Safe Harbour (6 page)

“I'm here every afternoon. Don't get yourself in trouble now, little one.”

“I won't.” She stopped for a moment and smiled at him, like a hummingbird poised in midair, and then with a wave, clutching her drawing, and with Mousse at her heels, she dashed off toward home. And within instants, she was far down the beach. She danced around backward once and waved at him again, and he stood for a long time watching her, until she was a tiny figure far down the beach, and finally all he could see clearly was the dog running back and forth.

She was breathless when she got to the house. She had run all the way home. Her mother was sitting on the deck, reading, and Amy was nowhere in sight. Ophélie looked up with a frown.

“Amy said you'd gone down to the beach. I couldn't see you anywhere, Pip. Where were you? Did you find a friend?” She wasn't angry at the child, but she'd been concerned, and she had forced herself to stay calm. She didn't want her going to strangers' houses with them, it was a rule that Pip knew well, and conformed to. But Pip also knew that her mother worried more now than she had in the past.

“I was way down there,” she waved vaguely in the direction from whence she'd come. “I was drawing a boat, and I didn't know what time it was. I'm sorry, Mom.”

“Don't do it again, Pip. I don't want you wandering off that far. And I don't want you anywhere near the public beach. You never know who those people are.” She wanted to tell her mother that some of them were nice, or Matt was at least. But she was afraid to tell her about her new friend. She sensed instinctively that her mother wouldn't understand. And she was right. “Stay around here next time.” She was aware that the child was getting adventuresome. She was probably bored hanging around the house all day, or being alone on the beach with the dog. But nonetheless, Ophélie was concerned. She didn't ask to see the drawing, it never even occurred to her, as Pip went to her room, and laid it on the table next to the one of the dog. They were souvenirs of afternoons that were precious to her, and reminded her of Matt. She didn't have a crush on him, but there was no denying they had formed a special bond.

“How was your day?” Pip asked her mother when she came back to the deck. But she could see how it had been. Ophélie looked tired. She often did after her group.

“It was all right.” She had been to the lawyer about Ted's estate. They still had some taxes to pay, and the last of the insurance money had come in. It was going to be a while before the estate was closed. Maybe even a long time. Ted had left everything in good order, and she had more money than she'd ever need. Hopefully most of it would go to Pip one day. Ophélie had never been extravagant. In fact, in some ways, she had always felt they'd been happier when they were poor. His success had brought headaches with it, and a lot of stress he had never had before. Not to mention the plane he had died in with Chad.

Ophélie spent hours every day fighting back the memories, particularly of that last day. That hideous call that had altered her life forever. And the fact that she had forced Ted to take Chad. He had had meetings in L.A., and wanted to go alone, but she had thought it would be good for both of them to spend some time together. Chad had been doing better than he had been in a while, and she thought they could both handle it. But neither of them had been enthused about sharing the trip. She blamed herself for selfish motives too. Their son required so much attention, and had been in such a precarious state for months, she had wanted a break from him, and to spend a quiet afternoon with Pip. With all the attention focused on Chad constantly, she never seemed to spend enough time with her. It was the first opportunity they'd had in a long time. And now it was all they had. Each other. Their life, their family, their happiness had been destroyed. And the fortune Ted had left meant nothing to Ophélie. She would have given all of it to spend the rest of her life with Ted, and to have Chad alive too.

There had been some tough times between her and Ted, but even then, her love for him hadn't faltered. But there was no question, it had been rocky between them at one point, and more than once because of Chad. But that was all over now. Their troubled son was at peace at last. And Ted, for all his brilliance and awkwardness and chemistry and charm, had vanished from her life. She spent hours at night rolling the film of their life backward in her head, trying to sort it out, trying to remember what it had really been like, savoring the good times, and trying to fast-forward past the bad. And as she did, she did some careful editing. What was left in the end was the memory of a man she had deeply loved, whatever his faults. Her love for him had been unconditional, not that it mattered now.

