Paths of Glory (36 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY

T
HEY STROLLED DOWN
King’s Parade together hand in hand, looking like a couple of undergraduates.

“Don’t keep me in suspense any longer,” said Ruth. “How did the interview go?”

“I don’t think it could have gone much better,” said George. “They seemed to agree with all my views on higher education, and didn’t balk when I suggested the time has come to award degrees to women who are taking the same courses as men.”

“About time too,” said Ruth. “Even Oxford has managed to come to terms with that.”

“It may take another world war before Cambridge budges,” said George as a couple of crusty old dons strolled past.

“So do you think there’s a chance they’ll offer you the job? Or are there still other candidates to interview?”

“I don’t think so,” said George. “In fact, Young led me to believe that I was on a shortlist of one, and the chairman of the interviewing board rather gave the game away when he asked if I’d be able to start work next September.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Ruth. “Congratulations, my darling.”

“But won’t you find it a terrible bore having to pull up roots and move to Cambridge?”

“Good heavens, no,” said Ruth. “I can’t think of a better place to bring up the children, and you still have so many friends here. Let’s be grateful they don’t need you until next September, which will give me more than enough time to look for a new house and plan the move while you’re away.”

“While I’m away?” said George, looking puzzled.

“Yes, because if the job doesn’t start until next year, I can’t see any reason why you shouldn’t go off and climb your mountain.”

George stared at her as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Are you telling me, my darling,” he eventually managed, “that you wouldn’t object if I were to sign up for the return expedition?”

“On the contrary, I’d welcome it,” said Ruth. “The idea of you hanging around the house for months like a bear with a sore head isn’t worth thinking about, and I certainly wouldn’t want to be around if Finch ends up standing on top of your mountain and all you can do about it is send him a telegram of congratulations. Of course,” she continued, “it’s possible that they may not be willing to offer you a place on the climbing team.”

“And why not?” demanded George.

“Well, you may still look like an undergraduate, my darling, and at times even behave like one, but if they were to check your curriculum vitae more carefully, they’d soon see that you’re no spring chicken. So you’d better let them know you’re available pretty quickly, because this will undoubtedly be your last chance.”

“You cheeky little minx,” said George. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or spank you. I think I’ll settle for a kiss.”

When he finally released her, all Ruth had to say was, “I’ve had to speak to you before, Mr. Mallory, about kissing me in public.” She couldn’t remember when she’d last seen him looking so exhilarated.

“Thank you, my darling,” he said. “It’s such a relief to know how you really feel about me having one last crack at Everest.”

Ruth was glad that George took her back in his arms, for fear he would look into her eyes and discover what she really felt.

No one was surprised that George was late for his brother’s birthday party, but his sister Mary did tick him off when she discovered that he’d left Trafford’s present back at The Holt.

“What did you get him?” asked Mary. “Or can’t you remember that either?”

“A watch,” said George. “I picked it up when I was last in Switzerland.”

“That’s a surprising choice, considering it’s an instrument you’ve shown scant interest in for the past thirty-seven years,” she said as Trafford came across to join them.

“I can always pick it up at Christmas,” said Trafford. “Just as I did last year,” he added with a smile. “But more important, I need to settle an argument between Cottie and Mother about the highest point George reached on Everest.”

George looked across the room to see Cottie chatting to a man he didn’t recognize. He hadn’t seen her since they had visited the Monet exhibition at the Royal Academy a year or two ago. She gave him that familiar smile he remembered from their climbing days, and he felt even more guilty that he hadn’t been in touch since her father had gone bankrupt. Not that he could have offered any financial help, but…

“Twenty-seven thousand five hundred and fifty feet,” said Mary, “as every schoolboy knows.”

“Then it’s higher than any pilot has ever managed,” said Trafford, “otherwise I’d try and land on top of the damn mountain.”

“That would save us all a lot of trouble,” said George turning back. “Until then, someone will still have to go up the hard way.” Trafford laughed.

“How’s Cottie?” George asked. “Is she still having to work for a living?”

