The Art of Deception (Choc Lit) Page 8

  They nodded.

  ‘If you’re thirsty, you can pick up something from the bar here or from the one in Piazza Garibaldi, which is near the remains of the Roman temple. There are several little shops, which sell specialities of the region, but they won’t be open till later. I don’t know if you still want to do any shopping, Paula, but you’re probably better hanging on until Assisi tomorrow, if you can.’ She turned and pointed to the fountain. ‘As you can see, the fountain has a couple of water spouts. If you want, you can drink from them, although personally I never drink from a fountain, whatever the sign says.’

  Max nodded. ‘I’m with Jenny on that. I’d follow her advice, if I were you.’ The warmth in his voice embraced her.

  Suddenly self-conscious, she raised her hand and smoothed down her hair.

  ‘Where was I?’ she said, trying to get her thoughts back on track. ‘Oh, yes, talking about water. Do try and see the old Roman baths. They’re under a building that’s accessed through a side door. It’s marked on the map. You have to ring the bell at number two, which is the house on the left, and ask the custodian to let you in, but it’s free of charge.’

  ‘Think I’ll give that a miss. I’ve seen Roman baths before,’ Nick said.

  ‘That may be,’ Max cut in, ‘but this is the most magnificent sheet of mosaic flooring that I’ve seen anywhere. The details on the sea creatures are quite amazing. A display on one of the walls shows you what the bath would have looked like two thousand years ago and how the Romans would have used it. Believe me, it’s worth a visit.’

  ‘Howie and I are definitely going to go there before we go anywhere else,’ Paula said quickly. ‘Aren’t we, Howie?’

  ‘Whatever makes you happy, sweetheart.’

  Jenny smiled around at the group. ‘Is there anything anyone wants to ask me?’

  They shook their heads.

  ‘It’s three o’clock now. Why don’t we meet here again at six-thirty? That will give you plenty of time to see all you want, and the shops will have been open for a little while in case you want to have a quick browse through them before we leave. Hopefully, you’ll have managed to fit a drawing in, too. I’ll try to get round to all of you at some point during the afternoon. Well, I see that Carlo’s in position now, so off you go.’

  ‘And a most attractive position it is, too,’ she heard George remark to Nick, indicating Carlo, who had joined the men sitting in front of the bar.

  She turned to Max. The others had gone, and they were completely alone at last. Despite the daunting task ahead of her, she couldn’t help feeling a frisson of excitement.

  Chapter Eight

  Jenny leaned forward and helped herself to a small tomato bruschetta.

  ‘I really shouldn’t be eating this,’ she said, popping it into her mouth. ‘I had a very good lunch, and I know what Maria’s got planned for this evening. I’ll be enormous by the time I’m back in England.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ve anything to worry about,’ Max said warmly. Their eyes met across the table but both immediately looked away. He glanced round the almost-empty square. ‘I had the right idea, bringing you here,’ he said. ‘It’s never as crowded as it is in Silvestri. Paula and Howard will be long gone by now – we were in the shop for quite a while – and if any of the other budding Picassos had thought about venturing all the way across the town, you mentioning a Roman temple in the vicinity is bound to have put them off. I’m sure we’re safe for a bit.’

  She laughed. ‘I think you’re being a little hard on them.’

  He grinned. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘But I will admit that not one of them, not even Paula, comes close to having the same degree of interest in art and aesthetics as you do, Max. And I’m not just talking about your collection of paintings and the galleries you visit. Look at the care you’re taking over the interior of your house, and it isn’t even your main home. How many other people would bother about the colour and shape of a fruit bowl?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. I hadn’t really thought about it, but the family business is textiles, and that requires an eye for colour, texture and design. I guess those interests are in my genes.’ He leaned forward to take a truffle-topped bruschetta.

  At the same moment Jenny reached for another tomato one. Their hands touched. Sparks of electricity winged up her bare arm, and she pulled quickly back.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, pushing the plate towards her. ‘Have another one. If you don’t, I’ll feel guilty about eating so many.’

