Free Women and Children First by Gill Paul

glasses. Why didn’t the Graylings get divorced, he wondered? It happened more often these days and although there might be a brouhaha for a year or so, at least you could move on. Perhaps they were religious. Or maybe money was the tie. He supposed Mr Grayling would have to give her a large settlement from his multi-million-dollar fortune if they divorced. Having said that, he’d heard that the first Mrs Astor only got a small stipend from the vast family fortune because of some legal agreement she had signed before they married.
    As he walked back out into the saloon to see to his other tables, Reg scanned the room for the boat deck girl, as he now thought of her, but yet again she wasn’t there. It was a spacious room with upwards of fifty tables, but he was convinced he would have spotted her. He’d always had a good memory for a face, especially one as remarkable as hers.
    The Howsons were arguing again, and it transpired that Mr Howson had lost some money gambling that afternoon. As Reg approached to take their dessert order, their voices rose and she pushed her chair back and stood up. Reg kept well back so she couldn’t grab hold of his jacket this time.
    ‘I didn’t realise when I walked down the aisle that I was marrying a loser,’ she spat.
    ‘Well, I didn’t realise I was marrying a spoiled child,’ he drawled.
    She threw her napkin on the floor and flounced over to Reg. ‘Will you bring some dessert down to my room?’ she asked in a cloying voice, deliberately loud enough for her husband to overhear. ‘You choose. Whatever you think I’ll enjoy.’ It was such blatant flirtation that Reg didn’t know where to look.
    ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not allowed to leave my post.’
    ‘I insist!’ she demanded and stamped her foot. ‘I absolutely insist.’
    ‘In that case, I’ll see to it,’ Reg promised with a nod, and she smiled coyly. As soon as she had left the dining salon, Reg spoke quietly to Mr Howson. ‘I’ll have your room steward take something to your wife,’ he said, anxious there should be no misunderstanding between them.
    ‘Make it arsenic,’ the man muttered under his breath.
    What was it about his tables that attracted the unhappily married, Reg wondered. Was it him? There were dozens of happy couples on the ship. He’d seen the Strauses, a couple in their sixties, holding hands as they sat on the promenade watching the sunset over the ocean. There was a young Spanish couple who were always laughing together, like a pair of little songbirds. Loads of couples seemed very much in love, but it was the ones who weren’t that gave you pause for thought. If he married Florence, would they end up bickering like that one day? He couldn’t bear to live that way.
    Towards nine o’clock, the dining room was thinning out and Reg noticed that Mrs Grayling was once again sitting on her own at the table. He assumed Mr Grayling had gone to the smoking room for a brandy.
    ‘Would you like me to bring you something else, ma’am?’
    She smiled. ‘No, I’m fine. I’ve been watching you and it makes me quite exhausted to see how hard you work. You don’t stop for a second, do you? And you’re so graceful as you weave your way around us all. It’s almost like a dance.’
    Reg wondered if she had drunk too much wine at dinner, and coloured slightly, unsure what to say.
    ‘Goodness, listen to me going on. I was hoping to catch you.’ She glanced over to where the chief steward stood 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.