Safe Haven Read online

  Contents

  Cover

  A Selection of Titles by Patricia MacDonald

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  A Selection of Titles by Patricia MacDonald

  SECRET ADMIRER

  LOST INNOCENTS

  NOT GUILTY

  SUSPICIOUS ORIGIN

  THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

  MARRIED TO A STRANGER

  STOLEN IN THE NIGHT

  FROM CRADLE TO GRAVE *

  CAST INTO DOUBT *

  MISSING CHILD *

  SISTERS *

  I SEE YOU *

  DON’T BELIEVE A WORD *

  THE GIRL IN THE WOODS *

  * available from Severn House

  SAFE HAVEN

  Patricia MacDonald

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First published in Great Britain 2018 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  Eardley House, 4 Uxbridge Street, London W8 7SY.

  First published in the USA 2019 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS of

  110 East 59th Street, New York, N.Y. 10022

  This eBook edition first published in 2018 by Severn House Digital

  an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

  Trade paperback edition first published

  in Great Britain and the USA 2019 by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD.

  Copyright © 2018 by Patricia Bourgeau.

  The right of Patricia MacDonald to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8848-8 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-972-6 (trade paper)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0181-2 (e-book)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland

  ONE

  Rain pelted the windows of La Petite Auberge, and the twinkling white lights threaded through the trees along the cobbled driveway seemed to hover, a floating strand of wavery nimbi, in the prismatic streaks on the glass. The rambling fieldstone and stucco house overlooking the river, so characteristic of this part of Bucks County, Pennsylvania, had been cleverly, expertly transformed to resemble a rustic French farmhouse. Of course, it was a farmhouse with upholstered fruitwood chairs at every table, and cascades of gorgeous flowers. In the large, timbered vestibule was a fireplace, now crackling, and, in one cozy corner, a gleaming, baby grand piano.

  Dena Russell stared out into the darkness from between the dark blue millefleur-patterned drapes which flanked the front doors of the cavernous firelit foyer. In the rain-spattered glass, her reflection might have been that of a child. She was small-boned and had a heart-shaped face with bangs and chin-length hair. Everything about her was delicate and petite – everything except the large belly under her dark green knit jumper which heralded the baby that was due in less than two months.

  The headlights of a car appeared at the end of the long drive and Dena glanced at her watch, wondering if it might finally be Brian. Although the dinner guests at the restaurant were just beginning to arrive, Dena’s work as the assistant pastry chef was done for the day. Tonight, she and Brian were supposed to be attending Lamaze class at the Monroe County Hospital, and she did not want to be late.

  A voice at Dena’s ear said, ‘Where the hell is he?’ Dena jumped, startled, as if someone were reading her thoughts. She turned and saw Albert Gelman, who, with his longtime companion, Eric Schultz, had created La Petite Auberge, standing at her elbow, frowning into the darkness. ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘Peter,’ said Albert impatiently, waving a well-manicured hand at the gleaming black baby grand piano, crowned with a spectacular arrangement of fresh flowers. ‘Our patrons pay for the ambiance,’ he said. ‘That includes the piano player.’

  Albert was referring to Peter Ward, a young widower who was raising two girls on his own, and was often late these days as he tried to cope with the recent departure of his upstairs neighbor who doubled as his regular baby-sitter. During the overlapping segments of their shifts, Peter had aired his troubles to Dena.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be here soon,’ said Dena. ‘He’s had a lot of problems lately.’

  ‘I have my own problems,’ said Albert. ‘I don’t have time for his.’

  Albert had spared no expense to create this restaurant, a French fantasy transported to this historic Pennsylvania town on the far outskirts of suburban Philadelphia. He wanted a setting that would be worthy of Eric’s cooking, which he had learned in the Burgundy region of France. Both men vacationed in France every year, and always brought back treasures to add to the already exquisite decor. Albert’s expensive taste was evident in every detail, and indeed, now in its third year of operation, La Petite Auberge attracted guests from as far away as New York. Although he seemed to be fussy and hypercritical, Dena knew, after working for him for the last six months, that Albert was fair and had a kind heart.

  ‘He’ll be here,’ she reassured him. At that moment the door opened and a bearded man with longish brown hair flecked with gray came in. He was wearing a black turtleneck, a tailored gray tweed jacket, and a trench coat. He shook the rain off his umbrella and put it in the faience porcelain stand by the door. Albert walked over and lifted the wet raincoat off Peter’s shoulders with the tips of his fingers, holding it at arm’s length from his own bespoke gray suit. ‘You,’ he growled, ‘are late.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Albert. My little one was feeling kind of needy. She wouldn’t let me go until I read to her, and brought her juice and all
…’

  ‘Puh-leeze,’ said Albert. ‘Enough. Go. Sit. Play.’

