The Art of Deception (Choc Lit)

by Liz Harris

  ‘You’re confused because you love me, and you think you should hate me. Well, I’m confused, too, Jenny.’ She looked at him questioningly. ‘I’m confused because I’m in a difficult position.’

  ‘I don’t understand. In what way?’

  ‘Well, I’ve no choice but to defend my family if I’m going to have a chance with you. But to do that, I’d have to say something hurtful about your family, and I don’t want to. I love you and I don’t want to cause you pain.’

  ‘There’s nothing you can say against them.’ She heard the angry defiance in her voice. ‘They’ve not done anything wrong,’ she added, softening her tone.

  ‘You’re right,’ he said, his voice gentle. ‘They haven’t. Your mother told you something that wasn’t true, but she acted out of kindness, and it’s not wrong to act out of kindness. She wanted to protect you, someone she loved.’

  A chill ran through her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘First of all, we always paid on time – not early, but on time. I believe I actually asked Peter to pay up early on one occasion, but he refused. I admired Peter enormously, but I didn’t always agree with what he did, and that was one of those few times. It was rare for us to disagree, and that’s probably why I remember the details so clearly.’

  She stared at him in surprise. ‘Why did he refuse?’

  ‘He said it would merely be delaying the inevitable: your father’s business was never going to survive, and giving him a helping hand would only prolong a miserable struggle. I could see what he was saying, but I felt sorry for your father. However, I went along with what Peter said as I figured he knew what he was doing.’

  ‘If only you hadn’t given in so easily,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Jenny. Unless every company paid early, your father would still have had a cash flow problem. He had to pay for the goods he bought within four weeks, whereas everyone who bought from him had six weeks to pay.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Your father just didn’t have sufficient capital behind him to cover the two weeks’ gap. Peter did what he could to help him by regularly paying on time, which is something that doesn’t always happen in business.’

  She shook her head from side to side, disbelief in her eyes. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘You can easily check, if you want. Who paid what and when will be in his ledgers. You’ll find that your father’s financial problems were nothing to do with us.’

  ‘But my mother said …’

  ‘He obviously had too little capital to set up a business on his own, especially a business of that nature. He should have stayed a sales rep, like he was when we first met him. As far as I recall, everyone advised him against going it alone, but I think he was desperate to be his own boss and went ahead, confident that it would somehow work out. And it did for a bit. The local bank manager was probably a friend of his, and as such was sympathetic to your father’s problem and turned a blind eye to the two weeks’ gap.’

  ‘So why did his business fail?’

  ‘I think the manager was eventually moved to a different branch, as bank managers often are, and the new man was a different kettle of fish. He must have got fed up with your father’s cash flow problem, refused to help him through it and finally called in the loan. That’s what put your father on the road to bankruptcy.’

  ‘But why did my mother say it was your fault?’

  He hesitated and then took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think the collapse of his company was the only strain your father was under. There was something else, too. Please don’t hate me for telling you this, but I think your parents were having personal problems.’

  ‘Never,’ she whispered. She felt the blood drain from her face.

  ‘I’m sorry, but it’s true. Don’t blame her too much. She was extremely young when you were born, and they obviously had very little money. It may have been that she felt trapped by everything; I don’t know. But whatever it was, she appeared to become infatuated with Peter.’

  She gasped in disbelief.

  ‘Believe me, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Jenny,’ he went on, ‘but she made a pass at Peter one day when he’d stopped by to see Francis, and Francis was out.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have done. And it was never mentioned at the inquest or in the newspapers.’

  ‘I’m afraid she did. But Peter adored his wife and little boy – Stephen – and he made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her. Peter was never asked about your parents’ personal life, and I think, perhaps, he didn’t want to embarrass your mother by volunteering the information. He was probably a bit more brutal in turning her down than he needed to be; I think he said your mother took it quite badly. Somehow or other, your father found out and I suspect that the stress and fear of losing not only his business, but also the wife and child he loved, was what caused him to kill himself.’

  She vigorously shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you. Mum wouldn’t do such a thing – she loved my father and she wouldn’t go after someone else, and she certainly wouldn’t lie to me.’

  ‘I’ve told you the truth. Your mother’s grief over your father’s death was probably mixed up with intense guilt, and perhaps also anger at Peter’s rejection. I expect that blaming my family came from a combination of things.’

  ‘I don’t believe that of my mother,’ she said stiffly. ‘She loved my father so much that she still hasn’t got over his death. And I don’t think she’d lie to me and keep on lying to me. I want you to go now, please.’

  Max hesitated, then put his hand in his pocket, took out his mobile phone and set it down on the table next to the wall.

  ‘It’s up to you what you do now, Jenny. I can understand you wanting to believe your mother, and it’s only right that you should feel that way. But when you’ve had time to mull things over, if you feel that you’d like to ask her to explain what happened, now that you’re old enough to put everything into perspective, then you can use my phone. I’ll leave you now, though, since that’s clearly what you want.’

  He went through the patio doors, across the terrace and out of sight. Not once had he looked back, she realised, as she stared at the place where he’d stood.

