The Art of Deception (Choc Lit) Read online

  At the same time, she’d have to do her best not to encourage him romantically. It wouldn’t be fair on him. And as for her … She couldn’t pretend to herself any longer that she didn’t have feelings for him – she did.

  If circumstances were different; if she didn’t have to keep holding herself in check, reminding herself why she was there and that Max’s charming, friendly face was merely a front for a very different sort of man; if it weren’t for this, she’d be free to give in to the way she felt, to do what she wanted to do – her knees felt weak …

  She glanced across the room at the clock next to her bed, and promptly straightened up in horror.

  Damn, she thought; it was much later than she’d realised. She’d wanted to finish her breakfast before Paula and Howard appeared on the terrace, but it was too late now to get ahead of them. How stupid of her!

  The moment she’d lain back on the pillow the night before, it had hit her that if she went across to Max’s with the Andersons, she might be able to look round a room or two whilst he was showing them his computer.

  She couldn’t believe that she’d almost missed seeing how she could turn the situation to her advantage. It just showed how easily an emotional involvement with Max could make her lose her focus.

  There’d almost certainly be some photos on display at his house, and these would give her an excuse to go back to the conversation about his family and their business, and from there she could introduce the subject of her father. It hadn’t seemed the right time when they were in Bevagna, but she’d have to tell Max who her father was at some point if she was going to get any answers, and this could be as good a time as any. In fact, it would be a relief to get it over and done with.

  Her last thoughts before she’d fallen asleep had been that she’d get up early, have breakfast on the terrace and then wait for the Andersons to arrive. She’d tell them that she was going to go to Max’s with them as she was curious to see his paintings too.

  But they could have already gone by now.

  She hurried into her bathroom and showered at speed. Then she put on her sky-blue halter-neck sundress, brushed her hair and clipped it on top of her head with a tortoiseshell comb, slipped into silver low-heeled sandals, and rapidly made her way to the terrace.

  It was empty. Paula and Howard were either eating breakfast alone, or they’d already gone across to Max’s.

  She hesitated next to the buffet table, not sure what to do.

  She could always hang around for a while to see if they appeared, but if she did, she’d run the risk of getting trapped in conversation with the next person to arrive, and she didn’t want that. If they’d already gone to Max’s, she needed to get there while they were still using the computer.

  ‘Buon giorno.’ Maria came on to the terrace with a pot of coffee and a jug of fresh milk. She put them on the table and turned to leave, but Jenny called to her and asked if the Andersons had had their breakfast yet.

  They’d asked to eat a little earlier that day, Maria told her. They’d finished already and gone out. But it wasn’t long ago – it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes.

  That decided her – it would take them some time to check their e-mails and find a hire car, let alone look at Max’s paintings, so she’d have time to grab a bowl of cereal and a quick coffee.

  She tipped some flakes into a bowl, added milk, picked up her spoon and went and sat down.

  ‘Good morning, Jennifer. Or should I say Buon giorno?’

  She groaned inwardly, and looked up. George was approaching the table, a wide smile on his face.

  Damn. Why must this be the first morning that he hadn’t overslept?

  He took the place opposite her. ‘What a glorious day this is. Painting in the garden is going to be most pleasant after our exertions of yesterday.’

  ‘It is a lovely day, isn’t it? Can I get you anything, George? Some cereal maybe, or a piece of cake? I know you don’t like cheese in the morning.’

  ‘Indeed, I think I shall have some cake this morning, but not until I’ve had my cup of tea. I find that I’m getting quite used to the Italian breakfast.’

  ‘I suspect you’re the only one. I still prefer cereal and I’m sure the others do, too.’

  A moment later, Maria came out with hot water and tea bags, which she put next to George. Jenny started to eat her cereal quickly.

  ‘You seem to be in a hurry, dear lady,’ George observed.

  ‘I am.’ She finished the cereal, picked up her coffee and gulped it down. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to excuse me. I want to get over to Max’s while the Andersons are still there, and I’m not sure how much longer they’ll be. Like Paula, I’m keen to see his paintings, and it suddenly occurred to me that it would be less invasive to do so at the same time as they did.’

  ‘How thoughtful, my dear. Nevertheless, I’m sure that he’d be delighted to show them to you at any time.’

  She glanced across the table at him. His eyes were twinkling.

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘What are you trying to say, Mr Rayburn?’

  ‘That I rather suspect he’d prefer to show you his paintings when the two of you were by yourselves.’

  ‘This is about the paintings and nothing else,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Of course it is. Why else would you want to visit the home of a delightful man, who clearly finds you quite delightful, too?’

  She forced a laugh and stood up. ‘You and Nick are as bad as each other, and you’re both wrong. I won’t be long – after all, it’s only a small collection. You can make a start on your work when you’ve finished eating, if you want. Would you tell the others that, please?’

  She hurried across the terrace and made her way up the side of the house to the path that ran between the cypress trees, linking their garden with Max’s. She half ran along the path, but slowed to a fast walk when she came out on to the lawn in case anyone should be looking out of the windows.

