The Art of Deception (Choc Lit) Page 3

  As she felt herself begin to relax, she realised what a strain she’d been under since the moment she’d got up – since she’d first seen Max’s name, in fact. But happily she could now make the class her sole focus. They’d paid to be there and that was the very least they deserved.

  She took a deep breath and smiled at them all. ‘Welcome to a week devoted to painting in watercolour. It’s a fascinating medium, and much more demanding than most people think. However, even if you’re a complete beginner, you’ve no need to worry as we’re all going to go at our own pace.’

  ‘You’re right about it being difficult,’ Clare cut in. ‘I thought it would be dead easy, but it isn’t.’

  She threw Clare a sympathetic look. ‘I remember you saying in your application that you’d been trying to do some watercolours to hang on the walls of your flat, but had found it very difficult. Hopefully, by the end of the week you’ll have some paintings to take back with you.’

  ‘You’re going to hang your work on your walls, are you? Oh, how sweet,’ Nick said with a grin. Clare blushed. ‘No, I think it’s really cool,’ he added quickly. He threw her an apologetic smile, and she blushed more deeply. This time with a tinge of pleasure, Jenny noted.

  ‘Don’t worry, Clare. We’ll cover all the points you need to know during the week. Not surprisingly, though, we’re going to start with the basic techniques today – the different kinds of paper we can use for watercolour, the brushes, and so on. Then we’ll have a short break for coffee, and perhaps you’d like to have a stroll round the garden. When we regroup, I’ll demonstrate how to do a quick watercolour sketch.’

  ‘Will we be doing any painting today?’ Paula asked.

  ‘If you want to do something on your own, of course you can. You’ll have seen from the programme I gave you last night that this afternoon’s free, which means you can spend it how you want. And if you remember, I suggested you might like to go into Montefalco later on. It’s a lovely little hill-top town, about ten minutes’ drive from here. We can park the minibus just outside the old town wall, and from there it’s just a short walk up to the piazza.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the look of relief that crossed George Rayburn’s face.

  ‘I’ve been here a week already, getting everything ready for you, and getting to know the area a little. The piazza in the centre of Montefalco is shaped like a star,’ she went on, ‘which is unusual as piazzas go, and all of the narrow lanes leading off it have stunning views. It’s a place you really ought to visit whilst you’re here; if not today, on another day.’

  ‘Are there any shops there?’ Paula asked. ‘I want to take something back for Howie’s mother.’

  ‘Only a few, I’m afraid. And most close in the afternoon for two or three hours. You’d do better to wait till later in the week, Paula.’ She smiled around at them all. ‘Of course, if you’d prefer to stay here, that’s absolutely fine, too. You did a lot of travelling yesterday and you’re probably still quite tired.’

  ‘I notice, Jennifer, that you omitted any mention of the red wine for which Montefalco is so well known,’ George Rayburn admonished her, waggling his index finger.

  She laughed. ‘So I did, Mr Rayburn. And I also forgot to mention the internet café. It’s on the left, just before you reach the piazza. You’ll see some chairs and tables on the terrace in front of it. I think it’s open today if you want to e-mail anyone at home. It’s much cheaper than using your mobile. And there’s a car hire place next to the internet café, so if you feel you need to escape before the week is over …’

  They all laughed.

  ‘Hey, we’ve got visitors,’ Howard exclaimed, sitting up and staring across the terrace towards the house. ‘They must have used the path that links the gardens – we noticed it yesterday when we had a late night stroll. I’ll bet one of them is destined for the empty chair.’

  Oh, no, she thought, in sudden panic.

  She turned to see Max Castanien walking across the grass towards them with a younger man at his side.

  Her heart began to thump fast – this was it.

  Every single meeting, every single word, was going to count if they were to become friends. And they must. It was the only chance she might ever have of learning the truth about her father’s death.

  A pounding in her ears, she rose from her seat and went forward to greet the two men.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Jenny, this is my nephew, Stephen.’ Max Castanien gestured to the young man at his side.

