Unfriendly Alliance

  Unfriendly Alliance

  By

  Jessica Steele

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  'What the hell's going on?' Cale Quartermaine demanded, as the baby started off again, this time in search of louder decibels.

  Anstey had a speech prepared, but she was distracted by Rosie's noise, and opened with none of what she had ready.

  'You are Mr Cale Quartermaine—Lester's brother?' she asked.

  It could have been purely a disinclination on his part to compete with the yelling infant. But when all Cale Quartermaine did to acknowledge who he was to give a curt nod, Anstey's preformed dislike of him was confirmed.

  'Then allow me,' she said tartly, her chin tilting, her tone holding none of the pleasantness with which she had intended to explain the position to him, 'to introduce your niece.'

  Books you will enjoy by JESSICA STEELE

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  Brooke had always mothered her flighty young sister Stephanie, and when she found out that Stephanie had fallen in love with a most unsuitable Frenchman, she went rushing off to Normandy to the rescue. But, once arrived, Brooke discovered for herself how hard it was to resist Jourdain Marchais' charm!

  RELATIVE STRANGERS

  Stein Kildedalen thought Zarah was a gold-digger but she knew it wasn't true. All she wanted from this visit to Norway was to solve the mystery of her parentage.

  First published

  in

  Great Britain 1987

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  ©Jessica Steele 1987

  ISBN 0 263 75795 1

  CHAPTER ONE

  The baby started to cry, again. Anstey was feeling so down that she could easily have cried too. Rousing herself from her dejection, she went to the bedroom and lifted Rosie from her cot.

  'I know I'm doing this all wrong, and that I probably shouldn't pick you up every time you whimper,' she crooned to the tiny two-month-old scrap, 'but why shouldn't someone spoil you? Your mother's disappeared, your father couldn't care less, and fatty, ratty Kenneth downstairs has a decided aversion to hearing you exercise your lungs at full throttle.'

  Anstey walked the baby up and down for a while until, to her relief, Rosie stopped crying. Fearing to put her down in case she started off once more, she carried her into the sitting-room and sat down with her.

  As she cradled the baby to her, Anstey's worries were soon on the same old treadmill. What was she going to do? It was nearly three weeks now since Joanna had gone— when was she coming back?

  Troubled about her dear friend, she glanced down and saw that Rosie had fallen asleep. 'It's all your fault,' she whispered gently. But it was not Rosie Tresilla Quarter Maine's fault. She hadn't asked to come into the world. Indeed, had that rat Lester Quartermaine had his way, she would never have been born. He had not been pleased when Joanna had told him she was pregnant. His answer was that she should have the pregnancy aborted. Joanna had refused.

  Anstey knew her friend had hoped that, once the baby arrived, Lester would learn to love the child and that, since he professed to be very much in love with Joanna, he would ask her to marry him. It had not worked out that way.

  Poor Joanna, she was so much in love with Lester that she had continued to believe it would all come right. Doubts had started to set in, however, when she had telephoned him from the maternity ward to tell him that they had a lovely daughter.

  'What else is new ?' he'd answered heartlessly, his tone so uncaring that Joanna, in relaying the conversation to Anstey, had broken down and wept.

  Anstey was slow to anger, and until then she had quite liked Lester. He was always full of fun, and she too had believed that deep down he truly loved her friend. But when Joanna had finished telling her of his heartlessness, she had been all for charging round to his flat to give forth along the lines that it was about time he faced up to his responsibilities.

  'Please don't, it'll only make things worse,' Joanna had cried when Anstey had been too incensed to keep quiet about what she intended to do. 'For my sake, don't meddle.'

  So she had swallowed her anger, and had not meddled. She couldn't refrain from meddling on another front, though. With not a word or a visit from Lester, Joanna was discharged from hospital, but her mind was so much on him that it looked as though the baby was going to lose out. Gone was the eagerness with which she had looked forward to the baby's arrival. So much so that at times Anstey had to coax her to show an interest in the fragile bundle.

