The Art of Deception (Choc Lit) Read online

  Her heart was in her mouth.

  ‘Today was about seeing if we’d get on with each other. My house on the estate is only a stone’s throw from the one where the classes are going to be held, so I’ll be regularly bumping into whoever’s teaching them, and that makes it important that we rub along well.’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, nodding. She desperately hoped that he couldn’t hear the loud thudding of her heart. ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure that you and I could get on, and the job is yours if you want it,’ he said with a smile. A powerful wave of relief surged through her, and she felt weak. ‘But don’t worry,’ he added. ‘I’m not expecting an answer this moment. I’m sure you’ll want to go away and think about it, talk it over with your family perhaps.’

  ‘I don’t need to think about it,’ she said quickly. ‘From the moment I saw your advert, I’ve not been able to think about anything other than what a marvellous opportunity it would be. Thank you very much, Mr Castanien. I’d love to run the classes for you.’

  His face broke into a broad smile and he reached across the table, his hand outstretched. As she leaned over to shake his hand, all she could see was the two broad shoulders in front of her.

  He sat back. ‘Now that that’s agreed, I can tell you what I’ve decided. I know I said in the advert that the job was to run art classes throughout the summer, but I’ve been giving that some thought. My feeling is that it’s probably too late now to get a full summer of classes off the ground, especially as I’m short of material that I can use to advertise the courses. I suggest that we treat this as a practice year and run one class only.’

  ‘One class only?’ she echoed, her heart sinking.

  ‘Don’t look so downcast,’ he laughed. ‘I still want you there for the whole of the summer. I need you there well ahead of the class so that you can organise everything and order what you need. Then you’ll run the course for the week, and when it’s over, we’ll have a better idea of what to offer in the future, and how to plan it and price it.’

  ‘I suppose that makes sense.’

  ‘I really think it’s the best thing to do. I’ve worked out what to charge for the week this year, but much of it is based on guesswork. When the students have gone home, I’d like you to stay on for the rest of the summer and produce some sketches of the house and area that I can use for promotional purposes. And I was thinking of commissioning a painting of the estate – an original for my collection which could also be used in the marketing material. It would be a real waste not to take advantage of having an artist of your calibre there. So, what do you think of the idea?’

  ‘I think it sounds amazing,’ she said, fighting back a rising sense of excitement that she ought not to be feeling – the job was only a means to an end, after all. ‘I feel as if I’ve just been given the dream job: it’s the job of a lifetime. Thank you, Mr Castanien.’

  ‘Oh, I think you can call me Max now, don’t you? After all, we’re going to be working closely with each other this summer.’

  She smiled broadly at him. ‘And I’m Jenny, of course.’ She paused a moment. ‘I hope I don’t disappoint you.’

  He gave her a slow smile. ‘I don’t think you will, Jenny. I think I’ve been very lucky to find you. Now, let’s talk about dates and how we’re going to organise everything.’

  Her senses spinning, she walked out of the building.

  On the surface Max Castanien was charming, easy to get on with, and had dark good looks and a sense of fun that she’d normally find so attractive; in fact, he was the sort of man you could easily fall in love with. But not her. She wasn’t going to let herself be taken in by what was on the surface. She knew from what her mother had told her that his beauty could only be skin deep. She must never for one minute forget that he was one of the two men whose actions had led to the death of her father. Every time he turned on the charm, she must consciously remind herself of that.

  She raised her arm to hail an approaching taxi. If only he were ugly, she thought as she stepped into the taxi; it’d be so much easier to think the worst of him.

  Her ticket for Italy and the travel details came soon after her interview, along with a note from Max telling her that he and his nephew, Stephen, would be arriving at their house shortly before the week-long course began. He added that Stephen had said that he’d like to go to some of the classes, but only if she didn’t mind. She was fully at liberty to say no if she wanted to.

  Of course she didn’t mind. On the contrary, she was thrilled: it meant that she was likely to meet her employer more often than she would otherwise have done. The more they met up, the greater the chance of a friendship developing between them, and her best hope of finding out what she needed to know lay in the exchange of casual comments between friends.

