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The Dining Saloon’s main reception area was lavish to the point of pretentiousness with Chesterfield settees set around a Steinway grand piano. The three elevator doors were paneled with oak and the grand staircase, down which William and Bridget walked, swept majestically through the room. As they awaited their turn to be seated, Bridget admired the elegant white Jacobean styled ceiling and white oak walls which added to the room’s modern, spacious feel. Although large, the design gave the room an intimate atmosphere with carefully positioned alcoves creating an illusion of privacy.
An immaculately dressed waiter escorted the couple to one of these alcoves with a large circular table laid with the finest china and sparkling silver tableware. Even William, with his privileged upbringing, couldn’t help but feel impressed, whereas Bridget, with her more sheltered background, was in complete awe and just kept gawping at the expensive oak furniture and fine linen tablecloths. A couple had already taken their seats on the far side of the table and the gentleman rose politely as she and William took theirs. Bridget nodded politely, responding to his act of chivalry.
“Allow me to introduce myself?” The man spoke with an educated Boston accent which Bridget recognised from her childhood, before her parents sent her off to expensive European schools and an even more expensive English finishing school. “I am Benjamin Guggenheim and this ...” he bowed towards the lady seated next to him, “is my companion, Madame Aubart.”
“Good Evening Mr. Guggenheim. I am Captain William Grafton and this is my wife, Bridget. May I say how honoured we are to meet you; your reputation crossed the Atlantic well in advance of your good self.” William smiled at Madame Aubart and added, “And what a delightful companion you have chosen to travel home with.”
“I understand, from the London gossip rags, that you two only recently married. Is that correct, my dear?” Guggenheim spoke directly to Bridget to the obvious annoyance of William.
“That is correct, Mr. Guggenheim.”
“Then let me order champagne to celebrate the joyous union." Then added in a conspiratorial tone, “If I am not mistaken by your accent, although you do hide it well, Mrs. Grafton, you are also from the colonies ... Boston, maybe?”
Bridget leant forward with a smile, and joining his conspiracy replied, “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
Guggenheim threw his head back and laughed loudly, disturbing some of the other diners seated around them; not that he appeared to care. “Excellent. You have chosen well there, William. You don’t mind if we drop the stuffy formalities, do you? She will serve you well as a wife, and I fear become quite a pain in the ass, as brash young American women can be. And I, for one, would not have them any different.” He raised his finger to attract a nearby waiter’s attention and curtly ordered two bottles of the ship’s finest champagne.
Although William leant in close to his wife, his hand gently caressing her back while he whispered quietly in her ear, Madame Aubart noticed Bridget looked uncomfortable, even pained. She decided to say nothing, choosing instead to place her hand in the billionaire’s lap. A gentle reminder that, although a beautiful young society girl may look appealing in the dining room, when it came to the bedroom, or the veranda of their exclusive Parisian hotel, it was experience that counted. She felt Benjamin respond and removed her hand giving him an innocent smile, confident she’d got her point across.
“Well, Madame Grafton,” Madame Aubart’s English was perfect, although she deliberately kept a sultry French accent, believing it gave her an air of continental mystery, which proved popular with rich American men. “I do believe the gentlemen will begin to talk business and politics if we do not establish some ground rules. So I propose we ban both subjects until after dinner when you boys may retire to some smoky backroom to bore each other to death.” She paused, allowing the gentlemen a moment to digest her words, then just as William was about to respond, she continued, “And if you do not adhere ...” she looked uncertainly across the table at Bridget, “is that the right word? Adhere?” Then, buoyed on by Bridget’s polite nod of confirmation, she continued, “Oui, yes. If you do not adhere to our proposal, and either by accident or deliberate intent, venture forth on such a conversation then, as punishment, you’ll have to take us dancing. There will be no adjourning to the library for a cigar.”
“Madame! I am deeply saddened you could even suggest we would not wish to take you dancing. How can dancing with a beautiful woman be a punishment?” Guggenheim feigned outrage and, becoming animated, threw his napkin to the floor in a theatrical gesture before folding his arms across his chest like a recalcitrant child, much to both William and Bridget’s amusement.
