Ruth raised her head, tears streaming down her face. “But your husband didn’t return.”
“If I could turn the clock back,” came the quiet reply, “and Con were to ask me, ‘Do you mind me going off again, old gal?’ I would still reply as I did thirteen years, one month, and six days ago. ‘No, my darling, of course I don’t mind. But do remember to take your thick woolen socks with you this time.’”
George was up, packed, and ready to leave by six the following morning. When he checked out of the hotel, he wasn’t altogether surprised to find that Keedick hadn’t settled the bill. He was only relieved that his final night was spent in a single room in a guest house on the Lower East Side, and not the Presidential Suite at the Waldorf.
When George stepped out onto the sidewalk, he didn’t hail a cab, for more than one reason. He strode off on the forty-three-block route march, a suitcase in each hand, dodging the natives as he crossed the sweating, teeming jungle of Manhattan.
When he reached the dockside just over an hour later he saw Keedick standing by the ship’s gangway, cigar in mouth, smile etched on his face, and the appropriate line ready. “When you make it to the top of your mountain, George, gimme a call, ’cause that could be the clincher.”
“Thank you, Lee,” said George, and after hesitating for a moment he added, “for an unforgettable experience.”
“My pleasure,” said Keedick, thrusting out his hand. “Delighted to have been of assistance.” George shook hands, and was stepping onto the gangway when Keedick called out after him, “Hey, don’t go without this.” He was holding out an envelope.
George turned and walked back down, not something he enjoyed doing.
“It’s your share of the profits, old boy,” he said, trying to imitate George’s English accent. “Fifty percent, as agreed.”
“Thank you,” said George, placing the envelope in an inside pocket. He had no intention of opening it in front of Keedick.
When George went in search of his cabin, he wasn’t surprised to discover that he’d been downgraded to steerage, four levels below the main deck, and that he and three other men were sharing a cabin which wasn’t much larger than his tent on the North Col. He stopped unpacking when he heard the first blast of the foghorn announcing their departure, and made his way quickly up on deck so he could follow the ship’s slow progress out of the harbor.
Once again he leaned over the railing and looked down on the dockside; friends and families were now waving good-bye. He didn’t bother to look for Lee Keedick, whom he knew would have long gone. George watched as the giant skyscrapers became smaller and smaller, and when the Statue of Liberty was finally out of sight, he decided the time had come to face reality.
He took the envelope out of his pocket, tore it open, and extracted a check.
BOOK SEVEN. A Woman’s Privilege
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
