After circling the apartment twice, Liv huffed and carried the champagne bottle into Essie’s bedroom. Setting it down on the bedside table, she lifted the pillows as a last resort.

When she saw a small green leather box sitting under one of them, she momentarily held her breath. The box hadn’t been there when she last changed the bed linen. Essie must have placed it there before she went into hospital. It had gold embossed lettering on the top and Liv recognized the name of the posh city center jewelry shop, Longley Jones. It sold ten-thousand-pound wedding rings, and the staff looked like models.

Liv flipped it open to find a pair of men’s cuff links. They were gold, intricately cast and shaped like bees. “Hmm.” She stared at them for a while, remembering the tiny bees on Anthony’s handkerchief. Could they possibly belong to him?

Liv gnawed her lip, wondering whether to contact the solicitor or not.

If she told Anthony she couldn’t finish Essie’s book, she’d be making herself redundant. She’d lose six months’ double pay, and the thought of trawling the internet for more work, or queuing up at the recruitment office made her queasy. Her pay rise would be useful for Paperpress and her boys’ university costs. It had always been her dream to be a writer, though never in this way.

After yet another glass of champagne, Liv sat down on Essie’s bed and took out her mobile phone. “Hey,” she said tipsily when Anthony answered.

“Sorry, who is this?” he said.

“It’s Liv. I’m having a toast to Essie. On my own,” she said. When she closed her eyes, her head suddenly felt floppy. Her heart dipped when she pictured Essie’s polished wooden casket. Georgia’s bravery in her system trickled away, replaced by worry. “I’m not sure I can do this, Anthony. I only clean for her... I vacuum and dust and mop. I know you’ve promised me extra money, but...” She let out a long sigh.

He was quiet for a while and she could hear his breathing. Eventually, he said, “Essie must have identified something in you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know what it is, and you seem to know her much better than I do.”

“I’m her solicitor,” he said firmly.

Liv looked down at the cuff links in her hand. It seemed the wrong time to ask if he shared Essie’s bed, too. “The end to her book is missing and I’m trying to find out if it exists or not. Perhaps there are some missing chapters in her yellow notebook. It was on her desk when I last saw her.”

“She used it to write down her instructions for us. That’s all.”

Us, Liv thought, thinking the word sounded strange. She wondered what else the author might have asked Anthony to do.