Out Of The Mist 1

Some of the criticism of my past work has been that the stories were too short. This story on the other hand might be too long for some. I must warn you to not make too hasty a judgement on some of the characters. Cm.

Chapter 1: The New Beginning.

I stood and stared at the bronze in front of me. There was something disturbingly familiar about it, something that brought back memories of a time long past but not forgotten.

I looked at the card on the pedestal that told me that the artist, Felicity Cullen, was one of the brightest new sculptors in the art scene, and there was the prediction of great things to come for her burgeoning talent. I didn't recognise the name, I'd been out of this scene for some twenty years, but I did recognise the talent because I had seen it before, many years ago.

"Do you like it?" I turned and looked into the eyes of another memory although these could not be the same eyes as I remembered.

"This is your work?"

"Why yes, why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I just have this feeling in the back of my mind that I have seen this or at least something similar many years ago. I must be mistaken, forgive me."

"No need to apologise, I think all artists are guilty to a certain extent of copying the influences of artists that have gone before them. In my case my teacher is my inspiration and she has some of her work over there." She pointed to some bronzes in the far corner of the gallery.

We walked towards them and the closer I got to them the greater my unease became. I knew the artist but I didn't want to know her, she was a part of my life that I wanted no part of. I turned to walk away.

"Don't you want a closer look?" I could see the puzzled expression on Felicity's face through my de-focussing tears. "What's the matter?"

My panic was getting the better of me. "I can't discuss it with you, or anyone else. I have to get away from here." I caught a glimpse of my manager chatting to a very well groomed woman, he was pointing out the finer points of one of my sculptures to her, obviously, I hoped, trying to sell it.

"Huw, do you mind if we get out of here?" He looked at Felicity and reached a totally erroneous conclusion.

"You two do whatever you want, but before you go, Grantley Benson, this is Margery Branxton, she is the CEO of one of the world's biggest insurance companies, and is looking for a sculpture to grace her reception area. She likes your work and wants to buy at least three, and may be interested in commissioning more, so if you want to leave that's fine by me, but I have work to do."

I turned to leave, ignoring Felicity who had to run to keep up with me. "Wait!" I ignored her. "You're Grantley Benson?" I ignored her again. I had almost reached the door when suddenly I turned around. I had to face my fears and now seemed as good a time as any to do that, but was I strong enough? I walked back over to the bronzes in the corner and looked at them for several minutes, memories, painful memories, flooding back into my head. I reached for the smallest of the statues and lifted it off its pedestal. My hands shook as I turned it over and the last conscious recollection I had before collapsing to the floor was seeing, high up inside the casting, the letter 'C'.

The mists cleared and I found myself in the middle of another painful memory.

Hospitals are, to my mind, one of the least hospitable environments, and in this I speak from a long and painful experience.

A nurse came in and checked my temperature and pulse. "The doctor will be here in a moment." She said as she recorded my vital signs on my chart. "You've been off with the fairies for some time."

"How long have I been here?"

"Two days. Do you remember anything of what happened?"

"No." Even as I spoke I knew that I was lying to her, the shock that had triggered this was too great to erase from my memory, at least not straight away.

The curtain was pulled to one side to admit a tall, angular man with a shock of red hair that, along with his complexion, was a testament to his Celtic origins. "Good morning Mister Benson, how are we feeling this morning?"

Why is that doctors who know that you are feeling like crap have to come over so jolly. "I don't know about you but I feel like crap."

"That's to be expected after what you have been through, but never fear I am here to help you. There are a couple of people here to see you, do you feel up to visitors?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"Of course you do, we won't force you to see anyone at this time, but these people have been waiting outside ever since you came in, so I think that you should see them for a few minutes."

"Oh all right, send them in, what harm can it do?"

A moment later the curtain was pulled aside to admit Felicity and a blur. The blur flung itself at me, its arms clamping around my neck, and its body pinning me to the bed. "Oh my Darling I'm so very, very sorry. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to hurt you but I had no choice, please, please say that you'll forgive me."

