Women and Children First (21 page)

On arrival at New York’s Pier 54, Robert Graham led Juliette and her mother past the crowd of photographers to the spot where his car was waiting. A uniformed driver, whom he introduced as Ted, opened the door for them and Robert helped them inside then they drove uptown to the Plaza Hotel.

‘It’s gigantic,’ Juliette exclaimed as they pulled up outside. ‘It’s quite the largest building I’ve ever seen.’

‘I believe it has twenty storeys,’ Robert told her, ‘but it’s not New York’s tallest building by any means.’

‘So long as it’s comfortable,’ Lady Mason-Parker grumbled. ‘I hardly slept a wink in that hard, narrow bunk on the
Carpathia
.’

Robert helped them to check in and, as he said good night, he asked Juliette if he might come by the following afternoon to look in on them and see that all was well.

‘Oh, please do,’ she cried, unable to disguise her eagerness. ‘Come as early as you can.’ She wished he could stay in the hotel with them so they needn’t be separated. For four days they had spent most of their waking hours together and she knew she would miss his calm presence and the reassuring sense that no matter what happened, he would know how to deal with it. She began to miss him the minute he left.

The Plaza was a lovely hotel. The rooms were large and opulent, decorated in the rococo style, with cream walls and gold swirl carvings on balustrades and dado rails. The service was impeccable too. Despite the late hour of their arrival, a tray of tea and cakes was brought to their room within five minutes of it being requested.

‘This is more like it,’ Lady Mason-Parker sighed, sinking back into soft pillows and biting into a madeleine. ‘I plan to stay indoors for at least a week. My nerves are quite shattered.’

Next morning at breakfast, she spotted some other
Titanic
survivors, the Duff Gordons, in the dining room. Ordinarily Lady Mason-Parker would not have socialised with Lady Duff Gordon since she was a divorcee, but these were extraordinary times. She stopped by their table to introduce herself and they hit it off, retiring to the lounge for coffee together after breakfast. It meant that Juliette didn’t feel guilty leaving her mother behind when Robert came to call later.

‘Where would you like to go?’ he asked. ‘My automobile is at your disposal.’

‘Actually, I enjoy walking and it’s a sunny day. Could we take a stroll somewhere?’

‘Of course.’ He offered his arm. ‘Central Park is just across the road.’

As they walked, they talked about their lives before they sailed on the
Titanic
. Now they were on dry land and no longer surrounded by bereaved passengers, the immediate sense of shock had passed and other topics could be explored.

Juliette asked about his line of work, and he told her that he ran a small investment company helping to raise funds for anyone who had a good idea for a new business. He then took a part share in the business, so it meant he needed to have sharp instincts for the ideas that would prove lucrative. He told her that he lived with his mother and sister near Washington Square, and that they socialised with New York’s finest families – although he wasn’t much of a one for fancy parties and balls, finding the conversation rather superficial. Juliette agreed, although in truth they didn’t attend many such parties at home, leading a rather more countrified existence.

‘You said that you are planning to visit your family in upstate New York,’ Robert commented. ‘When must you leave for that visit?’

Juliette remembered, with a start, the lie she had told him to explain their trip. ‘Not straight away. My mother has sent a telegram and we will wait to hear. But for the time being we will stay in New York and perhaps do some sightseeing.’

‘I hope you will do me the honour of letting me show you around. Our tour can begin here, with the Central Park Pond, where many species of fish, insects and birds can be found.’ With his tone, he mimicked a guide in a museum, making Juliette laugh. ‘Seriously, tell me if you would like to go to the opera, or shopping, to art galleries or museums. What are your favourite hobbies?’

‘At home my favourite pastime is horse riding, but I suppose that’s not possible in a city.’

‘You really like to ride?’ He seemed delighted. ‘I have stables at Poughkeepsie, just outside New York. Perhaps I could take you there.’

Juliette asked about the horses he kept and told him about their stables at home and they were comparing notes on their favourites when all of a sudden she noticed a young man sitting on a bench writing something and realised she recognised his face.

‘Excuse me, aren’t you Reg, our steward from the
Titanic
?’