They solved the dinner dilemma with sandwiches, although Pip had barely eaten that day, and the silence in the house was deafening. They never put music on. They barely spoke. And as Pip sat eating the turkey sandwich her mother had made, she was thinking about Matt. She wondered again where New Zealand was, and felt sorry for him that he lived so far from his kids. She could imagine how hard that was. And she was glad she had told him about her father and Chad, although she hadn't explained how sick Chad had been. But it seemed disloyal to her to tell him that. She knew Chad's sickness had been a secret they kept to themselves. And there was no point telling him about it now. Chad was gone.

His illness had left a deep mark on her, on all of them. Living with him had been traumatic and difficult, and just as Chad had known how much his father resented him and the mental illness he refused to name, Pip had been aware of it herself. She had mentioned it to her father once, when Chad was in the hospital, and he had shouted at her and told her she didn't know what she was talking about, but she knew better than that. She understood full well, perhaps even better than he, how sick Chad was. And Ophélie did too. Only Ted clung to denial. It was essential to him. It was a matter of pride to Ted not to admit his son was sick. No matter what anyone said to him, or what doctors spoke to him, Ted insisted that if Ophélie handled Chad differently, and established stricter rules for him, there would be no problem at all. He always blamed Ophélie, and clung to the belief that Chad wasn't sick at all. No matter how severe the evidence, Ted's eyes remained firmly closed.

The weekend passed quietly. Andrea had promised to come to the beach again, but in the end, she didn't. She called and said the baby had a cold. And by Sunday afternoon, Pip was longing to see Matt. Her mother slept on the deck all afternoon, and after watching her quietly for an hour, Pip went down on the beach with Mousse. She wasn't intending to walk down to the public beach, she just headed that way, and before she knew it, she was far down the beach, and then she started running, hoping to see him. He was where he had been both times before, painting quietly, this time on a new watercolor. It was another sunset, with a child in it this time. She had red hair and was very small, and was wearing white shorts and a pink shirt. And in the far distance, there was a dark brown dog.

“Is that me and Mousse?” she asked quietly and startled him. He hadn't seen her approach, and when he turned to look at her, he smiled. He hadn't expected her until after the weekend, when her mother went to town again. But he was obviously pleased that she'd turned up.

“Could be, my friend. What a nice surprise.” He smiled.

“My mom's asleep, and I had nothing to do, so I thought I'd come to visit you.”

“I'm glad you did. Will she worry when she wakes up?”

Pip shook her head. He knew enough now to understand. “She sleeps all day sometimes. I think she likes it better that way.” There was no question that Pip's mother was depressed, but he was no longer surprised. Who wouldn't be, having lost both her husband and son. The only problem he could see, greater than that, was that her depression left Pip lonely and alone with no one to talk to but her dog.

She sat down on the sand next to him, and watched him paint for a while. And then she went down to the water's edge to look for shells. Mousse followed her, as Matt stopped painting and watched. He enjoyed just looking at her, she was so sweet, and seemed so otherworldly at times, like a wood sprite dancing along the beach. There was an elfin quality to her. And he was so intent on watching her that he didn't see a woman approach. She was standing only a few feet from him, with a serious expression, when he turned and gave a start. He had no idea who she was.

“Why are you watching my daughter? And why is she in your drawing?” Ophélie had instantly made the connection between the artist and the sketches Pip had brought home. She had come down to the public beach to find Pip and see what she was doing on her lengthy forays. And she didn't know how or why, but she knew this man was part of it somehow, and had no doubt once she saw the child and the dog in his painting.

“You have a lovely daughter, Mrs. Mackenzie. You must be very proud of her,” he said calmly. More calmly than he felt actually. Her intense stare gave him considerable discomfort. He could almost sense what she was thinking, and wanted to reassure her, but he was afraid that doing so might arouse even darker suspicions.

“Are you aware that she is only eleven years old?” It would have been hard to mistake her for any older. If anything, she looked younger. But Ophélie couldn't imagine what this man wanted with her, and suspected him instantly of evil intentions. His seemingly innocent painting could have been, in her mind at least, simply a cover for something far more lurid. He could have been a kidnapper, or worse, and Pip was far too innocent to suspect that.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “she told me.”

