otherwise Andrew would work out what he was up to, and mock him. A hundred years ago George would have challenged him to a duel. Then he remembered which one of them had a boxing blue.
George strode into the main block trying to look confident and relaxed, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As he opened the common room door, he could hear his heart thumping. But what if Andrew wasn’t there? He didn’t think he could go through another lesson with the lower fifth until at least some of his questions had been answered.
Andrew was sitting in his usual place by the window, reading the morning paper. He smiled when he saw George, who poured himself a cup of tea and strolled across to join him. He was annoyed to find that a colleague had just taken the chair next to Andrew, and was busily discussing the iniquities of the school timetable.
George perched himself on the radiator between them. He tried to remember his first question. Ah, yes…
“Good show last night,” said Andrew as he folded his newspaper and turned his attention to George.
“Yes, good show,” George repeated lamely, even though it wasn’t in his script.
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.”
“Had a splendid time,” said George. “Turner’s quite a character.”
“He obviously took a shine to you.”
“Oh, do you think so?”
“Certain of it. I’ve never seen him so animated.”
“Then you’ve known him for some time?” ventured George.
“No, I’ve only been to Westbrook a couple of times, and he hardly opened his mouth.”
“Oh, really?” said George, his first question answered.
“So what did you think of the girls?” asked Andrew.
“The girls?” repeated George, annoyed that Andrew seemed to be asking him all his own questions.
“Yes. Did you take a fancy to any of them? Marjorie clearly couldn’t take her eyes off you.”
“I didn’t notice,” said George. “What about you?”
“Well, it all came as a bit of a surprise, to be frank with you, old chap,” admitted Andrew.
“A bit of a surprise?” said George, hoping he didn’t sound desperate.
“Yes. You see, I didn’t think she had the slightest interest in me.”
“She?”
“Ruth.”
“Ruth?”
“Yes. On my two previous visits, she didn’t give me a second look, but last night she never stopped chatting. I think I might be in with a chance.”
“In with a chance?” George bobbed up.
“Are you all right, Mallory?”
“Of course I am. Why do you ask?”
“Well, it’s just that you keep repeating everything I say.”
“Everything you say? Do I?” said George, sitting back down on the radiator. “Then you’ll be hoping to see Ruth again, will you?” he ventured, at last getting in one of his questions.
“Well, that’s the funny thing,” said Andrew. “Just after dinner, the old man took me to one side and invited me to join the family in Venice over Easter.”
“And did you accept?” asked George, horrified by the very idea.
“Well, I’d like to, but there’s a slight complication.”
“A slight complication?”
“You’re at it again,” said Andrew.
“Sorry,” replied George. “What’s the complication?”
“I’ve already committed myself to a hockey tour of the West Country at Easter, and as I’m the only goalkeeper available, I don’t feel I can let the team down.”
“Certainly not,” said George, having to jump up again. “That would be damn bad form.”
“Quite,” said Andrew. “But I think I may have come up with a compromise.”
“A compromise?”
“Yes. If I were to miss the last match, I could take the boat train from Southampton on the Friday evening and be in Venice by Sunday morning, which would mean I could still spend a whole week with the Turners.”
“A whole week?” said George.
“I put the idea to the old man, and he seemed quite agreeable, so I’ll be joining them during the last week of March.”
That was all George needed to know. He jumped off the radiator, the seat of his trousers scorched.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Mallory? You seem quite distracted this morning.”
“Blame it on Wainwright,” said George, glad of the chance to change the subject.
“Wainwright?” said Andrew.
“I nearly lost my temper with him this morning when he suggested that it was the Earl of Essex who defeated the Spanish Armada, and Drake wasn’t even there.”
“Playing bowls on Plymouth Hoe, no doubt.”
“No, Wainwright has a theory that Drake was at Hampton Court at the time, having a protracted affair with Elizabeth, and that he’d sent Essex off to Devon to keep him out of the way.”
“I thought it was meant to be the other way round,” said Andrew.
“Let’s hope so,” said George.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE FIRST COUPLE of days’ climbing had gone well, even if Finch seemed a little preoccupied and not his usual forthright self. It wasn’t until the third day, when they were both stuck on a ledge halfway up the Zmutt Ridge, that George found out why.
“Do you begin to understand women?” asked Finch, as if this was something they discussed every day.
“Can’t say I have a great deal of experience in that particular field,” admitted George, his thoughts turning to Ruth.
“Join the club,” responded Finch.
“But I always thought you were considered to be a bit of an authority on the subject?”
“Women don’t allow any man to be an authority on the subject,” said Finch bitterly.
“Fallen in love with someone, have you?” asked George, wondering if Finch was suffering from the same problem as he was.
“Out of love,” said Finch. “Which is far more complicated.”
“I feel sure it won’t be too long before you find a replacement.”
“It’s not a replacement I’m worried about,” said Finch. “I’ve just found out that she’s pregnant.”
“Then you’ll have to marry her,” said George matter-of-factly.
“That’s the problem,” Finch said. “We’re already married.”
That was the nearest George had come to falling off a mountain since the avalanche on Mont Blanc.
A head appeared over the ledge. “Let’s keep moving,” said Young. “Or can’t you two see a way out of the problem?”
As neither of them replied, Young simply said, “Follow me.”
For the next hour, all three men struggled gamely up the last thousand feet, and it wasn’t until George had joined Young and Finch at the top of the mountain that Finch spoke again.
“Is there any news about the one mountain we all want to stand on top of?” he asked Young.
Although George didn’t approve of Finch’s blunt approach, he hoped that Young would answer the question, as one thing was certain: No one was going to overhear them at 14,686 feet on the summit of the Matterhorn.
Young looked out across the valley, wondering how much information he should divulge. “Anything I have to