  Stephen pushed a lock of light brown hair back from his forehead, beamed at Jenny and stepped forward to shake her hand. She vaguely registered that he had a firm grip, just like his uncle, and that whilst he resembled his father, he had his uncle’s square-cut chin. Then she turned to the group.

  ‘I’d like to introduce you to Mr Castanien, who’s responsible for the fact that we’re here in these lovely surroundings, and to his nephew, Stephen,’ she said brightly. ‘Stephen’s going to come to some of the classes. That’s right, isn’t it, Stephen?’ She turned back and directed a welcoming smile at him.

  ‘Well, sort of. Actually, I was originally going to go to only one or two of the classes, but I’ve just changed my mind and I think I’d like to do the whole thing, if that’s OK with you. I can’t draw for toffee, but I think it could be fun.’ His eyes were on Clare as he spoke.

  ‘Join the club,’ Howard called. ‘Just wait till you see how awful I am: I’ll make everyone else look brilliant.’

  In the laughter that followed, Jenny felt herself unwinding. The worst was over now: she’d met her employer for the second time and it hadn’t been too bad. In future she wouldn’t get into such a state again.

  ‘Why don’t you take the empty chair next to Clare, Stephen? I’ll let everyone introduce themselves in their own time.’ She turned to Max. ‘Would you like to stay for a while? It would be easy enough to pull up a chair for you. I was just about to start running through the basic techniques.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Jenny. It’s an attractive offer, but no, thank you. We didn’t get here till late last night and there are a number of things I must do. If you don’t mind, though, we’ll both come across and join you for dinner this evening.’

  ‘Not at all. It’ll be our pleasure.’

  He glanced quickly at the group and then back at her. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, lowering his voice. ‘You’re only just beginning to get to know each other, and I wouldn’t want to interfere with the group dynamics. Tell me honestly if you’d prefer us not to come. This week you’re in charge of what goes on in this house, not me.’

  ‘Please do join us for dinner tonight. Stephen’s a member of the group now so it’s only right that he joins us if he wants to, and I’m sure that we’d all like to get to know you better.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you to say so, even though it’s probably not strictly true,’ he added with a wry grin. ‘But I’ve one or two reasons for wanting to join you. The main one, obviously, is to have an enjoyable evening in good company, but also I’m curious to know more about the sort of people who come on a course like this. It’s research, in a way, as I need to understand the nature of our potential clientele. I obviously had some research done before I decided to launch the course, but you can’t beat hearing from people who’ve actually paid to come to such a class.’

  ‘Naturally. It’ll tell you how to focus the marketing next year.’

  He nodded, and turned slightly, as if to leave. ‘You and I seem to be on the same wavelength, Jenny. As far as Stephen’s concerned, however …’ He looked around for Stephen, and his face broke into a broad smile. ‘I’m not sure that my nephew’s motivation for spending time here is quite the same as mine.’

  She followed the direction of his eyes. Stephen was sitting next to Clare, and was gazing at her with puppy-dog longing.

  She burst out laughing. ‘Whatever your motivations, I look forward to seeing you both this evening.’


  And she did.

  Her best hope of getting close to the man was most likely to be in the evenings, when he was relaxing after a lovely meal accompanied by good wine and lively conversation. At times like that, tongues were loosened.

  Max turned away from her to look towards the group. She glanced at his strong profile, the laughter lines in the corner of his eyes, the suggestion of muscle beneath his T-shirt. If only …

  With a sudden jerk, she realised that he was talking to the class.

  ‘… and since I suspect that we’re going to be seeing a fair amount of each other this week, perhaps you’d call me Max. There’s no need to be formal.’ He indicated his jeans and T-shirt. ‘I’m not exactly dressed for the office, as you can see.’

  He turned back to Jenny and smiled into her face, his dark eyes warm. She caught her breath as a heady sensation ran through her body.