Reg jumped at the sound of his real name.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ Juliette said. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yes, thank you, ma’am.’

‘Will you and the rest of the crew sail for England again soon?’

Reg explained his decision to stay and work in a New York restaurant.

‘I quite understand you not wanting to go back to sea. I’m not sure how I shall face it myself when the time comes. Have you found somewhere to stay? You are not wanting for anything?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, ma’am.’

Juliette remembered the tact with which Reg had helped her when she was sick in the corridor. ‘Well, I’m staying at the Plaza Hotel. Please do let me know if I can be of any help. You were so kind to me on the ship.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

Juliette and Robert walked on. ‘I feel as though I should have given him a tip but I didn’t know how to do it without embarrassing him,’ she confessed. ‘I’m sure he will be short of money here. What do you think?’

‘That’s sweet of you,’ Robert said. ‘I’ll go back and give him ten dollars and say it’s from you. Wait here.’

Robert hurried back and she could see that Reg was reluctant to take the money but that Robert eventually persuaded him, and the note was handed over.

‘Thank you. You must let me repay you,’ she said when Robert rejoined her.

‘I don’t know why he didn’t want to accept it. You would certainly have given him a tip at the end of the voyage.’

‘I do hope he will fare well in the city.’

‘Indeed. Now I am going to take you to a café where they serve rainbow sandwiches. Have you ever had any such thing in England? No, I thought not. Come this way.’

Reg poured his heart out in the letter to John’s mother, using both sides of the sheet of paper to describe the last time he had seen John on the
Titanic
, and tell her that no one on the
Carpathia
knew what had happened to him. He explained why he was using her son’s name, and apologised for any distress this had caused to his family. Finally, he wrote about how much he missed John, and sent his condolences on their loss. When he’d finished he asked directions to a post office and mailed it to Mrs Hitchens, West Road, Newcastle, and immediately felt a sense of relief. Now he could get on with making a new life for himself.

On the way back to the hostel Reg used part of his unexpected windfall to buy himself a new white shirt, some fresh socks and underwear. He also treated himself to a sandwich called a ‘hot dog’, after questioning the vendor to ensure that the meat it contained had nothing to do with dogs.

Still he felt very shaky. Anxieties were screeching through his head. What if he turned up at the restaurant tomorrow and the police were waiting to arrest him for giving the wrong name on the
Titanic
? What if White Star Line sued him for dereliction of duty? What if there was an inquest into Finbarr’s death and it was found that Reg had been the cause of it by forcing him to jump overboard when he couldn’t swim? All these worries hammered at the inside of his skull, making him feel dizzy and sick.

He crept into his bunk at the hostel, pulled the covers over his head, and slept through till next morning, oblivious to the sounds of other men talking, undressing, snoring and shifting in their slumber.

Reg wakened to the voice of the same man who’d roused him the day before. ‘Hey you! It’s time for breakfast.’

As soon as his eyes opened, the pounding in his chest began and the worries flooded his head.
You’re going to be arrested today. They’re going to get you
. It was a continuous chorus of doom that was hard to shake off.

When he reached Sherry’s, though, Mr Timothy was remarkably friendly. ‘I spoke to White Star Line and they said you are a model employee. They’re sad to lose you. I didn’t know where you were staying, so they said they will send your final pay packet to the restaurant here. They’re also sending temporary documents so that I can apply for immigration for you. Is that OK?’

Reg nodded, amazed it was proceeding so smoothly.

‘They’d like you to go down to the office and sign some forms when you have time. I think it’s just to say that you won’t go after them for compensation.’

‘OK,’ Reg agreed, knowing that he wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t risk bumping into anyone who knew him from the old days.

Mr Timothy gave him a uniform of a black shirt and trousers, over which he would wear a white apron, then showed him the routine: the cutlery, linen and plate cupboards, the hot press, the cold buffet and the dessert trolley. He showed him the elaborate table decorations that Sherry’s was famous for: asparagus set in blocks of ice, or miniature forests in the centre of the table, all created afresh every day. They sat down to run through the menu and there were several dishes Reg wasn’t familiar with: Littlenecks, he was told, were clams, while Lynnhavens and Blue Points were types of oyster; ruddy, golden plover and vanneau were kinds of wild fowl; terrapin was a type of turtle meat; eggplant meant aubergine. Reg concentrated hard, memorising the dishes, because as soon as he was out on the restaurant floor, he would have to answer questions about them. He was grateful that, as on the
Titanic
, a sommelier would deal with the wine orders.

