The Illusion of Deception
Working at the Royal Academy of Music, Eleanor had never cared for anything but music. It had been her life since childhoodher mother and her piano. At twenty-eight, she remained unmarried, having once courted a fellow musician, but their paths diverged; two gifted souls, each lost in their own world, could never harmonise.
For the past three months, however, she had been seeing Thomas, a solicitor. They met by chance in a café near the academy. She had lingered there, unwilling to return homeher mother had recently passed, and the silence of the flat was unbearable.
«Good evening, miss,» Thomas had approached, coffee in hand. «You seem rather downcast. My name is Thomas. And yours?»
She had been beautiful, distantintriguing. He decided to strike up a conversation.
«Eleanor,» she replied softly, offering a faint smile.
From then on, they met often. Thomas stayed over frequently, even proposing marriage, but she hesitated.
«I cant give you an answer yet, Thomas. Ive only just buried my mother.»
Her mother had raised her alone. Eleanor had never known her fatherwho he was, where he had gone. She had never asked, sensing it pained her mother to speak of him. Then, suddenly, her mother was gone. The grief and loneliness weighed heavily. Sometimes, she wonderedshould she try to find him?
«I dont even know what to think,» she confessed to Thomas. «Ive never met him. What if he doesnt want to know me?»
Eleanor had lived sheltered, absorbed in music, while her mother handled everythingbills, the household, all of it. Her mother had often warned her, «Eleanor, you must learn these things. What will you do when Im gone? Youre too lost in your own world.»
«But you manage everything so well,» Eleanor would laugh. «Why should I bother?»
Life, however, was cruel and unpredictable. Her mother fell ill suddenly and faded fast. The doctors could only shrug. «She came to us too late.»
«But she never complained,» Eleanor wept.
«Perhaps she spared you,» the doctor said gently. «But illness always leaves signs. The body warns us.»
Thomas was sharp. The first time he visited Eleanors flat, he was taken abackthe walls were lined with expensive paintings, though she paid them no mind. She had grown up with them. Thomas, however, knew their worth.
Evenings were spent with Eleanor at the piano, rehearsing for concerts, while Thomas listenedor pretended to. He had long since realised there was profit to be had here. He rummaged through her mothers documents, her private letters. The only relative was an aunt, Margaret, who lived in Yorkshire. He resolved to marry Eleanor quicklyshe was the sole heir.
It vexed him that she delayed. She barely knew him, and doubts gnawed at her. But Thomas persisted, pressing his suit, knowing she longed to find her father.
One evening, he met her with news. «We have guests tonight. Lets stop by the shopchampagne, perhaps something else.»
«Guests?» she frowned.
«Ive found your father.»
«Thomas, truly? Is he here, in London? I always imagined him abroad, somewhere far away.»
«Yes. He lives here.»
Half an hour after they returned home, the doorbell rang. Thomas answered. Eleanor saw a tall, dark-haired man.
«My daughter,» he rushed to embrace her. «Let me look at you. Youre beautiful. Robert Pembroke, at your service.»
Her middle name was indeed Roberta. The evening unfolded with conversation.
«Your mother and I parted ways, but she never told me she was expecting.»
Seizing the moment, Thomas interjected, «Mr. Pembroke, since fate has reunited you, may I ask for your daughters hand?»
Eleanor, still reeling, faltered.
«If Thomas loves you, Ive no objection,» Robert smiled. «You have my blessing. Ill expect a wedding invitation.»
From then on, Robert was a frequent visitor. Yet Eleanor learned little of his past with her motherhe claimed their time together had been brief.
She sent a wedding invitation to Aunt Margaret and her husband. They arrived early, eager to help with preparations in place of Eleanors late mother.
One evening, the doorbell chimed. Eleanor opened it, delighted.
«Goodness, the train was dreadful,» Margaret sighed.
Thomas excused himself, allowing Eleanor time with her family.
«Aunt Margaret,» Eleanor confessed, «Ive found my fatherwell, Thomas did. He handles everything now.»
«Whats his name?»
«Robert Pembroke my middle name is Roberta.»
Margaret exchanged a glance with her husband. «Trouble, Alexander,» she murmured. He nodded grimly.
«What trouble?» Eleanor frowned.
«Your fathers name isnt Robert. Its James. James Whitmore. Your birth certificate lists no father. Your mother invented the middle name. Eleanor, I know the truthshe forbade me from speaking of it. Your father is James Whitmore, the dean of your conservatoire.»
«James Whitmore? Impossible! He was my music professor. Then who is Robert Pembroke?»
«Thats what we must ask Thomas. Why this charade? Andhave you claimed your inheritance? Its been nearly six months since your mothers passing.»
«Not yet. I must see the solicitor but what does it matter? Just the flat»
«Good heavens, child. Youre far too naïve. Your grandparents were wealthy. Your mother had a substantial account, those paintings are priceless. And Alexander and Iweve no children. Youre our heir too.»
She called off the wedding.
Eleanor had been blind to it all. Now, with Margarets revelations, she wonderedwhy had Thomas rushed so?
«Aunt Margaret, does James Whitmore know of me?»
«No. His mother is to blame. She arranged a suitable match for him, tore him from your mother. When they quarrelled, your mother didnt yet know she was expecting. James married another womanlied to, told she carried his child. Later, he wed again. He loved your mother, but when he saw her with a child, he assumed shed moved on. She never corrected him. As for Robert Pembrokewell get answers from Thomas.»
«James Whitmore presented my diploma. He never knew I was his daughter.»
That evening, Thomas faced an unpleasant surprise. Eleanor had packed his things. Before Margaret and Alexander, he dared not protesthis scheme was uncovered. Strangely, Eleanor felt relief. Something had always unsettled her about him.
The next evening, Margaret greeted her with a smile. «We have a guest tonight.»
«Who now?» Eleanor asked nervously.
«Youll see.»
The doorbell rang. Margaret returned, arm in arm with James Whitmore. Eleanor froze.
«My God,» he breathed. «You look just like me. Forgive meI never knew. Margaret told me everything.»
They talked late into the night. Eleanor learned of a half-brother, a soldier stationed far away.
«Only you inherited my love for music,» James said warmly. «Im so proud of you.»
«And I always wondered where it came from,» she laughed. «Now I know.»
In time, James introduced her to his wife, a kind woman, and later, her brother during his leave.
A year later, Eleanor married William, an economics lecturer and the son of Jamess old friend. He had fallen for her at first sight.
Margaret and Alexander attended, pleased with the match. William was steady, dependable. And Eleanor, at last, had found her tune.
