The Art of Friendship (22 page)

He released Clare. ‘Now, let me see your work, dah-ling,’ he said, putting emphasis on the last word and rolling his eyes at Patsy in self-mockery.

He put an arm across Clare’s shoulder and leant heavily on her but there was nothing threatening about his over-familiarity. He was warm and cuddly and Clare thought him the closest thing to a living teddy bear she had ever met.

He examined a few of her paintings with such great gushes of enthusiasm that Clare blushed. ‘You are a talented little thing, aren’t you?’ he said and winked at her. ‘Patsy, you old tart, I do believe I have real competition at last.’

With his praise ringing in her ears, the door opened and
the public began to arrive. People who had come here to see – and to buy – her work. Bronson peeled off to greet an elderly couple who’d just come in and Clare turned to Patsy, her palms wet with sweat. She wiped them on her shirt. ‘He’s sweet, isn’t he?’ she said. ‘I know he’s only saying that to make me feel good but it works. It’s awful nice of him.’

‘Bronson is a sweetie,’ said Patsy, ‘but believe me, he’s not saying those things to make you feel good. If Bronson admires something it’s because he believes it has genuine artistic merit. And he’s a harsh critic.’

Patsy walked over to a huddle of well-dressed women who’d just stepped into the shop and Clare, stunned, looked at her pictures with a fresh eye. They were good. As good as any original watercolours she’d seen for sale in the gallery or hanging in other people’s homes. Maybe her plan to make a living from painting wasn’t such a far-fetched fantasy after all. She crossed her fingers and prayed that some of her pictures sold. If so, she’d have a cheque in her hand. That would show Liam. He’d have to take her painting seriously then.

The place filled up quickly and Clare took the opportunity to knock back another glass of wine – just to bolster her confidence. Thankfully, by the time Kirsty arrived with Janice and Keith the small gallery was packed and Patsy could pretend not to notice them. She busied herself meeting and greeting other people while Clare went over and got her friends drinks.

They all toasted her success and it didn’t take long for Janice and Keith to buy not one, but two pictures. As soon as Clare had applied the red ‘sold’ sticker to the second painting, a woman with long blonde hair, thick make-up and a curvaceous figure encased in a tight black dress teetered over to them.

‘Janice Kirkpatrick,’ she teased. ‘I was after that one of Carnlough!’

‘Well you’ll have to be quicker off the mark, Lorna,’ said Janice. ‘Pictures of this calibre aren’t going to hang about. Excuse the pun,’ she said and everyone laughed. ‘Lorna, have you met the artist herself?’ Introductions were made and Janice said, ‘Clare is a very good friend of mine. And my tip, if you want to own one of her pieces, is to buy tonight because you won’t be able to find them at these prices in the future.’

‘In that case I’d better hurry up,’ said Lorna. She bought one of Fair Head. Soon another sticker appeared and then another. Clare’s head was dizzy with excitement and wine.

‘So this is what you do with yourself when you’re not being Mummy,’ said Zoe’s icy voice, stopping Clare dead in her tracks. She spun round. As slim as a girl, and dressed completely in sleek black, Zoe looked like the fountain pen Patsy had used earlier. Her eyebrows were raised in a challenge, her dune-coloured lips closed over her teeth. Zoe was hanging onto the arm of a man about Bronson’s age who was tall and slim and pleasant-looking. Clare’s heart sank. What was she doing here?

‘Yes, as you can see I manage both very well, Zoe,’ said Clare bravely, surprising herself with the quick-fire retort. Zoe stared at her, stony-faced, and said, ‘Well, I think that’s a matter of opinion – on both counts.’

Clare’s heart pounded against her ribs – but she was too angry to reply. Suddenly, Zoe’s companion put out his hand and shook Clare’s limp one, forcing her to drag her eyes away from Zoe and look at him instead. ‘Didn’t know you two knew each other,’ he said genially.

‘Clare’s my replacement,’ sniped Zoe, cold as a north wind.

Her companion frowned, not understanding and Zoe added, ‘She married my ex – after I had finished with him.’

Clare smiled and the man said, ‘Old Bronson seems quite taken with you, my dear, and that is high praise indeed. I understand this is your first exhibition. Congratulations.’

Zoe scowled and Clare felt herself grow two inches. She beamed at the friendly stranger. ‘Thank you.’

