Women and Children First (28 page)

A couple of days after starting work for Mr Grayling, Reg took a tray of coffee to him in his study. It was a high-ceilinged room lined with books, and he sat behind a large leather-topped desk by the window, with a pair of spectacles on his nose. In front of him were a newspaper folded open to a page with columns of share prices and a sheet of plain paper on which he had been writing down lists of numbers. Reg was curious to know what he was doing. Was this how you ran a business?

‘Put the tray there, please,’ Mr Grayling said, making a space for it on the desk. ‘And take a seat.’ He indicated a chair on the other side of the desk and took his spectacles off.

Reg hesitated, then sat down. There was a smell of furniture polish and ink in the air, and a grandfather clock ticked loudly in the corner.

‘How are you finding it here? It’s not too dull for you, I hope?’

‘It’s perfect, sir. I enjoy the peace and quiet.’

Mr Grayling was examining him in a way that made him feel uncomfortable. ‘Do you still think about that night on the
Titanic
?’

‘All the time, sir.’

‘It’s hard reading about it in the newspapers, don’t you find? The inquiries seem interminable and the press won’t stop digging up one story after another. You never did find that friend you were looking for on the
Carpathia
, did you?’ Reg shook his head. ‘Were you very close?’

‘We’d been working on the same ships together for seven years. I was closer to him than to anyone in the world. But you lost your wife, sir. I don’t know how I would have coped with that.’

Mr Grayling leant his chin on his hand. ‘It’s been tough, I don’t mind telling you, and it’s been made ten times worse by the scurrilous newspaper stories about me. Have you seen any of them?’

‘Not really, no, sir,’ Reg lied.

‘There are all kinds of fabrications about me being a coward and rushing to save my own skin while leaving my wife behind. It’s terribly hurtful, and quite unfair.’

‘The newspapers have condemned any men who survived, sir. It’s not just you.’

‘Tell me, John, how did
you
make it into a lifeboat?’

Reg told him about jumping overboard and swimming to the collapsible, but he omitted any mention of Finbarr.

‘And you were injured, weren’t you?’ Mr Grayling asked. ‘I remember your feet were bleeding. Are they quite recovered now?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir. I had frostbite, and I’ve lost a few toe-nails but they’re growing back just fine.’
Shut up, Reg! He doesn’t want to know about your feet!

‘Good, I’m glad. If you need to see a doctor, tell Mr Frank and he’ll arrange it.’ He paused and tapped a finger on the surface of the deck. ‘There was so much confusion on the boat deck towards the end that I haven’t been able to establish exactly what happened to my wife. It would be extremely helpful if I could find someone who saw me helping her into a lifeboat and heard when the officer refused me permission to enter it myself.’

‘Do you remember the number of the lifeboat, sir? They’ve been compiling lists of who was in each boat. The other ladies there would surely have noticed Mrs Grayling, especially as she got off again and went back onto the ship.’

Mr Grayling shook his head. ‘Of course I should have noted the number but I wasn’t thinking straight. I suppose I was concerned for myself, and then I got a place in a boat on the other side, and – well, you know the rest. I just wish … John, I am going to ask you a favour. You are under no obligation to agree, but it would make me very happy if you would give an interview to a reporter and tell him about the general air of confusion on the boat deck during the last hours of the
Titanic
. Explain how difficult it was to stay with your loved ones. I expect you would have liked to stick with your friend, but you got separated in the crush.’

Reg froze with horror. A reporter writing a story about him? He’d been doing his best to avoid attracting attention to himself and now Mr Grayling wanted him to talk to the press. What if they wanted a picture? He couldn’t risk any such thing in case someone recognised him. But how could he refuse his new employer? ‘I’m very shy, sir. I wouldn’t know what to say …’

‘I could arrange for someone sympathetic to come to the house here. It would only take five minutes of your time, no more.’

‘Would they want to take a photograph, sir? I really wouldn’t like to have my photograph taken.’

‘There’s no need for a picture if you don’t want one. I’ll arrange an appointment for later in the week, then. Thank you, John. There’s just one other thing …’ Once again he paused, tapping his finger on the desk and narrowing his eyes as if planning what he was going to say next. ‘It would be best if you avoid mentioning Miss Hamilton. You know what reporters are like: they might leap to the wrong conclusion.’

Reg gazed down at his lap, embarrassed by his knowledge of the closeness of the relationship. Mr Grayling didn’t know he had seen them kissing on the boat deck, or stepping into a lifeboat together.

‘Female company is helpful at times like these, because women are better able to talk about emotions. Miss Hamilton has been consoling me in the loss of my wife …’

Consoling?
Reg thought cynically.
Is that what you call it?