  Glancing to her left as she made her way across the grass, she was relieved to see that the wrought-iron gates at the top of the wide drive leading to both of the houses were still locked. A heavy padlocked chain was coiled around the two gates, holding them together. Max was obviously still in the house and hadn’t decided to go off anywhere while Paula and Howard were sorting out their e-mails.

  As she drew near to the loggia, she saw that the French windows at the back of the house were open, suggesting that Howard and Paula had gone in that way. She’d go around to the front, she decided. She knew that Stephen used the French windows for convenience and she was certain that Max wouldn’t mind if she followed his example, but it wouldn’t feel right.

  She walked past the stone pillars that supported the loggia roof; clusters of pink roses were growing around each of the pillars, and she leaned across to smell them. At that moment, Stephen came bounding through the French windows.

  He glanced in her direction, and stopped short.

  ‘Jenny! What a surprise. I was just coming over to join you all. I decided to have breakfast with the others today. D’you know where you’re going or d’you want me to take you to the old man?’

  She straightened up and took a few steps towards him.

  ‘I’m fine, thanks, Stephen. I was just going round to the front. I’ve come across to check on Paula and Howard. They said they were going to try and hire a car for Saturday, and it occurred to me that they might need some help with the Italian,’ she added with a flash of inspiration.

  ‘They seem to be doing all right, as far as I can tell. Howard’s on the internet and Paula’s having a guided tour of the place. Go in this way. Uncle Max and I always do.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she said and she started walking towards the open doors.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure that you’re OK and you don’t mind going in on your own …’

  ‘You get off, Stephen – you don’t want to keep Clare waiting,’ she laughed. ‘But thanks for the offer.’


  ‘I’ll see you later, then.’ He grinned, gave her a little wave and started to run across to the cypress trees.

  She went up to the French windows, hesitated a moment, and then went through them into the house. Pausing, she looked around her at what was obviously a sitting room. Whoever had planned the interior design had managed to make the room look comfortable and, at the same time, stylish. Quite an achievement, she thought.

  When she’d gone a little further into the room, her gaze fell upon a huge oil painting hanging above the fireplace. She stared up at it, mesmerised. The painting was a stunning blend of greens on a stone-coloured background, absolutely perfect for its position in the room, and a fascinating exercise in colour.

  With great difficulty, she tore her eyes away from it, telling herself that she was meant to be looking for photographs, and she continued to look round the room. And then she saw what she was looking for. Three silver-framed photographs stood on a slender mahogany table next to the wall. Even from where she was standing, she could tell that they were informal family-type photographs, and she quickly went over to them.

  The first was of a very young Stephen. He was leaning against a dark-haired woman, who was smiling down at him. That must be his mother, she thought. The other two were of the same man – Peter. There was no mistaking the face that she’d first seen on the obituary. In the first of the two photos, Peter was by himself, staring into the camera. In the other, he had his arm round Max’s shoulders and they were standing in front of a large warehouse. Max couldn’t have been more than about fifteen or sixteen at the time.

  She picked up the photo and peered at it.

  ‘And in here you’ll see the painting that I had commissioned in London earlier this year. It’s by one of my favourite artists.’ Max’s voice came from just outside the sitting room door.

  She stood rooted to the spot, unable to move, the photo in her hand. The door opened and Max came into the room, closely followed by Paula.

  ‘Just have a look at this, Paula. It’s … Jenny!’ he exclaimed. His face broke into a broad smile and he took a step towards her. ‘What a lovely surprise.’

  Paula spun round to face her. For a moment Jenny thought she saw anger flash across her face, but the moment passed and Paula was smiling brightly. She must have been mistaken, she thought.

  ‘You should have told us you wanted to come across, too, Jenny,’ Paula said. ‘We would have waited for you. Silly you.’ She gave her little-girl laugh. But Paula’s bright smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, she noticed.

  She suddenly realised that Paula would have wanted Max’s undivided attention while he showed her his collection. No wonder she was annoyed to see her there. Upon reflection, she shouldn’t have invited herself along in the way that she had, and certainly not without asking the Andersons in advance. However, it was done now, and she’d have to brave it out.

  She put the photograph back down on the table.

  ‘I’m sorry for barging in on you like this,’ she said, moving over to them. ‘It was a sudden afterthought. When I woke up, I remembered that you were going to hire a car, Paula, and I thought you might like some help with the Italian.’

  ‘We didn’t have any problems, thank you. You can get an English translation online, or book through an English website – that’s what we did. But thank you for the thought, anyway,’ she added.

  Turning her back on Jenny, she started to look round the room, and then stopped. ‘Oh, Max,’ she cried, pointing to the painting that hung above the fireplace. ‘Is that the painting you had commissioned?’ She moved closer to it. ‘It has such feeling to it, such movement.’

  ‘That’s the one. And that completes my collection, such as it is.’

  Paula glanced at him over her shoulder. ‘It’s a wonderful collection. Truly it is,’ she said tremulously. ‘What a thrill to be surrounded by such beauty every day. Don’t you think so, Jenny?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘But aren’t you afraid that people might break in and steal the paintings?’ Paula asked, frowning slightly. ‘They must be worth a lot. I’d be so frightened that I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night.’

