Titanic Ashes Read Online Free PDF Page B

or four waiters
converge, hovering uncertainly as they come close to the
palm. One claps his hands; the man with the tray waves
at the bird with his gloved free hand like a policeman
directing traffic.
    Ismay realizes he must have shifted his own seat. His
view through the palm has changed. Without any obvious
cover of leaf or stem he finds himself staring directly into
the small, dark eyes of Mrs. Grimsden.
    She makes no sign of recognition at first, and neither
does he, but the blankness of expression carries a full
awareness, even a kind of static acknowledgment, of thesituation and the history. Gradually something changes.
As the waiters converge gingerly upon the palm and the
bandleader counts his musicians off to start again, Ismay
neglects to take his eyes from Mrs. Grimsden, not from
any desire to face her down, but simply through an inability to think where else he ought to put his own gaze. Her
eyes narrow further, and her mouth seems to harden.
    If, before this evening, someone had told Ismay that a
woman could take ‘a violent sip of water’ he would have
told them such an action made no sense, that they were
colouring the movements they witnessed with their own
fears and prejudices. But this is the only description that
aptly conveys the way Mrs. Grimsden now jerks the drink
to her lips, tips back her head and returns the glass to the
table, her hand still clutching its stem. Still he doesn’t look
away, this time for a different set of reasons: for one thing
he can’t; her behaviour is both bewildering and fascinating, so much apparent emotion, such need to express
corseted tightly within the constraints of an entirely
public setting. Only by forcing malignity into her face and
imbuing the most commonplace of movements with a
kind of frantic energy can she hope to convey the true
level of her indignation. The effect seems vaguely comic,
especially with the band now recommencing its program
with a jaunty, fast-tempo number. Indeed it would be
comic, worthy of a scene from a Charlie Chaplin film, if
only he were not himself the object of her anger.
    He knows what she wants, and does not believe in
being pointlessly bullheaded. But to look away now would
be giving away something he has yet to concede, although
he has been under far greater pressure than this. It would
be saying, Yes, I am a coward and I am ashamed. You have
every right to stare and judge . Even now, after the great
trauma of the Titanic and the weight of judgment that
came down upon him in its wake, he has done himself the
service not to buckle in this regard. It is a habit with him
now. He will stand his ground until the moment he drops.
    His daughter’s hand comes upon his arm, compelling
him to tear his gaze away at last. She leans across the table
with a kind of appeal in her eyes. Of course, he thinks, she
has seen the Grimsdens, has likely been aware of their
presence all this time, hence the solicitous manner, the
open, yet leading, questions— “ What are you thinking
about now? Don’t you think you deserve to just enjoy yourself without brooding about things ?” He would like to tell
her it doesn’t matter, that he also has been aware of them
all evening, except of course, that it does matter, clearly,
and he would never say anything of the kind to his daughter even if it were true. Never have the Ismays talked
openly about anything to do with the accusation of
cowardice levelled against Ismay after the Titanic, nor
even about the effect such accusations have had upon him.
    Evelyn’s eyes are moist, but she is smiling—a fluid,
desperate smile.
    “Don’t worry, Father, ” she says, turning her eyes pointedly upward toward the chandelier, almost magically
drawing his own in the same direction. The sparrow darts
one way, then the other, causing the crystal to tingle.
“They won’t hurt it, ” she says. They watch together as the
bird switches direction again, circling the ceiling fan, then
dips, making a young lady duck and