Jack of Spies (A Jack McColl Novel) by Downing David

Author:Downing, David [Downing, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781616952693
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2014-05-12T16:00:00+00:00

The next forty-eight hours were uneventful. He took one man for a trial drive and wished he hadn’t—the potential customer could hardly drive, and McColl had to commandeer the steering wheel on several occasions to avert collisions with pedestrians and other vehicles. When the man announced that he was ordering a Maia, McColl felt like posting a citywide warning.

He heard nothing from Kensley and suffered no apparent attention from Rieber or his friends. Perhaps Cumming’s entreaty to play the game had struck a chord with his Prussian counterparts. Or perhaps McColl was low on their list of priorities.

It was a minute past six when Caitlin rapped on his door. “This is a refreshingly progressive hotel,” she said, taking off her coat. “They had no objection to my coming straight up, especially when I let slip that I was a journalist.”

“The power of the press.”

“Indeed. And speaking of that, I have something to show you.” She started to unbutton her blouse. “Remember I told you I had someone to interview this afternoon. Her name’s Mary Phelps Jacob. She’s younger than I am, and look what she’s invented.”

Caitlin’s breasts were covered by the lightest of garments, with no sign of metal stays or stiff lacing.

“Mary calls it a brassiere. It’s basically two silk handkerchiefs and a few lengths of ribbon. And you wouldn’t believe how much nicer it is to wear. I feel like I’ve been set free. And so will millions of other women.”

“That’s wonderful,” McColl said.

“And it’s so much easier to take off,” she added, releasing a knot in the ribbon and snuggling into his arms.

Their lovemaking showed no sign of growing stale; their physical passion for each other seemed, if anything, even more intense than before. Afterward they lay entwined in joyous exhaustion until his rumbling stomach forced them to contemplate dinner. As they went past the reception desk, McColl made sure to mention how much he’d enjoyed the interview.

They walked to an Italian restaurant she liked, ordered olives, bread, and wine, and caught up on each other’s last few days. Hers had been full, and she’d loved every minute. Her various employers had nothing but praise for her pieces on China and seemed to be falling over themselves to commission more. The brassiere girl had been a delight, and Caitlin had just discovered that during her absence a woman had been appointed commissioner of the New York City Department of Correction. “The first woman to ever head a municipal agency,” Caitlin insisted. “That’s another wall down.”

Her eyes positively shone, and McColl found himself thinking how lucky he was to have met her.

“You know, sometimes I despair for my country,” she said. “When I see children virtually starving not five miles from Fifth Avenue. And when I see how desperate people are to turn a blind eye. Ch’ing-ling and I once hired a man in Macon to drive us out into the countryside. We both cried for days over what we had seen, and the other girls just laughed at us.

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