  ‘Oh, all right, then.’ Her skin still tingling, she reached for the bruschetta. She bit into it, and stopped – he’d just mentioned his family and she’d almost missed it! It may have only been a passing remark, but this was the opening she’d been waiting for, and she should’ve instantly seen it. What on earth was the matter with her? She must pull herself together, and fast.

  She swallowed the mouthful of bruschetta. ‘Are your parents as interested in interior decoration as you are, Max?’ she asked, keeping her voice casual.

  ‘I’ve never really thought about it. They certainly took great care over the pictures they hung on their walls. They didn’t have a collection as such, though. And not one of us – not me, not my parents, not my brother – was any good at drawing. We’re not creative in that way: just appreciative.’

  He’d mentioned Peter, and she couldn’t not build on this.

  She felt cold all over. She was going to have to remind him that he’d lost his brother. She hated the idea of doing such a horrible thing, but he might think it strange if she didn’t pick up on the mention of him. And this could be the only chance she’d have to talk about his family. No, she’d no choice but to make the most of it.

  She made a conscious effort to think of her mother’s features, etched with a grief that had lasted so many years, and she took a deep breath.

  ‘When I first saw your advert, I googled your company and I couldn’t help seeing the obituaries for your brother. I’m so sorry, Max. He was very young to die. And Stephen was very young to lose his father. It must have been terrible for your family.’

  ‘It was,’ he said quietly. ‘Really terrible. I’d never want to live through a time like that again. Peter was eight years older than me, but despite our age difference he was my best friend. I joined the family business very young – I used to help in the office when I was still at school, and I joined the company full-time when I was sixteen. Peter was there for me every step of the way. That probably made us even closer. Stephen was only fourteen when his dad died. I’ve tried to be a stand-in father to him, but I know he still misses Peter. And so do I.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, perhaps you’d rather not talk about him.’

  ‘No, it’s OK. He’ll always be a very important part of my life and I wouldn’t want him to be forgotten, or to be someone who could only be mentioned in hushed tones. I’m not saying he was an angel, mind you – he wasn’t. He made decisions I didn’t agree with and I told him so, but he was a terrific brother and I’m happy to have a chance to talk about him. Anyway, that’s enough about me. What about you? Are your parents artists?’

  ‘I don’t know about my dad, but my mother could have been very good. Unfortunately, though, she could only paint as a hobby.’ She paused, and then quickly went on. ‘She was very young when she had me, and she and my father had a lot of financial worries so there just wasn’t enough time and money for her to take it seriously.’

  ‘What does your father do?’

  For a moment she wondered whether she should end the deception that was beginning to tear her apart, and tell him the truth. But the moment passed: it was just too soon in their friendship. ‘He had his own business. Stephen and I have something in common – my father also died when I was young. Afterwards, my mother lost any desire to paint. She hasn’t picked up a brush since then, and I don’t think she ever will again.’

  ‘I’m sorry for asking you something that led to a sad memory.’ He paused for a momen
t. ‘But they would have come up at some point – your father and Peter, I mean.’

  A chill ran through her. Had he guessed who she was?

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Her voice seemed to come from far away.

  He stared into her face. ‘Because I want to get to know you better,’ he said quietly. ‘Until today, I’ve only been scratching the surface. I may not have known you for long, Jenny, but it’s been long enough for me to know that I want to learn much more about you.’

  She relaxed again. ‘How funny,’ she said, her voice shaking a little. ‘I feel exactly the same about you.’ She felt herself start to blush.

  ‘Well, if we’re going to delve deep below the surface, perhaps we should anaesthetise ourselves first. How about another white wine? We’ve got the time.’

  ‘I’ll have an Aperol soda this time, please. I’ve still got to have a look at everyone’s work, and I don’t want to be seeing double when I do my rounds.’

