Paths of Glory

“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.”