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
“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,
“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.
