Paths of Glory (34 page)

The stalls were almost full, even if the dress circle remained in darkness. George was relieved by how many people seemed keen to ask questions, and it quickly became clear that there were some seasoned alpinists and genuine enthusiasts among the audience, who offered observations that were both thoughtful and relevant. However, George was nearly stumped—not that the questioner would have known the derivation of the word—when a slim blonde seated in the third row asked, “Mr. Mallory, could you tell us how much it costs to mount such an expedition?”

It was some time before George replied, and not just because he didn’t know the answer. “I’ve no idea, madam,” he finally managed. “The financial details are always handled by the RGS. However, I do know that the Society will be launching an appeal in the near future to raise funds for a second expedition that will set out for the Himalaya early next year with the sole purpose of putting an”—he stopped himself just in time from saying “an Englishman”—“a member of that team on the summit.”

“Can those of us who might consider donating to that fund,” the young lady inquired, “assume that you will be a member of the team, in fact its climbing leader?”

George didn’t hesitate. “No, madam. I have already assured my wife that the Society will have to look for someone else to lead the team next time.” He was surprised when several groans of disappointment emanated from the audience, even one or two muffled cries of “Shame!”

After a couple more questions, George recovered, and was even a little disappointed when Lee stage-whispered from the wings, “Time to wrap it up, George.”

George immediately bowed and quickly left the stage. The audience began to applaud.

“Not so fast,” said Keedick, pushing him back onto the stage to laughter and even louder applause. In fact, he had to send him back three times before the curtain finally came down.

“That was great,” said Lee as they climbed into the back of the limousine. “You were fantastic.”

“Did you really think so?” asked George.

“Couldn’t have gone better,” said Lee. “Now all we have to pray for is that the critics love you as much as the public does. By the way, have you ever come across Estelle Harrington before?”

“Estelle Harrington?” repeated George.

“The dame who asked if you were going to lead the next expedition.”

“No, I’ve never seen her before in my life,” said George. “Why do you ask?”

“She’s known as the cardboard-box widow,” said Lee. “Her late husband, Jake Harrington, the inventor of the cardboard box, left her so much money she can’t even count it.” Lee inhaled deeply and puffed out a plume of smoke. “I’ve read a ton of stuff about her in the gossip columns over the years, but I never knew she took any interest in climbing. If she was willing to sponsor the tour, we wouldn’t have to worry about
The New York Times.
”

“Is it that important?” asked George.

“More important than all the other papers put together.”

“So when will it deliver its verdict?”

“In a few hours’ time,” replied Lee, blowing out another cloud of smoke.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

“T
HE
W
ORKERS
’ E
DUCATIONAL
Association,” said Geoffrey Young as they strolled around the garden.

“I’ve never heard of them,” said Ruth.

“It was founded in the early days of the Labor movement, and its aim is to assist people who weren’t given the chance of a decent education in their youth, but would benefit from it in later life.”

“That sounds very much in line with George’s Fabian principles.”

“In my opinion,” said Geoffrey, “the job was made for him. It would allow George to combine his teaching experience with his views on politics and education.”

“But would it also mean us having to move to Cambridge?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. But I can think of worse places to live,” responded Geoffrey. “And don’t forget that George still has a lot of old friends there.”

“I think I should warn you, Geoffrey, that George is becoming quite anxious about what he describes as his financial predicament. In his latest letter he hinted that the tour wasn’t going quite as well as he’d hoped.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Young. “However, I do know that the basic salary for the job is three hundred and fifty pounds a year, with the opportunity to earn a further hundred and fifty through extra tuition fees, which would make it up to around five hundred pounds.”

“In that case,” said Ruth, “I think George will jump at the opportunity. When would they want him to start?” she asked.

“Not until next September,” said Young. “Which would mean, dare I mention it, that George could even reconsider—”

“Not now, Geoffrey,” Ruth said, as they walked back toward the house. “Let’s discuss that particular matter over dinner. For now, why don’t you go and unpack, and then join me in the drawing room around seven.”

