Jack's Widow Read Online Free Page A

place to meet.
    It did not go badly and as protocol demanded that the three nations could take turns to decide the venue for the next meeting, in 1955 the British chose London. When Winston Churchill, who had always believed that as few countries as possible should have the ultimate deterrent, was invited to one of their dinners, grown men felt lumps in their throat at his oratory.
    As the months went by the Russians suspected that the British and Americans were maintaining their spheres of influence by helping allies like France to acquire the bomb. The United States and the United Kingdom were equally skeptical about the Russians’ intentions.
    Assuming that the Russians would follow the British example and choose their capital as the next venue, both MI6 and the CIA begged their governments to kiss and make up. Throughout the long reign of Joseph Stalin, the Russian capital had been virtually impregnable to most Westerners.
    The mistrustful Russians were well aware that the West was curious about Moscow and had decided to thwart these ambitions by nominating Budapest. The Soviets explained that the Hungarian capital already had the reputation as the most glamorous city behind the Iron Curtain. Unfortunately for them, by the late summer of 1956 this sophistication took the form of a longing for neutralityand democracy. As the meeting got closer the Soviets, sensing that the Hungarians might just be mad enough to rise up against them, hastily canceled it.
    The Atoms for Peace meetings might have come to a complete end, but in November the Suez debacle opened all their eyes to the risk of a Middle Eastern despot gaining control of a nuclear weapon, so the three reconvened in the spring of 1957. This time the Kremlin chose Prague.
    Installed in the Czech capital’s oldest hotel, Jackie was excited if a little worried about her health. Just a week before the trip she had found out that she was once again pregnant.
    Less than a year earlier she had given birth to a stillborn daughter, Arabella. Before this she had miscarried with their first child. She was desperate that this time nothing must go wrong.
    She was going to take extra care.
    So on the third day of the conference she begged off from that afternoon’s arrangements for the delegates’ wives. In the morning they had seen how the famous glass of Bohemia was created, but her assigned vehicle included a talkative interpreter from Minsk and three enthralled Mamie Eisenhower types. The hour-long trip had made her feel nauseous.
    She didn’t want to tell her husband that she was feeling unwell as he would be bound to suggest that she return home early, something she was unwilling to do. She loved being with him in these circumstances; even though they were a part of a group she felt there was a coziness, a special intimacy between them.
    Perhaps if she had discovered a kindred spirit among the other women she might have been less secretive, but she was by far the youngest and the most traveled of them all. She had visited Europe regularly since she was a teenager. Some of the crass or naive comments from the others in the group told her that they had little in common.
    All she needed was a little rest. But when she went up to her room after lunch the sheets were so cold they felt almost damp. She remembered that the radiators would not warm up until after five.She decided to take advantage of the large open fires in the reception rooms downstairs. This was obviously why Czech café society spent the day keeping the grand salons of the hotel busy with cake, coffee, and conspiracy.
    She swiftly changed into an ice-blue cashmere twin set that had been dyed to match her moleskin trousers. Slipping into navy moccasins, she grabbed a new novel and descended to the ground floor.
    To avoid meeting any of their traveling companions, she searched for a deep armchair that was tucked away. She found one in a niche behind a tall column where she could sit unobserved. She ordered a