It was so hard for me to forgive the blur, the distant memory of a life lost long ago, a love lost long ago. I wanted so much to tell her that she was forgiven but I couldn't, at least not until she took her mouth from mine, then it was easy. "Cassie, how could I not forgive you." Out of the mists of the past my future stood clear and bright.

"You obviously remember my mother." Felicity said, stating the obvious.

Chapter 2: The Old Beginning.

The sun beat down on the new group of young hopefuls as they entered the bright new world that was the Metropolitan School of Art. They were an eclectic mix of kids, some who thought that to merely look like an artist made them an artist, some couldn't care less about their looks, and one who stood out like a beacon from the rest. She was extremely attractive with an 'old money', sort of Katherine Hepburn, panache about her that brought mixed thoughts from her fellow students. Some of them thought that her position in this class was bought for her by a sizeable endowment to the college by her parents, while others just envied her obvious social status. One person formed no immediate opinion, I was reserving my judgement until I saw some of her work.

It wasn't inevitable, it wasn't in the stars or any other form of divination that Grantley Benson (me) and Cassandra Fielding (she) should gravitate towards each other, it just seemed to happen.

I was impressed by her talent, and the easy way that she conversed with the other students, particularly me, importantly, me. She offered praise when she felt I deserved it, and she also offered criticism when she felt it was warranted. I self-consciously accepted the praise and gratefully accepted her criticism, knowing the she gave it a great deal of thought, and she never criticised unless she could follow up with constructive suggestions.

I returned the favour and it wasn't long before we became inseparable, supporting each other, teaching each other, and loving each other, especially loving each other. We found that we were compatible in every way, we instinctively knew each other's feelings and this translated itself into our love making, we never had to seek for what gave pleasure, it just happened. I got to know every nook and cranny of her exquisite body while she became familiar with mine.

Our first time almost didn't happen and it would have been my fault if it hadn't, in my opinion I was punching above my weight, she was far too good for the likes of me, definitely out of my league. To her I was just another person, when I say just another person I don't mean just another person in an off-hand sort of way but just another person in the I'm the same as you kind of way, no better or worse than any other person, and in this she included herself and it took a lot of persuading on her part along with a lot of kissing and hugging before the final bastions of my self imposed differences succumbed to her. We had been out with friends and I had walked her to her apartment off-campus and was considering how I could work up the necessary courage to try and kiss her when she invited me in for a coffee.

I didn't feel comfortable sitting on her sofa and my stammering attempts at intelligent conversation were making me feel worse until she stopped me mid-stammer with a kiss. "Grantley, listen to me, I love you and I know that you love me and beyond that nothing matters, we are in love. You are now and will always be the love of my life and I want you to be the only lover in my life. I want to show you just how much I love you, so would you be quiet for a minute while I get started." With that she started to show me just how in love with me she was and it wasn't long before I joined in, any perceived differences between us were forgotten and by the time I went home the next morning I was able to talk to her without so much as a hint of a stutter.

By the end of our first year at Art School Cassandra had moved into my apartment, if you could call it that, it was an old storage area attached to the rear of a store that had gone out of business. I had convinced the building owner that renting the area would provide him with a steady but small income, which was better than sporadic or no income, and in return I would maintain the store so that when he found someone willing to lease it he wouldn't have massive renovation costs. It suited my purpose because it had a rear access onto a laneway and I was able to install a large window to provide lighting for my work. It had a cantankerous heating system that needed the occasional well placed kick to jolt it into life in winter and an almost adequate ventilation system for the summer. The kitchen was a collection of mismatched cupboards on which sat a cook-top and microwave, a sink with a single cold tap and an ancient refrigerator. The bedroom consisted of a double mattress in a partitioned corner and racks for clothes. Creature comforts were sparse but it was cheap and it was home.

