“They don’t seem to care. The fact that you remained behind with Odell after he’d collapsed, and let Finch go on, is what caught the public’s imagination.”
“But it’s Finch whose name’s in the record books—he climbed at least three hundred feet higher than I managed.”
“But only with the aid of oxygen,” said Ruth. “In any case, the press thinks you would have climbed far higher than Finch if you’d had the opportunity—possibly even made it to the top.”
“No, I wouldn’t have been able to climb much further than Finch that day,” said George, shaking his head. “And it was because I wanted to prove that I was better than him that seven good men lost their lives. One of them just might have stood by my side on the summit.”
“But surely all the climbing team survived?” said Ruth.
“He wasn’t part of the official party,” said George. “But I’d already decided that he and Somervell would accompany me on the final assault.”
“A Sherpa?” said Ruth, unable to mask her surprise.
“Yes. Sherpa Nyima. I never did find out his family name.” George remained silent for some time before he added, “But I know that I was responsible for his death.”
“No one blames you for what happened,” said Ruth, taking his hand. “You obviously wouldn’t have set out that morning if you had thought even for a moment there was the slightest chance of an avalanche.”
“But that’s the point,” said George. “I didn’t think. I allowed my personal ambition to cloud my judgment.”
“Your latest letter only turned up this morning,” said Ruth, wanting to change the subject.
“And where was I?” George asked.
“In a small tent 25,000 feet above sea level, explaining to Finch why you wouldn’t consider using oxygen.”
“If I’d taken his advice,” said George, “I might have reached the top.”
“There’s nothing to stop you trying again,” said Ruth.
“Never.”
“Well, I know someone who’ll be delighted to hear that,” she said, trying not to reveal her own feelings.
“You, my darling?”
“No, Mr. Fletcher. He called this morning and asked if you could drop in and have a word with him at ten o’clock tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course I will,” said George. “I can’t wait to get back to work. I know you won’t believe it, but I even missed the lower fifth and, more important, I need to start earning a salary again. Heaven knows we can’t go on living off your father’s largesse forever.”
“I’ve never heard him complain,” said Ruth. “In fact, he’s very proud of what you’ve achieved. He never stops telling all his friends at the golf club that you’re his son-in-law.”
“That’s not the point, my darling. I must get back behind my desk in time for the first day of term.”
“No chance of that,” said Ruth.
“But why not?”
“Because the first day of term was last Monday,” replied Ruth, smiling. “Which is no doubt why the headmaster’s so keen to see you.”
“Now tell me about our son,” said George.
When they finally drove through the gates of The Holt some six hours later, George said, “Slow down, my darling. I’ve been thinking about this moment for the past two months.”
They were halfway down the drive when George saw his daughters waving from the steps. He couldn’t believe how much they’d grown. Clare was cradling a small bundle in her arms.
“Is that who I think it is?” said George, turning to smile at Ruth.
“Yes. At last you’re going to meet your son and heir, Master John Mallory.”