“We don’t have to talk about it, Ruth.”

“Oh yes we do,” she replied as they strolled back into the house.

“Taxi!” shouted Keedick, and when it screeched to a halt he opened the back door to allow his client to climb in. Harry and his Caddie were nowhere to be seen.

“So, how bad is it?” asked George as he slumped down in the back seat.

“Not good,” admitted Lee. “Even though
The New York Times
gave you a favorable review, the out-of-town bookings have still been”—he looked out of the window—“let’s say, disappointing, although you seem to have attracted at least one huge fan.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, George, you must have noticed that Estelle Harrington’s turned up to every one of your lectures. I’d be willing to bet good money she’ll be there again tonight.”

“Well, at least tonight’s lecture is sold out,” said George, not wanting to dwell on the ever-present Mrs. Harrington.

“‘Sold’ would be the wrong word,” said Lee. “They refused to sign the contract unless we agreed to let students in gratis—not a word I’m comfortable with.”

“What about Baltimore and Philadelphia?” asked George, as the taxi swung off the main road and drove onto a campus George had always wanted to visit, but had never imagined he would be invited to lecture at.

“Sorry, old buddy,” said Lee between puffs, “but I had to cancel both, otherwise we might have lost what little dough we’ve made so far.”

“That bad?” said George.

“Worse. I’m afraid we’re gonna have to cut the tour short. In fact I’ve booked you onto the
Saxonia
, which sails outta New York on Monday.”

“But that means—”

“This’ll be your last lecture, George, so be sure to make it a good one.”

“So how much profit have we made?” asked George quietly.

“I can’t give you an exact figure at the moment,” said Lee as the taxi drew up outside the private residence of the President of Harvard. “There are one or two out-of-pocket expenses I still have to calculate.”

George thought about the letter that had arrived at The Holt the day before he sailed. Once Hinks learned that the tour had failed to make the anticipated profit, would George’s invitation to deliver the Society’s annual memorial lecture be withdrawn? Perhaps the best solution would be for George to decline the invitation, and save the Society unnecessary embarrassment.

“You’ve been avoiding the subject all evening,” said Ruth as she led Young through to the drawing room.

“But it was such a magnificent meal,” said Geoffrey, sitting down on the sofa. “And you’re such a wonderful hostess.”

“And you’re such an old flatterer, Geoffrey,” said Ruth as she passed him a cup of coffee. She sat down in the chair opposite him. “So, were you hoping to try to persuade me that George should reconsider leading the next expedition to the Himalaya? Because I’m not altogether convinced that’s what he really wants.”

“Are we telling each other the truth?” asked Geoffrey.

“Yes, of course,” said Ruth, looking a little surprised.

“When George wrote to me just before he sailed, he made it clear that, to quote him, he still wanted one more crack at his wildest dream.”

“But—” began Ruth.

“He also said that he wouldn’t consider leaving you again unless he had your complete support.”

“But he’s already told me that he wouldn’t go back again under any circumstances.”

“He also begged me not to let you know how he really felt. By telling you, I’ve betrayed his confidence.”

“Did he give you one good reason why he would want to put himself through all that again?” asked Ruth.

“Apart from the obvious one? If he were to succeed, just think about the extra income that would generate.”

“You know as well as I do, Geoffrey, that he didn’t do it for money.”

“It was you who reminded me that he’s anxious about his current financial predicament.”

Ruth didn’t speak for some time. “If I were to agree to lie to George about how I really feel,” she eventually said “—and it would be a lie, Geoffrey—you must promise me that this will be the last time.”

“It would have to be,” said Geoffrey. “If George were to take the job as director of the WEA, the board won’t want him to be disappearing for six months at a time. And frankly, my dear, he’ll be too old by the time the RGS considers mounting another expedition.”

“I just wish there was someone I could turn to for advice.”

“Why don’t you seek a second opinion from the one person who will understand exactly what you’re going through?”

“Who do you have in mind?” asked Ruth.

