A man whose moustache and skin matched the gray of his sharply pressed suit walked along the aisle toward them. “I’m the funeral director. I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, looking around him. “Um, are you expecting more guests?”

Liv shook her head. “It’s just us.” She eyed the unoccupied seats, too. “It’s pretty dead in here.” When she realized what she’d said, she clamped a hand to her mouth.

He smiled at her kindly. “I understand this is a private ceremony, so please take your time. I’ll leave you in peace. Mr. Pentecost, may I have a word?” he added.

Anthony slipped out of his seat and the two men talked together for a while. Liv noticed how the funeral director placed a comforting hand on Anthony’s arm, as if he’d lost a close relative. She wondered just how well the solicitor had known Essie.

As she waited for him to return, she had a sudden urge to do something. She couldn’t stand this feeling of no one else knowing Essie was gone. There should be wailing, shuffling and hymns sung off-key, followed by sniffling and hushed condolences.

Liv felt like frogs were jumping in her stomach, the same sensation she experienced when she’d arrived at Essie’s apartment block for her job interview, three years ago. She could clearly remember standing on the pavement with one hand pressed to her belly and the other clutching the confirmation email she’d printed out. She kept checking the time, date and location, not quite able to believe she was about to meet Essie Starling, the reclusive creator of her favorite books ever. The author hadn’t been seen in years and Liv was here.

Essie’s assistant at the time was called Jane. She met Liv outside and escorted her up to the apartment. “So, you’re here for a job with Essie?” Jane said stiffly.

“Yes, I’m a cleaner,” Liv said.

Jane’s demeanor warmed a little. “Oh, right. I thought you were another assistant.”

“Does she have a few?”

“One at a time, but we don’t last for long.”

Liv felt her legs go shaky. “Why’s that?”

“You’ll see.” Jane let her inside and opened the writing room door. “Olivia Green is here. I’ll bring tea,” she announced before darting away.

Essie didn’t turn around. She continued typing and Liv wondered if she was hard of hearing. After several moments of awkward silence, Liv cleared her throat and smiled. “Excuse me, Mrs. Starling. I’m Liv, here about the cleaning job.”

Essie spun around suddenly, staring Liv directly in her eyes. “I know who you are.”

Liv’s smile stiffened. She was in the presence of a goddess and the paper in her hand stuck to her sweaty palm. “And I know who you are, too,” she joked. “Everyone does.”