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

Чтение книги онлайн.

      It was one in the morning and first-class victualling steward Reg Parton should have been asleep in his bunk, but a restlessness took him to the ship’s galley where he knew Mr Joughin would be pulling steaming trays of bread out of the ovens. Joughin was a good sort and always ready to slip you a fresh roll or two, especially at this time of night when he’d had a few whiskies. Chief baker was the right job for him, because he liked feeding people.

      The ship was almost twelve hours out of Queenstown, on the southern tip of Ireland, and gliding her way across the Atlantic. There was less swell than with any other ship Reg had been on. She was as steady as if you were in your own parlour at home, with only the muffled roar of the engines indicating that you were on the move. The Titanic was a beautiful beast, with everything brand new and sparkling. It was nice being on a maiden voyage – there was the sense of every surface being untouched and pristine, and this ship was the most magnificent he’d ever seen. Woodwork gleamed, chandeliers shot pinpricks of light around the vast salons, and every surface that could possibly be decorated was clad in gilt, mosaic or milky mother-of-pearl.

      Reg had been on board for two days and he’d spent all his off-duty time exploring. There were ten separate decks, each almost 300 yards long, joined up by elevators and staircases in hidden corners. Every deck had a different layout of interminable corridors with faceless doors and he’d got lost more times than he could count. It would take months to get to know this ship properly. He doubted anyone knew it from bow to stern, except maybe the designers. Mr Andrews, the chief designer, was on board and was often seen wandering the decks making notes in a little notebook.

      Reg burnt the roof of his mouth on the hot roll and swore.

      ‘That’s what you get for being a gannet,’ Mr Joughin remarked in his broad Birkenhead accent.

      Reg ran to the sink to pour a glass of water, and while he was drinking, Second Officer Lightoller put his head round the door.

      ‘Tea and biscuits for the bridge, Mr Joughin.’ He didn’t so much as glance at Reg.

      ‘Right you are, sir.’

      Lightoller disappeared and Mr Joughin began to set a tea tray. ‘Where’s that bloody Fred when you need him? He went for a fag half an hour ago and hasn’t come back. Who’s going to take this tray?’

      ‘I’ll do it!’ Reg nearly jumped with excitement. ‘Please let me.’ He was dying to see the bridge with all its gleaming, state-of-the-art equipment. Maybe Captain Smith would even be there.

      ‘It’s not your place,’ Joughin grumbled. ‘It should be Fred.’

      ‘But Fred’s not here. They won’t even notice who brings their tea. Let me do it.’

      ‘Go on with you, then.’

      Reg took the elevator up to the boat deck and walked to the short flight of steps that led up to the bridge. СКАЧАТЬ