Read Online Every Man for Himself by Beryl Bainbridge - Free Book Online

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    At half-past twelve two tenders ploughed towards the Titanic , bringing out mail and passengers. Bearing in mind Rosenfelder’s woman, I was about to walk astern to look down on the steerage space when a commotion broke out further along the deck. Following the crowd who were now flowing in that direction and coming within view of the dummy funnel which served as a ventilation outlet, I saw a black face emerging from the top. It was only a stoker who had climbed up as some sort of practical joke, or possibly for a bet, but several silly women, including Mrs Brown of Denver, taking it for an apparition shot up from the very flames of hell, screamed in alarm and declared it an omen.
    An hour later the engines started again and we turned a quarter-circle to point along the coast, the pigmy ships in the harbour hooting our departure. The fellow with the bagpipes was standing on the poop blowing a melancholy farewell to old Erin. I don’t doubt the ghastly wailing of his instrument was construed by the women as yet another omen.
    The ship was followed by a storm cloud of gulls drawn by the remains of lunch pouring out of the waste pipes. Hopper, with hopes of slinging them out of the sky, tried to borrow the small boy’s whip. Snatching up his top the child ran squealing for his mother. Hopper roamed off in search of a long pole and didn’t return.
    All afternoon we steamed along the coast, the sea-birds still dipping and screaming in our wake, the green hills and fields fading to grey as the light began to seep from the day. Melchett and I stayed on deck until dusk, until the coast curved away to the north-west and the last mountains melted into darkness.
    At seven o’clock that evening, as arranged, I met Charlie Melchett in the main lounge for a drink before dinner. Earlier, we’d agreed to dine in the a` la carte restaurant so as to avoid Ginsberg. Melchett didn’t like him. He agreed Ginsberg was cleverer than he let on but reckoned he’d a malicious streak. He said it was all right for the likes of Hopper to be friendly with him – as he was equally cynical no harm could be done – but by and large it didn’t do for less sophisticated men to be exposed to that kind of influence. I was touched by his erroneous view of my character. As it happened, I didn’t care where I dined just as long as I didn’t have to sit at the same table with teasing Wallis Ellery.
    Melchett had been cornered by Lady Duff Gordon, who greeted me by name and claimed she’d been looking for me since breakfast. She spoke with eyes lowered and head tilted to one side, addressing my shirt front. ‘I’m having a small dinner party this evening and would adore you to be present. Eight o’clock sharp. I’ve invited your friend Van Hopper, and Charlie, of course, so do say you’ll come.’
    ‘It’s very kind of you,’ I began, but before I could add another word she had turned away, one hand fluttering the air to attract the attention of a new arrival.
    ‘She’s nicer than she seems,’ Melchett said, reading my expression. ‘And she’s not idle. She runs a very successful business . . . as a couturier.’
    ‘I doubt I can wait until eight o’clock,’ I protested. ‘We did without luncheon, don’t forget.’
    I felt a little less irritable after my second glass of champagne and experienced only a slight stab of despair at the entrance of Wallis and her sister Ida. I was lucky, I consoled myself, not to know the constraints of requited love. Love, I reasoned, stripped a man to the bone. After which thought I got to my feet and sought out Lady Duff Gordon. She was in the company of a buffoon with an eyeglass who was guffawing so loudly I had to bellow to make myself heard.
    ‘Forgive me,’ I said, ‘but I promised to dine with a friend, a Mr Rosenfelder. I’m afraid I can’t break the arrangement.’
    She responded as I had expected, ‘Then I insist you bring him with you.’
    When I returned to Melchett he was