Jeffrey Archer - Paths Of Glory

“Blame it on Wainwright,” said George, glad of the chance to change the subject.

“Wainwright?” said Andrew.

“I nearly lost my temper with him this morning when he suggested that it was the Earl of Essex who defeated the Spanish Armada, and Drake wasn’t even there.”

“Playing bowls on Plymouth Hoe, no doubt.”

“No, Wainwright has a theory that Drake was at Hampton Court at the time, having a protracted affair with Elizabeth, and that he’d sent Essex off to Devon to keep him out of the way.”

“I thought it was meant to be the other way round,” said Andrew.

“Let’s hope so,” said George.

T HE FIRST COUPLEof days’ climbing had gone well, even if Finch seemed a little preoccupied and not his usual forthright self. It wasn’t until the third day, when they were both stuck on a ledge halfway up the Zmutt Ridge, that George found out why.

“Do you begin to understand women?” asked Finch, as if this was something they discussed every day.

“Can’t say I have a great deal of experience in that particular field,” admitted George, his thoughts turning to Ruth.

“Join the club,” responded Finch.

“But I always thought you were considered to be a bit of an authority on the subject?”

“Women don’t allow any man to be an authority on the subject,” said Finch bitterly.

“Fallen in love with someone, have you?” asked George, wondering if Finch was suffering from the same problem as he was.

“Out of love,” said Finch. “Which is far more complicated.”

“I feel sure it won’t be too long before you find a replacement.”

“It’s not a replacement I’m worried about,” said Finch. “I’ve just found out that she’s pregnant.”

“Then you’ll have to marry her,” said George matter-of-factly.

“That’s the problem,” Finch said. “We’re already married.”

That was the nearest George had come to falling off a mountain since the avalanche on Mont Blanc.

A head appeared over the ledge. “Let’s keep moving,” said Young. “Or can’t you two see a way out of the problem?”

As neither of them replied, Young simply said, “Follow me.”

For the next hour, all three men struggled gamely up the last thousand feet, and it wasn’t until George had joined Young and Finch at the top of the mountain that Finch spoke again.

“Is there any news about the one mountain we all want to stand on top of?” he asked Young.

Although George didn’t approve of Finch’s blunt approach, he hoped that Young would answer the question, as one thing was certain: No one was going to overhear them at 14,686 feet on the summit of the Matterhorn.

Young looked out across the valley, wondering how much information he should divulge. “Anything I have to say on this subject must remain between the three of us,” he said eventually. “I’m not expecting an official announcement from the Foreign Office for at least another couple of months.” He didn’t speak again for a few moments, and for once even Finch remained silent. “However, I can tell you,” he continued at last, “that the Alpine Club has come to a provisional agreement with the Royal Geographical Society to set up a joint body, which will be known as the Everest Committee.”

“And who will be sitting on that committee?” asked Finch.

Once again Young took his time before responding. “Sir Francis Younghusband will be chairman, I will be deputy chairman, and Mr. Hinks will be secretary.”

“No one can object to Younghusband as chairman,” said George, choosing his words carefully. “After all, he was instrumental in getting an Everest expedition off the ground.”

“But that doesn’t apply to Hinks,” responded Finch, not choosing his words carefully. “There’s a man who’s managed to turn snobbery into an art form.”

“Isn’t that a little rough, old boy?” suggested George, who had thought he could no longer be shocked by anything Finch came out with.

“Perhaps you failed to notice that at Scott’s RGS lecture the women, including Hinks’s and Scott’s wives, were relegated to the gallery like cattle on a goods train.”

“Traditions die hard in such institutions,” suggested Young calmly.

“Don’t let’s excuse snobbery by passing it off as tradition,” said Finch. “Mind you, George,” he added, “Hinks will be delighted if you’re chosen as one of the climbing party. After all, you went to Winchester and Cambridge.”

“That was uncalled for,” said Young sharply.

“We’ll find out if I’m right soon enough,” said Finch, standing his ground.

“You need have no fear on that front,” said Young. “I can assure you that it will be the Alpine Club that selects the climbing team, not Hinks.”

“That may be,” said Finch, unwilling to let go of his bone, “but what really matters is who sits on that committee.”

“It will have seven members,” said Young. “Three of them will be from the Alpine Club. Before you ask, I shall be inviting Somervell and Herford to join me.”

“Couldn’t say fairer than that,” said George.

“Possibly,” said Finch. “But who are the RGS’s candidates?”

“Hinks, a fellow called Raeburn, and a General Bruce, so our numbers will be equal.”

“That leaves Younghusband with the casting vote.”

“I have no problem with that,” said Young. “Younghusband’s been an excellent president of the RGS, and his integrity has never been in question.”

“How very British of you,” remarked Finch.

Young pursed his lips before adding, “Perhaps I should point out that the RGS will only be selecting those members of the party who will be responsible for drawing up detailed maps of the outlying district and collecting geological specimens, as well as flora and fauna that are unique to the Himalaya. It will be up to the Alpine Club to choose the climbing party, and it will also be our task to identify a route to the summit of Everest.”

“And who’s likely to lead the expedition?” asked Finch, still not giving an inch.

“I expect it will be General Bruce. He’s served in India for years, and is one of the few Englishmen who is familiar with the Himalaya as well as being a personal friend of the Dalai Lama’s. He would be the ideal choice to take us across the border into Tibet. Once we reach the foothills of Everest and have established base camp, I will take over as climbing leader, with the sole responsibility of ensuring that it’s an Englishman who is the first man to stand on the roof of the world.”

“I’m an Australian,” Finch reminded him.

“How appropriate that another member of the Commonwealth will be standing by my side,” said Young with a smile, before adding, “Perhaps it might be wise for us to begin our descent, gentlemen. Unless you were planning to spend the night on top of this mountain?”

George put his goggles back on, excited by Young’s news, although he suspected that Finch had provoked him to reveal far more than he had originally intended.

Young placed a sovereign on the highest point of the Matterhorn, bowed, and said, “His Majesty pays his compliments, ma’am, and hopes you will allow his subjects a safe journey home.”

“One more question,” said Finch.

“And only one,” said Young.

“Do you have any idea when this expedition plans to leave for Tibet?”

“Yes,” replied Young. “It can’t leave any later than February next year. We’ll have to establish base camp by May if we’re to have time to reach the summit before the monsoon season sets in.”

Finch seemed satisfied with this reply, but George could only wonder how Mr. Fletcher, the newly appointed headmaster of Charterhouse, would react to one of his staff requesting a six-month leave of absence.