The cracked eyeshadow palettes and dried out pencils she’d brought along didn’t compare to the treasure trove of new cosmetics Essie had set in lines in the drawer of her dressing table. The packaging felt shiny and luxurious.

Liv applied a touch of shimmery beige to her eyelids and a slick of coral lipstick. When she saw her reflection, she took a sharp intake of breath. Somewhere, buried deep inside, had lived this prettier, more polished version of herself. It was strange to finally meet her in person. But she didn’t feel as comfortable as when she dressed as Georgia. Before she left the apartment, she pushed the striped tie into her bag.

As she paced up and down the pavement outside waiting for Ted, Liv tried not to bite her nails. Was she doing the right thing, meeting the man who married Essie and helped her to become a megastar? Would Ted see through Liv’s makeup and expensive clothes to the cleaner hiding beneath them?

She had to hold her nerve. If she wanted to find out more about Essie, while stopping Chloe from digging around, she had to do this.

The vintage Rolls-Royce Phantom that glided up outside the building was the color of chianti and shiny as a mirror. The silver lady mascot on the bonnet flung back her arms as wind rippled her dress. Every centimeter of the car exclaimed, Look at me, I’ve made it! It was the opposite to the battered family Fiesta that Jake and Liv affectionately called “the rust bucket.”

A peak-capped, besuited driver got out, nodded courteously toward Liv and opened the back door for her.

She always cringed when people did things for her that she could do herself, like pulling out a chair at a restaurant, or draping a napkin across her lap. She always overtipped waiting staff to overcompensate for her awkwardness at being served by others.

Ted Mason sat on the back seat with the perfect posture that came from being supremely confident, overly wealthy, or both. Looking much older than in Essie’s photographs, his white hair was combed back, displaying a speckle of age spots on his forehead. His burgundy cashmere scarf matched the car and featured an embroidered gold lion. “Ted Andrew Mason,” he said, holding out a knobbly hand.

She gave it a small shake. “Liv Louise Green,” she said, cursing herself for matching his full name. Her nerves were making her feel nauseous. “I’m afraid Chloe Anderton can’t make the meeting today.”

Ted’s irises were so pale they looked almost supernatural. She felt them boring into her. “We rearranged this meeting to suit her,” he said sharply.

“I’m sorry, it couldn’t be helped,” she blurted. “I’m sure we’ll get along if we try.”

He twitched the smallest smile as if amused. “I thought we could take a drive,” he said. “I’m squeezing you in between meetings.”