Paths of Glory

CHAPTER FIFTY

THEY 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

THE 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.”

“Finch is also a dab hand when it comes to the use of oxygen, and he’s got a first-class honors degree to prove it,” George reminded him. “And just in case the committee has forgotten, he’s already experimented with oxygen above 27,000 feet, which you were extremely critical of at the time, Mr. Hinks. Perhaps even more relevant is that Finch is the current holder of the world altitude record at 27,850 feet, as I know to my cost.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” said Sir Francis, “we must try to resolve our differences with some degree of decorum.”

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Chairman?” asked George. “As clearly Mr. Hinks and I are never going to agree on this particular subject.”

“That we should allow the majority to prevail, as has always been our custom at the RGS.” Before George could interrupt, Sir Francis added, “As I’m sure is also the case at the Alpine Club.”

Young kept his counsel and, as no one else ventured an opinion Sir Francis continued, “May I therefore suggest, somewhat reluctantly, that the time has come for us to take another vote on this matter?” He waited for any objections to be voiced, but the rest of the committee remained silent. “Will you please officiate, Mr. Secretary?”

“Certainly, Mr. Chairman,” said Hinks. “Those in favor of Mr. Finch being reinstated as a member of the climbing party, please raise your hand.”

Mallory, Young, and, to everyone’s surprise, General Bruce, raised their hands. Before Hinks registered the General’s vote in the minute book he stared across at him and said, “But I thought you detested the man?”

“Yes, I do, old boy,” said Bruce. “But the highest point I managed on the last trip was 17,400 feet, and I can assure you, Hinks, that I have no intention of putting my name forward to join Mallory when he reaches 27,000 feet and has to decide who will join him for the final climb.”

Hinks reluctantly registered the General’s vote. “Those against?” Raeburn and Ashcroft joined the secretary when he raised his hand. “I fear that it’s three all, Mr. Chairman, so once again you have the casting vote.”

“On this occasion,” said Sir Francis without hesitation, “I vote against Finch being reinstated.”

Hinks immediately entered the result in the minute book and, before the ink was dry, announced, “The Everest Committee has decided, by four votes to three, that George Finch should not be reinstated as a member of the climbing party.” He closed the minute book.

“May I ask what caused you to change your mind on this occasion, Mr. Chairman?” asked George calmly.

“Not keeping to his agreement with the RGS was the final straw for me,” said Sir Francis, glancing at the portrait of the Society’s president. “However, I also suspect that His Majesty would not be pleased to be told that a divorced man was the first person to stand on top of the world.”

“What a pity Henry the Eighth wasn’t your president when the first attempt on Everest was considered,” said George quietly. He slowly gathered up his papers and rose from his place. “I must apologize, Mr. Chairman, but you have left me with no choice but to resign as a member of this committee, and to withdraw my name as climbing leader. Naturally I wish my successor every good fortune. Good day, gentlemen.”

“Mr. Mallory,” said Hinks, before George had reached the door. “I hope your decision will not prevent you from delivering the memorial lecture to the RGS this evening. The event has been sold out for weeks, and indeed the-”

“I shall of course honor my agreement,” said Mallory. “But should anyone ask me why I have resigned from this committee and will not be leading the forthcoming expedition to Everest, I shall not hesitate to tell them that I was overruled when it came to the selection of the climbing party.”

“So be it,” said Hinks. Mallory left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

“Bang goes Noel’s eight thousand pounds,” said Raeburn as he stubbed out his cigar. “Which leaves us with little choice but to cancel the whole damn shindig.”

“Not necessarily,” said Hinks quietly. “You will have noticed, gentlemen, that I did not record Mallory’s resignation in the minute book. I still have a couple of cards up my sleeve, which I intend to play before the evening is out.”

George quickly made his way out of the hall and across the corridor to the speaker’s room. He didn’t stop to chat to anyone on the way, for fear they might ask him a question that he didn’t want to answer until after he’d given his lecture. He also needed to use the forty minutes to compose his thoughts, as he knew he was about to deliver the most important speech of his life.

When he walked into the speaker’s room he was surprised to find Ruth waiting for him.

