The Illusion of Deception
Working at the Royal Academy of Music, Emily had never been interested in anything but music. It had been her life since childhoodjust her mother and music. At twenty-eight, she was unmarried, having dated a colleague briefly, but their paths diverged. It was too complicated when both were talented, each lost in their own world.
For the past three months, however, she had been seeing James, a solicitor. They met by chance in a café near the academy. Emily didnt want to go homeshe had recently buried her mother, and the house felt empty and silent.
«Excuse me, why do you look so sad?» James had approached her, sipping his coffee. He had been watching hera beautiful woman, distant yet intriguing. «My names James. And yours?»
«Emily,» she replied softly, offering a faint smile.
From then on, they began dating. James often stayed over and had even proposed, but she hesitated.
«I cant give you an answer yet, Jamie. I just lost my mum,» she confessed.
Her mother had raised her alone. Emily had never met her father, never asked about himshe sensed it pained her mother to speak of him. And then, suddenly, her mother was gone. The grief and loneliness weighed on her. Sometimes she wonderedshould she try to find her father?
«I dont even know how I feel about it,» she admitted to James. «Ive never seen him. What if he doesnt want to know me?»
Emily had lived with her mother, never bothering with household affairs. She didnt even know how to pay the billsher mother handled everything while she immersed herself in music. Her mother had warned her:
«Emily, you should learn about these things. What will you do when Im gone? Youre so detached from realitylife will be hard for you.»
«But you manage everything perfectly, Mum. Why should I bother?» she had laughed.
Life, however, was cruel and unpredictable. It took her mother suddenlyan illness that burned through her in weeks. The doctors could only shrug.
«It was too late when she came to us.»
«But she never complained!» Emily wept.
«Perhaps she didnt want to worry you. But the body always gives signs.»
James was sharp. The first time he visited Emilys flat, he was taken abackexpensive paintings adorned the walls, though she had no interest in art. She had grown up with them. But James knew their value.
In the evenings, Emily practiced for her upcoming concerts while James pretended to listen. He had already realised there was much to gain here. He rifled through documents, lettersEmilys only known relative was an aunt, Margaret, who lived in Scotland. He was determined to marry her quickly, knowing she was the sole heir.
What frustrated James was her reluctance. She barely knew him, her heart uncertain. But he persisted, waiting, pressing for marriage. Then he discovered she wanted to find her father.
One evening, James met her with news.
«We have guests tonight. Lets stop by the shop for champagne.»
«Guests? Who?» Emily was puzzled.
«I found your father.»
«James, really? Where? I always thought he lived abroad.»
«Yes. Right here in London.»
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. James answered, and Emily saw a tall, dark-haired man.
«My daughter,» he embraced her. «Let me look at youyoure beautiful. Robert Parker. Thats my name.»
Emilys middle name was, in fact, Roberts. They talked.
«Your mother and I parted ways, but she never told me about you.»
Seizing the moment, James interjected:
«Robert, since everything has worked out so well, may I ask for your daughters hand?»
Emily, still reeling, was speechless.
«If James loves you, I give my blessing,» Robert smiled. «Ill expect a wedding invitation.»
From then on, Robert became a regular visitor. But Emily learned little about his past with her motherhe claimed their relationship had been brief.
She sent an invitation to Aunt Margaret and her husband. They arrived early, determined to help with wedding preparations in place of her late mother.
One evening, the doorbell rang. Margaret stood there, exhausted.
«We came by train,» she explained.
They met James. That night, he left early so Emily could spend time with family. Over tea, she confessed:
«Aunt Margaret, I found my father. Well, James did.»
«Whats his name?»
«Robert Parker. My middle name is Roberts.»
Margaret exchanged a glance with her husband.
«Oh dear,» she murmured.
«Whats wrong?» Emily frowned.
«Your father isnt Robert. His name is John. John William Harris. Your birth certificate lists no fatheryour mother invented the middle name. Emily, I know everything. She made me swear never to tell. Your father is John Harristhe dean of your conservatoire.»
«John Harris? Thats impossible! He was my music professor. Then who is Robert Parker?»
«Thats what we must ask James. Why this charade? Andhave you claimed your inheritance? Six months after your mothers death, the estate is nearly settled.»
«Not yet. Ill see the solicitor but what does it matter? Just the flat.»
«Goodness, Emily, youre so naïve! Your grandparents were wealthy. Your mother had a substantial bank account, those paintings are priceless. She and I inherited equally. You are far from poor. Andwe have no children. Youre our heir too.»
Emily had never considered money. Now, with Margarets words, she wonderedwas this why James rushed the engagement?
«Aunt Margaret, does John Harris know about me?»
«No. His mother orchestrated everything. She arranged a better match for him. Your parents quarrelledyour mother didnt know she was pregnant until weeks later. John married another woman under pressure. He loved your mother but assumed she had moved on when he saw her with a child. She never corrected him. As for Robert Parkerwe must confront James.»
«John Harris handed me my diploma. He never knew I was his daughter.»
That evening, James was met with a cold dismissal. Emily cancelled the wedding, packed his things. Under Margarets stern gaze, he left without protest. Robert Parker vanished.
«I feel relieved,» Emily admitted. «Something about James never sat right.»
The next evening, Margaret greeted her with a smile.
«We have a guest tonight.»
«Who now?» Emily asked nervously.
The doorbell rang. Margaret returned, guiding John Harris inside.
«My God,» he breathed. «You look just like me. Emilyforgive me. I never knew. Margaret told me everything.»
They talked late into the night. John had a sona soldier, living abroad.
«But you, my daughter, followed in my footsteps. Youre so talented. My son never cared for music.»
«And I wondered where I got it from!» Emily laughed.
From then on, they visited her mothers grave together. John introduced her to his wife, Catherinea kind woman. Later, she met his son when he was on leave.
A year later, Emily married David, the son of Johns old friend. He taught economics at the university and had fallen for her the moment they met.
Margaret and her husband attended the wedding, pleased with Davidsteady, dependable. The illusion had lifted. Emilys life, at last, was real.