“Yes,” replied Mary. “But thankfully she’s no longer serving behind the counter at Woolworth’s.”

“Why?” asked Trafford. “Have they made her the manager?”

“No,” said Mary, laughing. “She’s just had her first book published, and the reviews have been most favorable.”

George felt even more guilty. “I’ll have to take a copy with me on my next trip,” he said without thinking.

“Your next trip?” said Trafford. “I thought you’d decided not to be part of the next Everest expedition.”

“Can Cottie make a living from writing?” asked George, not wanting to respond to his brother’s question. “I only earned a miserable thirty-two pounds in royalties from my book on Boswell.”

“Cottie’s written a romantic novel, not a stuffy biography,” said Mary. “What’s more, the publishers have offered her a three-book contract, so someone must believe in her.”

“More than one person, it would seem,” said Trafford, looking more closely at the man Cottie was talking to.

“What do you mean?” asked George.

“Cottie’s just got married,” said Mary. “A diplomat from the Foreign Office. Didn’t you know?”

“No, I didn’t,” admitted George. “I wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

“Hardly surprising,” said Mary. “If you read
Peking Picnic,
you might understand why.”

“What are you getting at?”

“The hero of the novel is a young schoolmaster who was educated at Cambridge and climbs mountains in his spare time.”

Trafford laughed. “What? No mention of his dashing younger brother, the fearless flying ace who, after beating off the Germans, returns to his homeland to become the youngest flight commander in the RAF?”

“Only one paragraph,” said Mary. “But she does suggest that, like his more handsome older brother, he’s destined for higher things.”

“That might depend on which one of us is the first to reach 29,000 feet,” suggested Trafford.

“Twenty-nine thousand and two feet,” said George.

1924

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

T
HE REST OF
the committee were studying the RGS’s latest map of the Himalaya when General Bruce began his report.

“Most of the back-up party should have reached 17,000 feet by now,” said the General, tapping the map with his monocle to indicate the position. “Their job will be to make sure that everything is ready for Mallory and his team of climbers by the time they turn up at base camp in twelve weeks’ time.”

“Good,” said George. “And as I’ve already identified the route I intend to take, that will give us more than a month to get bedded in and have a crack at the summit before the monsoon season sets in.”

“Can we assume, Mallory,” said Sir Francis, “that we’ve dealt with most of the anxieties you raised following the previous expedition?”

“You certainly can, Mr. Chairman,” George replied. “But after my desultory efforts in the United States, I’m bound to ask where the money has come from to make all this possible.”

“We had an unexpected windfall,” explained Hinks. “Although all may not have gone to plan for you in America, Mallory, Noel’s film,
The Epic of Everest
, was a huge success here. So much so that he’s offered the Society eight thousand pounds for the exclusive, I think the expression is ‘cinematography rights,’ for the next expedition, with only one proviso.”

“And what might that be?” asked Raeburn.

“That Mallory be appointed as climbing leader,” said Hinks.

“And as I’ve already agreed to that,” said Mallory, “all that’s left for me to do is settle the composition of the rest of my climbing party.”

“Which quite frankly, Mr. Chairman,” interjected Geoffrey Young, “selects itself.”

George nodded, and took a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “May I present the list of names for the committee’s approval, Mr. Chairman?”

“Yes, of course, old boy,” said Sir Francis. “Damn it all, it’s your team.”

George read out the names that he and Young had agreed on at the previous meeting of the Alpine Club. “Norton, Somervell, Morshead, Odell, Finch, Bullock, Hingston, Noel, and myself.” He looked up, expecting to receive the committee’s unanimous approval.

There was a long silence before the chairman responded. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, Mallory, that I received a letter only this morning from Mr. Finch saying that he felt that, given the circumstances, he would have to withdraw his name for consideration as a member of the 1924 expedition.”

“Given the circumstances?” repeated George. “What circumstances?”

Sir Francis nodded in Hinks’s direction. Hinks opened one of the files in front of him, extracted a letter and passed it to George.

