There Were Three Princes

by Joyce Dingwell

  She wondered about it during her day's activities. Had he been so angry with her for not bringing a sensible sleeping suit, as Priscilla had, that he still rankled? But no, the following day after the lantern episode the subject had not, been mentioned, and driving home had been pleasant enough.

  But afterwards .. .

  He was away a lot, and in his astringent mood Verity was glad of this. She had enough troubles. Robin had not been to see her, and though she disliked doing it in case she might be considered intrusive, she had gone to see him. Adele had been home.

  It had been soon afterwards, she mused later, that Bart had come in and corrected very pointedly her new arrangement of wall panels. Before, his correction had piqued her, but she had seen how right he was, but on this occasion she had not seen it. He must have sensed her mortification, for he had reminded her blandly : "The boss is always right."

  "I thought it was the customer."

  "Which still makes me right, because this correction will ensure us a customer."

  She had bitten her lip . . . and it had hurt . . . but much more hurting was the knowledgeable look he had given her, that knowledge that he was the boss and she could not answer back. Oh, why did she stay here?

  Reading her in that uncanny way of his, he had agreed, "Yes, why? There are other jobs." Then, when she had not answered, "But you want this one, don't you?"

  "I just want a job."

  He had smiled thinly at that. It had been a disbelieving smile

  He had waited pointedly for a while, then he had inquired : "And for how long do you want 'just a job'?"

  "I said I just want a job," she had answered flatly.

  "For how long?" he had repeated. Mrs. Prince, his mother, had asked that, too, but very differently. "You came out to Australia to visit your brother, I hear," came next.

  "I don't know how you heard that, but yes, I did. Only Robin is a half-brother."

  "And a very comfortable one, I believe."

  "Why should you believe it?"

  "Isn't it true?"

  It wasn't . . . but no one must know. "I meant how did you learn this?" she had corrected herself.

  "The world," he had reminded her, "is a small place."

  As she did not comment, he had said, "Among my acquaintance still on nodding and not wincing terms . . . sorry, I forgot, no self-pity . . . is Dellie."

  As she looked at him in puzzlement, he said a little angrily, "Your half-brother's wife."

  "Oh, Adele. Robin always calls her Adele."

  "And you? What do you call her?"

  "I haven't got to know her very well."

  "So she remarked." His voice was dry, and he had said no more.

  The next day they had classified his lantern collection, a fascinating business had he not been difficult again.

  "A point, Miss Tyler." They had been pausing a few minutes; Verity had mused on the fact that he had been calling her Miss Tyler all the week.

  "Yes, Mr. Prince ?" she came back.

  "I think it only fair to tell you that in a family of three apparently eligible males, there is actually only one eligible Prince."

  She had gone a vivid pink. "And why are you telling me this ?"

  "Because of certain things —"

  "What things ?"

  He had ignored that and continued, "Because of certain things I believe it would be wise. So often a girl wastes time, and if wastage can be avoided —"

  "I don't care for your subject ! " she said coldly.

  "Nonetheless" . . . he had raised his voice . . . "listen. Matthew, though he won't admit it yet, is positively accounted for, even though the fool is not helping himself by adopting a wait and-see attitude with Cassandra. Had I a raging beauty like Cassandra —"

  "You would rush in where angels fear to tread? Is Matthew an angel? Your mother said he was a wonderful person."

  "A wonderful idiot. But yes, Matthew is one of the best."

  "Once upon a time there were three princes," said Verity absently, "a gracious prince, a charming prince, and a prince who was in-between."

  "You go in for fairytales ?'

  "I did."

  "It never dies out, I think — in which case, keeping a happy ending in view, forget Matthew, forget one of the other two, then keep strictly in mind that the field is reduced to only one."

  Yes, Verity thought : Peter, the charmer. He is the sole one left if Matthew is written down for Cassandra, because you, Mr. Bart Prince, belong to Priscilla. She added to herself, rankling at his bald words : "Poor Priscilla ! "

  "I find all this in bad taste," she said aloud.

  "It's in rotten taste, but it makes sense. If everybody was outspoken there'd be fewer broken hearts."

