraternise with you, Reg. What do you think?’

      ‘Oh shut up,’ her husband snapped. ‘Leave the poor boy alone.’

      Reg was balancing their plates and a serving dish on one arm as he scooped a stray piece of cauliflower from the tablecloth. Mrs Howson turned and yanked the pocket of his jacket just at a moment when he was twisted at an awkward angle, leaning sideways towards the table.

      ‘I’ll talk to him if I feel like