I woke up at 5 a.m. yesterday to work on one of the final chapters of EXPOSURE. This paragraph seemed to flow from my fingertips, and it tickled me when I read it back to myself. I think Robert Harris' influence is showing through...
Within seconds, a plain-looking woman in her mid-sixties appeared in the doorway, pad and pen in hand. She wore a drab, brown smock that hit at mid-calf, thick beige stockings, and black orthopedic shoes. Her mousy, gray-streaked hair framed her face like a dilapidated, less-than-grand drape adorning the proscenium of a run-down country playhouse. By design, she bore none of the youth and charm of her predecessor. ‘No more beauties,’ Andropov had said. ‘They’re too easily compromised.’ And so, Gromyko had settled—in automotive parlance—for a used model whose odometer had turned over at least once, possibly twice, since rolling off the assembly line.