  ‘Mum wouldn’t have lied to me, she wouldn’t. I just don’t believe it,’ she told herself firmly, sinking to her knees on the floor.

  Her words reverberated in the emptiness around her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  There was a light tap on the door and it opened slightly. Jenny glanced up from her seat on the floor, her face pale and tear-streaked. Hope sprang to her eyes. George’s head appeared through the gap, and her heart sank.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Excuse me, Jennifer. I won’t be in your way, will I, if I join you for a few moments? If it’s not convenient, however …’

  ‘Of course, you won’t be in the way,’ she said flatly. ‘Come in.’

  As he came into the room, she saw that he looked very tired, and she felt a stab of guilt at how unwelcoming she must have sounded. ‘No, do come in, Mr Rayburn – George. I’d be glad of the company,’ she added, making a great effort to sound as if she meant it.

  ‘Thank you, dear lady.’ He closed the door behind him, went over to one of the armchairs and sat down. ‘Please, don’t let me interrupt you. I can see that you’re busy.’ He glanced down at the floor. ‘It’s hard to believe that we produced so much work in so little time.’ He indicated the pictures.

  ‘I know what you mean. You should have seen everything spread out yesterday. It really was quite impressive.’ She sat back on her heels. ‘To be honest, George, you’re not really interrupting anything. I can’t seem to get into the right mood today. It must be the Howard and Paula factor. I still can’t stop thinking about what they did, or rather what they tried to do. And all the things they said to deceive us. Who would have believed it of them?’

  ‘Who indeed? Nevertheless, in the end you were cleverer than they. It’s d
own to you that they were caught.’

  ‘Down to me?’

  ‘It was you, was it not, who noticed the suitcase discrepancy? You deserve a pat on the back. You proved to be quite the detective.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m not so sure about that. My record for detection isn’t exactly hot in other areas. What kind of detective accepts what they’re told without question, just because it comes from their mother? Maybe at first they do, but not year after year after year.’

  ‘You are being too hard on yourself, Jennifer. It’s understandable to put your trust in someone you love.’

  ‘Well then, what kind of detective doesn’t recognise that they’re starting to feel too much for someone they shouldn’t?’ She shook her head and tried to laugh. ‘Ignore me, George. I’m just feeling sorry for myself. How are you? Did you get all of your packing done or would you like some help?’

  ‘Everything is done, thank you, apart from the last few things which I shall put into my case just before I leave.’ He gave a little cough and shifted his position in the chair. ‘I’m afraid that I couldn’t help overhearing snippets of the conversation between you and Max,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I do apologise, dear lady. I didn’t want to hear, but I was sitting on the patio in front of my bedroom, enjoying the view, and the doors here were wide open.’

  She stared at him in consternation. ‘Oh, my goodness, I’m so sorry, George. What must you think of us. Of me particularly. How embarrassing.’

  ‘What I think is completely unimportant. It’s what you and Max think that matters. More than that: it’s what you both feel.’

  ‘If you heard what we said to each other, then you’ll know that I’ve hated him since I was twelve years old.’

  ‘To be precise, you didn’t actually hate Max – you hated what you thought he’d done. There’s a great difference, if I may venture to say so. You didn’t know Max other than through your mother’s words. When you met him and got to know him, you fell in love with the man you found him to be. Now that you know he’s innocent of any wrongdoing – and I think you know that in your heart, do you not – you are free to love him. Is that not so?’

  She stared at George, and then nodded slowly. ‘You’re right – deep down, I know Max isn’t lying. I trust him completely, and I know he isn’t capable of doing something deliberately cruel. But if Max is telling the truth – and I’m sure he is – then my mother isn’t, and where does that leave her and me? Even if I could accept that she lied at the time of my father’s death, it’s hard to believe that she would carry on lying for so long afterwards.’

  ‘Would it not be an idea to call your mother and talk to her?’ he suggested. ‘It seems unlikely that you will be able to leave matters as they are now, not if you want any peace of mind, that is. Max has left you his telephone expressly for that purpose.’

  She glanced towards the mobile phone. ‘I suppose I could, couldn’t I?’ Then she looked back at George. ‘But again, it’s not that straightforward, is it? If I force her to confess, I’ll humiliate her, and I wouldn’t want to do that. She is my mother, after all, and she’s always been a wonderful mother.’

  ‘It is possible, my dear girl, that your mother has been unhappy for years about the lie she’d felt obliged to tell, and to keep on telling. She may welcome a momentary humiliation if it means putting an end to the deception.’

  ‘But no one obliged her to do anything. She could have told me the truth from the very start.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘Indeed? I am trying to imagine how a mother would tell her young daughter, who had just lost her father, that the advances she’d made to another man had added to the father’s stress to such an extent that he’d killed himself. It’s hard to see how such a revelation could help the daughter in her time of grief, and at a time when all she had left was her mother. No, far better to blame it on someone else, I would have thought. And in this way also make sure that the daughter didn’t hold herself responsible for her father’s death.’

  She stared at him. ‘When you put it like that, I can see why she decided to blame the Castaniens at the time. But surely she could have told me the truth when I got older.’