Bridget winced as she laughed, the lesions on her back bearing testament to William’s skill with a horsewhip. He’d already warned her about the consequences of becoming too familiar with the debonair billionaire. The outwardly loving caress on her back, while he whispered in her ear, had been far from caring. The pressure he applied to the wounds, while not excessive, was enough to cause her discomfort, and his words contained a thinly veiled threat. Bridget was sure Madame Aubart had noticed her discomfort and was now discreetly trying to lead the conversation, allowing Bridget time to compose herself.
During their light-hearted conversation, the champagne had arrived and Guggenheim insisted on proposing a toast to the happy couple, wishing them good health and a long, happy marriage. When she raised her glass to accept the other couple’s good wishes, Bridget felt the constricting tug of the linen dressing applied by Esme earlier and hoped no one noticed her smile was one of irony, not happiness.
As they retook their seats, the Captain and his party joined them at the table. Captain Smith wore his full dress uniform and oozed the kind of authority that put people at their ease. He politely introduced himself to William and Bridget in a soft, yet confident, voice before greeting Guggenheim like an old friend. He checked the champagne bottle to ensure he’d ordered something palatable, because as he put it, “An American wouldn’t know the difference between a fine wine and dirty bathwater.” The two men laughed as they shook hands before Captain Smith introduced the rest of his party.
“This fine fellow is,” he pointed to a middle-aged man with an unimpressive handlebar moustache standing slightly aloof from proceedings, “Mr. Bruce Ismay. He is the managing director of The White Star Line and the man who, for the next few weeks at least, pays my wages. And the gentleman to my left will no doubt captain this ship himself in a few years, but for now, he is the ship’s Sixth Officer, Mr. Moody.” The men all exchanged cordial handshakes as Guggenheim introduced Madame Aubart and Captain and Mrs. Grafton before everybody took their seat. The young officer, Mr. Moody, appeared taken aback by Captain Smith’s approval and couldn’t help but smile the entire way through dinner, but more than held his own with the social elite assembled at the table.
Throughout dinner, both William and his newfound friend, Mr. Guggenheim asked questions about the Titanic and her capabilities. These were answered enthusiastically by the ship’s officers, and when questions involved financial matters, less enthusiastically by Mr. Ismay. Bridget thought he appeared shy and uneasy in the presence of such confident traveling companions. On one occasion, Madame Aubart jokingly chided Guggenheim for sailing too close to the wind about a question on the politics of shipbuilding and the struggle to command the North Atlantic route. Her intervention prompted an intrigued Captain Smith to ask about the lady’s proposal regarding after-dinner dancing. When supplied with the details, he told her that if the gentlemen chose to abandon such beautiful women, then they must suffer the consequences.
He added, “I’m sure any one of the ship’s officers would be honoured to escort them in a dance.” At this, Officer Moody stole a furtive glance at Bridget, briefly catching her eye, before hurriedly looking away. It was a moment Bridget hoped had gone unnoticed by William who was busy trying to ingratiate himself with Mr. Guggenheim’s wealth.
The evening ended with Captain Smith regaling the table with stories from his distinguished career. Being a self-effacing man, he described his forty years at sea as ‘wholly uneventful,’ but his natural humour and well-practiced delivery did entertain his guests well past the sumptuous cheese board served with finely blended coffee.
Despite the quality of the evening’s revelry, Bridget was glad when William stood, announcing, “I regret to break up such an interesting gathering, but it has been a fulfilling, yet ultimately tiring, day. Therefore, I think it time Bridget and I retire for the night. Thank you for such a wonderful evening. I’m sure I speak for my wife when I say that we look forward to our next meeting.”
He took Bridget by the arm, escorting her through the half-empty dining room, many of the guests having long since left it in search of alternative entertainment or simply to take a stroll on the promenade. From the painful way he gripped her elbow, Bridget knew she’d somehow displeased him, and for Bridget that rounded the evening off perfectly.