  Anstey took two weeks out of her holiday entitlement to help out. But at the end of those two weeks, she found herself more in charge of attending to the baby's requirements than merely assisting.

  Which was perhaps why Joanna must have felt Anstey could cope when she had a resurgence of her old habit of 'lighting out' when things got too much for her.

  Anstey had been back at work for three weeks when she returned home one evening to find that Rosie had been left with Hazel, their downstairs neighbour, and that Joanna had gone.

  Anstey and Joanna had grown up living next door to each other, so in a flash she was reminded of her friend's teenage penchant for taking off when the trauma of her wretched home life became too much for her to handle. The fact that Joanna knew she would be in deeper hot water from her tyrannical stepfather had not mattered when, unable to take any more verbal abuse, she would just— leave.

  But Anstey had thought Joanna's disappearing act was a thing of the past. They had come to London together four years ago and Joanna, her emotions soon on a more even keel hadn't once shown any sign of wanting to 'get away from it all'.

  Rosie stirred in her arms but did not wake, and Anstey's thoughts went back to the night before Joanna had gone. Still trying to get her to think more of the baby than of Lester, she had reminded her friend that if she didn't wish to break the law, then she couldn't leave it much later before she registered her baby's birth.

  'You haven't changed your mind about the names you chose if she were to be a girl?' she had asked, remembering happier times when, months in advance, they had discussed the merits and demerits of possible names.

  'Rosie Tresilla Quartermaine, she'll be,' Joanna had responded.

  Encouraged to think that Joanna was taking more of an interest in the baby, Anstey had arrived home the following evening to discover just how wrong she had been. Hazel Davies from the ground-floor flat had met her in the hall. Hazel was a pleasant woman, married to Kenneth for ten years and desperately yearning for a child—a yearning which her husband did not share.

  About to give her a cheerful greeting in passing, Anstey saw something in Hazel's expression which made her amend her greeting to 'What…?'

  'The baby's asleep on my bed,' Hazel said quickly. And, just as quickly, 'Joanna's gone.' 'Gone!'

  Hurriedly Hazel had explained how Joanna had appeared at her door that afternoon, clutching a suitcase in one hand and the baby in her arm. 'She said she had to get away, and asked if I'd mind little Rosie until you came home. Naturally I said I'd have the baby with pleasure, but…'

  'Did she say where she was going?' Anstey butted in, recalling instantly Joanna's old compulsion to get away when things became too much for her.

  'I tried to question her, but I couldn't get another thing out of her save for repeating that she had to go. I've given Rosie her bottle, by the way,' Hazel thought to mention.

  'I'd better take her.' Anstey weathered her stunned feelings to follow Hazel into her flat.
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  'If you would,' said Hazel, starting to look a shade uncomfortable. 'Kenneth will be home in about fifteen minutes.'

  Anstey took Rosie up to the flat she shared with Joanna, well aware that Kenneth, whom it was not unknown to hear yell 'Can't you keep that kid quiet?' would not take kindly to having Rosie in possession of his bed when he came home.

  Her thoughts going nineteen to the dozen, Anstey laid the sleeping Rosie down, and took out the telephone directory. It seemed obvious to her that with Joanna so much in love with Lester Quartermaine, if she'd told anyone where she was going, it would be him.

  She found his number without difficulty. It was directly under the bold print of Quartermaine Holdings, the firm owned by Lester's hard-as-rock brother. Anstey began to dial, wasting barely a thought on Cale Quartermaine. She had never met him, but any man who could so callously end his own brother's career a couple of years ago by booting Lester out of his firm was not, in her opinion, worth knowing. But both Quartermaine brothers went from her mind when, suddenly centring her thoughts on Joanna again, Anstey realised that she could be doing her friend the greatest disservice by trying to find her! Quickly, she put the phone back on its rest.

  Past experience showed that Joanna always came home when she'd recharged her emotional batteries. Besides which, if Joanna ran true to her old form, she'd shun like the plague the idea of letting anyone know where she was, or of going to anyone who might pressure her into returning before she was ready.

