⭐ Release Day Book Spotlight ⭐
The Art of Deception
by Liz Harris
Publication Date: December 12th, 2025
Publisher: Heywood Press
Pages: 194
Genre: Romance / Romantic Women's Adventure
A feel-good romantic novel, with a touch of mystery, from award-winning author Liz Harris, which will transport you to the glorious Umbrian countryside.
All is not as it seems, beneath the Italian sun...
Jenny O'Connor can hardly believe her luck when she's hired to teach art classes in Italy for the summer. While the prospect of sun, sightseeing and Italian food is hard to resist, Jenny's far more interested in her soon-to-be boss, Max Castanien. She's blamed him for a family tragedy for as long as she can remember, and now she wants answers.
But as the summer draws on and she spends more time with Max, she starts to discover that there's a fine line between love and hate.
Thank you, Life!
Jenny’s mouth felt dry. She ran her tongue around her lips. In a matter of minutes she was going to come face to face with one of the men who’d killed her father, and fear and apprehension lurched within her.
The taxi stopped in front of the office block in Holborn. She paid the cab driver, stepped out on to the pavement and walked slowly towards the building, smoothing down the skirt of her suit as she went.
For the last two weeks this was the moment she’d been longing for, but also the moment she’d been dreading – it was almost impossible to believe that it was only fourteen days since her world had turned upside down …
She’d been leafing through the weekly educational newspaper that she’d borrowed from the staff room. The final pieces of work done by her pupils at her latest placement really did need marking, but getting a job for September was even more urgent than that.
As she scanned the column of vacancies, her heart sank. Yet again, the only openings for newly qualified art teachers were miles away in the north of England. That was much too far from Cornwall. Her mother would be alone if she went to live all the way up there, and she wouldn’t be able to visit her very often, or see her friends.
She took a sip of coffee, and turned to the last section of the paper where vacancies for private tutors were advertised. A few hours a week as a tutor would be better than nothing until she could get a permanent job. Even though she’d worked for two years after leaving school to save enough money to study for her Art degree, her three years at college, plus her year afterwards as a PGCE student, had left her completely broke. She had to earn some money as soon as possible.
She sat up sharply, spilling her coffee. A Max Castanien was advertising for someone to teach art classes throughout the summer in Italy. It was a name she knew well, a name that she and her mother would never forget.
She spread the paper flat on the desk and stared hard at the advertisement. Her heart started to race, and she put her hand to her mouth to steady herself.
Then she took a deep breath. She was being silly, letting herself get into a state at the sight of a mere name. There was obviously more than one family in the country with that surname, and there was probably more than one Max Castanien, unusual though the name was. It was highly unlikely that the man advertising was one of the Castanien brothers, Max and Peter, whom she and her mother hated so much.
For several moments, she sat biting her thumbnail, staring at the advertisement. The only other information, apart from the name and brief job description, was an e-mail address. Could this possibly be the same family, she wondered.
She pushed the newspaper aside, pulled her computer towards her and switched it on. It couldn’t be that difficult to find out, and she couldn’t leave it – she had to know.
As the Castanien family owned a large textiles company, there were bound to be numerous references to the family and their business on the internet, and if it was the Max Castanien, one of the references might say something that linked him to Italy. And if the man who was looking to hire an art teacher did turn out to be one of the brothers responsible for her father’s death …
She could hardly breathe at the thought.
If she could just meet him, she’d have a chance – albeit a slim one – of finding out why the brothers had acted as they had done. She’d been twelve when her father died – too young for her mother to feel able to talk to her in depth about it, but not too young for her to know that the Castaniens had brought misery into their lives, a misery that had coloured all the years that had followed.
Thrown into a state of depression. her mother had never truly recovered from the death of her father, and her childhood had died the moment her father had died. As a result, she’d never experienced the carefree happiness enjoyed by others of her age, and the Castaniens had been responsible for that.
As she’d got older, she’d increasingly asked her mother for details about what had happened, and why. But beyond saying that her father had appealed to the brothers for help, but they’d turned their back on him, her mother’s answers had been tearful and vague and had never really told her much.
But she’d never stopped wanting to know every single thing about what had happened. And with an opportunity like this to meet the brothers, which would give her a chance of finding out what had happened for herself …
Jenny felt a sudden surge of hope at the thought that she might be able to learn why the brothers had let her father down as badly as they had, with the consequences it had had. She felt a momentary shock at the strength of her feeling. She hadn’t realised quite how desperately she wanted answers to her questions.
Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to them and asking for an explanation, telling them that she needed to know for her peace of mind, but she’d always instantly dismissed the idea. There’d be no point: they’d have time to compose something that sounded like a good answer, but which was unlikely to be the whole truth. And if she made an appointment to see them in person and asked them outright – they’d obviously be on the defensive and would probably lie. So she’d never know if she could believe them or not.
But if she could get to know them without them realising who she was …
by Liz Harris
I’m sure that most authors have, at some point or other in their writing life, drawn on their personal experience when writing a book, whether it’s for the setting in which they locate their novel, or for the creation of their characters, or to give them ideas for the plot. Or to give them inspiration for all three aspects of writing the novel in hand. I certainly have.
I was recently strongly aware of how much I owed to my life when re-reading The Art of Deception prior to its re-publication this December. To wind the clock back.
The Art of Deception, under a different title, was first published in 2012. It was the first novel I’d ever had published, so it has a special place in my heart. When I wrote it, I was hoping it would be accepted by The People’s Friend, and as you may know, The People’s Friend, published by D.C. Thomson, has a limit of 50,000 words for their stories, so I made sure not to go beyond that. To my delight, they accepted the novel, and they published it under the title A Dangerous Heart, using Elizabeth for my author’s name, rather than Liz. There’s a romance at the heart of the story, and the book was then published in The Linford Romance Library, under the name Liz.
In 2016, the publisher I was then with brought the book out again with a new cover, and under the title I had originally given it, which was The Art of Deception. The central character teaches Art classes, and there’s a deception at the heart of the novel, so I thought the title very apt.
Because the book was to be published again this December, I went through it in advance to make sure I was still happy with it at the length it was. I found to my surprise that I was. I wasn’t tempted to make it longer by developing areas in the novel, for example, and I added a mere 2000 words. I realised that every book has a perfect length, and the story I originally wrote with The People’s Friend in mind, was the perfect fit for the length it was.
As I read though the book, I was aware of the large debt it owed to people and places I personally knew. So much so, it was a real joy to walk again with my characters through medieval Bevagna, to see once more the amazing mosaic floor and then dine in my favourite restaurant there. It was also sheer delight to re-visit the lovely hill-top town of Montefalco, to go up the cobblestoned lane to the star-shaped piazza and have an ice cream there while looking at the glorious views visible down every alley. Bliss!
The photos below show some of the places featured in the novel.
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| Montefalco |
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| Montefalco piazza |
The characters, too, owed a slight debt to places I’d visited. Bevagna is famous for its high quality wine and oil. So setting a book in that location, I felt I had to use that in some way, and by the interests I gave my character, George Rayburn, I was able to do so. The other characters came out of my head. Probably, as with the characters created by most authors, they were an amalgamation of people I’ve met over the years.
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| Bevagna |
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| Mosaic floor, Bevagna |
As for the plot, for one aspect of it I drew upon something I’d heard many years before starting to write books. I’d been told about a friend’s business experience. I must have subconsciously filed it away in a compartment of my mind labelled ‘Things That Might Be Useful In The Future!’
Indeed, it did come in useful. It helped me with the backstory for Jenny O’Connor. I’m afraid that I can’t tell you what it was, though, as I don’t want to give away any aspect of the plot. Suffice it to say, that for someone like me, with scant knowledge of the business world, to have been told about such an experience was extremely helpful.
When it came to the Italian houses I gave Max Castanien, I was again able to draw upon my life. Max’s house in The Art of Deception and Tom Hadleigh’s house in Evie Undercover, my other contemporary novel set in Umbria, are based on an Italian house I know well.
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| House with cedar trees – the inspiration for the house used in the novel |
Built in the 15th century, the house was restored in keeping with the original style, with one or two features added that in no way detracted from the character of the house. It was exactly the house that Max, a lover of art, would have bought. And as fictional luck will have it, there was a smaller house in the grounds, separated from Max’s house by a line of cedar trees, which was perfect for Art classes.
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| Inspiration for the back of Max's house |
So thank you, Life, for giving me the experiences I’ve had, and for taking me to the places I’ve been, that I’ve attempted to bring to life in the pages of my novel. Those who read The Art of Deception will be walking the same streets as I walked, both physically and mentally. That gives me a very satisfying feeling. Enjoy!
CHAPTER ONE:
The Art of Deception
The Art of Deception
The taxi stopped in front of the office block in Holborn. She paid the cab driver, stepped out on to the pavement and walked slowly towards the building, smoothing down the skirt of her suit as she went.
