Safe Harbour

She made one for herself too, and sat down on the couch across from him, and the first few minutes were inevitably awkward, but the martinis helped them. And predictably, it didn't take long for either of them to feel the chemistry between them. Or she did, what Matt felt was subtly different. He couldn't identify the differences yet, but he knew that somehow, at the core of his feelings for her, there had been subtle mutations, and he was relieved.

“Why didn't you ever remarry?” she asked, playing with her olives.

“You cured me,” he said with a smile, admiring her legs. They were as good as they always had been, and the short skirt gave him an impressive view of them. “I've been living like a hermit for the past ten years. I'm a recluse…an artist …” He made light of it, and had no desire to make her feel guilty. It was his life now, and he was comfortable with it. In fact, he had come to prefer it to the life they'd led.

“Why do you do that to yourself?” she said, looking concerned.

“Actually, it suits me. I've done what I wanted to in the world. I've proven everything I want to prove. I live on a beach and I paint… and talk to stray children, and dogs.” He smiled to himself, thinking of Pip, and thought of Ophélie suddenly, who in her own way, was far more beautiful than this woman. They were infinitely different in every possible way.

“You need a life, Matt,” Sally said gently. “Do you ever think of going back to New York?” She had been thinking of it. She had never liked Auckland, or New Zealand. And now she was free, to do whatever she wanted.

“Never. Not for a minute,” he said honestly. “Been there. Done that.” Thinking of Ophélie, even for a minute, had somehow helped him return to his senses and maintain distance from her.

“What about Paris or London?”

“Maybe. When I get tired of being a beach bum. I'm not there yet. When I do, maybe I'll move to Europe. But now that Robert will be here for the next four years, I'm more motivated to stay.” And Vanessa had told him she wanted to go to UCLA in two years, or maybe even Berkeley. He wasn't moving anywhere for the moment. He wanted to be near his children. He had been cheated out of them for long enough, now he wanted to soak up every moment he could with them.

“I'm surprised you're not bored with all that, Matt. The life of a recluse. You were pretty jazzy in the old days.” And the art director of the biggest ad agency in New York, with a lot of powerful, important clients. He and Sally had chartered planes and houses and yachts to entertain them. But he no longer had a hunger for it, hadn't in a decade.

“I guess I grew up at some point. It happens to some of us.”

“You don't look a day older.” She tried another tack, since the others weren't working. She couldn't see herself living in a beach shack with him, that really would have killed her.

“Well, I feel it. But thank you, you don't either.” In fact, she looked better than ever, and a little more weight suited her and gave her a slightly more voluptuous figure. She had always been too skinny in the old days, although he had liked it. “So what are you going to do now?” he asked with interest.

“I don't know. I'm trying to figure that out. It's all so fresh.” She hardly looked like a grieving widow, and wasn't. She looked more like a liberated felon. Unlike Ophélie, who had been ravaged by the death of her husband. The contrasts between the two women were enormous. “I've been thinking about New York,” she said, and then looked at him shyly. “I know it's a crazy idea, but I've been wondering if …” Her eyes looked deep into his, and she didn't finish. She didn't need to. He knew her. And that was the issue. He knew her.