‘I value her opinions and judgment highly. She’s a very sensible woman.’

Not from what I’ve seen
, Reg thought. From where he was sitting, she seemed like a social butterfly who didn’t take anything seriously.

‘Perhaps you should try talking to Molly? She’s a good girl – I know the family – and I expect she could be a comfort to you. It would be nice if the two of you got along.’

Reg felt very awkward throughout this exchange. It was almost as if Mr Grayling felt the need to justify himself to Reg, which was strange from a man in his position, a man of his wealth, talking to one of his staff.

He obviously decided this himself, because he ended the discussion abruptly. ‘Mr Frank will let you know when the reporter will be coming. Thank you. That will be all.’

He returned to perusal of his newspaper, and Reg stood up quickly and hurried from the room.
What on earth have I agreed to?
he worried.
What will the reporter ask? I’ll really have to keep my wits about me so I don’t give myself away.

Another thing preyed on his mind. Why had Mr Grayling dropped that hint about talking to Molly? What did he mean by that? Was he implying that he would turn a blind eye if they became romantically involved? It was becoming obvious that she was interested in him. Every time Reg went out to the back step for a smoke, she seemed to appear as if by magic and her flirting was becoming more direct.

‘Have you had many girlfriends, John? Any of them serious? I bet a nice-looking fellow like you has a girl in every port. I bet you can’t even count all the girlfriends you’ve had.’

He shook his head. ‘Not me.’

‘Don’t think you can pull the wool over my eyes. I wasn’t born yesterday. I bet they throw themselves at you, and what man would be able to resist? It would be only natural.’

One evening, just before bedtime, he went into the pantry to put the butter on a high shelf, and Molly slipped in behind him. It was a cupboard rather than a room, and they were pressed up against each other.

‘Did you want something?’ he asked, confused.

‘Yes. I did, actually,’ she said, then leaned in and kissed him quickly on the lips. He could smell wine on her breath. ‘That’s what I wanted,’ she laughed, before skipping out of the larder again and off to her room.

Reg climbed the stairs to his own room, feeling close to tears. He’d been keeping the protective carapace around himself, not letting anyone get close, but between them Mr Grayling and Molly seemed set to puncture his defences. He’d thought he would find peace in the quiet, gloomy household, but instead the fact that there were fewer people meant he was forced to engage with them. He didn’t feel ready but it seemed he wasn’t being given any choice.

Reg liked to keep busy and there wasn’t much to do in his new job, so between meals he sat in the kitchen helping Alphonse with food preparation. Alphonse showed him how to knead dough, how to trim string beans and the best way to whisk eggs for a soufflé.

‘Use your wrist.
Comme ça
.’

Occasionally Reg tried to use the smattering of French he’d picked up on his Mediterranean cruises: ‘
Les oeufs sont prêts
.’ But Alphonse imitated him, mocking the accent with a cheeky glint, and he soon gave up.

Alphonse never asked about the
Titanic
, never enquired about his life back in England, and that suited Reg just fine. Their only conversations were about food, and a lot of the time they worked in silence, punctuated only by Alphonse’s swearing when a pot overheated and his oil began to smoke, or if he dropped a vital ingredient on the stone floor.

Reg watched the way he worked: marinating meats for hours before cooking; throwing together a delicious sauce with just some butter, wine vinegar and shallots; seasoning then tasting then seasoning again. All this would be useful to know if he ever got his own restaurant.

The atmosphere changed in the kitchen when Molly swept in, though. She was like a mini whirlwind of energy and chatter, with her stream of observations on the weather, the latest news from the society pages of the papers, the jewellery and gowns she would like to own one day, or the menu for dinner that evening. She could talk a blue streak, seldom pausing for a response. Reg found it curiously relaxing because it required little of him and Alphonse seemed to find her entertaining as well. He might be grumpy with everyone else but Molly could always raise a smile. He seemed to have a soft spot for her.

‘Mr Frank says there’s some reporter coming to see you later,’ she said to Reg towards the end of his first week on the job. ‘I guess he’ll want to ask you all about the
Titanic
. They should give you some money for that. Lots of other people got paid and you know more than most of them because you worked there. You had the inside scoop. It’s a wonder they didn’t call you to testify at the Inquiries. I hope they give you a big front page with a nice picture. Give me a call when they’re doing the picture and I’ll make sure your hair’s looking good.’

‘I’m not having a photo taken,’ Reg chipped in, but she was off again:

‘I was in the newspaper once when I was five. I was picked as the cutest little girl at the fair on Coney Island and I had to have my picture taken, but when the flash went off I started crying. They gave me a rag doll prize and my picture was on page three of the newspaper the next week. My mom cut it out and saved it.’

