Safe Haven

By bestselling author Rosanna Ley

Vivien was cycling from Sauzon to Donnant Beach when she did something silly. Was the sun in her eyes? Did she have too much on her mind? Whatever, when she reached the STOP sign at the end of the lane, she didn’t. Instead, she freewheeled on downhill, mesmerised by the haze of sunshine on wheat-fields and the clarity of the blue sky.

A horn blared as the car swerved to avoid her. It screeched to a halt. Vivien was so shocked at this intrusion into the perfect, tranquil day that she nearly fell off her bicycle.

“Merde!” The driver wound down his window and shouted at her. “What are you doing? I could have run you down!”

Vivien spoke enough French to understand every word, but if she hadn’t, the man’s dark, angry expression would have told her anyway. “I’m sorry. I was daydreaming.” “Daydreaming? Pah!” He struck the steering wheel with his palm. Vivien flinched. “I could have killed you.” He looked as if he’d still like to.

Vivien wasn’t in the mood for this. She knew she was in the wrong, but…

“Then it’s fortunate your brakes are functioning, Monsieur.” And off she swept. Sauzon was a sleepy village. Who would have thought such a hostile – even if rather attractive – man would live here?

Twenty minutes later, Vivien was settled on the beach, watching the sunlight spark on the waves. The boardwalk lined by tall dune-grasses led to a sandy bay the colour of toasted ginger. Treacherous grey-granite rocks cut through the turquoise sea. Beauty and danger – such a seductive combination.

In the distance she saw a girl of eleven or twelve pick something up from the trail left by the tideline. Shells perhaps? She squinted into the sun. The girl inevitably made her think about the children at Oldfield Park Primary – Vivien’s life for the past twenty-three years.

“I’m sorry, Vivien.” It had been Peter, the head, who’d told her the news. “There’s no other option. I have to let you go.”

Vivien tried to take in his words. The school was closing down, the staff made redundant, the children would have to take the bus to Newtown First School. The community of Oldfield Park would be changed forever.

“Have you considered early retirement?” Peter had asked.

Vivien tried not to hate him for being so young. She was forty-nine. What would she do all day? Make marmalade? There was no husband at home to keep her busy – Vivien had enjoyed the odd dalliance over the years, but somehow her relationships had never developed into marriage or children in the seamless way that other people’s did.

She’d had children though, children she had nurtured, educated and been proud of as they made their way in the world. That was Vivien’s greatest satisfaction.

She watched the girl pick her way over the sand. She wore a lemon-yellow cotton dress and her feet were bare. The girl was picking up litter. Vivien smiled. Good for her. She was drawing closer now, a furrow of concentration on her brow as she dropped plastic debris into a carrier-bag. Where were her parents? Vivien looked around, but there was no sign. The other families on the beach seemed complete, no one else was watching the girl. Vivien felt a snag of worry. But Belle-Ile-en-mer was a safe place – perhaps she was used to wandering around on her own.

“There are other jobs,” Peter had pointed out quite reasonably.

Yes, in much bigger, impersonal schools at least thirty minutes’ drive away. “I’ll think about it,” she’d said. Which was what she was doing here on Donnant Plage. Over the years, Vivien had spent many summer holidays on Belle-Ile staying with her old penfriend Patrice. Vivien loved the enchanting harbour and pastel-coloured houses of Sauzon. There were stunning beaches, ancient churches, and country lanes with fields all around as if time stood still.

“Bonjour!” she called to the girl collecting litter. “You’re doing a grand job. Can I help?” “Oui, Madame, merci.” The girl smiled. “Are you here with your family?” Vivien picked up an old coffee carton. Definitely not biodegradable. “Non. I cycled from Sauzon.” “Oh, me too.” Vivien was surprised. “Just to pick up litter?”

The man’s DARK expression made it quite CLEAR that he was ANGRY

“It is very important, Madame.” The girl eyed her gravely. “Did you know that eight million tons of plastics are dumped in the ocean every year?” “Is that so?” “Mais oui. Plastics are polluting the water, the marine life and our food chain.”

“Sadly, we do appear to have adopted a disposable lifestyle.” Vivien thought of Oldfield Park Primary. How proud she would have been to have this girl in her class, a girl so keen on improving the environment that she spent her spare time picking up litter on the beach.

After a while, Vivien suggested Claudette share her picnic, then they swam.

“I should get home,” Claudette said. “My father will be worried. But I will be back tomorrow.” She looked hopeful. “Maybe we could speak English, Madame? I would like to improve…”

“Of course.” Vivien felt a flush of pleasure. She wasn’t on the scrap heap yet.

The next day, Vivien found out more from her new young friend. Tragically, her mother had died two years ago. Claudette was collecting litter as part of a clean beach initiative organised by a community group in Sauzon. “What else does the group do?” “They organise fund-raising to help the less well-off island families,” Claudette told her. “They take the kids on outings. There’s a pre-school and after-school club. And they organise private lessons for those who need extra-curricular help.” “It sounds very commendable.” They spent an hour picking up beach litter before going for a swim. Vivien floated on her back and stared up at the hazy sky. She had brought the children from Oldfield Park to France on school trips to help them learn about the Bayeux Tapestry and D Day landings, but this was the place that had captured her heart.

