Paths of Glory

by Jeffrey Archer

  “Thank you,” George repeated, and marched into Mr. Fletcher’s study. Miss Sharpe closed the door behind him.

  “Good morning, Mallory,” said the headmaster as he rose from behind his desk. “Good of you to be so punctual.”

  “Not at all, headmaster,” said George. “Can I say how nice it is to be back,” he added as he sat down.

  “Allow me to begin,” said the headmaster, “by congratulating you on your achievements during the past six months. Even allowing for the press’s tendency to exaggerate, we all feel that given a little more luck, you would undoubtedly have made it to the top.”

  “Thank you, headmaster.”

  “And I’m sure I speak for everyone at the school when I say that I’m in no doubt that you’ll fulfill your ambition next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” George replied. “I can assure you that my climbing days are over.”

  “However, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, Mallory,” continued the headmaster as if he hadn’t heard him, “running a school like Charterhouse necessitates being able to rely on all members of staff at all times.”

  “Yes, of course, headmaster, but—”

  “Your decision to join the armed forces despite the fact that you were exempt, although commendable in itself, severely disrupted the school timetable, as I made clear at the time.”

  “You did indeed, headmaster, but—”

  “And then your decision, rightly taken in my view, to accept the invitation from the Everest Committee caused even more disruption to the running of the school, especially as you had recently been appointed senior history master.”

  “I do apologize, headmaster, but—”

  “As you know, I had to appoint Mr. Atkins to take over from you in your absence, and I’m bound to say that he has carried out his duties with commendable diligence and authority, and has shown unswerving commitment to the school.”

  “I’m glad to hear that, headmaster. However—”

  “I’m also bound to say, Mallory, that when you failed to report for the first day of term, no doubt through no fault of your own, I was left with little choice but to offer Atkins a permanent appointment as a full member of staff, which ipso facto means, regrettably, that there is no position for you at Charterhouse at the present time.”

  “But—” spluttered George, trying not to sound desperate.

  “I have no doubt that many of our leading schools will jump at the opportunity of adding Mallory of Everest to their numbers. Indeed, were I to lose a member of the history staff, you would be among the first candidates I would consider interviewing.”

  George no longer bothered to interrupt. He felt as if Everest’s relentless east wind was hitting him in the face again.

  “Do let me assure you, Mallory, that you leave Charterhouse with the respect and affection of both the staff and the pupils. It goes without saying that I will be delighted to supply you with a reference confirming that you were a valued member of staff.”

  George remained silent.

  “I’m sorry it had to end this way, Mallory, but allow me to add on behalf of myself, the governing body, and all of us at Charterhouse, that we wish you good fortune in whatever it is you decide to do in the future. Should that turn out to be one more stab at Everest, our thoughts and prayers will be with you.”

  Mr. Fletcher rose from behind his desk. George stood up, dutifully shook hands, doffed his mortar board, and left the study without another word.

  Ruth was reading about her husband in The Times when the phone rang. Only her father ever called at that time of the day.

  “Hello,” she said cheerfully as she picked up the phone. “Is that you, Daddy?”

  “No, it isn’t, Mrs. Mallory. It’s Hinks of the RGS.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Hinks,” she said, her tone of voice immediately changing. “I’m afraid my husband isn’t here at the moment, and I’m not expecting him back until this evening.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that, Mrs. Mallory, because I was hoping to have a private word with you.”

  Ruth listened carefully to what Mr. Hinks had to say, and assured him that she would think it over and let him know her decision. She had just returned to reading the paper when she heard the front door open. She feigned surprise when George marched into the drawing room and slumped down on the sofa opposite her.

  “That bad?” she ventured.

  “It couldn’t have been much worse,” he said. “The damned man sacked me. It seems I’m so unreliable that he’s offered my job to Atkins, who he assured me is diligent, conscientious, and, more important, reliable. Can you believe it?”

  “Yes, I can,” said Ruth. “In fact, I can’t pretend that it comes as a great surprise,” she added, folding the paper and placing it on a side table.

  “What makes you say that, my darling?” asked George, looking at her more closely.

  “It worried me that the headmaster asked to see you at ten o’clock.”

  “Why was that important?”

  “Because that man’s whole life is dominated by a timetable. If all had been well, my darling, he would have invited both of us for a drink at six in the evening. Or he would have arranged your morning meeting for eight o’clock, so that you could accompany him in triumph when he presided over assembly.”

  “So why did he ask to see me at ten?”

  “Because at that time all the boys and staff would be safely in their classrooms, and he’d be able to get you on and off the premises without anyone having the chance to speak to you. He must have planned the whole exercise down to the minute.”

  “Brilliant,” said George. “You’d have made a first-class detective. Do you have any clues about what’s going to happen to me next?”

  “No,” admitted Ruth. “But while you were out, I had a call from Mr. Hinks.”

  “I hope you made it clear to him that I’m not available to play any part in next year’s expedition.”

  “That wasn’t why he called,” said Ruth. “It seems that the American Geographical Society wants you to do a lecture tour of the East Coast—Washington, New York, Boston…”

  “Not a hope,” said George. “I’ve only just got home. Why would I want to troop off again?”