  He laughed and stood up. ‘You’re right about that. I’m sure that one of each noble effort will be more than enough. I’ll be back in a minute.’ He disappeared into the dark interior of the restaurant.

  Jenny stared around the piazza, biting her lip. They’d finally got on to the subject of their families, which was a huge leap forward, and he’d even gone as far as to hint about things that his company had got wrong in the past. Perhaps he’d even been thinking about her father. She’d love to know, but she couldn’t ask him yet. No, she couldn’t have asked for the afternoon to have gone better. So why did she feel so flat, she wondered.

  Max returned to the table, closely followed by a waiter who was carrying a tray of drinks.

  He sat down. ‘I’ve asked for some more of the crostini with wild boar pâté,’ he said as the waiter put their drinks in front of them. ‘I’m having the same as you: it looks refreshing.’

  ‘Did you make yourself understood in there?’ she asked with a smile.

  He laughed. ‘We’ll soon find out. I certainly hope so. I know that cinghiale is wild boar, but if they didn’t understand pâté, we could have a problem of enormous dimensions on a tiny bit of toasted bread. Cheers.’ He raised his glass to her.

  ‘Salute,’ she reciprocated, and took a sip of her drink. ‘Are you planning on spending a lot of time in Italy, Max? After all, you seem to be treating your house as more than just a holiday home, putting good paintings on the walls and paying a lot of attention to items like fruit bowls.’

  ‘I hope to come over several times a year, even if I can only stay for a few days at a time on some of the visits. I intend to stay for the whole of every August, though, and I see the art courses as being one of the highlights of the summer.’

  ‘Even with people like Paula on them? She should never have asked to see your paintings or use the internet. She knows your house is off-limits – I told them so at the start of the week.’

  ‘It’s not a problem. I should’ve arranged for the internet to be installed before they got here – not everyone has a smartphone and it’s reasonable for them to want to check their e-mails. I’ll sort that out before next year.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, but if you change your mind, I can easily have a word with Howard and Paula.’

  ‘It’s nothing. I really don’t mind.’ He leaned closer to her. ‘But what’s far from nothing is the fact that I promised to take you to a local restaurant to sample their tagliatelle al tartufo. As you can see, I haven’t forgotten.’

  She laughed. ‘Don’t worry – you were just being polite. I won’t hold you to your promise. After all, we were just joking around, weren’t we?’

  ‘Isn’t there a saying, many a true promise is spoken in jest?’

  She laughed again. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘I do. A promise is a promise and we shall go.’ She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. ‘Stop. I know what you’re going to say. We’ll go, but not while the class is here. It’s pretty obvious that you can’t leave them for the whole evening: you’re the one who’s holding the different elements together and you need to be there. I shall just have to be patient.’

  ‘So when do you suggest we go, then?’ she asked, trying to quell the sense of excitement that was welling up inside her.

  ‘On Saturday evening. The group will be leaving for home throughout the day, but I think I’m right in saying that they’ll all be gone by late afternoon. You’re bound to be feeling a bit lonely when they’ve left, and actually, so will I. Going out to dinner together will be the perfect way to end the week.’

  ‘What about Stephen?’

  ‘There’s enough to keep him amused at the house. If he’s truly desperate, he could make a start on his university work. So, is that agreed?’

  She looked up from her drink and stared at him. In the depths of his eyes, there was unmistakable admiration. But there was something else, too.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she said, her voice strange to her ears. ‘Thank you. I’m already looking forward to it.’

  And she realised that despite her determination to keep her emotions in check, she really was.

  Chapter Nine

  Jenny stared in satisfaction at the collection of traditional and contemporary watercolours arranged around the perimeters of the terrace. She felt totally shattered, and very relieved that she’d decided to display the work of well-known watercolour artists and not the work they’d done in Assisi that day.

