The Art of Deception (Choc Lit)

by Liz Harris

  ‘We can, indeed, imagine your consternation,’ Nick murmured. Jenny sent him a reproving glance, and he winked at her. She turned back to George.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Rayburn. He’ll know what’s been going on,’ she said. ‘I’m sure the whole of Montefalco will have known about the attempted theft well before the end of the morning. You can go for your tasting session tomorrow before you leave for the airport. You’ll easily have enough time.’

  ‘There’s no need, Jennifer. Max saw my concern and told me that he’d collected the wine this afternoon and that Carlo had put it in my room whilst we were looking at the display earlier this evening.’

  ‘Oh, how thoughtful of you, Max,’ Jenny exclaimed.

  George nodded in agreement. ‘Indeed, it was. And not just a taste, but a whole bottle of a truly outstanding wine.’ He looked up at Max. ‘I really am most grateful. Such generosity is overwhelming.’ He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped first one eye and then the other. ‘Quite overwhelming,’ he repeated, and he blew his nose.

  Jenny glanced around the group. ‘Talking of drinks, would anyone like a tea or coffee now, or some wine? Or are you all ready to turn in? It’s been a long day.’

  ‘I don’t know about the others,’ Max said, ‘but I’m going to go back now and have a relatively early night.’

  ‘You showing signs of tiredness? You must be ill, Uncle Max.’ Stephen started to laugh, but then he suddenly stopped, his expression changing to one of concern. ‘Come to think of it, you’ve been really quiet all evening – not like you at all. Are you ill?’

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, Stephen. Everything’s rather caught up with me at last. It’s nothing serious.’

  ‘I, too, noticed that you’ve not been your normal self this evening, my friend,’ George remarked. ‘But that’s entirely to be expected. These last two days must have been a serious strain for you. It takes time to recover from such a shock, even for the strongest amongst us.’

  ‘Just so, George,’ Max said. ‘Right, then, Stephen; time to go, I think. I suggest you say goodnight to Clare and come across with me. Clare’s got an early start tomorrow, and I’m sure you’ll want to be up in time to see her before she goes.’

  Stephen smiled down at Clare. ‘I’m going to do better than that – I’m going to wave her off at the airport.’

  It was impossible to tell which of them was gazing at the other more adoringly, Jenny thought as she watched them walk along the illuminated path in the direction of the pool, their arms around each other.

  ‘I shall be counting the seconds,’ she heard Stephen murmur, and then there was silence.

  She heard George give a slight grunt behind her and she turned. He’d put a hand on each arm of the chair and was making as if to rise.

  At exactly the same moment, she and Max moved forward to help him.

  ‘I think I shall bid you goodnight,’ he said when he was on his feet. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening, an evening to remember, but I feel more than ready to sleep now.’ He nodded briefly to Nick, gave a slight bow to Jenny and allowed Max to help him into the house.

  ‘I suppose I ought to go, too,’ Nick said. ‘You must be done in, Jenny. I bet you’re dying for us all to disappear.’

  She forced a welcoming look to her face. ‘You said that earlier today, Nick, but you were wrong then and you’re wrong now. There’s no need for you to go if you don’t want to. Would you like a drink of anything?’

  ‘No, thanks. I think I’ve probably had enough for this evening. I’ll be leaving at the same time as Clare and I haven’t done any packing yet. I really ought to make a start. So no, nice as it would have been to have had a final drink in the moonlight with you, that would not be a good idea.’ He glanced at Max’s back and shook his head. ‘Shame,’ he said ruefully, and then he grinned at her, turned and strolled into the house, his hands in his pockets.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ Max said, coming out of the house as Stephen and Clare came hurrying on to the terrace. Jenny saw that Clare’s eyes were red.

  Max turned to Clare. ‘I probably won’t see you tomorrow, but as I’m pretty sure I’ll be seeing you again in the future, there’s no need for us to say goodbye.’ He gave her a warm smile, put his arm round Stephen’s shoulders and they started walking towards Max’s house, framed by the cypress trees, a row of slender black columns that reached up to the sky, their needle tips silver in the light of the moon.

  From time to time Stephen glanced back at Clare, who stared after them until they were lost from sight, then she turned away, her eyes filling with tears.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jenny asked gently.

  Clare nodded. ‘I’m fine, thanks. Really, I am. It’s just that it’s been such a wonderful week that I don’t want it to end. I’ve loved everything about it, except for the Anderson thing, of course. But not even that could ruin it for me. I’ve really enjoyed the painting we’ve done and I’ve learnt masses, and I’ve met Stephen. I can’t believe how lucky I am.’

  ‘And he obviously feels the same way. At least, about you, he does. I don’t know about the painting,’ she added with a smile.

  ‘He says he does, but maybe he’ll feel differently in England. Maybe the magic will have gone for him. That’s what I’m scared about.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll feel the same; maybe he won’t. Max certainly seems to think that he’ll be seeing you again. The best thing for you to do is relax and see what happens. If it’s meant to be, it will be.’

  ‘That’s good advice, and I’ll take it.’ Clare wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘And what about you, Jenny? Are you going to take your own advice?’