For the last two weeks this was the moment she’d been longing for, but also the moment she’d been dreading – it was almost impossible to believe that it was only fourteen days since her world had turned upside down …
She’d been leafing through the weekly educational newspaper that she’d borrowed from the staff room. The final pieces of work done by her pupils at her latest placement really did need marking, but getting a job for September was even more urgent than that.
As she scanned the column of vacancies, her heart sank. Yet again, the only openings for newly qualified art teachers were miles away in the north of England. That was much too far from Cornwall. Her mother would be alone if she went to live all the way up there, and she wouldn’t be able to visit her very often, or see her friends.
She took a sip of coffee, and turned to the last section of the paper where vacancies for private tutors were advertised. A few hours a week as a tutor would be better than nothing until she could get a permanent job. Even though she’d worked for two years after leaving school to save enough money to study for her Art degree, her three years at college, plus her year afterwards as a PGCE student, had left her completely broke. She had to earn some money as soon as possible.
She sat up sharply, spilling her coffee. A Max Castanien was advertising for someone to teach art classes throughout the summer in Italy. It was a name she knew well, a name that she and her mother would never forget.
She spread the paper flat on the desk and stared hard at the advertisement. Her heart started to race, and she put her hand to her mouth to steady herself.
Then she took a deep breath. She was being silly, letting herself get into a state at the sight of a mere name. There was obviously more than one family in the country with that surname, and there was probably more than one Max Castanien, unusual though the name was. It was highly unlikely that the man advertising was one of the Castanien brothers, Max and Peter, whom she and her mother hated so much.
For several moments, she sat biting her thumbnail, staring at the advertisement. The only other information, apart from the name and brief job description, was an e-mail address. Could this possibly be the same family, she wondered.
She pushed the newspaper aside, pulled her computer towards her and switched it on. It couldn’t be that difficult to find out, and she couldn’t leave it – she had to know.
As the Castanien family owned a large textiles company, there were bound to be numerous references to the family and their business on the internet, and if it was the Max Castanien, one of the references might say something that linked him to Italy. And if the man who was looking to hire an art teacher did turn out to be one of the brothers responsible for her father’s death …
She could hardly breathe at the thought.
If she could just meet him, she’d have a chance – albeit a slim one – of finding out why the brothers had acted as they had done. She’d been twelve when her father died – too young for her mother to feel able to talk to her in depth about it, but not too young for her to know that the Castaniens had brought misery into their lives, a misery that had coloured all the years that had followed.
Thrown into a state of depression. her mother had never truly recovered from the death of her father, and her childhood had died the moment her father had died. As a result, she’d never experienced the carefree happiness enjoyed by others of her age, and the Castaniens had been responsible for that.
As she’d got older, she’d increasingly asked her mother for details about what had happened, and why. But beyond saying that her father had appealed to the brothers for help, but they’d turned their back on him, her mother’s answers had been tearful and vague and had never really told her much.
But she’d never stopped wanting to know every single thing about what had happened. And with an opportunity like this to meet the brothers, which would give her a chance of finding out what had happened for herself …
Jenny felt a sudden surge of hope at the thought that she might be able to learn why the brothers had let her father down as badly as they had, with the consequences it had had. She felt a momentary shock at the strength of her feeling. She hadn’t realised quite how desperately she wanted answers to her questions.
Several times over the years, she’d thought about writing to them and asking for an explanation, telling them that she needed to know for her peace of mind, but she’d always instantly dismissed the idea. There’d be no point: they’d have time to compose something that sounded like a good answer, but which was unlikely to be the whole truth. And if she made an appointment to see them in person and asked them outright – they’d obviously be on the defensive and would probably lie. So she’d never know if she could believe them or not.
But if she could get to know them without them realising who she was …
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.
Liz Harris
Born in London, Liz Harris graduated from university with a Law degree, and then moved to California, where she led a varied life, from waitressing on Sunset Strip to working as secretary to the CEO of a large Japanese trading company.
Six years later, real life intervened and she returned to London, where she completed a degree in English. After that, she taught secondary school pupils, first in Berkshire, then in Cheshire and finally in Oxfordshire.
In addition to the twenty-three novels she’s had published since her debut novel The Road Back, Liz has had several short stories in anthologies and magazines.
Liz now lives in Windsor, Berkshire. An active member of the Romantic Novelists’ Association and the Historical Novel Society, her interests are travel, the theatre, reading and cryptic crosswords.
To find out more about Liz, visit her website at http://www.lizharrisauthor.com.
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