Safe Harbour

“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.”

“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.