Paths Of Glory

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…

BOOK EIGHT. Ascension Day

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

March 12th, 1924

My dearest Ruth,

The long sea voyage has only served to remind me what a fine bunch of chaps I have the privilege of leading. I think too often of the sacrifices I have made, and not enough about these fine men who have been willing to join me in this capricious adventure, and what tribulations they must also have been through with their families and friends during the past two years.

Despite my initial misgivings, Sandy Irvine turns out to be a very singular fellow. Although he’s only 22, he has a shrewd northern head screwed firmly onto his broad shoulders, and the coincidence of us both hailing from Birkenhead would not be acceptable on the pages of a novel.

Of course, I’m still anxious about the fact that he’s never climbed much above 5,500 feet, but I have to admit that he is far fitter than any of us, as passengers have been able to witness at our morning PT sessions conducted by the redoubtable General Bruce. Bruce is happy enough to remain our conductor, while still having no desire to be part of the orchestra.

I must also confess that Hinks did not exaggerate Irvine’s chemistry skills. He’s quite the equal of Finch in that department, even though Norton and Odell still refuse to countenance the idea of using oxygen, let alone agreeing to strap those bulky cylinders onto their backs. Will they in the end accept that we cannot hope to reach the summit without the aid of this infernal heresy, or will they remain, in Finch’s words, blessed amateurs who must therefore fail? Only time will tell.

Our ship docked at Bombay on March 20th, and we immediately boarded the train for Darjeeling, where we selected our ponies and porters. Once again General Bruce performed miracles, and the following morning we set off on the long trek for Tibet, along with 60 ponies and more than a hundred porters. Before leaving Darjeeling on the Toy Train, we dined with Lord Lytton, the new Governor-General, and his wife, but as Finch wasn’t present there is nothing of interest to report, other than the fact that young Irvine took more than a passing interest in the Governor-General’s daughter, Lynda. Lady Lytton seemed happy to encourage him.

There was a letter awaiting me at the embassy from my sister Mary. Bit of luck her husband being posted to Ceylon, because she’ll be able to warn us in advance when the monsoon season will be upon us, as it