‘Well, gentlemen, I don’t need to tell you what I think of that. Back home we’d call it a regular frame-up!’
No one queried the expression. The door had closed behind the last of the engineers and legal advisers to exit the boardroom, and only four men and one woman remained to face the simmering fury of J. P. Morgan. At seventy-four he was still a powerful presence, accusing eyes glowering above a bulbous purple nose and a ragged walrus moustache. His bulky six-foot frame overwhelmed the bentwood chair he had claimed at the head of the table, while his personal assistant, Irving, seemed unfazed as he prepared to take further notes at his right-hand side.
‘To summarise,’ he continued. ‘Out of the three new ships that were supposed to shape the whole future of this shipping line, I have a once-active vessel banged up for an expensive repair caused by your own navy’s partisan antics, another still under construction that will now be substantially delayed from entering active service, and a third yet to even start construction!’ He paused for effect. ‘Any observations?’
Three of the men sitting round the table shifted uncomfortably in their seats, but only two recognised that Morgan was expecting a response from either one of them. The honour fell to the senior figure, an aristocratic gentleman sporting an even tan beneath a neat grey beard. Ten years younger than his American host, Lord William James Pirrie drew in a sharp breath as he observed Morgan reaching to light yet another of his foul-smelling cigars. Hurriedly quashing his distaste, Pirrie prepared to counter the pessimistic atmosphere that had dominated the meeting thus far.
‘It may not be an entirely bleak picture.’
‘Why not? You aren’t the one looking at a piss-poor figure on the balance sheet!’ Morgan dropped his voice a little. ‘Strike that remark, Irving.’
‘No sir, I’m not,’ continued Pirrie, 'but I do at least have confidence that certain figures within the Government will continue to support us.’ He ignored Morgan’s facial reaction and pressed on. ‘I deplore the actions of the Royal Navy in absolving themselves from blame, but I would point out that this verdict is likely to be overturned when the full inquiry is held next month. We will be allowed to present our case at that time, and in the short term I will press my authority wherever necessary to ensure White Star is treated favourably.’
Morgan looked down at a handwritten note. ‘Your friend in the Home Office, I presume?’
‘I have the ear of Mr Churchill, yes. And in that regard, I should remind you that he has been Home Secretary for twelve months, a position second only to that of Prime Minister.’
‘You don’t say? So, what are the chances of this secretary fellow pitching in for us?’
Pirrie ignored the jibe and instead played his trump card: ‘Because he has just been appointed First Lord of the Admiralty.’
Morgan blew out a long stream of cigar smoke before responding. ‘Pirrie, you never cease to surprise me. I’m just not sure I share your confidence in the people you sleep with. Ismay, you’ve been sitting there like a fish out of water for long enough. What have you got to say on the matter?’
The pale-faced man opposite blinked nervously and cleared his throat. ‘I er… I agree with Lord Pirrie that there may be room for optimism in the hearing next month, but for different reasons.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, the case the Royal Navy is making is that the White Star Line is at fault for the course followed by Olympic while under the command of Captain Smith here.’ He nodded in the direction of the ship’s officer, sitting impassive on the other side of Ismay’s secretary. ‘As you will appreciate, it is normally the captain who takes ultimate responsibility for his ship, but it can be argued that there is an exception to the rule.’
‘Which is?’
Smith himself spoke up. ‘Technically I was not responsible for the ship at the time of the collision. I had handed over my command to the pilot, Captain Bowyer.’
Morgan’s heavy brows adjusted themselves a centimetre higher. ‘So, you’re saying this Bowyer fellow should take the hit—technically?’
Smith nodded, about to speak again but Ismay jumped in first. ‘We could argue the case at the hearing, yes. But it is my view, bearing in mind the Admiralty has already established its position, and will no doubt press for damages against us, that White Star should immediately sue Captain Bowyer and the Harbour Authority for all damages. We certainly need to confirm our legal position on this, but politically speaking it would be best to distance ourselves from any responsibility at the outset.’
Morgan nodded. ‘Okay. I like “politically speaking”. And Pirrie, you can do a bit more of the same to your secretary friend. We need all the leverage we can get. But here’s the rub: where do we go from here? Cunard are sitting pretty. Lusitania and Mauretania still dominate the Atlantic routes, and your government are backing them all the way. They’ve effectively hog-tied me, making me sail my own ships under a British flag, and their naval subsidies. What do I get in return? “Free to compete on equal terms.” Well in my book it’s not equal terms when Cunard have got two fast swans and I got nothing but a lame duck and two still waiting to hatch.’
Silence filled the room like a deafening explosion. Pirrie and Ismay both knew it was best to let Morgan sound off in his own way. There would be more pontification to follow.
‘What do you expect me to do? Throw my money down the toilet? I tell you we got some serious talking to do now, so nobody leaves this room until I’ve got a smile on my face!’ Morgan glared round the table to reinforce the message on how big a challenge that would be. Then he stubbed out his cigar and reached for another. ‘Okay, here’s what I need you to make happen: Olympic goes back into service at the earliest opportunity. Pirrie, don’t you let any of your workers go home until the job’s done. I want every man and his wife to make getting that ship back to sea their number one priority.’
‘I’m afraid it will make—’
‘I’m not finished!’ Morgan took time over lighting his cigar while his audience exercised their patience. ‘Titanic must be spectacular. When she comes into service, I want everyone to see that crossing the Atlantic any other way is not an option. Speed is not going to be the thing any more. Luxury is what counts. I want a swan that has more grace and beauty than the other birds on the pond. Can you guys deliver on that?’ Nods from both Pirrie and Ismay. ‘In this business the first step towards getting somewhere is to decide you’re not going to stay where you are. So, we have to make an impact. When Titanic takes her first trip across the Atlantic I want the world to know about it. I want that ship glorified in a way no one will ever forget. She’s got to be a byword for the best there is, so we can scuttle Cunard’s business once and for all. Is that the right term, Pirrie? Isn’t that what you do to ships? Scuttle them?’
Pirrie leaned forward, ‘Er… yes. Yes, you are correct. Although filling a ship with water is outside my personal experience. I prefer building ships to sinking them.’
Morgan took a sharp breath while drawing on his cigar and began to choke. His assistant Irving looked up in alarm and reached for a carafe of water, but his employer put out a restraining hand. ‘Thanks son, but no. I’m fine.’ He cleared his throat loudly and then took another long pull on his cigar. ‘Who needs water when God gave us cigars… Pirrie, I think you just might have put a hint of a smile on my face.’