The fact that he was the only man for the job gave him a huge confidence boost. Rutherford was too old and he had a professorship and a family to keep him in England. But, more importantly, even though he was officially just Rutherford’s assistant and nothing was ever said between the two scientists, they both knew that he, Fortescue, was the real genius of the pair. It was he, not Rutherford, who had come up with the concept of atomic fission, and it was he who had derived most of the theoretical basis behind their experimental successes.
With just an hour to go before the huge ship was due to cast off and begin its six-day transatlantic voyage, many of the passengers were already aboard, and relatives and friends of those about to set sail had gathered on the quayside. Fortescue turned the corner close to the end of the western dock and there it was, RMS Titanic, the largest man-made moving object in creation.
He had been prepared for it, of course. He had read the statistics, analysed the plans; he was a scientist, not easily impressed by engineering feats, but even he was staggered by it.
Fortescue had approached the vessel head-on, the bow soaring up into the clear blue sky, the paintwork and the chrome glistening, deck upon deck; smooth, elegant lines; blue, black and white shining metal sweeping the length of three football pitches.
He stopped and stared, transfixed, following the graceful curves, admiring the symmetry, and he felt a burst of excitement deep inside. Hundreds of passengers stood leaning on the railings surveying the people on dry land below. Some of them were waving; others simply admired the grandstand view across the quays to the outskirts of Southampton, where chimneys spewed smoke and terraced houses stretched in long curving rows that seemed to dissolve into fog and low cloud.
There was a palpable sense of excitement to which Fortescue was not immune. He walked along a wood-panelled corridor that opened out into a large circular space, the floor covered with a sumptuous red and black patterned Worcester carpet. And there, directly ahead, he caught his first sight of perhaps the most beautiful and impressive part of the ship: the aft Grand Staircase, one of two elegantly sweeping stairways that looked as though they had been lifted from a massive hotel or stately home and inserted into this floating palace.
Fortescue had read about the staircase and some of the other wonders of the ship, such as its many restaurants, including the Ritz à la carte fine dining restaurant, the Café Parisien, which included an outdoor section called the Verandah Café, and the Palm Court for the use of First and Second Class passengers. Then there was the gymnasium with its full-time exercise instructor and, on the Middle F Deck, the indoor heated swimming pool with its accompanying hot showers and Turkish baths.
He strode over to a framed plan of the ship hanging on a wall close to one of the corridors leading away from the staircase. A couple turned and walked away, disagreeing about the best way to get to their room. Fortescue put his metal boxes on the carpet between his feet, and with one finger tracing the route on the glass he quickly worked out the way to his cabin, C16. Turning, he almost collided with a young couple standing just behind him. The woman was tall and slender, wearing an elegant powder-blue dress with matching bonnet and gloves. Blonde curls trailed to her shoulders beneath the hat. She had a strikingly beautiful face, high cheekbones and large brown eyes. The man had a neatly groomed moustache styled according to the French fashion, dark, very short hair, and a handsome face that was only ruined by his current stern expression. He looked a little older than the woman.
‘I beg your pardon,’ Fortescue said formally and lifted his hat a fraction of an inch. He stepped aside and the woman gave him a bright smile, the man a frown, and he was then striding towards the main corridor leading on to the First Class cabins on C-Deck.
After it had been decided that Fortescue would be the one to carry the documents and isotope sample to America, there had been some considerable debate about the details of the voyage. In the original government plans, Fortescue was to be assigned a Second Class ticket. It was believed to be the best compromise. Third would have been insulting and perhaps even unsafe; First was seen as extravagant; Second was about right. Fortescue, though, was not happy about it. He had been born into money. His father, Sir Clive Fortescue, was a millionaire businessman; his mother, Cymbeline, had come from a noble family who could trace their ancestry back to Henry VII. Egbert himself had attended Harrow before going up to Cambridge. He was a practical, hard-working and unfailingly dedicated scientist but he was also used to the finer things in life and he saw no reason to ignore comfort simply because he had chosen a career in science.
He had forsaken much of his birthright by becoming an academic. His family, in particular his father, had not approved initially and it had taken Egbert several years to thaw the frosty attitude his father had towards his middle son. But the old man had gradually relented when he realized Egbert was serious about what he was doing in Manchester and took heed of those who spoke up for the young man’s brilliance.
At the university, Fortescue had mucked in with his sleeves rolled up. He had a decent enough flat in the city, which he had furnished nicely and he still liked to dress well, even in the lab, but many of the harder edges of his upper-class upbringing had been worn down and he was afar better man for it.
Fortescue’s sense of style had always amused Rutherford, who was himself a stoic, nuts-and-bolts, no-nonsense type who lived in a comfortable home with his family, wore modestly tailored suits and had no taste for fine food, strong liquor or luxury of any sort. He viewed Fortescue as something of a dandy, but he would never have considered his assistant spoilt. To be spoilt meant precisely that — to have been ruined by mollycoddling or overindulgence and privilege. Fortescue was that rare and noble figure, a man born of privilege who had been guided by a desire to understand and to learn. Rutherford respected the young man even more because he was from a wealthy family.
Even so, the British government had refused to cover the extra cost of a First Class cabin, a difference of some eighteen pounds. Rutherford would not even contemplate asking the university for the money and so Egbert had dipped into his own pocket.
He walked into C16. It was actually a little larger than he had expected. One of the advertising slogans for the Titanic trumpeted in The Times was that Second Class on this ship was like First on any other liner, so First was extra luxurious. And it seemed to be true. He knew from what he had read that the First Class cabins, the parlours and massive suites were decorated in a variety of styles. Some were done out in what was called Empire Style — plenty of gold leaf and red velvet; another design was called Adams — a little simpler, but frilly. His room was decorated in what was known as Dutch Traditional — dark wood, curtains and a heavily patterned carpet. It was pleasing to Fortescue’s eye.