Our lives were complete, we had Art School, we had our work, we were both sculptors, Cassandra working in bronze while I had chosen to work in sheet metal, cutting, beating and twisting metals, mainly copper because it could be annealed to soften it and make it more malleable, into weird shapes before welding them together to form shapes that had evolved into birds and animals, flowers and more abstract shapes that had all become my art.

While I was doing my thing with metal, Cassandra was moulding her clay into shape ready for the process that saw a mould made of it and then cast into a rough bronze which she then polished into the finished bronze. The final act in this process was for her to engrave the letter 'C' inside the casting. This was her signature, this would authenticate her work for the future when, as it was inevitable, she became famous.

While we spent much of our time together we still managed to have a close circle of friends that we studied with, drank with, went to movies with, and who accepted us as a couple. At the end of each day we were one and the same, we were an artistic partnership in every possible way.

"Honey, Mother rang this morning and has invited us for Christmas dinner. You will come, won't you?"

"Do I really have to?"

"You are going to have to meet my parents sooner or later, they're not that bad, really."

"Okay, I'll go with you."

"You will enjoy it, we are a pretty normal. . . ."

"Stinking rich."

". .family. The money means nothing to me, you know that, I don't get an allowance from my parents, they have tried, and succeeded I think, not to spoil me and I'm thankful for that."

The cab dropped us at the front door of the large house that Cassandra used to call home. As we approached the front door it swung open and a middle aged woman in a black and white uniform stood to one side as we entered. "It's so good to see you again Miss Cassandra."

"Thank you Mary, it's good to see you too. Where are they?"

"In the Library, come with me." She held her hand out for our coats and led the way down the passage to the Library. She knocked softly before opening the door and ushering us inside.

"Cassie, Darling, how good to see you." Her Father engulfed her.

Her mother rose from her chair and held out her imperious hand to me. "I am Cassandra's Mother and you are?"

"Mother, Daddy, this is Grantley Benson. Grantley, my father Stephen Fielding, and my mother, Sabrina."

"We're pleased to meet you." My hand was grabbed in the strong grip of her Father, I was being tested. I used just enough pressure to tell him that I wasn't over-awed by him, but not enough to issue a challenge to his dominant position.

Sabrina held my hand briefly while her eyes probed into the core of my existence. "So you are the young man that is keeping our girl from her family."

"He's not keeping me from anything Mother, we just love to spend time together."

"But you have set up house with him?"

"Yes I have. I could say that Grantley has allowed me to use his studio because he has all of the equipment that I need for my work and am able to work at times when I don't have access to Art School facilities but I won't. I have moved in with him because I love him and want to spend as much time with him as possible."

"What do your friends think of this arrangement?"

"Our friends are fine with it in fact they spend quite a lot of their free time working there as well."

"I didn't mean those friends I meant your real friends, those of your own kind."

"These are my real friends, those others that you call my friends are no longer my friends because they have no appreciation of what I'm doing, of my art," Sabrina was gathering her breath to launch another attack when Stephen stepped in.

"What are your future plans with our daughter?"

"Stephen! I told you not to ask that question."

"But I want to know, and it's better to get it out into the open straight away, then we can enjoy Christmas together."

"We have no immediate plans, we both want to finish our studies before we make any long term plans."

"You are obviously an artist, do you see yourself being able to earn a living with your work, enough to support Cassandra?"

"I'll certainly be trying my best to do that, but art is a fickle market, what may sell one minute won't the next. But if I can't then I'll just have to work at something else and keep it up as a hobby. I'll certainly not give it up altogether. What we are producing is something tangible, something that you can pick up and hold, it is real, its value is in its substance and its artistic creation." The pressure from Cassandra's hand told me that my response had impressed her Father.

After this initial unpleasantness they tried hard I'll give them that, and they came close to succeeding. I felt comfortable most of the time, oh there were the odd moments, like his dissertation on wine, that I found unsettling, but all in all it was a pleasant enough time. Cassandra's mother attempted to persuade us to stay the night, but a hastily invented prior engagement saved us.