  ‘Not really. It’s only a modest collection, and I don’t make a point of going round telling people what my hobby is. The windows and gates are locked every night and whenever the house is empty; the place is as safe as Fort Knox. The shutters lock automatically so you don’t even have to remember to lock them yourself. No, I don’t think anyone could get in, even if they wanted to.’

  Paula turned back to the oil painting and stared up at it. ‘I love all of your pictures, Max, and this one is particularly stunning, but it’s my second favourite, not my favourite. My favourite is that darling still life on the landing. I love the effect of the light on the fruit. Why don’t you show it to Jenny and see if she agrees with me that it’s absolutely the most wonderful thing ever?’

  ‘OK. Jenny,’ he said with a smile, ‘let’s see if your definition of the most wonderful thing ever is the same as Paula’s.’

  ‘Whilst you’re doing that, Max, I’ll go and have a look at the view from the loggia. That’s a picture in itself, an ever-changing one.’

  ‘That’s fine; go right ahead. Come on, Jenny,’ he said, leading the way into the hall. ‘And we can see how Howard’s getting on whilst we’re up there.’

  Just as he finished speaking, they heard the sound of Howard clattering down the stairs, two at a time. Seeing them approaching the foot of the stairs, Howard came to a stop on the bottom step.

  ‘You’ll find Paula on the loggia,’ Max said with a smile. ‘I hope you got everything done that was on your list.’ He made as if to go round Howard, but Howard stayed where he was, slightly blocking the staircase.

  ‘I thought I heard your voice, Jenny. I’m very grateful to you, Max. Yes, mission definitely accomplished. At least, I hope it is.’

  ‘Where does the hope come in?’

  ‘We asked to have the car brought here on Saturday morning, but it turns out that they’ve got an operative coming to the area today. He’s got to pick up a car near here this evening and return it to them. They’ve asked if he could bring us our car tonight. Apparently, it’s cheaper for them if we take it today than if we make them send out someone on Saturday.’

  ‘I don’t see what the difficulty is. Of course you must take the car today if that’s what they want you to do.’

  ‘Well, I’ve provisionally agreed. But I wanted to check with you first to see if that was all right. I can change the arrangement if it isn’t. The point is, we’d have to bring the car back here this evening so we’d need to have the gates open. We couldn’t risk leaving a hired car outside on that narrow road all night.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be a problem. What time do you think you’ll get the car?’

  ‘I’m not quite sure. We thought we’d go up to Montefalco in the late afternoon, wait for the car, and then bring it back here. If you’ve already left for the restaurant by the time we get back, we’ll dump the car and come up on foot and join you.’

  ‘Well, why not stay in Montefalco if the driver’s late getting there? You could go straight to the restaurant and meet us there. Then you could drive the car back after dinner.’

  ‘I was going to do that, but then I realised that I wouldn’t be able to have a drink. George has been going on and on about the bottle of wine he’s going to treat us to this evening and I’m very keen to try it. That’s why I thought we’d leave the car at the house and walk back into town. It’d be a crying shame not to have a drink on our first and last restaurant dinner together.’

  ‘I take your point. Well, how about us moving back our reservation? There must be a limit to how late these drivers work. Then we could all go in the minibus together.’

  ‘That’s very sporting of you, Max, but I think it’d be unfair on George. He does so like his routine, even if his habit of oversleeping sends it a bit off course at times. And it would be a sha
me to have changed the time if the driver arrived earlier than expected. It’s more than likely we’ll be back with the car long before it’s time to leave. But there’s just an outside chance that we won’t, and that’s what I’ve been worried about.’

  ‘It’s not going to be a problem, Howard. What I suggest is, if you’re not back by the time we have to set off, we leave the main gates closed, but unlocked. After all, it’s not as if it’s going to be for very long. But you mustn’t forget to padlock them before you come up and join us.’

  ‘We won’t. I promise. Thanks a lot, Max.’ He threw him a grateful smile. Stepping to the side of the stair, he stared over Jenny’s shoulder towards the sitting room. ‘I suppose I’d better go and find Paula. It’s time we made a start on our work, especially as we’ll have to cut short our painting time today. I can’t wait to get started on a picture that’ll have you reaching for your wallet, Max.’

  All three laughed, and Howard left them and went off to find Paula.

  ‘Why don’t we leave the still life for another time,’ Max suggested, ‘and have a coffee now?’

  ‘That sounds very nice, but I don’t really think I should. I ought to follow the Andersons’ example and get back. I’ve already been here much longer than I intended.’

  He grinned at her. ‘I take it that’s a yes, then. And so it should be; they’ll be fine. You’ve taught them a huge amount in a week, and it’s up to them now to put everything together as they think best. So, let’s have that coffee.’

  Sitting side by side at a large round table on the loggia, they stared across the garden to the shadowy outline of the distant hills, grey shapes veiled in the last traces of the morning mist.

  ‘What a view,’ Jenny sighed. ‘You’ve got beauty outside your house and beauty inside it, too. I’m not sure you can claim all the credit for the first – apart from buying the house in such a lovely spot, that is – but you can for the second. You’ve an excellent eye, Max. Your appreciation of line and colour can’t be taught: it’s something that you’re either born with or you’re not.’