  Jenny looked at her questioningly. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We’ve all seen the way that Max looks at you, and we’ve seen the way you look at him. But then you shut him out. I don’t know if you know that you’re doing it, but you are. I’m not being rude, but like you said to me, shouldn’t you relax and see what happens, so if it’s meant to be, it can be?’

  Jenny stared at her in surprise. ‘Where did that come from?’

  ‘Being a student nurse, you hear all sorts of things. I’ve heard so many people say they regret not doing things in the past that they’d really wanted to do. By the time that they finally decide to do them, it’s nearly always too late for one reason or another. I don’t want to be someone who one day, years from now, says “if only”. And I don’t think you do, either. Or do you?’

  ‘No, you’re right. I don’t,’ she said slowly.

  ‘So go for it. What have you got to lose? Anyway, I’ve probably said enough, if not too much, so I’ll say goodnight now. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  With a little wave of farewell, Clare went into the house.

  Standing motionless in the middle of the empty terrace, Jenny stared after her.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ she repeated to herself, and she picked up her bag and made her way back to her room.

  Early the following morning, she said goodbye to Nick and Clare at the top of the drive, and a temporary goodbye to Stephen. She waved to them until the minibus was out of sight, and then strolled back down to the house.

  So now only George was left, she thought, and not for that much longer. Max was right – it was going to feel very strange when they’d all gone. When it was just her and Max. A wave of ice-cold panic shot through her. Max had made it clear that there were things he intended to say to her, but she was frightened to hear them – she couldn’t trust her reactions any more.

  Reaching the terrace, she looked around for George, but he was nowhere to be seen. She bit her lip anxiously. She’d have to find something else to do that would take her mind off her fear that Max might materialise at any moment and insist upon the conversation she was dreading.

  The class’s work. That would do it, she thought in a flash.

  They’d taken their best pictures with them, carefully packaged so as not to ruin them on the journey, but she’d photograph
ed them all beforehand, knowing she had some good material there for next year’s advertising. She’d deal with the photos later, but first she’d have a look at their earlier sketches and preliminary designs. There was a chance that she could make them into a collage that could be used in some way. If anything could divert her thoughts, it would be that.

  She went quickly to the cupboard in which she’d stored their work, pulled out the remaining drawings and spread them out on the floor as close to the patio doors as she could in order to take advantage of the light. Then she knelt on the floor, her back to the glass doors, and started to put the work into piles.

  A shadow passed across the room. It stopped in the path of the sun, cutting the stream of light in two.

  She swiftly turned to look towards the patio doors.

  Max was standing between them, a tall, dark silhouette framed by the bright sun. He stepped into the room and stared down at her, unsmiling.

  Chapter Fifteen

  He hesitated a moment, then came further into the room.

  She scrambled to her feet, brushed the dust from her jeans, and faced him.

  ‘I hope I didn’t frighten you,’ he said, ‘turning up like this. You’ve gone very pale.’

  ‘You did a bit, to be honest. I thought I was alone, apart from George, of course.’

  ‘Well, you’re not alone any longer. I decided to come across and see you.’

  Panic welled up inside her. ‘I’m not sure where George is at the moment,’ she said quickly, ‘but he’ll be somewhere in the house. I’ll pop along and find him, if you want to hang on here.’

  ‘I came to see you. You singular. Not you plural.’ He took a step forward, then stopped, inches from her. She drew her breath in slowly.

  The air hung heavy between them.

  She shivered and took a few steps back. ‘Why?’

  He didn’t move. ‘Not now, you said. Not ever. Why not ever?’

  Her brow wrinkled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I can accept the not now: we were both tired at the time. But not the not ever. Why don’t you ever want to talk about what passed between us two nights ago? Something did. I felt it, and you felt it, too. I know you did.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Her voice shook.

  ‘Yes, you do. There was something between us, and not for the first time, either. And I keep thinking back to the expression in your eyes when we were in the minibus, waiting for the police to arrive.’

  ‘You’re mistaken. I …’

  ‘I don’t think I am. At least, I hope I’m not. You were genuinely afraid for me. No one would be that afraid for someone if they didn’t have strong feelings for them. They couldn’t be.’

  Unable to bear the sight of the hope that burned in the depths of his eyes, she looked down at the floor. ‘I’d have had the same expression if a litter of puppies had been under threat,’ she said weakly.

  He gave her a half smile. ‘And that would have been a sorry situation, too. But I don’t think this had anything to do with puppies. Apart from the fear, I also saw a reflection of what I feel about you.’

  Her eyes still rigidly fixed on the patch of floor in front of her, she shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ he said quietly. ‘Well, let me show you, then.’ He put a finger lightly under her chin and raised her face to look into his. She found herself gazing deep into eyes that were dark with longing. Her knees started to tremble. Unable to move, she let out a long, low sigh, and her lips parted.

  ‘This is what I saw, Jenny,’ he said, his voice husky. He ran his thumb slowly along her upper lip, then her lower lip, and then he bent his head and lightly brushed his lips across hers.

  Her toes curled in pleasure.

  A wave of intense desire shot down the length of her body. They couldn’t stop at that, she cried inwardly. Without thinking, she reached out to him, and he pulled her to his chest and put his arms around her, his strength enveloping her.