They were still waving as the cab pulled out of the driveway onto the street and headed back into town and our private Christmas celebrations. "That wasn't too hard to take, was it?"

"No. It would have been worse if we had gone home to my family, my mother would have fallen all over you trying to impress, she would have been obsequious to the point of nausea."

"Come on, they can't be that bad."

"Would I lie to you? No I suppose they aren't that bad but I don't think that you are quite ready for them just yet."

Compared to the sumptuous meal that we had earlier on in the day, our Christmas evening meal was almost non-existent, but it was so much better. We had store bought chicken and vegetables followed by store bought plum pudding with store bought brandy butter. We had a Christmas tree (plastic) in the corner with handmade decorations that were the finest we had ever seen and we exchanged presents by the glow of several candles before retiring to our own cosy and warm bed. Life was good.

The next year flew by in a frenzy of activity, Cassie and I both had our work accepted for exhibitions, and we both made several significant sales. The critiques in the press were favourable for the both of us, and our creative, as well as personal, stars were on the rise.

Our studies progressed and we were on track for our graduations and had begun to make plans for an end of year study trip to Europe where we would take in the artist environments of Rome, Paris and London, with the view to continuing our studies there.

We had discussions with the building owner about our plans for after we came back from our study trip. What we hoped was that we could lease the store and set up a gallery where we could display and market not only our works, but the works of our fellow students. We had a tentative agreement drafted, all we needed was to come up with the money and sign on the dotted line.

Then my world came to a sudden, jarring, devastating halt.

I had an appointment with my manager to discuss a showing of my work at a small gallery downtown, so I left the apartment at around eleven. Cassie seemed to be in a more buoyant mood than normal and, as I kissed her good-bye she hugged me to her. "Don't be late this evening, you and I are going out, we have some celebrating to do."

"What are we celebrating?"

"You're going to have to wait for that. I'm going to enjoy thinking about you trying to work out what it is, but I'm not saying anything until you get home, now go, scat."

I returned to our apartment full of excitement and anticipation only to find it empty of all of Cassandra's things. All of her clothes were gone. All of her art and art paraphernalia was gone. Even her toothbrush was gone. It was as if she had never ever been in my life.

My entire life was gone.

I rang her parent's house. "What did you say your name was?" Her mother asked.

"Grantley Benson, I'm Cassandra's partner."

"I don't know you, Cassandra is not here so don't bother to call again, ever." She hung up.

I took a cab to her parent's house. I had been ringing the doorbell and banging on the door for some five minutes when a police patrol car arrived. "Please come with us sir, we don't want to have to resort to force to remove you." I went with them.

I placed an ad in the local newspaper. A journalist from the local TV station saw the ad and saw a story there so I was invited to appear on their local current affair show. "Mister Benson, let me get this straight, you left home recently to keep an appointment with your agent about an upcoming show and when you returned you claim that your partner Cassandra Fielding wasn't home as expected given that she had made arrangements for the both of you to have dinner that evening?"

"Yes, she told me that it would be a celebration."

"A celebration of what?"

"That she didn't tell me, just that it was good news."

"She left no note, nothing to indicate a reason for her not being there?"

"Nothing and that's the weird thing, the place had been cleaned out and there was nothing to show that she had ever been there, not even her tooth brush."

"We'll take a short break and when we return we'll talk to the parents of the missing girl to see if we can shed some light on this mystery." While the commercials were running Sabrina was led in and took a seat on the other side of the anchorperson.

"Welcome back, with us now is Sabrina Fielding, the mother of Cassandra Fielding who Grantley Benson has claimed to have been his partner and has disappeared. Now Mrs Fielding, do you know where you daughter Cassandra is at this moment?"

"Let me start by saying that this person has made life a living hell for myself and my husband, he has seen hanging around outside our house. . . ."