Paths of Glory
“No one understands that better than I do. But your husband is no ordinary man, and I’m sure you knew about his overriding ambition long before you agreed to be his wife.”
“Yes, I did, but—”
“Then you cannot, indeed must not, stand in the way of his destiny. If he were to see some lesser mortal achieve his dream, it could be you who spends the rest of your life regretting it.”
“But does it have to be my destiny to spend the rest of my life without him?” asked Ruth. “If he only knew how much I adore him…”
“I can assure you he does know, Mrs. Mallory, otherwise you would not have asked to see me. And because he knows, you will have to convince him that you believe it is nothing less than his duty to lead the next expedition. And then, my dear, all you can do is pray for his safe return.”
Ruth raised her head, tears streaming down her face. “But your husband didn’t return.”
“If I could turn the clock back,” came the quiet reply, “and Con were to ask me, ‘Do you mind me going off again, old gal?’ I would still reply as I did thirteen years, one month, and six days ago. ‘No, my darling, of course I don’t mind. But do remember to take your thick woolen socks with you this time.’”
George was up, packed, and ready to leave by six the following morning. When he checked out of the hotel, he wasn’t altogether surprised to find that Keedick hadn’t settled the bill. He was only relieved that his final night was spent in a single room in a guest house on the Lower East Side, and not the Presidential Suite at the Waldorf.
When George stepped out onto the sidewalk, he didn’t hail a cab, for more than one reason. He strode off on the forty-three-block route march, a suitcase in each hand, dodging the natives as he crossed the sweating, teeming jungle of Manhattan.
When he reached the dockside just over an hour later he saw Keedick standing by the ship’s gangway, cigar in mouth, smile etched on his face, and the appropriate line ready. “When you make it to the top of your mountain, George, gimme a call, ’cause that could be the clincher.”
“Thank you, Lee,” said George, and after hesitating for a moment he added, “for an unforgettable experience.”
“My pleasure,” said Keedick, thrusting out his hand. “Delighted to have been of assistance.” George shook hands, and was stepping onto the gangway when Keedick called out after him, “Hey, don’t go without this.” He was holding out an envelope.
George turned and walked back down, not something he enjoyed doing.
“It’s your share of the profits, old boy,” he said, trying to imitate George’s English accent. “Fifty percent, as agreed.”
“Thank you,” said George, placing the envelope in an inside pocket. He had no intention of opening it in front of Keedick.
When George went in search of his cabin, he wasn’t surprised to discover that he’d been downgraded to steerage, four levels below the main deck, and that he and three other men were sharing a cabin which wasn’t much larger than his tent on the North Col. He stopped unpacking when he heard the first blast of the foghorn announcing their departure, and made his way quickly up on deck so he could follow the ship’s slow progress out of the harbor.
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sp; Once again he leaned over the railing and looked down on the dockside; friends and families were now waving good-bye. He didn’t bother to look for Lee Keedick, whom he knew would have long gone. George watched as the giant skyscrapers became smaller and smaller, and when the Statue of Liberty was finally out of sight, he decided the time had come to face reality.
He took the envelope out of his pocket, tore it open, and extracted a check. Pay: The Royal Geographical Society $48. He smiled, and thought about Estelle for a moment, but only for a moment.
BOOK SEVEN
A Woman’s Privilege
CHAPTER FIFTY
THEY STROLLED DOWN King’s Parade together hand in hand, looking like a couple of undergraduates.
“Don’t keep me in suspense any longer,” said Ruth. “How did the interview go?”
“I don’t think it could have gone much better,” said George. “They seemed to agree with all my views on higher education, and didn’t balk when I suggested the time has come to award degrees to women who are taking the same courses as men.”
“About time too,” said Ruth. “Even Oxford has managed to come to terms with that.”
“It may take another world war before Cambridge budges,” said George as a couple of crusty old dons strolled past.
“So do you think there’s a chance they’ll offer you the job? Or are there still other candidates to interview?”
“I don’t think so,” said George. “In fact, Young led me to believe that I was on a shortlist of one, and the chairman of the interviewing board rather gave the game away when he asked if I’d be able to start work next September.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Ruth. “Congratulations, my darling.”