‘Meg’s willing to pay, and Essie can fly business class. Work your magic on her, Liv. Tell her we’ll keep things nice and low-key. It’s a business event rather than a public appearance. We don’t want hordes of fans showing up and scaring her off.’
Liv wondered if he could hear her heart pounding. ‘What will she do there?’ she said.
‘Meet and greets, going to dinner with publishers. All the things she hates.’
‘You make it sound so tempting.’
‘It’s actually an amazing experience. I believe she used to go every couple of years. And then she stopped.’
Liv touched her tie. ‘Stopped? Why?’
Marlon made a rumbling sound. ‘I only know what Meg told me. I didn’t represent Essie back then.’
‘How did you and Essie actually meet?’ she said. The author and her agent weren’t an obvious fit.
‘She read an article I wrote for a magazine, about my career. She gave me a call, one of the few times she actually talked to me.’ He laughed.
As Marlon started to talk about deadlines again, Liv searched for his article online and read it.
Years ago, I was down on my luck, relying on bottles of vodka to get me through the day. A close friend had died and drink helped with my pain. One day, I woke up under a bush and found a copy ofThe Alchemistby Paulo Coelho left on a park bench. It felt like a message and after reading it I knew I had to change and follow my dreams. I took night classes and begged anyone in the literary world for experience, often working for free. I eventually opened my agency.
Liv found a lump in her throat. She realized she hadn’t caught the last thing Marlon said to her and she cleared her throat to speak. ‘You should know a journalist has been in touch with me. Her name’s Chloe,’ she said. ‘She’s writing a piece about Essie.’
‘Humph,’ Marlon replied.
‘You don’t sound too concerned.’
‘Nope. Essie won’t collaborate. Meg only managed to get her to do one interview in ten years. Others have tried writing about Essie’s life, and the last decade will sound extremely dull. Unless this Chloe person finds a new angle…’
Like the fact Essie died two months ago, Liv thought to herself.
She said a quick goodbye to Marlon and hung up. When she looked at the Dubfest website again she felt the strongest pull towards the festival.But how could she possibly accompany a dead author to Croatia?
She browsed the conferences, seminars and awards with a seed of excitement growing in her stomach. It reminded her of when she was little and her dad used to usher her into his lecture theatre. She sat at the back of the class ignoring the inquisitive glances from his students, and attempted the exercises he set on crafting character journeys, motivation and flaws. He marked her work, too.A+ Excellent attempt.
Liv clicked on the webpage labelled ‘History’ and read the festival had been running since 1980. It broke for the Croatian War of Independence in the nineties, before resuming again in 2000. There were lots of photos from over the years, and Liv spotted a face she recognized.
A much younger version of Essie walked along an aisle, alongside a tall handsome man. He was speaking into her ear, his face pressed close to hers. Essie laughed and smiled up at him. It looked like they were holding hands.
When Liv saw a patch of light in his hair she thought it was a flash from a camera. But then she frowned. Surely it couldn’t be… Anthony?
The solicitor’s hair was shorter and unrulier. It had the distinctive daub of white on the side.
Liv traced her fingers down her neck. Anthony had given her the impression he’d only worked for Essie for a few years. In the image, they looked more than just good friends.
Had she just found the real love of Essie’s life, and he’d been hiding in plain sight all along? Why would Essie drink too much and tell Matilda she couldn’t write without him, when Anthony was there on her doorstep?Maybe because he was now married to Harriet?
There seemed to be more to Anthony than met the eye.
It had been a couple of weeks since she left a message on Anthony’s voicemail, and she gave him a call. This time he picked up.
‘Liv,’ he said, his voice barely a whisper. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine. Have you been on holiday?’
‘I’m in Bologna with Harriet.’
‘That sounds lush.’