“What happened?” she asked when she saw the expression of anger on his face.

George paced up and down the room while he gave Ruth a blow-by-blow account of what had taken place at the committee meeting. He finally came to a halt in front of her. “I did do the right thing, didn’t I, darling?”

Ruth had anticipated the question, and knew that all she had to say was Yes, of course you were right to resign, my darling. Hinks behaved disgracefully, and unless Finch is reinstated, you’ll be taking far too great a risk. And don’t let’s forget it’s your life, not his, that will be at risk.

George stood there, waiting for her reply.

“Let’s hope that you won’t live to regret your decision,” was all she said. She jumped up from her chair before George could press her further. “I’ll leave you now, my darling. I only popped by to wish you luck. I realize you’ll need these last few minutes to prepare yourself for such an important occasion.” She gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek, and left without another word.

George sat at the little desk and tried to go over his notes, but his thoughts kept returning to the committee meeting, and Ruth’s ambiguous response to his question.

There was a gentle tap on the door. George wondered who it could possibly be. It was one of the Society’s golden rules that a speaker must not be interrupted during his final moments of preparation. When he saw Hinks come marching through the door, he could have happily punched the damn man on the nose, until he noticed who was following close behind him. George leaped to his feet and bowed.

“Your Royal Highness,” said Hinks, “may I have the honor of presenting Mr. George Mallory, who, as you know, sir, will be delivering tonight’s lecture.”

“Yes, indeed,” said the Prince of Wales. “I apologize for barging in on you like this, Mallory, but I have a message from His Majesty the King that I’ve been entrusted to deliver to you in person.”

“It’s extremely kind of you to take the trouble, sir.”

“Not at all, old fellow. His Majesty wanted you to know how delighted he is that you have agreed to lead the next expedition to Everest, and he looks forward to meeting you on your return.” Hinks gave a thin smile. “And may I say, Mallory, that those are also my sentiments, and add how much I am looking forward to your lecture.”

“Thank you, sir,” said George.

“Now I’d better leave you in peace,” the Prince said, “otherwise this show may never get off the ground.”

George bowed again as the Prince of Wales and Hinks left the room.

“You bastard Hinks,” he muttered as the door closed behind them. “But don’t imagine even for one moment that your little subterfuge will change my mind.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

“YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it is my privilege as chairman of the Royal Geographical Society and the Everest Committee to introduce tonight’s guest speaker, Mr. George Mallory,” announced Sir Francis Younghusband. “Mr. Mallory was the climbing leader on the last expedition, when he reached a height of 27,550 feet-a mere 1,455 feet from the summit. Tonight, Mr. Mallory will be telling us about his experiences on that historic adventure in a lecture entitled ‘Walking Off the Map.’ Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. George Mallory.”

George was unable to speak for several minutes because the audience rose to their feet as one and applauded until he finally had to wave them down. He looked down at the front row and smiled at the man who should have been giving the memorial lecture that evening, had it not been for the injury he sustained in the war. Young returned his smile, clearly proud that his pupil was representing him. Norton, Somervell, and Odell sat beside him.

George waited for the audience to settle before he delivered his first line. “When I was recently in New York,” he began, “I was introduced as the man who had conquered Everest single-handed.” He waited for the laughter to die down before he went on, “Wrong on both counts. Although one man may end up standing alone on top of that great mountain, he could not hope to achieve such a feat without the backing of a first-class team. And by that I mean, you’d better have everything from seventy Indian mules to a General Bruce if you hope even to reach base camp.” This was the cue for the lights to go down and the first slide to appear on the screen behind him.

Forty minutes later, George was back at base camp and once again receiving rapturous applause. He felt that the lecture had gone well, but he still needed to answer questions, and feared that the wrong response could well put him back at base camp.

When he called for questions he was surprised that Hinks didn’t rise from his place, as tradition allows the secretary of the RGS to ask the first question. Instead, he remained resolutely in his place in the front row, arms folded. George selected an elderly gentleman in the second row.

“When you were stranded at 27,550 feet, sir, and saw Finch moving away from you, did you not wish at the time that you had taken a couple of oxygen cylinders along with you?”