‘Alex,’ roared Bronson’s voice, which grew louder the more wine he drank, and the stranger responded by looking over at Bronson and smiling. Zoe had not even bothered to introduce him by name. ‘Will you get yourself over here? Debbie wants to hear that story about the nun, the fish and the skateboard.’

‘Ah, the master summons me,’ said Alex, returning his attention to Clare. ‘A pleasure meeting you, my dear.’

Zoe looked away, as if she was bored already, and the pair of them moved off.

Clare watched them move across the room, and decided that she was, after all, glad Zoe came. Clare could tell she hated every minute of her success. It felt a little like revenge for all the mean things Zoe had said and done to her in the past. She resolved never to let Zoe make her feel small again.

It was nearly eight thirty when Liam finally arrived. Clare waved over but she was immediately diverted by Patsy asking her to pour some more wine.

‘Now where is Patsy’s latest protégé?’ said Bronson in a voice loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room. ‘Ah, there you are!’ He came over to Clare, put his arm around her waist and whispered in her ear, ‘I want you to meet a very good friend of mine.’ Then in a loud voice he cried, ‘Coming through! Coming through!’ while propelling her across the room. Clare blushed and laughed, embarrassed to be the centre of attention. He deposited her among a
group of well-dressed people. Soon Clare found herself in conversation with the Director of Arts Development for the Arts Council, Northern Ireland, a fine-looking woman with bright blue eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair.

When there was a natural pause in the conversation about funding Clare looked over at Liam again. He was in conversation with Kirsty, a glass of red wine in his left hand. Janice came up behind Clare, placed her hands on Clare’s hips and said quietly, ‘We’re going now.’

‘Oh, so soon?’ asked Clare. She excused herself and moved away from the people she had been talking to with Janice.

‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ Janice threw a brief glance in Patsy’s direction. ‘We have another engagement.’

‘Oh, okay. Thanks so much for coming and for buying those pictures. I really appreciate it. If it hadn’t been for you and Keith I’m not sure anyone would’ve bought anything.’

‘Oh, they would, Clare.’

‘Well, I think it made all the difference. You got the ball rolling.’

‘I can see it’s been a great success,’ said Janice, side-stepping the praise. ‘All but one of your pictures have sold.’ She squeezed Clare’s arms lightly. ‘Well done.’

‘Thanks, Janice. Thanks for the studio and for believing in me. Thanks for everything.’

‘What are friends for?’ said Janice warmly and then she added, with a swift glance at Patsy, ‘Would it be possible, do you think, to take the pictures now? Rather than come back and collect them another day?’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Clare, moving towards the till. ‘I can deal with that.’ She took the pictures off the wall, covered them in bubble wrap from a big roll underneath the counter, took the credit card payment and bade her friends goodbye. She was just making her way over to Liam and Kirsty, when Patsy came up.

‘So they’ve gone, have they?’ said Patsy, glowering at the shadows of Janice and Keith as they passed the window, the pictures under Keith’s arm a black rectangle in the fading light.

Clare nodded.

‘And good riddance. Oh, by the way, Clare, I won’t be taking commission on those two sales. Martin told them we would never take a penny of their money.’ Patsy’s upper lip turned up in a sneer, an expression of hate Clare had never seen before. ‘And we won’t. Ever.’

Clare opened her mouth to plead the case of Janice and Keith, whom she felt could not be held accountable for their son’s actions. But before she could say anything, someone dragged Patsy off. Clare looked again for Liam but, just then, one of Keith’s golfing pals came over. He talked at length about a commission for a painting of Slemish, a local landmark, while Clare watched Liam and Kirsty over his shoulder.

Kirsty glanced repeatedly at her watch. When Clare was finally free, she went over to them and Liam said, ‘I’m going to give Kirsty a lift home now, Clare. I’ll see you back at the house.’

‘Oh, right. Okay,’ said Clare, slightly taken by surprise. She had hoped Liam would stay to the end, and maybe join her, Patsy and Bronson in a celebratory drink. She hadn’t even had the chance to introduce him to the other artist.

‘I’m afraid I’ve got to dash,’ said Kirsty. ‘Dorothy’s baby-sitting and I told her I wouldn’t be late. Congratulations on a wonderful exhibition,’ she added, leaning close to her friend. ‘I’m sorry that I couldn’t afford to buy a picture.’

‘Oh Kirsty, just having you here has been wonderful. I need all the moral support I can get.’