“Shall we cycle back to Sauzon together?” she suggested after their swim.

“Oh, I can’t, my father’s picking me up today.” Claudette looked up the beach. “And here he is – hey, Papa!” She waved enthusiastically.

Vivien turned. He looked familiar. Heavens… It was the man who’d nearly run her down yesterday! But now she was wearing a swimsuit and had dripping-wet hair. Hopefully he wouldn’t recognise her.

“Hi Claudette.” He glared at Vivien. “It is you,” he said.

Oh, dear. “Bonjour, Monsieur.” Vivien wrapped her towel around her shoulders. She was feeling at a disadvantage.

Claudette looked curious. “You know each other?” “No,” said Vivien. “Yes,” said Claudette’s father. A hint of a smile touched his lips. “You could say we have run into each other.” “Almost,” added Vivien. “Vivien’s been telling me about her school,” Claudette began. “You’re a teacher?” “Yes, but it’s closing down. So, she’s come here to decide what to do next.”

Vivien wished he would sit down. “I’ll find something.” She forced a bright laugh. This man was the last person she wanted to discuss it with.

He eyed her intently. “Sometimes change can be a good thing,” he said. “It opens up new challenges, stops us from being stuck in a rut.”

“Actually, I was very happy at the school,” Vivien said primly. “I loved my work. It was everything to me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You had no other life then, Madame?”

Vivien bristled. “I loved every aspect of my life, not just school and the children, but…” For a moment she couldn’t think of anything. What had she done when she wasn’t working? Evenings spent marking and lesson-planning. She enjoyed reading and walking, but nothing exciting enough to mention to this man. “Everything else,” she added lamely.

He looked sympathetic, damn him. “It is not pleasant to feel unwanted,” he said.

Vivien stared out to sea. The afternoon sun was sending a rich amber light on to the water. Unwanted…

“Vivien has been helping me with my English, Papa,” Claudette sang out. “She’s an amazing teacher.”

“How kind of you, Madame. Merci.” He inclined his head. “But now, Claudette, we must go.”

Vivien watched them walk back over the dune. He reached down to tousle his daughter’s hair. A charming family. Vivien had never felt more alone.

Back in Sauzon, she told Patrice about Claudette’s Youth Centre.

“Why not volunteer?” her friend suggested. “It will give you a purpose.”

“Don’t you start.” But she was right. Vivien needed to do something and perhaps the community group might help.

The following morning, she visited the Centre. There was no sign of Claudette, but she saw some other children doing an art class and found a woman making coffee in the kitchen.

“I’m enquiring about volunteering,” she ventured. “I’m a visitor to the island, but I could take a few English language classes if you’re willing. I’m a qualified teacher.”

“Sounds great.” The woman beamed. “I’ll take you to see Mathieu – he’ll be thrilled to have you on board.”

Mathiu however, didn’t look thrilled at all. “You again?” The eyebrow rose.

“I didn’t realise you… Claudette didn’t say…” It was hopeless. She turned to go.

“Vivien, wait.” He waved at the chair. “Sit, please. Do you really want to help?”

She sat. “Of course.” Though she wouldn’t have come, had she known this man was in charge.

“Let me tell you about our group.” His voice was warm as he described what they were trying to achieve, and despite her reservations, Vivien loved the sound of it. This was what a small community should be – people helping each other, enriching one another’s lives, caring about organic farming, the environment, what children did after school and in holidays.

“I’d love to be part of it, if only for a few weeks,” she told him. “Then we will arrange it. Payment–” “Oh, I don’t want payment.” “Vivien,” he regarded her with a look like Claudette’s, “We have funding and we value our helpers enough to pay them.”

The next day, Vivien took her first English conversation class and helped on a bus trip to Le Palais and took a shift at the weekly barbecue. The work was fulfilling, the people warm and friendly.

By the end of her three weeks, she’d become increasingly reluctant to leave.

On her last evening, Mathieu invited her round to dinner at their place.

“I should tell you why I over-reacted that day I nearly ran you down,” he said.

Vivien sipped the crisp Sauvignon. She had rarely known such contentment. It had been a delicious dinner and Claudette had given her a big hug when she went up to bed ten minutes ago. As for this man… “It brought back a terrible memory.” He took her hand and Vivien gazed at their two hands in surprise. She found Mathieu attractive – who wouldn’t? She had come to enjoy his company. But she hadn’t dared hope that he felt the same.

“Claudette’s mother died in similar circumstances,” he told her. “She walked into the road and the car could not stop.” “Oh, Mathieu, I’m so sorry.” “And so, the thought that I too had almost done such a terrible thing…” She squeezed his hand. “But you didn’t.” “We will miss you when you go,” he said. “Your skills, your enthusiasm…”

Vivien blinked. She thought of her life in Sussex. What was there for her? No family, a few friends, a closed school. He was still holding her hand.

“Do you think I can persuade you to stay a while longer?”

Vivien considered. She could trail around Sussex looking for another job. She could retire and make marmalade. Or she could become part of this community to which she had already given her heart. They wanted her. She could embrace this challenge and start a new life in Belle-Ile. “I think that maybe you could.” “In that case…” He leaned closer and gently brushed her lips with his. “Please let me try.”