The Art of Deception (Choc Lit) by Liz Harris

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 moment. ‘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 s tared 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,