  An hour later, Anstey was so worried that she was having to forcibly remind herself that to ring Lester would be the worst disservice she could do her friend. Then, suddenly, the phone in the flat rang.

  Like a shot she was over to it, picking it up to hear her friend's voice. 'Joanna! Where are you?' she cried in relief.

  'I—need—some time, by myself,' Joanna answered flatly.

  'Yes, I understand that,' said Anstey quickly; she was as close to her as a sister but she was aware that occasionally they both needed their own space. 'But…'

  'Will you look after Rosie for me, until I get myself sorted out?' Joanna asked, and confessed in her usual open way, 'I wasn't going to ring you, only it came to me suddenly that…' she broke off, and there was a bitter note in her voice, when she resumed, '… that one of the baby's parents should show some sense of responsibility for her.'

  'Yes, of course I'll look after her,' Anstey speedily assured her, but bitterness was so unlike Joanna that she just had to ask, 'What's—gone wrong, Jo ?'

  'What else, you mean?' replied Joanna, and broke down completely as she revealed, 'Nothing—ex-except that L-Lester is denying p-paternity.'

  'He's—what!' Anstey gasped, knowing for a fact that Lester had been Joanna's one and only lover. 'Has he said so?'

  'It amounts to the same thing,' Joanna said, struggling to regain her self-control. 'I went to register Rosie's birth this morning—as you reminded me I should. But I found out that, although I could give her Lester's surname, or any surname I fancied for that matter, unless Lester agreed, I couldn't have him named on her birth certificate as her father.'

  'Lester wouldn't agree?' Anstey asked, fearing the worst.

  'I rang him,' said Joanna, and started to cry again. 'I asked him to come and meet me at the registrar's so he could sign whatever he had to sign. But he—he—said th-that since he'd never wanted the baby in the f-first place, he was damn sure he wasn't going to sign for it.'

  'Oh—love,' Anstey choked, as shocked as Joanna must have been that Lester was quite prepared to let his child go through life with no officially listed father.

  Seconds ticked away as Joanna made fresh attempts to stop crying. 'I need time,' she then reiterated. 'Time to think Lester out of my system. Time to accept—even though I've registered Rosie with his surname—that it's all over between him and me. I need time, Anstey,' she said, 'to get myself together to be able to come home and take on the responsibility of being a single parent.'

  Anstey was not sure that she wasn't going to start weeping herself, and freely she invited, 'Take as long as you like, love.'

  'The way I feel now,' threatened Joanna with a valiant attempt at humour, 'it'll take a year.'

  'What are friends for?' Anstey teased, in her determination that Joanna should feel no pressure from her.

  'I should have added your name to Rosie Tresilla,' Joanna replied gratefully.

  'Poor mite!' Anstey, christened Anastasia, responded. 'She'll be glad you didn't.'

  'Keep her safe for me, Anstey,' Joanna said solemnly, and waited only to receive Anstey's fervent promise, then sighed, 'I'll need her when I get back,' and rang off.

  Believing she would be back in a few days, Anstey rang her boss the next morning. Mr Sallis was not very thrilled that at such short notice she wanted the rest of the week off, but he finally agreed that she could take the time out of her dwindling holiday allowance.

  Rosie proved as fretful as ever that morning, but eventually she stopped crying to take a nap for long enough for Anstey to pop down to tell Hazel that she had heard from Joanna, and that Joanna would soon be back.

  Away for a matter of minutes, Anstey returned upstairs to tidy up what was rapidly becoming a very cramped apartment. Perhaps their landlord had known a thing or two when he had stipulated 'No children' in their tenancy agreement, she mused. For where once the flat with its twin-bedded bedroom had been adequate for two adults, the essential equipment for a baby's wellbeing had shown that the arrival of one tiny infant made it overcrowded.

  Anstey was tackling the daily wash when Rosie awoke and started crying. She cried on and on, and when nothing would pacify her, Anstey began to get seriously worried.