  ‘I suspect that the longer you live with a lie, the harder it is to rectify it. There may never have seemed a right time to come clean, as they say. Nor any reason for her to do so. And your mother may have even come to believe that what she told you was the truth.’

  ‘I suppose that’s possible.’

  ‘As Max said, her first thought will have been for you, Jennifer. Don’t be too hard on her.’

  ‘What you say does make sense. I can see that,’ she said slowly.

  ‘Be that as it may, I am sure that neither what I say, nor what Max has said, will be sufficient. If you’re to find the closure you seek, you will have to speak to your mother.’ He gestured towards the mobile phone. ‘The means to do so is there. And as it so happens,’ he said, rising awkwardly to his feet, ‘I need to check again that I haven’t left anything in the wardrobe. So if you will excuse me, I’ll leave you now.’

  She jumped up, went quickly to the door and held it open for George.

  He started to walk past her, but then paused. ‘Listen to your heart, Jennifer; it won’t let you down. In your heart you know that Max has spoken the truth; just as in my heart, I know that Agnes would be proud of the progress I’ve made this week. I did the right thing in taking the holiday she and I planned, even if it was alone.’

  ‘I’m so glad you feel that way. And I’m also very glad that you were sitting where you were and that you overheard what we said.’

  ‘Dear lady,’ he said, gently. ‘Speak to your mother. When you’ve done that, you’ll be free to go and love your man, and if you have a fraction of the happiness with Max that I had with my Agnes, you’re going to be a very happy lady indeed.’

  ‘Thank you, George.’ Impulsively, she leaned across and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  Smiling, he inclined his head towards her and went through the doorway into the hall.

  She closed the door behind him, leaned back against it for a moment, and then walked over to the table and picked up Max’s phone. Her fingers hovered briefly above the keys, and then she tapped out a number she knew by heart.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The late morning sun was beating down on the garden as Jenny pushed the patio doors wide open and went out on to the terrace. Still clutching the mobile phone in her hand, she stood in the shade beneath the awning and stared around her.

  Beneath the deep blue sky, the glossy green and purple sheen of the garden was broken only by the vibrant plants nestling amid the verdant foliage, and by brightly coloured flowers in large terracotta tubs on the terrace.

  A light breeze swept across the garden, ruffling the ferns and the bushes. In between the gently swaying fronds, the pool could be glimpsed, its clear water sparkling in the light of the sun.

  Breathing in deeply, Jenny inhaled the scent of lavender and rosemary.

  What a morning it had been.

  It had been achingly difficult to bring up a subject so sensitive with her mother, the person who’d loved and cared for her all of her life and who’d done all that she could to help her fulfil her every dream. At first, her questions had been hesitant and embarrassed, but gradually they’d gathered speed until they were pouring out of her, tumbling one after the other, demanding an answer.

  Her mother’s initial reaction had been one of shocked surprise, and she’d rushed to deny everything that Max had claimed, insisting that her original account had been the right one.

  Jenny’d wanted to stop there, to accept without further question her mother’s words and allow her lie to remain, but she couldn’t. Her every instinct told her that only by probing more deeply, hateful though it was to do so, would she clear the air and prevent the lie from coming between them.

  She’d challenged her mother again. Once more her mother had vigorously begun to deny everything, bu
t all of a sudden, she’d stopped mid-sentence. There’d been a moment’s silence, and then she’d started to speak again, her voice somehow different this time, and Jenny had heard from her mother the account that she’d first heard from Max.

  From then on, her mother had seemed unable to stop talking, and she’d poured out the whole story amid profuse apologies, and with tears of regret mingled with relief. It was as if Jenny had unlocked the door to something that had been desperate to escape for a very long time.

  Her mother hadn’t attempted to defend herself – quite the opposite, in fact.

  She’d told Jenny that there was nothing she could say that could justify blaming a family who’d acted fairly towards her father. Eaten up by guilt at the time of her husband’s death, she’d had the idea blaming the Castaniens in a flash. She’d thought it wouldn’t matter what she said as she and Jenny were moving away and were unlikely ever to meet the family again.

  Once she’d accused them, she hadn’t seen a way of stopping and it had never occurred to her that Jenny might one day seek out the Castaniens. She could see now how wrong she’d been, and that she should have long ago told the truth. She’d finished by begging Jenny to forgive her and not to let their relationship be damaged by the revelations. Then she’d fallen silent, waiting.

  ‘I can understand why you did it,’ Jenny had told her. ‘And there’s nothing to forgive. In your place I probably would have done the same. You acted as you did out of love.’ And they had both broken down.

  ‘I’ve been hating myself for my part in your father’s death for so long, and for lying to you the way I’ve done,’ her mother had told her through her tears. ‘You don’t know how pleased I am that everything’s out in the open at last. I feel I can move on now.’

  ‘We both can.’

  ‘I never thought I’d say this, but I’m very glad you went to work for Max Castanien, Jenny. I only saw him once – he must have been about nineteen or twenty – and he seemed a nice lad. What’s he like now?’