Jeffrey Archer - Paths Of Glory

“Are you a married man, Mr. Mallory?” asked Commander Ashcroft, reading from the piece of paper in front of him.

“Yes, I am, sir.”

“Any family?”

“Two daughters,” George replied, slightly puzzled by the question. He couldn’t see how Clare and Beridge could possibly help him to climb a 29,000-foot mountain.

“Are there any more questions for Mr. Mallory?” asked Sir Francis as he checked his half-hunter pocket watch.

Was that it? thought George in disbelief. Was this bunch of old buffers going to decide between Finch and himself on the basis of such irrelevant questions? It looked as if Finch had been right about Hinks and his cronies.

“I have a question for Mr. Mallory,” said Hinks.

George smiled. Perhaps he’d misjudged the man.

“Can I confirm,” said Hinks, “that you were educated at Winchester?”

“Yes, I was,” said George, wondering once again what possible relevance the question might have.

“And from there you went up to Magdalene College, Cambridge, to read history?”

“Yes,” repeated George. He was tempted to add, “But I had to climb the college wall to make sure they offered me a place,” but somehow he managed to hold his tongue.

“And you graduated with an honors degree before taking up a teaching post at Charterhouse?”

“That is correct,” said George, still unsure where this could possibly be leading.

“And although as a schoolmaster you were exempt from serving in the armed forces, you nevertheless volunteered and were commissioned as an officer in the Royal Artillery, seeing action on the Western Front?”

“Yes,” said George. He glanced at Young in the hope of guidance, only to find that he looked equally bemused.

“And after the war you returned to Charterhouse to become the senior history master.”

George nodded, but said nothing.

“That’s all I needed to know. Thank you, Mr. Chairman.”

George once again glanced at Young, but he just shrugged his shoulders.

“Are there any more questions for Mr. Mallory?” asked Sir Francis. “Or can we let him go?”

The man with the cigar raised his hand. “Yes, Mr. Raeburn?” said Younghusband.

“If you were selected as climbing leader for this expedition, Mallory, would you be willing to purchase your own equipment?”

“I’m sure I could manage that,” said George after a moment’s hesitation.

“And would you also be able to pay for your passage to India?” inquired Ashcroft.

George hesitated, because he couldn’t be sure to what extent his father-in-law would be willing to assist him. He eventually said, “I would hope so.”

“Good show, Mallory,” said Sir Francis. “Now, all that’s left for me to do is thank you on behalf of the…” Hinks furiously scribbled a note, which he thrust under Younghusband’s nose. “Ah, yes,” Sir Francis said. “If you were to be selected, would you be prepared to undergo a medical examination?”

“Of course, Sir Francis,” said George.

“Capital,” said the chairman. “The committee will be in touch with you in the near future, to let you know our decision.”

George rose from his place, still slightly bemused, and left the room without another word. When the porter had closed the door behind him, George said, “It was even worse than you predicted.”

“I did warn you,” said Finch.

“Just be sure you don’t say anything you’ll regret, George.”

Finch always knew Mallory was serious when he addressed him by his Christian name.

“What can you possibly mean, old chap?” he asked.

“Humor them, don’t lose your temper. Try to remember that it’s going to be you and me standing at 27,000 feet preparing for the final climb, while that lot will be back in their clubs, sitting in front of a log fire, and enjoying a glass of brandy.”

“What a splendid fellow,” Hinks said.

“I agree,” said Raeburn. “Exactly the sort of chap we’re looking for. Wouldn’t you agree, General?”

“I certainly liked the cut of his jib,” said Bruce. “But I think we need to see the other chap before we come to a decision.”

Geoffrey Young smiled for the first time.

“The other fellow doesn’t look in the same class on paper,” said Ashcroft.

“You won’t find many mountains on paper Commander,” said Young, trying not to sound exasperated.

“That may well be the case,” said Hinks, “but I feel I should point out to the committee that Mr. Finch is an Australian.”

“I was given to understand,” said Raeburn, “that we were only considering chaps from the British Isles.”

“I think you’ll find, Mr. Chairman,” said Young, “that Australia is still part of His Majesty’s far-flung Empire.”

“Quite so,” said Sir Francis. “Perhaps we should see the fellow before we jump to conclusions.”

Hinks made no effort to rise from his seat. He simply folded his arms and nodded at the porter, who bowed deferentially, opened the door, and announced, “Mr. Finch.”

“M R . F INCH ,” THEporter repeated, a little more firmly.

“Got to leave you, old chap,” said Finch, and added with a grin, “which is exactly what I’ll be saying when we’re a couple of hundred feet from the summit.”

Finch strolled into the committee room and sat down in the chair at the end of the table before Sir Francis had an opportunity to welcome him. Young could only smile when he saw how Finch had dressed for the interview. It was almost as if he’d set out to provoke the committee: a casual corduroy jacket, a pair of baggy cream flannels, an open-necked shirt, and no tie.

When Young had briefed Mallory and Finch, it hadn’t crossed his mind to mention a dress code. But to this committee the candidates’ appearance would be every bit as important as their climbing record. They were now all staring at Finch in disbelief. Ashcroft even had his mouth open. Young leaned back and waited for the fireworks to be ignited.

“Well, Mr. Finch,” said Sir Francis once he’d recovered, “let me welcome you on behalf of the committee, and ask if you are prepared to answer a few questions.”

“Of course I am,” said Finch. “That’s why I’m here.”

“Capital,” said Sir Francis. “Then I’ll get the ball rolling by asking if you’re in any doubt that this great enterprise can be achieved. By that I mean, do you believe you are capable of leading a team to the summit of Everest?”

“Yes, I can do that,” said Finch. “But nobody has any idea how the human body will react to such altitude. One scientist has even suggested we might explode, and although I think that’s a fatuous notion, it does indicate that we haven’t a clue what we’ll be up against.”

“I’m not sure I follow you, old chap,” said Raeburn.

“Then allow me to elucidate, Mr. Raeburn.” The elderly gentleman looked surprised that Finch knew his name. “What we do know is that the higher you climb, the thinner the air becomes, meaning that every movement a mountaineer makes at altitude will be more difficult than the last. That may result in some falling by the wayside.”

“Yourself included, perhaps?” said Hinks, not looking directly at him.

“Yes indeed, Mr. Hinks,” Finch said, looking back at the secretary.

“But despite all that,” said Raeburn, “you would still be willing to give it a go.”

“Yes, I would,” Finch replied firmly. “But I should warn the committee that the success or failure of this project may depend on the use of oxygen during the last 2,000 feet.”

“I’m not altogether sure I follow your drift,” said Sir Francis.