Most tables in the first-class dining saloon seated eight people. If a party was travelling together they were naturally seated together and you could put in a request to be placed near your friends, but otherwise the chief steward designed the seating arrangements. Reg had watched with secret amusement the shuffling around that had taken place after the first dinners on Wednesday and Thursday evenings. Some people asked to be moved if there were Jewish passengers at their table. Others asked the chief steward to seat them further away from the Astors, who were still being ostracised by New York society after the scandal of his remarriage. And yet more were simply bored to tears by the dining companions allocated to them.

      It was all done with outward shows of politeness: ‘Oh goodness, they seem to have moved us to another table. I can’t think why!’ But there was a playground ruthlessness about it. ‘You’re not good enough to sit with us,’ they were saying. ‘I’d rather be with the Wideners or the Cardezas, thank you very much.’ Reg found it fascinating that in a society that already had so many stratifications, yet more were designed by the top stratum to further segregate themselves.

      The Graylings’ table companions had been different for each of the four nights of the voyage so far. Reg doubted that she would have requested any change and he could only assume that other people wanted to get away from them because they felt uncomfortable around the obvious tensions in the marriage. He eavesdropped on a lot of the conversations as he made his way round, holding out silver platters from which diners could help themselves to appetisers, entrées and vegetables, and he thought Mrs Grayling was uncommonly polite and well-bred. She asked about other people rather than going on about herself, and she made everyone she spoke to feel good about themselves.

      On Saturday evening, Mrs Grayling spent much time whispering to another woman, a titled English lady, while her daughter talked to the Howsons about Canada. Reg was more interested when the discussion turned to the speed of the ship. He’d felt himself that they were pushing along at a rate of knots. They seemed to be testing her, and she was running beautifully, all those pistons and cylinders and propellers doing exactly what they were designed to do.

      As he moved round the table collecting plates, he heard them discussing the probability that one day telephone calls could be made from America to England. Reg had never made a telephone call. He’d only ever seen a telephone in the White Star Line offices and when it rang, it was so loud and insistent he’d almost jumped out of his skin.

      He took the plates back to the pantry, as the wine waiter circled the table topping up 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,