  Peter gave Dena a conspiratorial grin as he headed for the piano bench. They both knew that Albert, kindhearted though he was, had no frame of reference for children. Their ways and needs were a mystery to him. Dena smiled back at the harried parent.

  Albert hung up Peter’s coat as Peter sat down, pushed open the lid to the keyboard, and played an arpeggio that drew a pleased murmur from the cluster of couples in the dining room. Albert sighed. ‘I don’t know why I keep him.’

  Dena smiled. ‘Because you’re a sweetheart, Albert.’

  He pointed a finger at her. ‘Don’t you believe it,’ he warned. Albert turned away. ‘I have a restaurant to run.’

  Dena made a gesture that indicated she was erasing her smile, as Albert disappeared around the corner. For a moment her gaze fell on Peter, as he began to play a melancholy Francis Lai song. Albert insisted on a strictly French repertoire at the piano, and dictated Peter’s wardrobe as if he were an actor in a play. The sophisticated, fashionable clothes did not exactly suit Peter’s sturdy, all-American frame, but Peter always insisted that he didn’t mind. He said that Albert had better taste than he did.

  Dena and Peter often chatted in the moments when their paths crossed, and Dena had to admire him. He seemed utterly devoted to his two small daughters, and it couldn’t be easy, raising them alone. As if he could feel her gaze on him, Peter looked up from the keys. He had keen, gray-green eyes that were unmistakably intelligent, though often sad. There was a worried, distracted look in his eyes tonight that made her look at him questioningly. He glanced around, as if to make sure that Albert was nowhere in sight, and then inclined his head slightly as if to call her over to the piano.

  Dena took another look out the window. She was getting seriously worried about the time. There was still no sign of Brian’s truck. It had been difficult enough to convince him to attend the class with her. The first two series of classes that she’d wanted to attend, he had insisted that he couldn’t manage it. Trying to be understanding, she had put it off. Now, it was too late to put it off any longer. The baby was due in less than two months.

  She turned away from the window and walked over to the piano, leaning against it and looking at Peter inquiringly. ‘What’s up?’ she asked.

  ‘Something I wanted to tell you,’ he said, his soft voice barely audible over the notes he was playing.

  ‘I can hardly hear you,’ she said.

  He patted the seat on the piano bench beside him, but she was unwilling to sit there. After all, she was expecting Brian, and she knew he would take it the wrong way. At the same moment, she felt weary of having to think that way. She leaned over the piano, as far as her large belly would allow. ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘I haven’t said anything to Albert yet,’ he said.

  Immediately, she felt her heart begin to sink, knowing before he said it what this was going to be about. ‘Are you leaving?’ she asked.

  Peter gazed at his music intently and nodded.

  ‘Oh, Peter, no,’ she said. She suddenly had a sense of how much she was going to miss him. He was always interesting to talk to, always considerate of her, especially in this late stage of her pregnancy. ‘Who will I talk to?’ she asked.

  ‘Talk to Brian,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  He glanced up at her, and she realized how she was slumping against the shining piano. She forced herself to straighten up.

  ‘Things aren’t going well?’ he asked.

  Dena sighed, and pressed her lips together. Last year, she was living in Chicago, and had come to New York for a master class in artisan bread-baking. While she was in New York, she decided to take a quick trip to Monroe to attend her tenth high school reunion, and had run into Brian Riley, a guy she scarcely knew, but had had a crush on in high school. To her amazement, the attraction had been mutual this time, and they had begun a long-distance romance that resulted in her unplanned pregnancy. When she came back to Monroe, at his insistence, to live with him, she scarcely knew him, but she had been full of hope. Now, six months later, that hope had all but disappeared. ‘You might say that,’ she sighed.

  Peter frowned. ‘Anything I can do?’

  ‘No,’ she shook her head. ‘I’ve got to figure this one out myself. But, tell me about you. Why are you leaving? Where are you going?’

  Peter looked around again nervously as he finished his song, and reached up to change his sheet music. He began to play again. ‘I got an offer for a job out in Minneapolis. I’m from there, originally. It’s more money, and the hours are better for the girls. They’ll both be in school, and I need to be home at night.’

  Dena squeezed the sleeve of his jacket. ‘You’re a great dad,’ she said. ‘You always put them first.’

  He shook his head, as if to brush off the compliment. ‘I’m going to hate telling Albert. He’s not going to take it well.’