  She’d promptly written back saying that she’d be delighted if Stephen joined the class. She’d paused a moment, and then added that she was very much looking forward to meeting Max again.

  And, indeed, she was.

  Chapter Three

  The air was filled with the heady aroma of the lilac-coloured wisteria that grew in profusion around the grey stone walls of the Umbrian house.

  Jenny paused in the middle of arranging chairs in a semi-circle at the edge of the terrace, and glanced across the garden towards the distant hills, which were shimmering in a haze of blue and purple. Drawn by the view, she left the rest of the chairs where they were, and went along a path flanked by lavender bushes that took her past the pool and out on to an expanse of lush green grass, which ended at the top of a steep slope.

  She stood at the edge of the slope and stared at the scene in front of her.

  Neat rows of grey-green olive trees lined the sides of the hill as it fell to the wide plain below. Beyond the trees, a violet haze drifted upwards, uncovering fields that were painted in shades of green and sunflower yellow. A road, bordered by scattered oak and elm trees, meandered across the plain to the small Roman town of Bevagna, winding its way past clusters of grey stone houses whose walls and tiled roofs were taking on a golden hue in the rays of the early morning sun.

  No wonder Max Castanien had fallen in love with the area, she thought.

  A light breeze swept across the side of the mountain and she felt the coarse grass tickle her bare toes. Looking down at her feet, she saw that her sandals were damp where they’d brushed against the dew-tipped poppies and grape hyacinths growing among the grass.

  She glanced up and stared again at the view, a wave of sadness sweeping through her. She was about to spend the best part of two months in a stunning place, and she should be looking forward to relaxing and spending a blissful summer doing something she really loved. Instead, she’d have to be constantly on her guard to make sure that the beauty of the place, and the undeniable attractiveness of her boss, didn’t distract her from her task, even for a moment. And what’s more, she was going to have to put up with another of that hateful family – Max’s nephew. It was going to be one long stressful summer, and she almost wished she’d never met Max Castanien.

  She mentally shook herself – she mustn’t think like that. She’d sought him out and she’d come to Umbria for one purpose alone. That had to be her top priority. No, her only priority. It was the sole reason she was there. The rugged appeal of her boss, the beauty of the place, the thrill of her first paid teaching job – all paled to insignificance next to the goal that had brought her there.

  With a last glance at the panorama in front of her, she turned round and walked quickly back to the house. Reaching the terrace, she shook some loose gravel out of her sandals, then she picked up the chair nearest to her and added it to the semi-circle.

  ‘D’you want a hand?’ she heard a female voice call.

  Looking up, she saw a red-haired girl on the terrace in front of the patio doors. ‘It’s OK, Clare; I’m fine thanks. But it was nice of you to offer.’

  ‘I don’t mind helping, if you want me to,’ Clare
said, coming towards her.

  ‘It’s very kind of you, but I’ve done it now. It wasn’t exactly demanding – a chair for each of the six of you, one for me, a table, an easel and some equipment.’

  ‘There are only five of us,’ Clare said. ‘At least, there were only five of us at dinner last night, not counting you.’

  ‘There’s a sixth, but I don’t know whether he’s joining us this morning or not. He and his uncle arrived from England late last night. They’re in the main house; you can just about see it if you look over there.’ She pointed towards the row of tall, dark cypress trees which ran down the side of the garden to the top of the slope. A stone house could be glimpsed through the trees. ‘Both of the houses belong to Mr Castanien. His main home’s in England, though.’

  ‘Wow, he owns all this? Is he tall, dark and handsome? Forget that – is he married or single? And what about the nephew?’

  Jenny pushed a smile to her lips as she arranged the final chair so that it faced the other six. She looked at the arrangement, and moved her chair back a little, increasing the distance between her and the others. Straightening up, her eyes strayed towards the row of cypress trees. He could arrive at any minute – she felt a nervous fluttering in her stomach.