  “Possibly because they’re willing to pay you a thousand pounds for half a dozen lectures on your experiences of climbing Everest.”

  “A thousand pounds?” said George. “But that’s more than I’d earn at Charterhouse in three years.”

  “Well, to be accurate,” said Ruth, “the AGS think the lectures could bring in as much as two thousand pounds, and the RGS is willing to split the profits with you fifty-fifty.”

  “That’s unusually generous of Hinks,” said George.

  “I think I can also explain that,” said Ruth. “It seems that if you turn down the offer, there’s only one other person the Americans would consider inviting in your place.”

  “And Hinks would never agree to that,” said George. “So what did you tell him?”

  “I said I’d discuss the idea with you, and then let him know your decision.”

  “But why did he call you in the first place? Why didn’t he want to speak to me?”

  “He wondered if I might like to join you on the trip.”

  “The cunning old devil,” said George. “He knows that’s the one thing that might clinch the deal for me.”

  “But not for me,” said Ruth.

  “But why not, my darling? You’ve always wanted to visit the States, and we could turn this into a second honeymoon.”

  “I knew you’d come up with some reason why I should agree to the idea, and so, obviously, did Mr. Hinks. But you seem to forget that we have three children.”

  “Can’t nanny take care of them while we’re away?”

  “George, the girls haven’t seen you for six months, and John didn’t even know who you were. Now, no sooner has his father returned than he disappears off to America with their mother for another s
ix weeks. No, George, that’s no way to bring up children.”

  “Then you can tell Hinks that I’m not interested.”

  “Good,” said Ruth, “because heaven knows I don’t want you to leave again when you’ve only just come home.” She hesitated before saying, “In any case, we can always go to America another time.”

  George looked directly at her. “There’s something you haven’t told me.”

  Ruth hesitated. “It’s just that Hinks did say that before you turn down such a lucrative offer, you mustn’t forget that, to quote the Americans, you’re hot property at the moment and they’re evidently a nation whose enthusiasms cool fairly quickly. And frankly, I doubt if you’ll find an easier way to earn a thousand pounds.”

  “And if I don’t go,” said George quietly, “I may well have to make another appointment to see your father, and end up being even more indebted to him.”

  Ruth said nothing.

  “I’ll agree to do it, on one condition,” said George.

  “And what might that be?” asked Ruth suspiciously.

  “That you’ll let me take you to Venice for a few days. And this time,” he added, “just the two of us.”

  1923

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  THURSDAY, MARCH 1ST, 1923

  GEORGE HAD BEEN on deck for over an hour by the time the SS Olympic steamed into New York harbor. During the five days of the Atlantic crossing, Ruth had been constantly in his thoughts.

  She had driven him down to Southampton, and once he had reluctantly left her to board the ship, she’d remained on the dockside until it had sailed out of the harbor and become a small speck on the horizon.

  Mr. and Mrs. Mallory had spent their promised break in Venice, which turned out to be something of a contrast from the last visit George had made to that city, because on this occasion he booked a suite at the Cipriani Hotel.

  “Can we afford it?” Ruth had asked as she looked out of the window of the lagoon-side suite her father usually occupied.

  “Probably not,” George replied. “But I’ve decided to spend a hundred of the thousand pounds I’m going to earn in America on what I intend to be an unforgettable holiday.”

  “The last time you went to Venice, George, it was unforgettable,” Ruth reminded him.

  The newlyweds, as most of the other guests assumed they were, because they came down so late for breakfast, were always holding hands and never stopped looking in each other’s eyes, did everything except climb St. Mark’s Tower—inside or out. After such a long time apart, the few days really did feel like a honeymoon, as they got to know each other again. By the time the Orient Express pulled into Victoria Station a week later, the last thing George wanted to do was leave Ruth again and sail away to the States.

  If his bank statement hadn’t been among the unopened post on their arrival back at The Holt, he might even have considered canceling the lecture tour and staying at home.

  There was one other letter George hadn’t anticipated, and he wondered if he ought to accept the flattering invitation, given the circumstances. He’d see how the tour went before he made that decision.

  George’s overwhelming first impression of New York as the ship came into harbor was the sheer size of its buildings. He’d read about skyscrapers, even seen photographs of them in the new glossy magazines, but to see them standing cheek by jowl was beyond his imagination. The tallest building in London would have appeared as a pygmy among this tribe of giants.

  George leaned over the ship’s railing and looked down at the dock, where a boisterous crowd were smiling and waving as they waited for their loved ones and friends to disembark. He would have searched among the throng for a new friend, had he had the slightest idea what Lee Keedick looked like. Then he spotted a tall, elegant man in a long black coat holding up a placard that read MALLORY.

  Once George had stepped off the ship, a suitcase in each hand, he made his way toward the impressive figure. When he was a stride away, he pointed to the board and said, “That’s me.”

