Safe Harbour

by Danielle Steel

  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 y
ou 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.”

  “You don't know anything about him. He's a stranger. You don't know if what he told you is the truth. You know nothing. Did he ever ask you to go to his house?” her mother asked with a look of panic. The possibilities didn't even bear thinking.

  “Of course not. He wasn't trying to kill me. He taught me how to draw Mousse's back legs. That's all. And a boat once.” Killing her wasn't what Ophélie was worried about. She was an innocent child who could have easily been raped, kidnapped, or tortured. Once Pip trusted him, he could have done anything he wanted. The thought terrified her. And all of Pip's protests meant nothing to her. She was a child of eleven and didn't understand the potential dangers of befriending a strange man about whom she knew nothing.

  “I want you to stay away from him,” Ophélie said again. “I forbid you to leave the house without a grown-up. And if you don't understand that, we'll go back to the city.”

  “You were rude to my friend.” Pip was suddenly angry, not just heartbroken. She had lost so many people she cared about, and now she had lost this one as well. He was the only friend she'd made all summer, or in a very long time.

  “He's not your friend. He's a stranger. Don't forget that. And don't argue with me.” They walked the rest of the way in silence, and once back at the house, Ophélie sent Pip to her room and called Andrea. She sounded distraught as her friend listened. Andrea heard the whole story, and then asked questions, sounding like an attorney.

  “Are you going to call the police?”

  “I don't know. Should I? He looked fairly respectable. He was decently dressed, but that doesn't mean anything. He could be an ax murderer for all I know. Can I get a restraining order against him?”

  “You don't really have grounds to do that. He didn't threaten her, or molest her, or try to get her to go anywhere, did he?”

  “She says he didn't. But he may have been trying to set the stage to do something dreadful later.” Ophélie had a hard time believing his intentions had been innocent. In spite of everything Pip said, or maybe even because of it, she sensed danger. Why would he make friends with a child?

  “I hope not,” Andrea said, sounding thoughtful. “What makes you think it wasn't innocent? Did he look like a weirdo?”

  “What does a weirdo look like? No…he looked relatively normal. And he says he has children. But he could be lying.” Ophélie was convinced he was a child molester.

  “Maybe he's just friendly.”

  “He has no business being friendly with a child that age, particularly a little girl. She's at exactly the right age for men like that to go after her, she's a total innocent, that's how they like them.”

  “That's true, of course. But maybe he isn't a pedophile. Was he cute?” Andrea grinned at her end, and Ophélie sounded outraged.

  “You're disgusting!”

  “More important, was he wearing a wedding ring? Maybe he's single.”

  “I don't want to hear this. The man was making friends with my daughter. He's four times her age, and he has no business doing that. If he is decent, then he should know better, particularly if he has children himself. How would he feel if some man were chatting up his daughter?”

  “I don't know. Why don't you go back and ask him? Actually, he's beginning to sound interesting. Maybe Pip did you a favor.”

  “She did nothing of the sort. She put herself at great risk, and I'm not going to let her out of the house without me. And I mean it.”

  “Just tell her not to go back. She'll listen.”

  “I did. And I told him I'd call the police if he came near her.”

  “If he isn't a rapist, and he is a decent guy, he must have really liked that. Maybe we need to file down your fangs a little. I'm not sure you're quite ready for reentry.” Matt was beginning to sound all right to her. She wasn't sure why, but her instincts told her the guy might actually be decent. If so, Ophélie's tirade must not have been appreciated or welcome.

  “I'm not interested in ‘reentry.’ I'm not planning to reenter. I'm planning to stay out here. But I don't want anything terrible happening to Pip. I couldn't stand it.” Her voice shook as she said it, and there were tears of terror in her eyes.

  “I understand that,” Andrea said gently. “Just keep an eye on her. Maybe she's lonely.” After she'd said it, there was a silence, as Ophélie sat at the other end and cried.

  “I know she is. But I can't seem to do anything about it. Chad is gone, her father's gone, and I'm a basket case. I'm barely functional. We don't even talk to each other.” She knew it, she just couldn't get out of her own black hole enough to change it.

  “Now maybe you've got the answer as to why she's picking up strangers,” Andrea said gently.

  “Apparently, they draw together,” Ophélie said, sounding desperate. The entire episode had upset her immensely.

  “There are worse things. Maybe you should invite him to the house for a drink and check him out. He might actually be a decent guy. You may even like him.” As Ophélie listened, she shook her head.

  “I don't think he'd speak to me after everything I said to him.” But she wasn't sorry she had. They still had no idea who he was.

  “You could go back and apologize tomorrow. Tell him you've been through a tough time and you're a little nervous.”

  “Don't be silly. I can't do that. And besides, what if I was right? Maybe he is a child molester, for all we know.”

  “In that case, don't go back and apologize. But my guess is that he's just a guy who was painting on the beach and likes kids. It sounds more like Pip went after him.”

  “And that is precisely why I sent her to her room.”

  “Poor kid. She didn't mean any harm by it, she was probably just having fun.”

  “Well, from now on she'll have to stay close to the house and have fun here.” But after she hung up, Ophélie realized how little fun she provided for her. There were no children to play with, no activities, and they never did anything together anymore. The last time they'd been
out somewhere together was the day that Ted and Chad had died. Ophélie had taken her nowhere since then.

  After talking to Andrea, Ophélie went and knocked on the door of Pip's room. The door was closed, and when she tried to open it, she found it was bolted from inside.

  “Pip?” There was no answer, and she knocked again. “Pip? May I come in?” There was another long silence, and then finally a small voice drowning in tears.

  “You were mean to my friend. You were horrible. I hate you. Go away.” Ophélie stood on the other side of the door, feeling helpless, but not guilty. She had an obligation to protect her daughter, even if Pip didn't agree or understand.

  “I'm sorry. You don't know who he is,” she said firmly.

  “Yes, I do. He's a nice person. And he has children in New Zealand.”

  “Maybe he was lying,” Ophélie persisted, but she was beginning to feel foolish trying to convince her through a locked door. And it was obvious that Pip had no intention of letting her in. Nor of coming out. “Come out and talk to me.”

  “I don't want to talk to you. I hate you.”

  “Let's have dinner and talk about it. We can go out if you want.” There were two restaurants in town where they had never been.

  “I don't want to go anywhere with you. Ever again.” Ophélie didn't say it, but she was tempted to point out to Pip that her mother was all she had. Just as Pip was all she had now. All they had in the world was each other. They couldn't afford to be enemies or at each other's throats. They needed each other far too much.

  “Why don't you just unlock the door? I won't come in if you don't want. You don't need to keep it locked.”

  “Yes, I do,” Pip said stubbornly. She was holding the drawing of Mousse that she'd done with Matt, and still crying. She already missed him. And she wasn't going to let her mother keep her from him. She'd go to see him on the days when she was with Amy. And she hated the things her mother had said to him. She was mortified for him.