The man’s voice on the other end was hesitant, as if unsure whether he’d dialed the right number. “Am I speaking to Ms. Olivia Green?”

“Yes, this is Liv.”

“My name is Anthony Pentecost,” he said. “Are you available to meet me today?”

Liv frowned. “Do I know you?”

“We’ve not yet had the pleasure.” There was a sound of pages being flipped back and forth. “I can see you in Launderette, the coffee place, in forty-five minutes,” he said.

“I know it, but—”

“I’ll reserve a booth.”

Liv nervously touched the scarf sitting on the writing desk. “Is this about Essie?”

“Correct.”

“Is she okay? Where is she?”

“I have some information to share with you, Ms. Green,” Anthony said. “I shall see you shortly.”

Launderette was too trendy for Liv. The front counter was constructed from a row of washing machines, and black coffee cups hung from pegs on a line. The place was full of affluent young mums who sipped lattes while bouncing their babies on their knees. Liv became more aware of the scuffed toes of her Converse.

She smiled briefly at a full-bearded young man behind the counter and asked for the table reserved for Pentecost. He pointed toward the back of the café, where a man was sitting alone in the corner booth. Liv’s pulse quickened as she wondered what was going on.

She guessed Anthony was in his early fifties. He sported a cobalt suit, cuff links and a spotted pocket handkerchief. His black hair was slicked back and had a flash of white on the left temple, the size of a baby’s palm print. He had a stiff air of legality about him, as if he might sleep with a briefcase at the side of his bed.

As Liv approached the booth, he immediately slid out from his seat. “Ms. Green?” He glanced over her shoulder.

“It’s Liv.” She held out her hand to shake his. “And don’t worry, MI6 haven’t followed me.”

He managed a tight smile. Although he was smartly dressed, his eyes were rimmed with pink as if he needed a nap. “I’m Essie Starling’s solicitor, from Pentecost and Wilde. There was a small flood at my premises this morning, so we couldn’t meet there.”

“Essie’s solicitor?” Liv felt her scalp prickle.

He pointed vaguely toward the counter. “I’ll order tea and pastries.”

Liv’s heart galloped when she sat down. She felt short of breath when she glanced at Anthony’s briefcase under the table. It was open, and her eyes widened when she spotted Essie’s yellow notebook inside it. Was he going to run through her new work with her? Why wasn’t Essie doing it?

Oh, God, has she changed her mind and he’s here to fire me?

When he returned, Anthony took a seat and lifted the lid of the teapot. “Earl Grey,” he said apologetically.