  That’s when George saw him for the first time. A short, plump man who would never have made it to base camp stepped forward to greet him. Mr. Keedick was wearing a beige suit and an open-necked yellow shirt with a silver cross dangling from a chain around his neck. It was the first time George had ever seen a man wearing jewelry. Keedick must have stood a shade over five feet, but only because his crocodile-skin shoes had higher heels than those Ruth usually wore.

  “I’m Lee Keedick,” he announced, after removing the stub of an unlit cigar from his mouth. “You must be George. Is it OK to call you George?”

  “I think you just did,” said George, giving him a warm smile.

  “This is Harry,” said Keedick, pointing to the tall man. “He’ll be your chauffeur while you’re in the States.” Harry touched the rim of his hat with the forefinger of his right hand, then opened the back door of what George had thought was a small omnibus.

  “Somethin’ wrong?” asked Keedick, as George remained on the sidewalk.

  “No,” said George as he stepped inside. “It’s just that this is the biggest car I’ve ever seen.”

  “It’s the latest Caddie,” Lee told him.

  George thought a caddie was someone who carried a golfer’s clubs, but then recalled George Bernard Shaw once telling him, “England and America are two nations divided by a common language.”

  “It’s the finest darn car in America,” added Keedick, as Harry pulled away from the curb to join the morning traffic.

  “Are we picking up anyone else on the way?” asked George.

  “I just love your English sense of humor,” said Keedick. “Nope, this is all yours. You gotta understand, George, it’s important for people to think you’re a big shot. You gotta keep up appearances, or you’ll never get anywhere in this town.”

  “Does that mean the bookings for my lectures are going well?” asked George nervously.

  “They’re just swell for the opening at the Broadhurst Theater tomorrow night.” Keedick paused to light his cigar. “And if you get a good write-up in The New York Times, we’ll do just fine for the rest of the tour. If it’s a rave, we’ll sell out every night.”

  George wanted to ask him what “rave” meant, but satisfied himself with looking up at the skyscrapers as the car inched its way through the traffic.

  “That’s the Woolworth Building,” said Keedick, winding down the window. “It’s seven hundred and ninety-two feet tall. The tallest building in the world. But they’re planning one that will be over a thousand feet.”

  “That’s just about how much I missed it by,” said George as the limousine came to a halt outside the Waldorf Hotel.

  A bellboy rushed forward to open the car door, with the manager following close behind. He smiled the moment he saw Keedick step out onto the sidewalk.

  “Hi, Bill,” said Keedick. “This is George Mallory, the guy who conquered Everest.”

  “Well, not quite,” said George. “In fact—”

  “Don’t bother with the facts, George,” said Keedick. “No one else in New York does.”

  “Congratulations, sir,” said the manager, thrusting out his hand. George had never shaken hands with a hotel manager before. “In your honor,” he continued, “we’ve put you in the Presidential Suite, on the seventeenth floor. Please follow me,” he added as they walked across the foyer.

  “May I ask where the fire escape is?” asked George, before they’d reached the elevator.

  “Over there, sir,” said the manager, pointing to the other side of the lobby, a puzzled look appearing on his face.

  “The seventeenth floor, you say?”

  “Yes,” confirmed the manager, looking even more puzzled.

  “I’ll see you up there,” said George.

  “Don’t they have elevators in English hotels?” the manager asked Keedick as George strode across the lobby and through a door marked Fire Escape. “Or is he mad?”

  “No,” replied Kee
dick. “He’s English.”

  The elevator whisked both men up to the seventeenth floor. The manager was even more surprised when George appeared in the corridor only a few minutes later, and didn’t seem to be out of breath.

  The manager unlocked the door to the Presidential Suite, and stood aside to allow his guest to enter the room. George’s immediate reaction was that there must have been some mistake. The suite was larger than the tennis court at The Holt.

  “Did you think I was bringing my wife and children with me?” he asked.

  “No,” said Keedick, laughing, “it’s all yours. Don’t forget, the press may want to interview you, and it’s important that they think this is how they treat you back in England.”

  “But can we afford it?”

  “Don’t even think about it,” said Keedick. “It all comes out of expenses.”

  “How nice to hear from you, Geoffrey,” said Ruth when she recognized the familiar voice on the other end of the line. “It’s been far too long.”

  “And I’m the one to blame,” said Geoffrey Young. “It’s just that since I took up my new post at Imperial College, I don’t get out of town much during term-time.”

  “Well, I’m afraid George isn’t at home at the moment. He’s in America on a lecture tour.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Young. “He dropped me a line last week to say he was looking for a job, and that if anything came up I should let him know. Well, a position has arisen in Cambridge that just might be ideal for him, but I thought I’d run it past you first.”

  “That’s very thoughtful of you, Geoffrey. Shall we try and meet up when I’m next in London?”

  “No, no,” said Young, “I can always pop down to Godalming.”

  “When did you have in mind?”

  “Would next Thursday suit you?”

  “Of course. Will you be able to stay for the night?”

  “Thank you, I’d like that, if it’s not inconvenient.”

  “If you were able to stay for a month, Geoffrey, it wouldn’t be inconvenient.”