  Her every nerve was alive and tingling, crying out to her that she loved him, truly loved him. ‘Oh, Max,’ she breathed.

  For a long moment, he stood still, staring down into her face, then he brought his mouth down hard on hers.

  Kissing him back with increasing urgency, increasing desperation, she pressed as close to him as she could, shivering as she felt his body hard against hers. If it weren’t for the memory of what Max had done to her father …

  Her father!

  In a panic, she pulled back from Max, and her hands flew to her face.

  ‘Oh, no, I shouldn’t have done that,’ she gasped, and she took a step further away from him. ‘I should never have done that.’

  ‘Yes, you should have,’ he said, his voice caressing her. He went closer to her. His eyes full of love, he gently removed her hands from her face. ‘It’s what we both feel, what we both want,’ he murmured, and he trailed his fingers down her flushed cheeks.

  ‘It’s not what I want,’ she cried, sweeping his hands away. ‘At least, I do want it, that’s the trouble, and I shouldn’t.’

  His arms fell to his sides. He moved back and stared at her in bewilderment. ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean, you shouldn’t want it? We like each other. You’re not in a relationship and nor am I. So why shouldn’t you?’

  Tears began to roll down her cheeks.

  ‘What is it, Jenny? You’re frightening me now.’

  Choking on her tears, she shook her head, unable to speak.

  ‘I’m trying to tell you that I love you, darling Jenny. Have I got it wrong, thinking you love me as much as I love you?’

  ‘No. At least, I don’t know,’ she sobbed. ‘I’m completely confused. I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever since I met you, it’s been one long struggle, trying to stop myself thinking about you, being drawn to you. I think I’ve got my feelings under control, and then I see you and I know I haven’t. I came here hating you, but now I find myself loving you. I can’t bear it, but I do. I love you so much, and I mustn’t. I can’t. I must leave tomorrow. Or even today.’

  His face was ashen. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying. What do you mean you came here hating me? The first time we met was at your interview, so how can you hate me? I know I’d remember if we’d ever met before that.’

  She wiped her face with the back of her hands. ‘We hadn’t met before, not as such. But you’ve met my father, you and Peter.’

  He frowned, and moved back from her. ‘What’s Peter got to do with any of this? He died years ago. And what do you mean, we met your father? I don’t remember ever meeting an O’Connor before I met you.’

  ‘O’Connor’s my mother’s maiden name. We started using it when we moved to Cornwall after my father died. His name was Francis Egan.’

  ‘Francis Egan?’ he said slowly. ‘Yes, I do remember him. He died in tragic circumstances.’ He stared hard at Jenny. ‘And you’re his daughter?’

  She nodded. ‘It’s thanks to your family he’s dead. He was so stressed after a meeting with you all that he drove his car into a wall and was killed outright. I was twelve at the time – too young to lose my father.’

  ‘That’s right – he died in a car accident.’ Max’s brow creased in thought. ‘The inquest found that it was suicide. Peter was one of several people questioned at the inquest in connection with your father’s financial situation. It was a terrible thing to happen, but I don’t know what you mean by saying that it was thanks to my family.’

  Jenny’s voice rose. ‘You were always so late in paying for what you bought from him that he had a serious cash flow problem every month. Because of you and other companies like yours – but mainly your company as you bought so much from him – the bank finally gave up on him and called in his loan. I read what the newspapers said when they reported the coroner’s verdict, but they didn’t say why you’d made things so hard for him. So why did you?’

  ‘You’re wrong about that, Jen
ny. His death wasn’t our fault.’

  ‘It was. If you hadn’t paid late … If you’d paid when you should have done … When things were really bad, he even asked you to help him out by paying on time, Mum said, but you refused. You must have seen he was struggling. You knew him, and knew he was a good man – you should have stuck to the contract, but you didn’t.’

  ‘You’ve got it wrong. It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Yes, it was. My mother said that if you’d paid him when you should have done, he’d never have got into such a mess, and he wouldn’t have been so seriously stressed that he killed himself. I think that justifies my thanks to your family, don’t you? So, you see, I won’t let myself love you. I can’t.’

  A loud sob escaped her, and she turned to walk away.

  He caught her by the arm. ‘But you do love me. I know that, and so do you,’ he said bluntly. ‘I’m sorry about your father,’ he added, his voice softening, ‘but you’re wrong about the way we behaved towards him.’

  She thrust her chin out defiantly. ‘If my mother said that’s what happened, then that’s what happened. Now, let go of me.’

  He released his grip on her arm, stared at her for a moment, then turned and went towards the patio doors. He reached them, paused, and then spun round to face her.

  ‘No, I’m not giving up on you that easily,’ he said, and he walked back to her. ‘I’d never forgive myself if I did. I’m going to clear this up. I have to for both our sakes.’

  She stared accusingly up at him. ‘Then tell me, why did you and Peter let my father down like that? He looked on you as friends. My mother has never been able to explain that to me or to herself, and we need to know why. That’s the reason I came to Italy. All the other things that’ve happened have just made everything much more confusing.’