“Not when we first set out I didn’t,” replied Mallory. “But later, when I couldn’t progress more than a few feet without having to stop for a rest, I came to the conclusion that it would be nigh on impossible to reach the summit under one’s own steam.”

He pointed to another hand.

“But wouldn’t you consider the use of oxygen to be cheating, sir?”

“I used to be of that opinion,” said George. “But that was before a colleague who shared a tent with me at 27,000 feet pointed out that you might argue that it was cheating to wear leather climbing boots or woolen mittens, or even to put a lump of sugar in your lukewarm tea, all of which undoubtedly give you a better chance of success. And let’s be honest, why travel five thousand miles if you have no hope of covering the last thousand feet.”

He selected another raised hand.

“If you hadn’t stopped to assist Mr. Odell, do you think you might have reached the top?”

“I could certainly see the top,” George replied, “because Mr. Finch was 300 feet ahead of me.” This was greeted with warm laughter. “I confess that the summit seemed to be tantalizingly close at the time, but even that can be deceptive. Never forget that on a mountain, 500 feet is not a couple of hundred yards. Far from it-it’s more likely to be over a mile. However, that experience convinced me that given enough time and the right conditions, it is possible to reach the summit.”

George answered several more questions during the next twenty minutes, without giving any hint that he had just resigned as climbing leader.

“Last question,” he said finally, with a relieved smile. He pointed to a young man near the middle of the hall, who was standing up and waving a hand, hoping to be noticed. In a voice that had not yet broken, the boy asked, “When you have conquered Everest, sir, what will be left for the likes of me?”

The whole audience burst out laughing, and Mallory recalled how nervous he had been when he had asked Captain Scott almost the same question. He looked up at the gallery, delighted to see Scott’s widow in her usual place in the front row. Thank God his decision earlier that evening meant that Ruth would no longer have to worry about suffering the same fate. Mallory looked back down at the young man and smiled. “You should read H. G. Wells, my boy. He believes that, in time, mankind will be able, like Puck, to put a circle round the earth in forty minutes, that someone will one day break the sound barrier, with consequences we have yet to comprehend, and that in your lifetime, though perhaps not in mine, a man will walk on the moon.” George smiled at the young man. “Perhaps you’ll be the first Englishman to be launched into space.”

The audience roared with laughter, and applauded again as George took his final bow. He felt confident that he’d escaped without anyone suspecting what had taken place at the committee meeting earlier that evening. He smiled down at Ruth, who was sitting in the front row, his sisters Avie and Mary on either side of her; another small triumph.

When George raised his head, he saw his oldest friend standing and applauding wildly. Within moments the rest of the audience had joined Guy Bullock and seemed quite unwilling to resume their seats, however much he gestured that they should do so.

He was about to leave the stage, but when he turned, he saw Hinks climbing the steps toward him, carrying a file. He gave Mallory a warm smile as he approached the microphone, lowered it by several inches, and waited for the applause to die down and for everyone to resume their seats before he spoke.

“Your Royal Highness, my lords, ladies, and gentlemen. Those of you who are familiar with the traditions of this historic society will be aware that it is the secretary’s privilege on these occasions to ask the lecturer the first question. I did not do so this evening, thus breaking with tradition; but only because my chairman, Sir Francis Younghusband, rewarded me with an even greater prize, that of giving the vote of thanks to our guest speaker and my dear friend, George Mallory.”

George had never heard Hinks call him by his Christian name before.

“But first, allow me to tell you about a resolution that we passed at the Everest Committee this evening in Mr. Mallory’s absence, and which we feel is something we should share with every member of this society.” Hinks opened the file, extracted a piece of paper, adjusted his spectacles and began to read. “It was unanimously agreed that we should invite Mr. George Leigh Mallory to be climbing leader for the 1924 expedition of Everest.” The audience burst into loud applause, but Hinks raised a hand to silence them, as he clearly had more to say.

George stood a pace behind him, seething.

“However, the committee is only too aware that there might be reasons why Mr. Mallory would feel unable to take on this onerous task a second time.”