  ‘You can have the uncle. I’ll have the nephew,’ Clare went on cheerfully.

  ‘Sight unseen?’ Jenny said, struggling to inject a playful note into her voice. Her stomach in knots, she went over to her easel and pulled it to the side of her chair so that it faced the semi-circle.

  ‘You bet,’ Clare giggled. She rushed forward to help with the easel. ‘And it’s not completely sight unseen – I’ve seen the house. Or houses. If this is what they’ve got here, just imagine what they’ve got at home. Oh, look; we’ve got company. It’s Paula.’

  Jenny’s gaze followed Clare’s to a woman with long black hair, who was standing under the leafy awning that shaded part of the terrace. The woman looked briefly around her, and then started to walk across to them.

  ‘I hope she’s not going to go on all the time like she did last night. She could gush for England,’ Clare muttered under her breath.

  Jenny gave an involuntary smile of amusement. ‘I didn’t hear that.’ She hooked a large flip-over pad of white paper to the top of the easel and pulled over a low table with a large box on it.

  Paula reached them and gave a tinkling laugh. ‘So this is where the girls gather.’

  ‘Not by design,’ Jenny said with a welcoming smile. ‘But we do seem to be the early birds of the group.’ She bent down, opened the box and took out a selection of brushes and art paper. Then she straightened up. ‘Well, I think that’s all the setting up done for now. Have the two of you had breakfast?’

  ‘I have,’ Clare said. ‘Not that I ever have much of a breakfast. Coffee’s all I can ever stomach this soon after waking up.’

  ‘I’ve eaten, but Howie hadn’t quite finished so I left him to it. He won’t be long, though. We had our breakfast by ourselves on our private patio. We thought we’d do that each morning, if that’s all right. Being newly-weds and all that,’ she added, with a little-girl laugh.

  ‘Of course it’s all right,’ Jenny assured her, smothering her rising irritation with Paula and her simpering. That she was a little too old to be carrying on in the way that she was made it doubly annoying. ‘You’re all free to have breakfast wherever you want.’

  ‘I’d much rather have company,’ Clare said.

  ‘Just wait till you’re married,’ Paula replied. ‘You’ll realise then that there’s such a thing as too much company at certain times.’ She gave another little laugh, pushed her hair behind her ears, closed her eyes and looked up towards the sun. ‘It’s going to be really hot today.’

  ‘It certainly looks that way: there was a definite heat haze over the valley this morning,’ Jenny said. She glanced towards the patio doors. ‘I shouldn’t think Mr Rayburn and Nicholas will be much longer, and it doesn’t sound as if Howard will be. I’ve put the chairs out, so if you want, you can sit down and wait for them to arrive, or you can go for a stroll round the garden. The view’s extraordinary at any time of day, but the morning light creates an almost surreal effect.’

  ‘Good morning, ladies. Or should I say buon giorno. We are in Italy, after all.’

  Jenny turned and smiled warmly at the grey-haired man approaching them.

  ‘Good morning, Mr Rayburn. I hope you slept well.’

  ‘Indeed, I did, dear lady. Like the proverbial log.’

  ‘That’s good. I was just suggesting to Paula and Clare that they might like to have a wander round the garden while we’re waiting for everyone to get here.’

  ‘No need.’ A tall, slim man in his early thirties hurried out on to the terrace. ‘You can tick my name off the list, and Nicholas’s too. He’ll be out in a minute – he’s just finishing his coffee.’

  ‘Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat, Howie darling?’ Paula asked, moving to her husband’s side. She clutched his arm and gazed adoringly up at him.

  He gave a theatrical groan and rubbed his stomach. ‘More than enough, sweetheart. I should have stopped long before I did. You’re going to be going home with a very fat husband, if I don’t watch it.’

  ‘Then it’ll be all the more to love,’ she murmured. They smiled into each other’s eyes, and their lips lightly touched.

  Clare glanced at Jenny and pulled a face.

