White Roses
The plumbing work proved to be more extensive than Liv and Jake imagined, wiping out her new salary for this month and the next, so she couldn’t afford to buy new clothes yet. The house became like a scrapyard full of pipes, rolled-up carpets and loose floorboards. Liv embraced her escape to the peacefulness of Essie’s flat even more.
She attempted to rewrite Essie’s first few chapters several times over, never quite pleased with the results. Her progress felt slow, as if there was a roadblock in her head stopping her words from flowing. Spraying Fracas and wearing the green Hermès scarf didn’t help.
After spending yet another morning reworking just a couple of paragraphs, Liv stopped to study a red dint in her stomach. Her trouser button cut into her belly, and she entered Essie’s bedroom to see if she could find something more comfortable to wear.
Liv’s own wardrobe at home was a secondhand oak monstrosity with more clothes thrown in the bottom than hanging up. Essie’s was an entire room, with rows of spotlights and an illuminated full-length mirror. There were sections for blouses,skirts, trousers, and a huge space for long and short dresses. Each pair of shoes had their own transparent box with a Polaroid photo taped to the front.
Liv recognized things Essie wore in the award-room photographs. Her fingers lingered on the beautiful blue Constellation dress with birds on the shoulders. The author had looked so beautiful and composed at the ceremony.
She took the dress out and held it up to her chin, imagining wearing it, too. She could almost feel the heat of spotlights on her skin and hear the applause of the crowd. What story could the dress tell about the night of Essie’s disappearance from the public eye? It was disappointing the YouTube footage hadn’t revealed any clues.
Liv noticed something had fallen to the floor, a striped burgundy-and-mustard necktie. It looked old with a yellowing label on the back. The fabric was frayed as if handled or tied many times, and it smelled a little musty when she picked it up. She tied it around her neck anyway, wondering who it belonged to.
She browsed through Essie’s clothes again, discovering a floral summer dress and a black blazer. She changed into them and laughed when she saw Georgia Rory looking back at her in the mirror. She’d have loved to own these clothes when she was twelve years old, and they were much comfier than her trousers.
When she returned to the laptop, Liv adjusted the knot in her tie and sat upright. Somehow, dressing like Georgia made her feel more attuned to the heroine. As she started to write again, her words tumbled out more easily. She intermittently stood up, acting out hunching against falling rocks and swimming for her life.Pulling her face, she mimicked surprise, anger and fear, observing her expressions in a hand mirror before adding them to the story.
By the time the afternoon arrived, Liv had managed to redraft the first chapter. The main sticking point was the identity of Georgia’s great love.
With a shot of renewed confidence, she decided to reach out to Anthony again. Almost seven weeks had passed since Essie died, so it felt appropriate to ask him how he really knew the author. He might even provide a touch of inspiration for Georgia’s hero.
The ringtone sounded for a while before a voicemail message kicked in. ‘This is Anthony Pentecost of Pentecost and Wilde Solicitors. I am now out of the office for an extended period of time and may be unable to reply to your message. If your query is urgent, please contact my associate…’
Liv huffed and frowned at her phone. Why hadn’t he told her he was going away? Was he on holiday, or working away? His message sounded a little ominous and she spoke after the beep. ‘Hi, it’s Liv Green. Can we talk when you get back? I’d like to know how you met Essie,’ she said.
Her mood slipped a little at not reaching him, but she stroked her striped tie.What would Georgia do now?she thought.
Her eyes settled on the small green box, and she pushed the bee cufflinks into her pocket. Liv saved her work, closed the laptop and exited the flat.
Several years ago, she’d visited the Longley Jones jewellery shop to buy a birthday present for her mum. As she perused the store she felt the shop assistants’ eyes following her around. Liv’s mouth dried at the prices of necklaces in the display counters.She meandered around a little more to save face, before dipping her head and scurrying out of the shop.
Today, she strode inside and headed straight towards a man with greased-back blond hair and an aquiline nose.
His eyes ran quickly over her blazer, dress and tie. ‘How may I help you?’ he said, as if she was looking for directions to somewhere else.
Liv placed the cufflink box on the counter and flipped open the lid. ‘I wonder if you can tell me more about these?’
The man hitched an eyebrow. ‘Oh, how interesting. May I?’ When Liv nodded, he found his eyeglass and peered more closely at the bees. ‘Are you looking to sell them?’
She shook her head. ‘I’d just like to know more about them. Are they new?’
He tilted them this way and that. ‘They look more like vintage pieces. May I take them to show my colleague? He’s one of the store owners.’
Liv nodded. She browsed the showroom while waiting for him to return. As she studied bracelets that cost the equivalent of her annual mortgage, she could never understand the appeal of wearing such expensive trinkets. What if you lost an earring while swimming, or a ring while out shopping? Her own wedding ring was a thin gold band with the tiniest diamond. She’d always loved wearing it, and the sentiment behind it was more important than the materials.
The man returned with the box. ‘They’re certainly exquisite,’ he said. ‘My colleague says the cufflinks are a one-off commission piece originating from the late eighties.’
‘How can he tell?’
The man smiled. ‘Because he made them.’
‘Oh.’ She smiled back.
‘He keeps a record of everything he makes.’ The man passed her a slip of paper.
Receipt. Elsbeth Smart. £995