Cries of “No!” came from the audience, causing Hinks to raise a hand once again. “Reasons you may not be aware of, but when I tell you what they are, you will appreciate his dilemma. Mr. Mallory has a wife and three young children whom he may not wish to abandon for another six months. Not only that, but I learned today that he is about to be appointed to a most important position at the Workers’ Educational Association that will allow him to put into practice the beliefs he has held passionately for many years.

“If that were not enough,” continued Hinks, “there is a third reason. I must be very careful how I word this, as I am only too aware that several gentlemen of the press are among us tonight. Your society learned today that Mr. Finch, Mr. Mallory’s colleague on the last Everest expedition, has had to withdraw his name from the climbing team for personal reasons, which I fear the newspapers will be reporting in greater detail tomorrow.” The room was now silent. “With this in mind, your committee has decided that if Mr. Mallory felt, quite understandably, unable to take his place as leader of the 1924 expedition, we would be left with no choice but to postpone-not abandon, but postpone-that expedition until such time as a suitable replacement as climbing leader could be found.”

George suddenly realized that the King and the Prince of Wales were only a side show. Hinks was about to deliver the knock-out punch.

“Let me end by saying,” Hinks said, turning to face George, “that whatever decision you come to, sir, this society will be eternally grateful for your unswerving commitment to its cause, and, more important, your service to this country. We naturally hope that you will accept our offer of the position of climbing leader, and that this time you will lead your team to even greater glory. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you all to join me in thanking our guest speaker this evening, Mallory of Everest.”

The audience rose as one. Men who would normally offer courteous and respectful applause to the guest speaker leaped from their seats, some cheering, some pleading, all hoping that Mallory would accept the challenge. George looked down at Ruth, who was also on her feet, joining in the applause. When Hinks took a pace back to join him, George said for the second time that evening, “You bastard.”

“Quite possibly,” Hinks replied. “However, when I bring the minute book up-to-date later this evening, I presume I’ll be able to record your acceptance of the position of climbing leader.”

“Mallory of Everest! Mallory of Everest!” the audience chanted in unison.

“You bastard,” George repeated.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

GEORGE LEANED OVER the railing of the SS California, searching for his wife. He smiled when he spotted her among the cheering crowd. The moment she realized he had found her, she began to wave. She was only glad that he could not see the tears streaming down her face.

By the time the crew had raised the gangway, the ropes had been untied and the ship had begun to ease away from the dockside, he was already missing her. Why did he always have to go away to realize how much he loved her? For the next six months all he would have to remind him of her beauty was a frayed sepia photograph taken during the first week of their honeymoon. If she had not been adamant that he should go, he would have stayed at home, content to follow the progress of the expedition in The Times. He knew that Hinks had no intention of postponing the expedition, but as every word of his speech had been reported in the “Thunderer” the following morning, he also realized that his bluff had been called. Hinks had proved to be a far better poker player.

So now he was on his way back to India without Finch to challenge his every move. And Sherpa Nyima would not be standing on the dockside waiting to greet him when he stepped off the ship on the far side of the world.

And then George saw him standing at the back of the crowd, slightly to one side, as befits a loner. He didn’t recognize him to begin with, until the man raised his hat to reveal that thick, wavy fair hair that so many women had swooned over. George returned the compliment, only surprised that Finch hadn’t smuggled himself on board. But Hinks had made certain that he couldn’t show his face in public until the scandal had died down, let alone make a solo appearance on the highest stage on earth.

George searched for Ruth once again and, having found her, he never let her out of his sight until she could no longer be seen among the vast crowd of well-wishers waving from the dockside.

When finally a column of black, belching smoke was all that could be seen on the horizon, Ruth reluctantly walked slowly to her car. She drove out of the dock and began the long journey back to The Holt. This time there were no adoring crowds to prevent her from escaping.

Ruth had never craved adoring crowds. She simply wanted her husband to return alive. But she had played the game so well that everyone was convinced she wanted George to be given one last chance to fulfill his dream. In truth, she didn’t care if he succeeded or failed, as long as they could grow old together, and today would become nothing more than a fading memory.

When George could no longer see his homeland, he retired to his little cabin. He sat at the desk below the porthole and began to write a letter to the only woman he had ever loved.

My dearest Ruth…