“And this is George Mallory, our climbing leader.”
“So this is the man who’s going to be the first to stand on the summit of Everest,” said the Governor-General, shaking George warmly by the hand.
“He has a rival,” said Guy with a grin.
“Ah, yes,” said the Governor-General, “Mr. Finch, if I remember correctly. Can’t wait to meet the fellow. And may I introduce my wife.”
After bowing to the young lady, George and Guy drifted into a packed room where the only Indians in sight were servants offering drinks. George selected a sherry wine and then headed for the one person he recognized.
“Good evening, Mr. Mallory,” said Russell.
“Good evening, Mr. Russell,” said George. “Are you enjoying being posted out here?” He was never at ease when having to make small talk.
“Capital, enjoying every moment,” Russell replied. “It’s just a pity about the natives.”
“The natives?” repeated George, hoping Russell was joking.
“They don’t like us,” whispered Russell. “In fact, they loathe us. There’s trouble brewing.”
“Trouble?” prompted Bullock, who had walked across to join them.
“Yes, ever since we put that fellow Gandhi in jail for creating unrest—” Suddenly, without warning, Russell stopped in mid-sentence and stared, his mouth hanging open. Mallory and Bullock turned to see what had caused him to be struck dumb.
“Is he one of yours?” asked Russell, barely able to hide his discomfort.
“I’m afraid so,” said George, stifling a grin as he turned to see Finch chatting to the Governor-General’s wife. Finch was dressed in an open-necked khaki shirt, green corduroy trousers, and brown suede shoes, with no socks.
“You should feel flattered,” chipped in Guy. “He doesn’t usually take that much trouble.”
The private secretary was clearly not amused. “The man’s a bounder,” he said as they watched Finch slip an arm around Lady Davidson’s waist.
George didn’t move as he spotted the General heading toward him, almost at a gallop.
“Mallory,” he said, his cheeks flushed, “get that man out of here, and be quick about it.”
“I’ll do my best,” said George, “but I can’t guarantee—”
“If you don’t get him out, and now,” said the General, “I will. And let me assure you it won’t be a pretty sight.”
George handed his empty glass to a passing waiter before crossing the room to join Finch and the Governor-General’s wife.
“Have you met Mallory, Sonia?” Finch asked. “He’s my only real rival.”
“Yes, we’ve been introduced,” replied the Governor-General’s wife, pretending to be unaware of Finch’s arm, draped around her waist.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Lady Davidson,” said George, “but I need to have a private word with Mr. Finch, as a small problem has arisen.”
Without another word he grabbed Finch firmly by the elbow and led him quickly out of the room. Guy slipped in next to Lady Davidson and started chatting to her about whether she intended to return to London for the season.
“So what’s this small problem?” asked Finch once they were out in the hallway.
“You are,” replied George. “At this moment I think you’ll find the General is rounding up volunteers for a firing squad.” He guided Finch out of the door and onto the driveway.
“Where are we going?” asked Finch.
“Back to the hotel.”
“But I haven’t had dinner yet.”