**The Illusion of Deception**
Working at the Royal Academy of Music, Emily had never been interested in anything but music. It had been her entire life since childhoodher mother and the piano. At twenty-eight, she was unmarried, having briefly dated a fellow musician, but their paths diverged. Too complicated, reallytwo talented souls lost in their own worlds.
Lately, though, shed been seeing James, a solicitor. Theyd met by chance at a café near the Academy, where Emily had been nursing a coffee, avoiding the oppressive silence of her flat. Her mother had passed away recently, leaving her alone with nothing but the echo of old melodies.
You look awfully glum, James had remarked, sliding into the seat opposite her. Im James, by the way.
Shed glanced uphandsome, confident, the sort who made small talk effortlessly. Emily, shed replied softly, offering a faint smile.
Three months later, he was practically living at her place, already proposing marriage. She hesitated.
II cant, James. Not yet. Mums only just gone.
Her mother had raised her alone. Emily had never known her fatherwho he was, where hed gone. Shed never asked. Some things were better left unsaid. But now, with her mother gone, the loneliness gnawed at her. Maybe, just maybe, she ought to find him.
I dont even know if hed want to see me, she confessed to James one evening.
Emily had never bothered with practicalitiesbills, paperwork, the dull mechanics of life. Her mother had handled everything, always gently chiding, *»Emily, love, youll be lost without me.»*
Shed just laughed. Youre brilliant at it. Why should I bother?
But life, cruel as ever, had snatched her mother awaysudden, unexpected. The doctors had been blunt. If only shed come sooner.
She never complained, Emily whispered through tears.
James, sharp as a tack, had first stepped into her flat and blinked at the original Turners on the walls. Emily had grown up with them, barely noticing. But James noticed.
In the evenings, she played Chopin, lost in her own world, while he pretended to listen, rifling through her mothers old letters. The only relative left was an aunt in Cornwall. Perfect. He needed to marry her quicklyshe was the sole heir.
But Emily kept stalling. She barely knew him, and something felt off. Still, he persisted, pressing for a wedding date.
Then, one day, he announced, Weve got guests tonight. Pick up some champagne on the way home.
Guests?
I found your father.
Her breath caught. Here? In London? I always thought hed be abroad
Right here, James said smugly.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. James answered.
Standing there was a tall, dark-haired man. Emily, he breathed, pulling her into an embrace. Youre even more beautiful than I imagined. Robert Whitmoreyour father.
Her middle name *was* Roberta.
Over dinner, he explained, Your mother and I parted ways before she knew she was pregnant.
James seized the moment. Robert, now that were all reunited, may I ask for Emilys hand?
Emily, still reeling, flushed.
Her newly found father beamed. If you love her, you have my blessing.
Robert became a regular visitor, though vague about the past. We werent together long, hed say.
Emily sent a wedding invite to her aunt, Margaret, who arrived early, bustling in with her husband. We took the traindreadful delays!
That evening, James made himself scarce, leaving Emily to catch up.
Aunt Margaret, I found my fatherwell, James did.
Oh? Whats his name?
Robert Whitmore. My middle names Roberta, so it must be true.
Margaret exchanged a glance with her husband. Oh dear.
What?
Your fathers name isnt Robert. Its William. William Hartley. The Roberta was your mothers idea. She never wanted you to know. William was the dean of your conservatoireyour piano professor.
Emily went very still. Then who on earth is Robert?
Thats what well ask James tomorrow, Margaret said grimly.
It all unraveled. The inheritancefar more than just the flat. The paintings, the bank accounts. Her mothers wealth, carefully hidden.
Jamess rushed proposal made sense now.
That evening, Emily packed his things. He didnt arguenot with Margaret watching.
I feel lighter, Emily admitted. Something never sat right with me.
The next night, the doorbell rang again. Margaret answered, returning with a man Emily knew all too wellWilliam Hartley, her former teacher.
Good Lord, he murmured, staring at her. You look just like your mother.
They talked for hours. Hed never known about her. His mother had orchestrated the split, pushing him into a marriage that later fell apart.
Your brothers in the army, William said. But youyouve got my love for music.
She laughed. I always wondered where that came from.
A year later, Emily married Oliver, a friend of Williams sonan economics lecturer whod fallen for her at first sight.
Margaret approved. Solid chap, she declared.
As for James? Well, some illusions are best left shattered.