  Dena nodded in agreement. ‘You’ve got that right.’

  ‘He’s been good to us. It isn’t that. But, you know, circumstances change.’

  ‘I know,’ said Dena. How well I know, she thought. She and Brian had seemed so well suited to one another when they only saw each other on occasional weekends. But not long after she moved back here to live with him, she began to see another side of him – a much different side. Brian’s father had had a stroke and was in a nursing home, and it was true that Brian worked long hours maintaining his father’s horse barn and was often tired and stressed out. Dena could be understanding about that. But he was also possessive and jealous, unwilling to see, or let her see other people. After six months of living here, she didn’t know a soul outside of work. She felt isolated at the farm, and if she suggested that they have any other friends, he would question her suspiciously. He didn’t seem to trust her at all. Although for a while she had tried to tell herself that their relationship would improve, her hopes were all but gone.

  ‘Do you think you and Brian will get married?’ Peter asked.

  Dena started. Marriage was the farthest thing from her mind these days. Not so long ago, she had wanted a marriage and a family so much. She had taken her pregnancy, which happened in spite of her precautions, as a sign that this was meant to be. That Brian was the one. But, it didn’t seem that way any more. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said truthfully.

  ‘Well, whatever happens,’ he said, ‘you’ll have your baby. There’s nothing more wonderful in the world.’

  His words made her feel oddly lonely. ‘Peter, I hate it that you’re going,’ she said. ‘I’m going to miss you so much.’

  ‘Dena,’ demanded a familiar voice coldly.

  Dena turned and saw Brian, still in his boots and dirty jeans, from the barn, standing behind her. She was struck, as always, by the sight of him. Despite his disheveled clothes, he was one of the handsomest men she had ever seen. He had black, curly hair and long eyelashes, and he still had the physique of an athlete, thanks to years of working at his father’s barn.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. He must have heard her. She could see he was angry, but she refused to be ashamed of a kind word to an acquaintance. Deliberately, she turned back to Peter. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  Peter smiled at her briefly, and then looked up at a matron in a red suit who had approached the piano. ‘Can you play “Music of the Night”?’ the woman asked.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know that one,’ Peter lied smoothly. ‘How about “La Vie en Rose”?’

  ‘But that’s so old,’ the woman protested.

  ‘Like women, and fine wine, it improves with age,’ said Peter gallantly. The middle-aged woman giggled flirtatiously before returning to her table.

  Brian did not wait for Dena but turned on his heel and stalked out of the restaurant. Dena followed him. His pick-up truck was parked at the entrance to the restaurant. Dena opened the door and clambered awkwardly into the cab beside him. Brian did not glance at her. He was watchin
g the rear- and side-view mirrors as he pulled away from the curb.

  Dena glanced at her watch but decided not to protest about the time. It wouldn’t do any good now. ‘Nasty night,’ said Dena.

  Brian did not reply. The silent treatment, she thought. Not again. ‘How was your day?’ she asked.

  ‘Not as interesting as yours,’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘Brian,’ she said wearily.

  ‘My day was shit,’ he said. ‘I’ve got two sick horses and the owners are blaming it on the barn.’

  Dena tried to be sympathetic. She knew how difficult his life had become. At the barn, Matthew Riley boarded about a dozen horses and trained them for competition.

  Before the accident, he would routinely take a caravan of horse trailers to faraway competitions. Matthew had been a somewhat domineering man, who had never really ceded any of the responsibility of the business to his son. Brian’s initiation had been overnight, and traumatic. So far, he had met with nothing but loss. He had been forced to sell part of the farm, including his own little house and the property it stood on, just to avoid bankruptcy.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said automatically.

  ‘Me too,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’m exhausted and I’m strung out. And now we have to go to this thing tonight.’

  ‘This thing,’ she repeated, bristling. ‘You mean the Lamaze class.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Look, if you don’t want to come, then don’t.’

  ‘Would you rather I didn’t?’ he asked.

  ‘I would rather you did it willingly,’ she said, her own temper flaring.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m not sensitive enough to enjoy these things, like your boyfriend from work.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Dena.

  ‘If all I had to do was sit around playing the piano all day …’

  ‘At least Peter is a man who sees a baby as a wonderful thing, not some millstone around his neck,’ she snapped.

  ‘Ah,’ Brian said, as if satisfied. ‘The ideal man.’

  Dena shook her head. She felt as if she had been walking on a razor’s edge for months now. She struggled to control her anger. ‘Brian, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just trying to make a point. You know very well Peter’s nothing but a friend to me. In fact, he was just telling me that he’s leaving. He got another job.’