There hadn’t been a repeat of the kiss in the pantry, but they’d slipped into a routine in which Molly would accompany Reg outside while he had a cigarette after the dinner had been cleared away. Miss Hamilton dined at the house almost every evening and Molly liked to ask which gown she’d been wearing and the jewellery with which she accessorised it, so Reg had to do his best to remember the details. If he could recall a snippet of the conversation for her, all the better.

‘You will tell me what the reporter says, huh? I can’t wait to see the story. Find out when it will be in the newspaper so we can run out and buy it. Alphonse and I want to know what you’re saying about us.’ She grinned at Alphonse, and he gave one of his exaggerated Gallic shrugs to show he couldn’t care less, but his eyes twinkled benignly.

The reporter’s name was Carl Bannerman, and he was not much older than Reg, with dark hair swept back from his forehead in a similar style to Reg’s. Mr Frank led him into the front drawing room and Reg followed, feeling very self-conscious. They sat opposite each other in the big armchairs by the fire-place and Reg didn’t know what to do with his hands. He rested them on the arms of the chair, then linked them in his lap, but however they were placed they felt awkward. Mr Frank offered to bring them a refreshment, but Carl said no thanks, he wanted to get on with things.

While Carl took out his notebook and pencil, Reg noticed that some photographs had been placed on a side table, and were clearly visible from where they sat. There was Mrs Grayling smiling at the camera in a high-necked blouse with a cameo brooch at her throat. He felt sad to see such a good likeness, almost as if she were in the room. There had been many folk lost on the
Titanic
, but surely she had been one of the kindest among them? Another picture appeared to be a wedding photo of her and Mr Grayling, although they were both so much younger they were almost unrecognisable. One thing Reg was sure of: these photographs hadn’t been there the day before when he served an after-dinner brandy in this room. They’d been placed there deliberately for the reporter to see.

Carl began with some questions about his background: ‘How long were you at sea, John? What made you want to work on the liners? Was the
Titanic
as magnificent as they say she was?’

Reg answered as briefly as possible. ‘Seven years. I grew up by the sea and liked watching the ships going in and out of port. Yes, she was the height of luxury.’

‘And you became friends with the Graylings when you waited on them in the first-class saloon?’

Reg hesitated. He couldn’t say that Mr Grayling had been a friend. ‘I’d met Mrs Grayling the previous year on a Mediterranean cruise. She was very nice to me.’

Carl moved on quickly to ask about the night of the sinking, and since Reg continued to answer in one-liners, Carl began suggesting words he might use.

‘I bet you were terrified when you realised the ship was going to sink. You must have been out of your mind with worry.’

Reg agreed that he had been and Carl scribbled it down. He was using shorthand so it didn’t take long. Reg could just see some of the impenetrable squiggles on his pad.

‘And there were people hurrying around on the boat deck, but nobody to tell you what you were supposed to do.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I bet you helped show the passengers to the boats, didn’t you?’ Reg nodded. ‘But lots of the women didn’t want to get on without their husbands?’ He nodded again. ‘Do you think that’s why Mrs Grayling got off the boat her husband had helped her into? Was she going to look for him to make sure he was safe?’

‘I don’t know exactly. She was a very kind lady and she always worried about other people.’

‘Maybe she gave up her place for someone who needed it more? A pregnant lady, maybe, or somebody with a little child?’

‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Reg agreed doubtfully, and Carl wrote that down.

‘Now tell me about your escape, John. You were on the upturned collapsible, weren’t you? What was it like?’

‘It was hard. I thought we weren’t going to make it.’

‘You were injured, I hear. Your feet were bleeding.’

‘It was just frostbite. They’re OK now.’

‘But you could have lost your feet to gangrene if you’d been out there any longer. You are lucky to be alive.’

Reg felt tears come to his eyes and blinked them away furiously, but he saw Carl writing something down. ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

‘I bet you really appreciate Mr Grayling giving you a job and place to stay.’

‘I didn’t want to go back to sea again,’ Reg explained. ‘I couldn’t face it.’

‘I’m not surprised,’ Carl said, then looked up and smiled. ‘Terrific. That’s all I need from you.’

Reg was surprised because he felt he’d hardly opened his mouth. ‘When will the story come out?’

‘It’s hard to say because it depends on what else is going on, but I’ll write it this afternoon so it could be tomorrow or the next day. Thanks a lot.’ He put his notebook and pencil away, and looked at Reg closely. ‘Off the record, are you OK? I’m talking to lots of
Titanic
survivors these days and they’re all shot to pieces. It must have been hell out there.’

