Shakespeare appeared and handed pencils and sheets of blank paper to them. ‘For you to scribe sonnets,’ he said.
Liv took the opportunity to move along her conversation with Anthony. ‘I still don’t know exactly what happened to Essie,’ she said. ‘Why did she go into hospital?’
Anthony pressed a finger against the point of his pencil and thought for a moment. ‘Are you aware she’d had chronic pancreatitis for some time?’ he said.
Liv shook her head. ‘I’m not sure what it is.’
‘It’s when the pancreas becomes inflamed and permanently damaged, meaning it stops working properly. It can be terribly unpleasant, causing weight loss, and severe abdominal pain.’
Liv felt a flush circle her neck. She wished she’d asked Essie about her weight loss, or mentioned the hidden gin bottles, even if the author might have accused her of prying.
Liv searched on her phone for the condition, and read her findings aloud. ‘The most common cause of pancreatitis is by drinking excessive amounts of alcohol over the years. It can cause repeated episodes of acute pancreatitis which results in increasing damage to the organ, so surgery might be needed…’ She stopped and considered her findings. Maybe Essie’s condition was yet another reason why she shut herself away in her writing room.
‘It can be a risky operation. Afterwards, the doctor was honest and told her things could go either way,’ Anthony said,toying with his pin badge. ‘Essie called me that night, groggy and worried about the outcome. When I visited her the next day, she’d taken a turn for the worse.’
Liv pressed her lips together. ‘What happened?’ she said.
‘She’d developed an infection that was spreading throughout her body. The doctor said nothing could be done. They’d try to keep her comfortable, but…’ Anthony shook his head in disbelief. ‘Essie managed to write a few things down in her notebook, before…’
Liv’s stomach knotted as she thought about Essie being given this terrible news. She held a hand to her throat. ‘Were you with her when…?’
‘Yes.’ His jaw clenched.
‘What about a partner, or boyfriend?’ Liv said, thinking about the bouquets of white roses again. ‘Essie’s ex-PA Matilda said she was in love with someone.’
Something imperceptible fell across Anthony’s face. He adjusted his jacket. ‘Then Matilda must know more than I do,’ he said. ‘Let’s not turn Essie’s passing into one of her romance novels.’
‘I wasn’t trying to. And her books are adventures.’ She wondered if Anthony had even read any of them. ‘I just think someone should tell this guy. He’ll wonder where Essie is and we can’t just leave him hanging. Are you sure there’s nothing else in her yellow notebook?’
Anthony’s mouth became a straight line, and he didn’t speak.
The air had tensed between them so Liv focused on her blank piece of paper and attempted to write a sonnet. She made it about a writer and her mystery lover, to connect Essie with someone on paper, if not in person.
Anthony did the same and sighed at his own writing efforts. ‘It’s rather a huge task she left you,’ he said eventually. ‘How long did you work for Essie? Three years?’
Liv heard suspicion in his voice. She supposed a bestselling author thinking of her cleaner on her deathbedwasunusual. ‘I met her twice before then,’ she said.
‘Ah, really. Twice?’
Liv folded her arms. Anthony obviously didn’t know that she and Essie shared some kind of connection they were only beginning to explore. If she told him about their afternoon tea, or the notes Essie left for her, it probably still wouldn’t convince him. She swallowed away the lump in her throat that swelled when she thought about her first ever encounter with Essie, and felt obliged to share it with him.
‘When I was twelve, I went through a really tough time,’ she said. ‘Me and my mum had to go to live with her sister, my aunt Peggy, on the other side of the country for several months. I had to attend a new school, too, and it felt like I’d been sent to the moon.’ She shrugged a shoulder, as if it didn’t really matter, when it actually had felt like her entire life had been upended. She could still feel her new classmates’ fingers drilling into her back and pulling her hair.
‘Why did you have to move?’ Anthony said.
‘Several reasons.’ Liv scratched the back of her neck, hating her memories of those days. There were some things she didn’t want to share with him. ‘One day, Essie came into my class on a publicity tour for her debut novelThe Moon on the Water. All the pupils had to write a poem, and she chose mine as her winner. I was so chuffed. She gave me a copy of the book and wrote inside it,To Olivia, keep writing. Best wishes, Essie Starling.’Liv grinned. ‘I read it over and over and imagined I was Georgia Rory, trekking across the desert or snowy terrain on my way to school. It helped me to cope with being away from home.
‘After that, I became a big fan and bought all Essie’s next books, too. I queued outside bookshops on publication day, and swooned over photos of her in LA, wearing her gorgeous gowns with Hank Milligan. I voted for the Constellation Prize, and when Essie won it, I actually cheered at the TV. I hoped she might do a publicity tour, or at least an interview. Instead, she seemed to vanish off the face of the earth.’ Liv shook her head. ‘I thought it was really odd. She kept on writing, though, even if the quality, um… tapered off.’
‘When was the next time you met her?’ Anthony said.
‘Around three years ago. I was feeling listless about what to do next in my life. I often turn toThe Moon on the Waterfor comfort and, when I reread Essie’s message, I had an urge to tell her how much Georgia Rory meant to me.’ She stopped and her cheeks reddened. ‘So, I wrote a letter and sent it to her publishing house.
‘I suppose I rambled on a bit, reminding her how she selected my poem. I told her I’d always felt guilty not writing much else, especially because my dad was an English professor. I admitted I was struggling to find meaning in my cleaning work.’
Liv had also revealed to Essie that she longed to be a writer, too, but she didn’t divulge this to Anthony.
‘Youaskedher for ajob?’ the solicitor said, raising an eyebrow.