  Showing them work done by others was going to be so much easier than critiquing each other’s efforts, which was anything but relaxing for the group and downright exhausting for her. The only person who probably wouldn’t be worn out that evening was Max, who’d stayed at home. The rest of them had spent most of the day walking around Assisi, and what they needed was a peaceful evening in which to recharge their batteries.

  ‘Aha, here you are,’ Nick said cheerfully, coming out on to the terrace. He stopped and stared at the paintings. ‘So this is the exhibition for Wednesday, is it? The standard’s slightly higher than the other nights, isn’t it? Forget that. It’s much higher than the last few evenings.’

  Summoning up every ounce of energy that she could, she turned to Nick and gave him a broad smile. ‘Hello, Nick. It’s unlike you to be the first here.’

  He grinned at her. ‘I like to be unpredictable. It keeps ’em guessing.’

  She laughed. ‘I see. It’s all part of your allure, is it?’

  ‘I used to think so.’ He gave her a rueful grin. ‘But something tells me that my allure has faded a bit.’

  ‘I won’t pretend that I don’t know what you’re talking about. Cue for alcohol, I’m inclined to think. Why don’t I pour us a drink and you can tell me about it? If you want to, that is.’

  ‘You sit down; I’ll do the pouring.’ He went across to the side table, took a bottle of Prosecco from the bed of ice and started to open it. ‘I bet Stephen would hate it if he caught me making the drinks – he seems to have adopted the role of bartender for the week.’ He filled two glasses, handed one to her, and they sat down at the end of the dinner table, which had been set up under the awning. ‘I guess it’s pretty obvious that the bartender’s job isn’t the only thing that I’d like to take from him.’

  ‘I did notice that he and Clare disappeared as soon as we got to Assisi. It’s a shame for you, Nick, but I’m afraid that one of you had to lose out, if not both. After all, there was no guarantee that Clare would feel anything for either of you.’

  ‘I know that. But to concede defeat to someone younger than I am, who’s still at university – it’s pathetic. Mind you, he’s got a load of dosh behind him. He’s not exactly a student struggling on a pittance.’

  ‘You don’t think that Clare …’

  ‘No. It sounded as if I do, but I don’t; not at all. Clare’s not like that. I’m just enjoying piling on the agony. It’s the masochist in me.’

  ‘It’s a pity there isn’t a second unattached female on the course,’ she said sy
mpathetically.

  ‘You can say that again. Although, come to think of it, there is.’ He grinned at her. ‘There’s you, Jenny.’ She started in surprise. ‘I know you’re a year or two older than I am, but that’d suit me just fine – I’ve always fancied being a toyboy. And you’re very pretty – all big blue eyes and blonde hair. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I think you’d be ideal for me. Just imagine it – I could have private art lessons every day.’

  She laughed awkwardly. ‘Slow down, Nick. I’m glad to see that your heart isn’t irredeemably broken, but I’m not looking for a man at the moment. I need to find a job first, decide where to live, all that sort of thing. I’m just here to teach – I’ve no hidden agenda.’

  But she did have a hidden agenda. Her guilt at having to lie to Nick prickled, and she took a hasty sip of her drink.

  ‘But I’d fail there, too, wouldn’t I?’ he said, carrying on as if she hadn’t spoken.

  She looked up from her drink, startled. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘You and Max. If you’re not an item now, you soon will be. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you don’t know it. I bet you’re the only reason he’s picked up a paint brush this week.’

  Her heart gave a sudden thud. ‘You’re completely wrong about that. He’s friendly and he likes talking about art, but it’s no more than that.’

  ‘And every instinct tells me that you fancy him like mad. You’re as bad as he is, always watching him when he’s not aware of it.’

  ‘Really, Nick. You’ve got it totally wrong; it’s not like that at all.’ She felt a sudden anxiety, and bit her lip.

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t think so.’ He stared morosely into his glass, and sighed. ‘And I definitely haven’t got it wrong about Clare really liking Stephen. I wish I could hate him for it, but I can’t. He’s a pretty cool guy.’