Jeffrey Archer - Paths Of Glory

“I will,” said Ruth, although few beyond the front pew would have heard her response.

“Who giveth this Woman to be married to this Man?” asked the Reverend Mallory.

Mr. Thackeray Turner stepped forward and said, “I do.”

Geoffrey Young, who was George’s best man, handed the Reverend Mallory a simple gold ring. George slipped it onto the fourth finger of Ruth’s left hand and said, “With this Ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

Mr. Turner smiled to himself.

The Reverend Mallory once more joined the couple’s right hands, and addressed the congregation joyfully. “I pronounce that they be Man and Wife together. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

As the first strains of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March sounded, George kissed his wife for the first time.

Mr. and Mrs. Mallory walked slowly down the aisle together, and George was delighted to see how many of his friends had taken the trouble to make the journey to Godalming. He spotted Rupert Brooke and Lytton Strachey, both Maynard and Geoffrey Keynes, as well as Ka Cox, who was sitting next to Cottie Sanders, who gave him a sad smile. But the real surprise came when they walked out of the church and into the warm sunshine, because waiting to greet them was a guard of honor made up of Young, Bullock, Herford, Somervell, Odell, and of course George Finch, their shining ice axes held aloft to form an archway under which the bride and groom walked, confetti appearing like falling snow.

After a reception at which George and Ruth managed to speak to every one of their guests, the newlyweds left in Mr. Turner’s brand-new bull-nose Morris, for a ten-day walking holiday in the Quantocks.

“So what did you make of the chaperones who will accompany me when I leave you to pay homage to the other woman in my life?” George asked as he drove down an empty, winding road.

“I can see why you’re so willing to follow Geoffrey Young,” Ruth replied, studying the map resting in her lap. “Especially after his thoughtful speech on behalf of the bridesmaids. Odell and Somervell looked as if, like Horatius, they’d stand by your side on the bridge, while I suspect Herford will match you step for step if he’s chosen for the final climb.”

“And Finch?” said George, glancing at his bride.

Ruth hesitated. The tone of her voice changed. “He’ll do anything, George, and I mean anything, to reach the top of that mountain ahead of you.”

“What makes you feel so sure of that, my darling?” asked George, sounding surprised.

“When I came out of the church on your arm, he looked at me as if I was still a single woman.”

“As many of the bachelors in the congregation might have done,” suggested George. “Including Andrew O’Sullivan.”

“No. Andrew looked at me as if he wished I was still a single woman. There’s a world of difference.”

“You may be right about Finch,” admitted George, “but there’s no climber I’d rather have by my side when it comes to tackling the last thousand feet of any mountain.”

“Including Everest?”

“Especially Chomolungma.”

The Mallorys pulled up outside their small hotel in Crewkerne just after seven o’clock that evening. The manager was standing at the entrance waiting to greet them, and once they had completed the guest register-signing as “Mr. and Mrs. Mallory” for only the second time-he accompanied them to the bridal suite.

They unpacked their suitcases, thinking about, but not mentioning, the one subject that was on their minds. When they had completed this simple task, George took his wife by the hand and accompanied her down to the dining room. A waiter handed them a large menu, which they studied in silence before ordering.

“George, I was wondering,” began Ruth, “if you had-”

“Yes, my darling?”

Ruth would have completed the sentence if the waiter hadn’t returned carrying two bowls of piping hot tomato soup, which he placed in front of them. She waited until he was out of earshot before she tried again.

“Do you have any idea just how nervous I am, my darling?”

“Not half as nervous as me,” admitted George, not lifting his spoon.

Ruth bowed her head. “George, I think you ought to know-”

“Yes, my darling?” said George, taking her hand.

“I’ve never seen a naked man, let alone-”

“Have I ever told you about my visit to the Moulin Rouge?” asked George, trying to ease the tension.

“Many times,” said Ruth with a smile. “And the only woman you showed any interest in on that occasion was Madame Eiffel, and even she spurned you.”

George laughed, and without another word rose from his place and took his wife by the hand. Ruth smiled as they left the dining room, just hoping that no one would ask why they hadn’t even tasted their soup.

They walked quickly up the three flights of stairs without another word. When they arrived outside their bedroom, George fumbled with the key and finally managed to open the door. As soon as they were inside, he took his wife in his arms. Eventually he released her, took a step back and smiled. He slowly took off his jacket and tie, his eyes never leaving her. Ruth returned his smile, and unbuttoned her dress, allowing it to fall to the floor, revealing a long silk petticoat that fell just below the knees. She pulled it slowly over her head, and once it had joined the dress on the floor, George took her in his arms and kissed her. While she tried to pull off his trousers, he fumbled with the strap of her bra. Once they were both naked, they just stood and stared at each other for a moment before they fell onto the bed. George stroked her long auburn hair while Ruth kissed him gently as they began to explore each other’s bodies. They quickly became aware that there wasn’t anything to be nervous about.

After they had made love, Ruth fell back on the pillow and said, “Now tell me, Mr. Mallory, who you’d rather spend the night with, Chomolungma or me?”

George laughed so loudly that Ruth had to place a hand over his mouth for fear they might be heard in the next room. He held her in his arms until she finally fell into a deep sleep.

George was the first to wake the next morning, and began to kiss Ruth’s breasts until her eyes blinked open. She smiled up at him as he took her in his arms, his hands moving freely over her body. George could only wonder what had happened to the shy girl who couldn’t take a single spoonful of soup the previous evening. After they had made love a second time, they padded furtively down the corridor to the bathroom, where Ruth joined George in the largest bath they’d ever seen. Afterward he sat on the end of the bed, a towel wrapped around his waist, and watched his beautiful wife as she dressed.

Ruth blushed. “You’d better hurry up, George, or we’ll miss breakfast as well.”

“Suits me,” said George.

Ruth smiled, and slowly unbuttoned her dress.

For the next ten days George and Ruth roamed around the Quantocks, often returning to their hotel long after the sun had set. Each day, Ruth continued to quiz George about her rival, trying to understand why Chomolungma had such a hold over him. He was still planning to leave for Tibet early in the new year, which would mean they’d be apart for at least six months.

“How many days and nights do you think it will take you to reach the summit?” she asked as they stood on the top of Lydeard Hill.

“We have no way of knowing,” George admitted. “But Finch is convinced that we’ll have to sleep in smaller and smaller tents as our altitude increases. We might even have to spend the last night at 27,000 feet before we attempt the final assault.”