‘Do you think you are ready to work this luncheon?’ Mr Timothy asked, and Reg nodded, although he was inwardly terrified. What if he got an order wrong or dropped a plate? He’d probably be out on his ear.

There was time for a smoke out the back before service, and someone offered Reg a cigarette. He accepted, but nearly passed out with the buzz from the unfamiliar tobacco, which was much stronger than the type he was used to. He had to hold a handrail until the dizziness subsided. The other waiters gathered round, eager to bombard him with questions about the
Titanic
, fascinated to hear first hand about the story that was filling all the newspapers.

‘There’s a big stink in the papers about men who barged onto lifeboats so there was no room for the ladies. Did you see any of that?’ someone asked.

‘Yes,’ Reg admitted. ‘But I also saw lifeboats go off half-full. It wasn’t very well organised.’

‘Where was the captain? Wasn’t he in charge?’

‘I don’t know what he was doing. I think they were hoping another ship would arrive in time to pick us up. I thought I saw one, but it never appeared.’

‘How long were you in the water?’ someone else asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Reg replied honestly. ‘It felt like a long time.’

‘Were you hurt?’

Reg told them about his frostbite, and they insisted he took off his shoes and unpeeled his bandages to show them his purplish-black toes. There was a collective gasp of shock.

‘Are you going to be able to stand on your feet all day? Won’t they hurt?’

‘I like to keep busy,’ he told them. ‘I don’t want to sit around moping.’

‘Why? Did you know anybody who died?’

Reg looked this last questioner in the eye. ‘I hardly know anyone who didn’t die.’

There must have been something haunted about his expression, because there was a hushed silence and one of the other waiters said, ‘Give him a break. Think about what he’s just been through.’ He turned to Reg. ‘My name’s Tony. I’ll be working the tables next to you at luncheon, so give me a nod if you need a hand or don’t know where something is kept.’

‘Thanks,’ Reg nodded, and managed to squeeze a smile. ‘I’ll probably take you up on that.’

In fact, it went fine. The training on the
Titanic
had been so rigorous that Reg’s standards were higher than those that prevailed in Sherry’s and he knew he was doing well. The manager gave him several approving nods. Word spread among the diners that he was a survivor from the sinking and several shook his hand and gave him a generous tip.

‘We all share the tips,’ Tony advised, and showed him a big earthenware pot in the kitchen that served as a communal gratuity jar. ‘The pay is so lousy we need the extra this brings in. Always smile and hang around when you hand over the bill. It helps to remind them.’

Shame
, Reg thought, because he’d have been rich within a month if he’d been able to keep his tips for himself, but it was nice to feel he was part of the team, and everyone was very welcoming.

‘Where are you sleeping?’ Tony asked at the end of the first evening shift. ‘Do you have to go far?’

When Reg said he was staying all the way down at East 25th Street, Tony exclaimed, ‘That’s crazy! It will take you an hour to get there at night and another hour to get back in the morning. There’s a spare room at our place if you’re interested. It’s a buck seventy-five a week, breakfast and laundry included, and it’s only a couple of blocks away. Do you want to come and look around tomorrow?’

Reg agreed that he would. It was extraordinary how quickly everything was falling into place. The only difficulty was remembering to answer to the name ‘John’. Several times, he failed to turn when people called out to him: ‘Table four, John,’ or ‘Joining us for a smoke, John?’

He had never known popularity like it. Everyone at Sherry’s wanted to be his friend. Another chap called Stefan offered a room at his lodgings and seemed disappointed that he had already agreed to go and look at Tony’s. ‘If you don’t like it, come and check out ours instead.’

The restaurant was huge, Reg discovered, when another waiter called Paul gave him a guided tour between shifts. There was the main dining room on the ground floor, several private dining rooms for smaller parties, and a couple of ballrooms as well as residential suites, all laid out over twelve storeys.

