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  “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 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 Peking Picnic, you might understand why.”

  “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, The Epic of Everest, was a huge success here. So much so that he’s offered the Society eight thousand pounds for the exclusive, I think the expression is ‘cinematography rights,’ for the next expedition, with only one proviso.”

  “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