The room emptied quickly after that and soon it was just Clare, Patsy and Bronson and a rash of red stickers across
both walls. There were some gaps where pictures had been removed but most remained, to be paid for and collected another day. Now that everyone had left, Clare felt suddenly deflated, sorry that it was all over. And at the back of her mind was a vague sense that something wasn’t right between her and Liam – even more so than usual.

Patsy, smiling, filled three glasses and said, ‘Here’s to a very successful night. Bronson, to a complete sell-out as usual. And Clare, your first exhibition has been an unqualified success. All but one picture sold.’

Clare knocked back most of the wine, wondering what was wrong with Liam. Or was she imagining things?

‘I think you might find you’re mistaken there,’ said Bronson, and he lifted the sheet of stickers from where they lay on the counter amidst a cluster of used wine glasses. He went over and stuck a red sticker on the last remaining picture of Clare’s – the Black Arch outside Ballygalley.

‘Bronson,’ protested Clare, greatly embarrassed. He was only buying it out of charity. So that she would be able to say – for the rest of her life – that her first exhibition was a sell-out. It was sweet of him but she couldn’t let him do it. ‘You don’t have to do that. You don’t really want it, do you?’

He shook his head and sighed. ‘You’re an accomplished painter, Clare,’ he said kindly. ‘But what you lack, my dear, is self-belief. Overcome that and you have a very rosy future.’

Clare blushed and, not knowing how to respond, drained the rest of the wine in her glass. Tonight had been a huge confidence booster – but Bronson was right, she had to believe in herself.

Bronson left soon afterwards and Patsy said, ‘You go on home, Clare. You must be exhausted after all the excitement.’

‘I wouldn’t leave you to clear up all this on your own, now would I?’

‘Oh, Clare, you are an angel,’ said Patsy, manually totting up figures on a sheet of paper.

Clare loaded the tray with dirty glasses. ‘Why don’t I get started on this lot?’

‘That’d be great. The kitchen’s through the back,’ said Patsy, pointing to a door on the back wall of the gallery. ‘Thanks a million.’

Clare gingerly carried the tray through the door into a brightly lit large storeroom, with not much in it apart from some old furniture and bubble-wrapped pictures leaning against one wall. She held the door open with her behind, the tray balanced precariously in her hands, and said, ‘Gosh, there’s loads of room through here.’

‘Yeah, there is,’ said Patsy absentmindedly, the end of a pen in her mouth.

Clare let the door close and went through to the small but perfectly adequate kitchen. She worked quickly at the stainless steel sink, looking up now and again at her reflection in the curtainless window, the sky outside inky blue. She hummed to herself, reliving every moment of the evening. It had passed off very well and she was especially glad that any unpleasantness between Patsy and the Kirkpatricks had been avoided. The only thing that disturbed her was the fact that she’d hardly spoken to Liam.

She stopped humming, a hard knot forming in her stomach. It couldn’t be helped. She’d been too busy networking and meeting people, which was just as important in building a career as actually painting pictures. Liam would understand, wouldn’t he?

When Patsy had finished her paperwork she came through, stood shoulder to shoulder with Clare, and dried the glasses. ‘What’re you going to do with the proceeds of tonight’s sale, Clare?’

Clare plunged her bare hands into the warm soapy water and fished out the last glass. ‘First off, I need to pay back what I used of our savings to buy materials. After that, the first thing on my list is a chandelier for our bedroom. I’ve seen one in the new Laura Ashley catalogue. It’s gorgeous – dripping in crystals, with five dinky black pleated silk shades.’

‘Sounds fabulous.’

Clare rinsed the glass and set it upside-down on the draining board. ‘The only thing is, it’ll make the rest of the bedroom look shabby!’

‘Well, you can do it up with your future income stream,’ said Patsy, turning to smile at her friend. ‘Because this is only the start for you, Clare.’

Clare beamed happily. She dried her hands, filled a bucket and quickly mopped up some red wine that had been spilt on the gallery floor. When she was done, she poured the dirty water down the loo and put the mop and bucket back in the cupboard.

‘Patsy?’ she said, standing with her back to the cupboard, staring into the middle of the dusty storeroom.

‘What?’

‘Does this room get any natural light?’

‘Yes,’ said Patsy, coming to stand beside her with a glass and drying cloth in her hands. She pointed above. ‘Look, up there. There’s a cupola in the roof. It runs along the length of the building. You can’t appreciate it now – it’s too dark – but it’s quite pleasant during the day. Floods the place with light.’