‘Yes, it was,’ Reg told him. ‘I’m fine. I’m just trying to keep myself busy.’

‘Have you got family in New York? Or any friends?’

Reg shook his head. ‘Not really. Not yet.’

‘Well, you take it easy. Look after yourself.’

They stood up and shook hands, then Carl hurried off to his next appointment.

‘What was he like? What did you say? Did you talk about us?’ Molly wanted to know as soon as he walked into the kitchen, but Reg didn’t feel like discussing it.

‘You’ll see when the article comes out in a day or so.’

That evening as they sat on the back step after dinner, he asked Molly if she had placed Mrs Grayling’s photographs in the drawing room.

‘I saw them,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t put them there. They’ve all been tidied away again now. I guess he just wanted the reporter to see them.’ They both knew who she meant.

‘It’s peculiar that there aren’t any signs of Mrs Grayling around the house. There are no women’s coats or outdoor boots in the cloakroom, none of the things you’d expect in a woman’s house.’

Molly glanced over her shoulder to check whether anyone might be listening from inside the kitchen. ‘Mr Grayling made us pack away all her stuff as soon as he got back. It’s all in her bedroom and dressing room upstairs, and he locked the doors.’

‘I find it strange that he’s not in formal mourning. Back in England, husbands mourn their wives for at least a year, wearing a black armband and staying at home, yet he dines out and entertains Miss Hamilton most evenings.’

Molly lowered her voice and inched closer. ‘They weren’t happily married. I’ve been here three years and I never once saw them kiss or hug or anything.’ She shook her head for emphasis. ‘I used to hear him biting her head off and her crying sometimes. She kept sleeping potions by her bed, ones the doctor prescribed, so I guess she was sad about things. Did you know they had a daughter who died?’

Reg hadn’t known and was upset to hear it. ‘That’s awful. Poor Mrs Grayling.’

‘It was seven years ago, so you’d think she would have got over it. But I heard he wanted another kid and she was too old to give him one.’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘Where do you get all this, Molly? Were you crouching with your ear at the keyhole?’

She sniffed. ‘I pick stuff up as I go along. My mom knew about them before I even started working here. She says Mr Grayling only married her for her money. She came from a way richer family and it was her cash that helped him to set up his company.’

‘Well, she was a kind woman. I liked her very much.’

‘Gosh, yes, you should have seen the Christmas presents she used to give us. Last year I got a new coat and a necklace with a real pearl on the chain. I bet we won’t get anything like that next Christmas, not from Mr Grayling. But I used to wonder why she didn’t have dinner parties, with that big dining room and the drawing room too. She could have had great soirées with lots of glamorous ladies, but she ate all by herself most nights and he went out to his club.’

‘Had you ever seen Miss Hamilton here before Mrs Grayling died?’ Reg asked.

Molly was surprised. ‘Don’t be an idiot! They met on the
Carpathia
. I thought you knew that.’

Reg threw caution to the wind. ‘No, they didn’t. I saw them together on the
Titanic
two nights before we hit the berg.
And
I saw them getting on a lifeboat together.’

Molly’s eyes widened. ‘You’re kidding! They were fooling around while she was still alive?’

Reg nodded. ‘Yes, they were. I don’t know whether Mrs Grayling knew about it or not, but I’m sure they were.’

‘That’s incredible. Oh my gosh, I wonder where they met? Hey, no wonder he didn’t have any time for his wife with such a gorgeous gal on the side. He’s crazy about Miss Hamilton. Alphonse and I reckon they’ll probably get married. It’s kinda handy that Mrs Grayling is out of the way and they don’t need to get divorced. You don’t think they bumped her off somehow, do you?’

‘Molly! Don’t be ridiculous!’

‘All I’m saying is that it’s pretty easy for them that she’s not around any more.’

The thought had never occurred to Reg before, and at first it seemed far-fetched, but in bed that night he began to wonder. Why hadn’t Mrs Grayling been seen that last day on board the ship, or on the boat deck, or in a lifeboat? Was she already dead by the time they struck the iceberg? Were they planning to throw her body overboard in the dead of night? The image of Miss Hamilton tossing her fur coat over the railings on the boat deck came back to him. Was that a dress rehearsal? Was she checking how an object would fall when thrown from there? If that were the case, the sinking of the Titanic had been mighty convenient for them.

Could it be that when Reg knocked on the cabin door that night, Mrs Grayling was already lying dead inside, leaving Mr Grayling free to escape with his mistress? He shivered. If that were true, he was living in the house of a murderer.

Don’t be silly. You’re getting carried away,
he told himself. But a niggling doubt had taken root in his head.