George read it twice before he said, “But he gives no specific reason for having to withdraw.” He passed the letter to Geoffrey Young, then asked, “Is he ill, by any chance?”

“Not that we are aware of,” said Sir Francis guardedly.

“And it can’t be a financial problem,” said Young, passing the letter back to Hinks, “because thanks to Noel, we have more than enough money to cover any expenses Finch might require for his passage and equipment.”

“I’m afraid, Mallory, the truth is that the situation is a little more delicate than that,” said Hinks, as he closed the minute book and screwed the top back onto his fountain pen.

“Surely it can’t be anything to do with that business with the Governor-General’s wife?” said George.

“No, I fear it’s far worse than that unsavory incident,” said Hinks, taking off his half-moon spectacles and placing them on the table. George waited impatiently for Hinks to continue. “Without informing the RGS,” Hinks eventually said, “Finch accepted several speaking engagements up and down the country. These resulted in him making a considerable sum of money, of which the Society has not received one penny.”

“Was the Society entitled to one penny?” asked Young.

“It most certainly was,” said Hinks, “as Finch had signed a contract, just as you did, Mallory, to pass over fifty percent of any earnings he received as a consequence of the Everest expedition.”

“How much money is involved?” asked Young.

“We have no idea,” admitted Hinks, “as Finch refuses to submit any accounts, despite several requests for him to do so. In the end, the Society had no choice but to issue a writ demanding what is rightfully ours.”

“I always said he was a cad from the start,” interjected Ashcroft. “This latest incident only proves that I was right.”

“Do you think the matter will come to court?” asked Young.

“I would hope not,” said Hinks. “But were it to do so, the case would probably be heard when the expedition is already in Tibet.”

“I’m sure the Sherpas will get very worked up about that,” said George.

“This is no laughing matter,” said Sir Francis gravely.

“Is there anyone around this table who believes this latest misdemeanor will in any way affect Finch’s climbing ability?” asked Young.

“That’s not the point, Young,” said Hinks, “and you know it.”

“It will be the point,” said George, “when I’m standing at 27,000 feet and have to decide who to select to partner me for the final climb.”

“You’ll still have Norton and Somervell to choose between,” Hinks reminded him.

“And they would be the first to admit they aren’t in Finch’s class.”

“Surely, Mallory, you must accept that the RGS has been left with little or no choice following this latest incident.”

“It is not the RGS’s God-given right to make the decision as to who should and should not be in the climbing party,” said Mallory. “Just in case you’ve forgotten, Mr. Hinks, this is the Everest Committee.”

“I say, Mallory,” interjected Ashcroft, “I think that was a bit ripe.”

“Then let me ask you, Commander,” George spat out, “with all your vast experience of being above sea-level, who do you consider would be the obvious choice to take Finch’s place?”

“I’m glad you raised that question, Mallory,” interjected Hinks, “because I believe we have come up with a suitable replacement.”

“And who might that be?” asked Mallory.

“A young man called Sandy Irvine. He’s an Oxford rowing blue, and has agreed to stand in despite the short notice.”

“As it’s not my intention to row up Everest, Mr. Hinks, perhaps you could let us know what climbing experience Mr. Irvine has, because I’ve never heard of him.”

Hinks smiled for the first time. “It seems that your friend Odell was very impressed with the lad when they climbed together inside the Arctic Circle last year, and Irvine was the first to reach the summit of the highest peak on Spitsbergen.” Hinks looked rather pleased with himself.

“Spitsbergen,” interjected Young, “is for promising novices, and in case you didn’t know, Mr. Hinks, its highest peak is about 5,600 feet.”

“So when I’m next looking for someone to keep me company for the first 5,600 feet,” said George, “let me assure you, Mr. Hinks, that Irvine’s will be the first name that springs to mind.”

“I should also point out, Mallory,” said Hinks, “that Irvine is reading chemistry at Oxford, and is well-acquainted with the oxygen apparatus Finch experimented with on the last trip. In fact, I’m reliably informed that he’s in regular touch with the manufacturers about possible improvements to the system.”