  ‘And now I really must be off, Jenny,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget, if anyone needs anything, tell Maria. It’s her job to look after you.’

  ‘I will. Yes, of course.’

  ‘She’ll be here daily from before breakfast till after dinner, apart from the afternoons. The others will have to go through you to her as she doesn’t speak English, but you’ve probably found that out by now. But she does understand wild gesticulations,’ he added with a laugh. ‘That’s how I communicate with her and with Carlo. Carlo’s her husband, but again, I expect you already know that, and you’ll know that he’s the one who’ll drive the minibus for you.’

  ‘Yes, I do. That’ll work out really well, thank you.’

  ‘Right, I’ll leave Stephen with you now – he’ll come back over when he’s ready.’

  They both glanced at Stephen at the same moment. He was speaking intently to Clare, his head very close to hers.

  ‘Alternatively, you can kick him out when you’ve had enough of him,’ Max added with a laugh.

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary,’ she said brightly. ‘We’ll see you tonight then, Max.’

  He nodded. ‘We’ll come across at about eight, in time for the pre-dinner drink on the terrace.’ He gave her a broad smile. ‘Well, I’d better leave you to it. I’ll see you later.’

  He raised his hand in a slight wave, turned and went back across the terrace towards the line of cypress trees.

  She stared for a moment at the spot where he’d stood. Then, trembling slightly, she turned back to the group. ‘Now where was I?’ she said. ‘Oh, yes, the basics of watercolour. Yes, that was it. The basics.’ Making a determined effort to push all thoughts of Max to the back of her mind, she leaned forward in her chair and began her lesson.

  She sat under a parasol outside the small café at the edge of the Piazza del Comune, licking her ice cream while she waited for the class to finish looking around Montefalco and listening to George Rayburn making appreciative noises inside the café as he sampled a variety of red wines.

  ‘It’s my intention to take a bottle of the Sagrantino back to England with me, dear lady,’ he’d told her as they’d made their way across the piazza to the café after saying goodbye to Howard and Paula, who were off to explore the town on their own. ‘But before making any purchase, I need to ascertain that the wine I buy is the best of its kind for the price that I wish to pay.’

  ‘Just remember the luggage weight restrictions, Mr Rayburn,’ she’d cautioned him. ‘And also that you want to enjoy your dinner this evening,’ she’d added with a little giggle.

  ‘I can assure you, Jennifer, that I know my own capacity and intend to stay well within it. But I thank you for your concern.’ He’d given her a little bow and had led the way past the signs that advertised wine-tasting and into the dimly lit interior of the café.

  After she’d explained George’s requirements to the vintner, she’d bought herself a vanilla ice cream and had gone and sat outside. As she bit into the sugar cone, she wondered what Max was doing that afternoon. He might be working, or he might have decided to have a swim.

  She’d seen a large pool at the side of his house when she’d taken a stroll round the garden one evening not long after she’d arrived, and she could just imagine him streaking through the clear water, the sunlight catching the droplets that fell from his shoulders. It was obvious from the hint of biceps under his T-shirt that morning that he had a fantastic body and most women would find it impossible to keep their hands off him.

  A sudden yearning swept through her.

  Abruptly she changed her position. What on earth had she been doing, letting herself think about the man like that? She was here to find out the role that his family played in her father’s death. Thinking about how sexy he was, a man who’d killed someone … well, she just mustn’t. What kind of person would that make her?

  A loud ‘Bravo!’ from within the café broke into her thoughts, and she snapped out of her reverie. Whatever Max was doing that afternoon was up to him. More importantly, George Rayburn was having a good time, and hopefully the others were, too.

  Paula and Howard were bound to be enjoying themselves – the two of them alone, wandering around a beautiful little town, surrounded by the scent of flowers and the singing of birds. What more could any honeymooning couple ask for?

  It was the other three she wasn’t too sure about.

