Authenticity Read Online Free Page B

them.
    ‘Roderic.’
    ‘Brendan.’
    Brendan stood staring down at Roderic. He bit his lower lip, frowning slightly and nodding. ‘So how are things? Tell me everything you’ve been up to. What’s new?’
    ‘Things are fine,’ Roderic said evenly. Brendan didn’t respond, but continued to bite and stare and nod and frown, hoping that Roderic would be made to feel uneasy, and blurt further information into the protracted silence. Instead, he sipped his coffee and stared insolently back at Brendan.
    ‘Good,’ Brendan said eventually. ‘Good.’
    ‘Julia, do you know Brendan? Brendan Halpin, the art critic? Julia Fitzpatrick.’
    Until Roderic spoke to her, Brendan had paid no attention whatsoever to Julia. He looked at her now with unfriendly curiosity, and he didn’t respond to her greeting – ‘Hello, Brendan’ – but turned back to Roderic and gave him a sly smile.
    ‘Julia’s in a group exhibition that opens in March,’ Roderic said. ‘Go and see it,’ and he named the gallery.
    Brendan considered this information, still nodding and frowning. ‘So everything’s fine?’ he said eventually.
    ‘Everything’s fine.’
    ‘Good. Good. Well, see you around, Roderic.’ Julia was not included in this farewell, by either word or gesture. They watched him as he made his way through the pub to the front door, weaving his way between the tables.
    ‘I always regard meeting Brendan as a spiritual exercise,’ Roderic said, ‘and I’d advise you to do the same. He’s got a good sharp mind, but no heart. Don’t fret about his ignoring you. It’s only in the past year or so, since my star has been somewhat in the ascendant, that he’ll give me the time of day. The good thing about having been at the bottom of the heap is that you have no illusions left when you start to move up.’
    He finished reading the essay and made a few suggestions, including a change of title; she thanked him for his help.
    ‘Do you know anything about the other artists in the show?’
    ‘One is a photographer, whose work I must confess I don’t like at all. She demythologises women too completely, I think.’
    ‘So you’d like them to be just a little bit mythologised?’ he teased her, and she smiled.
    ‘I’m not explaining it well. I mean, if you reduce everything to the purely physical, you’re missing the point At least, that’s my view. You’ll see what I’m getting at when you see the photos themselves. And as for the other artist, I don’tknow her work. She isn’t a painter, she makes constructions. I’ve been told that she’s good; we’ll see in due course. What are you doing for the rest of the evening?’
    ‘I’m heading back to the studio myself for a few hours now,’ he said, ‘I got very little done when I was over there this morning. What about you?’
    ‘I think I’ll sit here and read my book a while, as I didn’t get to read it earlier.’
    He took her hand. ‘I’m sorry about Dennis,’ he said.
    ‘Put it out of your mind. There’s nothing to be sorry about.’
    ‘Oh but there is, Julia,’ he said, ‘that’s the problem. There’s lots and lots to be sorry about.’
    As he walked towards the front door of the pub he shrugged on his jacket, almost knocking a pint glass from a table as he passed. William caught it just in time and looked up, annoyed. The person who had unwittingly almost spilt the drink was such a giant, however, with the face of a hardened drinker that he decided to let discretion be the better part of valour, and to let it pass. Martin, whose drink it actually was, hadn’t even noticed, as he yammered away. It was William who had suggested to Martin that they go for the drink that they hadn’t had on the Friday. It put off the time when he would have to go home, something which was becoming an increasing strain. He had managed to get through the weekend somehow, after that shocking Friday. Mainly, he’d stayed in bed, pleading illness, but Liz knew by Saturday