When Young told her, Ruth simply said, “Do you think she’d agree to see me?”

“Oh yes. She’ll see the wife of Mallory of Everest.”

George immediately recognized the attractive woman who was chatting to Keedick on the far side of the room. She was not someone he was likely to forget.

“Congratulations, Mr. Mallory, most stimulating,” said the president of Harvard. “Most stimulating. May I also say that I hope you pull it off next time?”

“That’s kind of you, Mr. Lowell,” said George, not bothering to repeat once again that he wouldn’t be going on the next expedition. “And allow me to thank you for organizing this reception.”

“My pleasure,” said the president. “I’m only sorry that Prohibition prevents me from offering you anything other than orange juice or a Coca-Cola.”

“An orange juice will be just fine, thank you.”

“I know that many of the students are keen to ask you questions, Mr. Mallory,” said the president, “so I won’t monopolize you.” He walked off to join the woman speaking to Keedick.

Within moments, George was surrounded by eager young faces that brought back memories of his days at Cambridge.

“Have you still got all your toes, sir?” asked a young man who was peering down at George’s feet.

“They were all there when I checked in the bath this morning,” said George, laughing. “But my friend Morshead lost two fingers and a toe, and poor Captain Norton had half his right ear trimmed off after he’d set a new altitude record.”

A voice from behind him asked, “Are there any mountains in America, sir, that you might consider a worthy challenge?”

“Most certainly,” said George. “I can assure you that Mount McKinley presents as great a challenge as any to be found in the Himalaya, and there are several peaks in the Yosemite Valley that would test the skills of the most experienced climber. If it’s rock climbing that interests you, you need look no further than Utah or Colorado, if you hope to prove your worth.”

“Something has always puzzled me, Mr. Mallory,” said an intense-looking young man. “Why do you bother?”

The president, who had just returned to George’s side, coughed and tried to hide his embarrassment.

“There’s a simple answer to that,” said George. “Because it’s there.”

“But—”

“I apologize for interrupting you, Mallory,” said Mr. Lowell, “but I know that Mrs. Harrington is keen to meet you. Her late husband was an alumnus of this university, and indeed a generous benefactor.”

George smiled as he shook hands with the young woman who had asked him about the expedition’s finances in New York and had since attended every one of his lectures. She didn’t look much older than some of the undergraduates, and George assumed that she must have been at least the third Mrs. Harrington, unless the cardboard king, as Keedick kept describing him, married very late in life.

“I confess, Estelle,” said the President, “I had no idea you were interested in mountaineering.”

“Who could fail to be entranced by Mr. Mallory’s charisma?”—a word George had never heard used in that way before, and would have to look up in his dictionary to find out if in fact it had a second meaning. “And of course, we all hope,” she gushed, “that he will be the first person to stand on top of his mountain, and then he can come back and tell us all about it.”

George smiled and gave her a slight bow. “As I explained in New York, Mrs. Harrington, I shall not—”

“Is it true,” continued Mrs. Harrington, who clearly wasn’t in the habit of being interrupted, “that this evening’s lecture was your last before your return to England?”

“I’m afraid so,” replied George. “I take the train back to New York tomorrow afternoon, and then sail for Southampton the following morning.”

“Well, if you’re going to be in New York, Mr. Mallory, perhaps you might care to join me for a drink tomorrow evening.”

“That’s extremely kind of you, Mrs. Harrington, but sadly—”

“You see, my late husband was a very generous benefactor, and I feel sure he would have wanted me to make a substantial donation to your cause.”

“Substantial?” repeated George.

“I was thinking about”—she paused—“ten thousand dollars.”

It was sometime before George said, “But I won’t get back to New York until around seven tomorrow evening, Mrs. Harrington.”

“Then I’ll send a car to pick you up from your hotel at eight. And, George, do call me Estelle.”

After breakfast had been cleared and nanny had taken the children off for their morning walk, Ruth went through to the drawing room. She sat down in her favorite chair by the window and opened George’s latest letter.