  The visit to the Church of San Francesco, which was now a museum, could hardly have been described as an out-and-out success. Whilst Howard, Paula and George had been listening with apparent interest as she’d led them along a sequence of large frescoes, giving the talk she’d prepared about them, Nick, Clare and Stephen had been escaping through the back door. They’d disappeared long before she’d got halfway.

  She took another bite of the cone. It was a timely reminder that they weren’t students of art history. They were three young people who’d thought that it might be fun to have a week in Italy learning how to use watercolours, but that didn’t mean they were automatically going to be interested in medieval art, or in any other sort of art for that matter.

  And the same could be said of everyone in the group. Although the Andersons and George had seemed to enjoy the frescoes and paintings that afternoon, she mustn’t assume that they’d want to go to a gallery or museum in every town they visited.

  This was all part of her learning curve. When she got back to the house, she’d look again at her plans for their visits to Bevagna and Assisi and make sure that she’d got the right balance between activities and free time.

  In a way, the present group were guinea pigs, but that didn’t mean that they would be short-changed. On the contrary, they’d probably get more than they’d expected, and perhaps more than they’d even wanted. But with the groups next year …

  She stopped short. But there might not be a next year as far as she was concerned. She was there to find out about Max Castanien’s role in the death of her father, and once she knew, she’d obviously be off. She and her mother would be able to move on, and all thoughts of the Castanien family would be consigned to the past.

  If she was truly honest with herself, she knew that she found Max extremely attractive, and in other circumstances, she’d have wanted to do something about it. But there weren’t any other circumstances – and much as her body might be telling her to let nature take its course, her head was telling her that getting involved with a man like Max Castanien would bring her nothing but pain. Even worse, it would be a betrayal of her father.

  She felt overwhelmingly bleak.

  The sound of laughter reached her across the piazza and, looking up from her ice cream, she saw Nick and Clare emerging from one of the lanes. A moment later, Stephen appeared, trailing along behind them. Nick and Clare were the only ones who seemed amused by whatever had been said, she noticed. Stephen looked distinctly miserable as he followed in the tracks of the other two.

  A twinge of unease ran through her and she brought her mind sharply back into the present. She didn’t like the look of the situation she could see developing be
tween the three of them, and she must keep an eye on them. Two men after the same girl was never good news. It was even worse when one of the men was Max’s paying customer, whose enjoyment of the week was a prime consideration, and the other an outsider – but an outsider who just happened to be the boss’s nephew.

  If Stephen became really unhappy, Max would soon pick up on it, and if he became annoyed by the situation, he might just hold her responsible. If he did that, it would be harder for her to get as close to him as she needed to be. She’d have to do something about the situation if it looked like it was getting out of hand, and fast. But she couldn’t imagine what.

  ‘Are we the first to get back?’ Nick asked, throwing himself into the chair opposite Jenny. Clare sat down between them. A moment later, Stephen reached them and took the last chair.

  ‘Not quite. Mr Rayburn’s inside the café, tasting some of the red wines.’

  ‘Did I hear someone take my name in vain?’ George asked, emerging from the café, his cheeks heightened in colour. He beamed around the table. Stephen got up quickly, pulled a chair from the next table into the space between Nick and Clare and helped George into it; then he sat down again. Nick glanced quickly at George, and gave Clare a wry smile. She went pink and looked away. Stephen glared at Nick.

  ‘Did you find a wine that you wanted to buy, Mr Rayburn?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Alas, dear lady, I fear that the Sagrantino may well prove to be beyond my purse, and I will have to go for a good, but somewhat inferior, wine. However, that charming vintner is going to bring in a bottle of a very special Sagrantino for me to taste. I told him that I’d return on Friday, and he understood my assurance that I’d definitely be back at the end of the week. It’s quite amazing how the language of vino rosso transcends linguistic differences.’

  ‘I’m sure it is,’ Nick murmured.

  Clare smothered a laugh.

  Stephen scowled at Nick. ‘Where are the other two – Paula and Howard?’ he asked, looking around the piazza. ‘I haven’t seen them since the museum.’