She opened her mouth to push back, but then thought about his poorly father-in-law. It didn’t seem the right time to quiz him further. “Oh, okay. No worries,” she said reluctantly.

“Anything else?”

Liv swallowed. She wanted to ask him about the bee-shaped cuff links, too, but didn’t want to needle him. She approached her next words softly. “Yes, a journalist called Chloe Anderton came to Essie’s apartment, asking questions,” she said. “She’s writing a magazine article. I know it’s not the best time to tell you, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“Did you talk to her?” Anthony said.

“Not about Essie. But she got in touch with Ted Mason and seems determined.”

“Nothing must come out about Essie’s death,” Anthony said, sounding like a headmaster. “Not before November 1. She was very firm about that date.”

“I know. Chloe won’t hear anything from me.”

“Good. You have Essie’s will to think of. Actually, she...ah, inserted a proviso.”

Liv frowned at the word. She knew what it meant but had no use for it before. “For me?” she said.

“Yes. Everything must be kept private, or you won’t receive your inheritance.”

A knot in Liv’s belly pulled tight. Any money Essie left her could help out her family, and maybe even turn her fortunes around. “I’m committed to this,” she said. “Why would Ess—”

“Sorry, I’ve got to go,” Anthony said quickly. “Harriet is calling me.”

The phone went dead and Liv pressed it to her lips. She hadn’t meant to irritate him. It wasn’t her fault Chloe was being a nuisance. Perhaps she shouldn’t have mentioned Dubfest when Anthony was under a lot of stress.

She sent him a quick text to try to clear the air. I have everything under control. Nothing to worry about. I hope your father-in-law is okay.

He didn’t reply.

And, after a few more days without a response, Liv couldn’t help thinking Anthony was keeping something from her, and she wondered what it was.

15

FILM NIGHT

Liv started to work on Saturdays while Jake and the boys played football. She stayed later into the afternoon, relishing her time at the apartment rather than the park. As she wrote, she looked down at all the people milling around the market stalls in the streets below. Many of them were likely to be Georgia Rory fans.

She imagined dropped jaws, hands pressed to mouths and sobbing when the news emerged that Essie Starling had died. She knew she’d also relive it again, and she channeled her heightened feelings into her work. Her desire to craft the perfect ending to Georgia’s book, and ultimately the series, pushed her on through the next couple of weeks. Time was ticking away.