‘This is the room where they had the horseback dinner.’ Seeing the blank look on Reg’s face, Paul exclaimed, ‘You must have heard of it!’

Reg shook his head.

‘Well, there were thirty-six guys here, all in a circle on horseback, and they sucked champagne through rubber tubes from their saddlebags. The whole room was decorated like a fancy garden, with grass on the floor and birds flying around, and a moon hanging from the ceiling.’

‘When was it? Were you here?’ Reg asked.

‘It was 1903. Before my time, but there are some pictures on the wall.’

Reg gazed at the black and white pictures with astonishment. Beside each rider, a set of steps had been placed so waiters could climb up to serve their meals onto trays attached to the horses. All the men wore dinner jackets and most had bald heads. It was a surreal image, even more decadent than the
Titanic
. Such ridiculous extravagance made him feel slightly sick.

‘I bet Mr Sherry, the owner, will want to meet you when he hears we’ve got a real
Titanic
survivor working with us,’ Paul continued.

‘I don’t want to make a big deal of it,’ Reg insisted. ‘Please don’t say anything.’

Paul was right, though. That evening when Louis Sherry arrived, he came straight into the kitchen to be introduced to Reg.

He was an elegantly dressed man, with grey hair and a waxed moustache curving out from each cheek like a giant superimposed smile.

‘You were on the collapsible, I hear,’ he said in a slightly foreign-sounding accent, while shaking Reg’s hand. ‘Obviously a man of initiative. You’ll do well in this city if you are prepared to work hard. I started as a waiter myself, back in New Jersey. Keep in with the rich, that’s my advice.’

He didn’t stop for long, but during dinner service, he summoned Reg to a couple of tables to introduce him to the wealthy clientele, and Reg trotted over meekly to answer their questions.

‘Will you testify at the Senate Inquiry?’ one man asked. ‘I hear it has already started.’

‘I haven’t been asked,’ Reg replied. ‘I expect they will focus on the testimony of the officers who survived.’

In fact, he’d only just heard about it and lived in terror of being ordered to attend. How could he explain his actions during the ship’s last hours? How could he stand up in court and admit that he saved himself and let Finbarr die?

He was introduced to Morgans and Vanderbilts, Stuyvesants and Aldriches, all of them members of an unofficial set that the other waiters told him was called ‘The Four Hundred’. If you were ‘in’, you received invitations to all the upper-class balls and dinners and to the best boxes at the opera. If you weren’t, no amount of money or persuasion could buy your way in. You had to come from a good family with old money, and you needed to have plenty of charm besides.

The old Reg would have been excited to meet such exalted folk. He would have asked the other lads how each gentleman had made his money, what cars their chauffeurs dropped them off in, and how many homes they had. Now, none of that seemed important. The old Reg might have enjoyed his temporary popularity among the other waiting staff but here he wished he could be anonymous. He didn’t want to talk about the
Titanic
, didn’t want to be told what the papers were saying; he wished he could stop thinking about it and simply get on with earning a living. During the day, he worked harder than anyone else so he didn’t have to stand still. He took the room in Tony’s lodging house, but when he got back there at night, he fell into bed exhausted and numb instead of sitting out on the steps for a drink and a smoke with the other lads.

He remembered something Florence had said to him. ‘When you’re upset, you crawl inside your shell like a snail and shut out the world. It must get lonely in there, Reg.’

She was right, of course; God but he missed her! She would be waiting for that letter he’d promised in his cable, but he couldn’t bring himself to write. It was too hard to think about her because it made him feel even more lonely. He could eat, sleep and work, and he hoped that if he focused on those three things, the rest would get easier over time.

Occasionally, he picked up a newspaper that someone else had left lying around. He saw a story that claimed Mr Howson, the Canadian man with the flirtatious wife, had dressed in women’s clothing to sneak onto a lifeboat. Could that be true? He saw that Officer Lightoller had been testifying at the Inquiry, and he cut out that report to read another time, when he could face it. But he gave a wide berth to any headlines about the hundreds dying in the water. One thousand five hundred dead, including John. There were many moments during those first weeks on shore when Reg wished that he had been among them.