  Frazzled herself by midday, she found her promise to Joanna to keep Rosie safe mingled with a feeling of helplessness. Her experience of babies had been nonexistent until Rosie had come along. What if the baby was not merely fretful—but ill!

  Early that afternoon Anstey took Rosie to see Dr Favell, the caring if slightly old-fashioned general practitioner with whom Joanna had registered when she had discovered she was pregnant.

  'You're worrying unnecessarily,' he pronounced, after giving the baby a thorough examination and hearing that she was gaining weight. 'She's perfectly normal and perfectly healthy. This young lady doesn't have a problem,' he said with a sympathetic smile, 'you do. You,' he went on, 'or rather, Miss Keeble, has been unlucky enough to produce a crier. How is Miss Keeble, incidentally?' he asked.

  'She's gone away for a few days,' she answered but, not wanting him to think her friend an uncaring mother, she felt bound to add, 'She's not—very happy—at the moment.'

  'Oh,' he murmured, 'and why's that?'

  Anstey felt a trifle uncomfortable, but while she would be loyal to Joanna to the death, she felt no such loyalty for Lester Quartermaine, only anger. 'Her boyfriend—her ex-boyfriend…' she began in confidence.

  A short while later the doctor, by sympathetic questioning, had received a broad outline of why Joanna was not very happy just then.

  'You said Miss Keeble telephoned you last evening,' he detailed. 'How was she—weepy?'

  'She has every cause,' Anstey replied.

  Dr Favell put Rosie's documents back in their envelope, and stood up. 'Go home and try not to fret about this bundle of noise,' he said, chucking Rosie under the chin. 'Nor Miss Keeble either,' he added, noting Anstey's worried brow. 'Many young mothers, I promise you, would give a right arm to be able to decamp from a crying offspring for a few days.'

  Anstey came away from the surgery feeling much better able to cope now that she knew Rosie was just being a cross-patch for the sake of it.

  When Sunday arrived, though, and Joanna had not, Anstey started to get anxious about something else. Mr Sallis would blow his top if she had to ring him tomorrow to ask for more time off work. Yet if Joanna was not home, short of taking the baby to work with her, there was no way she was going to be able to put in an appearance at the offices of Elton Diesel.
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  It was going on for three that afternoon when Anstey heard someone coming up the stairs. In a flash she was over at the door, pulling it wide.

  'Sorry, it's only me,' said Hazel, on seeing the crestfallen look which Anstey was not quick enough to hide. 'Joanna not back yet?'

  'She obviously needs more time than I thought,' Anstey replied, managing to produce a smile as she invited Hazel in.

  'Kenneth's gone to visit his mother,' Hazel volunteered, at the same time extracting a pink fluffy toy from the paper bag she held. 'I bought this yesterday, but haven't had a chance to come up before.'

  'Rosie's just fallen asleep,' Anstey told her, and guessed that Hazel did not want Kenneth to know about her small gift, when she remarked, 'Why is it that she always manages to fall asleep when he goes out?'

  'I know her crying disturbs him, but I'm sure she'll soon grow out of it,' Anstey murmured, more from hope than conviction.

  'I'm sure she will,' Hazel agreed, but added reluctantly, 'I'm afraid Kenneth's—hmm—making noises about having a word with the landlord. I'm sorry,' she apologised. 'For myself, I'll be sorry too if you have to look for a new flat, but…'

  'If Joanna isn't here by the morning, I stand to be looking for a new job before I start looking for a new flat,' Anstey butted in. And, with enough on her mind without the added threat of being evicted, she asked, 'Have you time for a cup of tea?'

  'Love one,' Hazel accepted enthusiastically, more from the hope of still being there when Rosie awakened, Anstey guessed, than because she was dying of thirst. 'Why do you stand to be looking for a new job?'

  Over the tea she told Hazel everything that she had not worked out for herself. And, thinking it out as she went along, Anstey told her that she would definitely have to have tomorrow off if Joanna did not appear. 'I shall have to spend the day searching for a baby-minder.' Anstey reached the only logical conclusion she could see.