  Running footsteps could be heard from inside the house, and a young man bounded out on to the terrace.

  ‘I hope you haven’t all been waiting for me,’ he said, panting hard as he reached them.

  Jenny heard Clare give a whistle behind her. ‘He looks even better in the daylight,’ she said in a low voice that only Jenny could have heard.

  She smiled inwardly – she was getting the strong impression that Clare’s mind that week was not going to be solely on the use of watercolour.

  ‘Not at all, Nicholas,’ she said. ‘You’ve all arrived at pretty much the same time. Did you sleep well?’

  ‘Fine, thanks. The bed’s dead comfortable. I think I must have been more tired than I realised – I fell asleep the moment I hit the pillow. Or perhaps it was the wine last night. And you can call me Nick, if you want. It’s less of a mouthful. I should have said so last night.’ His smile was directed at Clare.

  ‘Right, then – Nick it is.’ Jenny looked around the group. ‘Well, we’re all here now, apart from Stephen, Mr Castanien’s nephew, that is. And I don’t know if Mr Castanien intends to come across and say hello.’

  Anxiety tightened into a knot in the pit of her stomach, and she glanced quickly towards the cypress trees, but there was no sign of anyone. Struggling to get her nervousness under control, she looked back at the group and forced a smile. ‘I’m not sure if Stephen’s going to join us today, so I suggest we make a start without him. If you’d like to take a seat, I’ll begin with a general introduction to watercolour.’

  ‘Who’s Mr Castanien when he’s at home?’ Nick asked, edging round to Clare’s side.

  ‘He owns this house, but he and his nephew are in the main house.’ Jenny said. ‘Stephen’s going to come to one or two classes, but it won’t affect what we do. If he turns up, that’s fine; if he doesn’t, he doesn’t.’

  She sat down facing them, waiting for them to take their places.

  A wave of fear shot through her, taking her completely by surprise.

  Having got through two demanding secondary school placements during her PGCE year, she’d thought that a class of people who’d chosen to be there would be a doddle and she wouldn’t be at all nervous. But amazingly, she felt terrified.

  The tension she felt about Max possibly arriving at any moment must be affecting her, she decided. Putting her hand to her mouth, she took a deep breath and tried to quell the butterflies in her stomach. Glancing around the semi-circle, she saw that Mr Rayburn was the only one who hadn’t yet sat down. He was looking anxiously at his chair
. She began to stand up. ‘Can you manage, Mr Rayburn?’

  He waved her back. ‘Have no fear, Jennifer. I’m perfectly fine. I’m just getting my bearings.’ He sat down cautiously. ‘I’ll soon be giving you young ones a run for your money, you’ll see.’ He nodded cheerfully at the rest of the group.

  They smiled politely back at him.

  As she sank back on to her seat again, she noticed that Nick had managed to get the chair next to Clare’s and Clare didn’t look at all disappointed about it. She smiled inwardly. He was obviously good-looking enough in Clare’s eyes to make her forget about the Castaniens and their houses, which was just as well from what she knew about the family.

  Paula was on the other side of Nick, but she had eyes only for Howard, who was next to her. Their every action was punctuated with a loving glance. No surprises there either – they were on their honeymoon, as they’d not tired of telling the group at dinner the evening before.

  George Rayburn sat on the other side of Howard, at the end of the row. She noticed that he was surreptitiously shifting his position every few minutes, clearly trying to get more comfortable.

  She didn’t want to do anything that would have drawn attention to his need for something with greater support, but as soon as they stopped for coffee, she’d see if she could find him a more suitable chair for the week. Whatever he’d said about keeping up with them, it wasn’t going to be easy for someone well past retirement age to keep up with people so many years younger, and she must try to anticipate any difficulties he might face.

  But that was for the future – it was time for her to begin the first class of the week. And not a minute too soon – she’d feel less shaky once she’d begun. Luckily, it looked like it was going to be just her and the group that day, and that was a huge relief. She’d definitely feel more up to facing her employer when she had at least one session under her belt.