“Why have you been talking to her?… and drawing with her?” He wanted to tell her that her daughter was desperately lonely, but didn't. By then, Pip had seen her mother standing, talking to him, and she approached quickly, with a handful of seashells. She searched her mother's eyes instantly to see if she was in trouble. And she realized almost as quickly that she wasn't, but Matt was. Her mother looked frightened and angry, and Pip wanted instantly to protect him.

“Mom, this is Matt,” Pip said, as though trying to give some formality and respectability to the situation with an introduction.

“Matthew Bowles,” he said, extending a hand to Ophélie, but she didn't take it, instead she looked directly at her daughter, with fire dancing in the amber eyes. Pip knew what that meant. It was rare for her mother to get angry at her, particularly lately. But now she was.

“I've told you never to talk to strangers. Never! Do you understand me?” And then she turned to Matt, with her eyes blazing. “There are names for this kind of thing,” she said to him, “and none of them are pretty. You have no business picking up a child on the beach and befriending her, using your supposed artwork as a ruse to lure her. If you come near her again, I'll call the police. And I mean that!” she shot at him, and he looked wounded. Pip looked outraged, and was quick to defend him.

“He's my friend! All we did was draw together. He didn't try to take me anywhere. I came down the beach to see him.” But Ophélie knew better, or thought she did. She knew that a man like him would lull Pip into feeling comfortable with him, and then God only knew what he would do to her, or where he would take her.

“You will not come down here again, do you hear me?
Tu entends? Je t'interdis!
” I forbid you. In her fury, her mother tongue betrayed her. She looked utterly Gallic as she raged at both of them. Her anger was born of fear, and Matt understood that.

“Your mother is right, Pip. You shouldn't talk to strangers.” And then he turned to her mother. “I apologize. I didn't mean to upset you. I assure you, it has been an entirely respectable exchange between us. I understand your concerns, I have children who are only slightly older.”

“And where are they?” Ophélie shot back at him, suspicious of him. She did not believe him.

“In New Zealand,” Pip filled in for him, which didn't help the situation. Matt could see she didn't believe them.

“I don't know who you are, or why you've been speaking to my daughter, but I hope that you understand I'm serious. I'll call the authorities and report you if you encourage her to come and see you again.”

“You've made yourself quite clear,” he said, growing testy. In circumstances other than these, he would have said something harsher to her. She was being more than a little insulting, but he didn't want to upset Pip by being rude to her mother. And she deserved a little leeway given all she'd been through, but she had used almost all of it with her last words to him. No one had ever accused him of such vile motives. She was a very angry woman.

She pointed down the beach to Pip then, as the child looked sorrowfully over her shoulder. There were tears brimming in her eyes that spilled onto her cheeks, and all Matt wanted to do was hug her, but he couldn't.

“It's all right, Pip. I understand,” he said softly.

“I'm sorry,” she said, nearly sobbing, as her mother continued to point, and even Mousse looked subdued, as though he sensed that something awkward had happened. And with that, Ophélie took Pip's hand in her own, and led her firmly back down the beach, as Matt watched them. His heart went out to the child he had so quickly grown attached to, and for an instant, he wanted to shake her mother. He could understand her concerns, but they were unwarranted, and it was so obvious that Pip needed someone to talk to. Her mother may not have eaten much in the past nine months, but it was Pip who was starving.

He put his paints and drawing away then, and folded up his stool and easel, and with his head down and a grim expression, he walked back to his cottage to drop them off. Five minutes later, he was on his way to the lagoon to take his boat out for a sail. He knew he needed to get out on the water to clear his head. Sailing always did that for him, and had all his life.

And on their way back to the part of the beach that belonged to the gated community, Ophélie interrogated her daughter. “Is that what you've been doing every time you disappear? How did you meet him?”

“I just saw him drawing,” she said, still crying. “He's a good person. I know it.”