  "I have no intention of breaking my heart," she told him. "Or of breaking any other hearts ?"

  "You flatter me."

  "I never flatter."

  The next few days he was away. Verity, thinking it was business, never inquired from Priscilla, and was surprised one evening when the secretary asked her to visit Bart with her.

  "Visit him?" she queried.

  "He's in St. Martin's again. More tests."

  "I didn't know." Verity had paused. "I hardly think he'd want to see me."

  "Fresh faces," persuaded Priscilla. "Poor Bart gets terribly bored. Besides, even though he says he's not attached here, he's still very interested in how things are going. I can only tell him the clerical side. Will you come after we shut up, Verity?"

  Verity, though not enthusiastically, agreed.

  As the girls walked from Woman's Castle down the leafy street, Verity inquired from Priscilla as to what injury of Bart's was receiving the current attention.

  "The leg. The doctors believe some of the drag can be eliminated — at least that's Matthew's report. Bart always persists

  that it's an examination to decide whether they'll take the leg altogether."

  "Oh, no ! " exclaimed Verity.

  "No . . . but that's how Bart gets. If only . ." But Priscilla left it at that.

  If only he would let me share it all, Verity interpreted for herself. She asked if there was any other injury that was to be explored.

  "No. Bart was in a very bad way, but everything else was patched up. Of course the scar will always be there."

  "It's nothing," said Verity spontaneously. "I really mean if anything it lends something to him."

  Priscilla turned quite radiantly to her. "I'm glad you said that. It's how I feel."

  But not how Bart feels, thought Verity. "Can you in truth look at me and not look away?" he had said.

  On an impulse, she took and pressed Priscilla's hand, and was surprised . . . yet why should she be surprised? . . . at the pressure the girl returned.

  "I couldn't tell you what Bart means to me, has always meant," Priscilla proffered. "Without Bart . . ."

  "Then why don't you —" But Verity stopped herself at that.

  They turned into the hospital, and Priscilla led the way unerringly down a maze of corridors . . . "Yes, I come every day," she smiled, "so I should know" . . . to a verandah room.

  Because it was the leg that was receiving attention, Bart was propped up in bed. He looked very fit, though, and Verity recalled that his whipcord virility had been her first sharp impression of him, an impact of determined vigour in spite of what fate had dealt him.

  Priscilla went at once to him and kissed his forehead lightly. He took her fingers in his. When he turned his glance to Verity, raising his brows as he did, he said, "The other member of the staff ! But not affording the same warm greeting."

  "How do you do, Mr. Prince." Verity extended a cool hand.

  "How do I do ?" It seemed to amuse him. "I do well. The limb will remain with me a further week or so."

  "Bart dear !" Priscilla's gentle voice reproached him, and he grinned and said, "Sorry, Cilla," and touched her fingers again.

  "Sit down," he invited, his eyes now on Verity again, "and distribute the grapes."<
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  "I'm afraid I didn't bring any," she said.

  "No grapes ?"

  "I — well, as a matter of fact I didn't know you were in hospital until Priscilla told me. I mean" . . . for some reason becoming confused, and that fact annoying her . . . "you'd only just come out, and —" She knew that was the wrong thing to say, and he did not scruple to tell her.

  "Didn't you know," he said harshly, "I have a permanent booking."

  "Bart ! " Again it was Priscilla.

  "Sorry," he repeated. "I should remember, especially when I've been told how Miss Tyler doesn't like such conversation. What shall we talk about? Sealing wax?"

  "There was a traveller called with a new furniture wax," related Priscilla equably. "Much less abrasive, I'd say. I thought on that last mahogany you bought —"

  The talk veered to shop. When the hour was up, Priscilla again kissed Bart's brow ... and Verity again extended her hand.

  "I'll be back on deck again next week," he warned her, "so get your slacking over while you can."

  "Bart, she never slacks," Priscilla objected.

  "Only the boss."

  "You most of all never do that."

  "What's this now, then?" He looked down at the sheets. Then he glanced obliquely and ironically at Verity.

  As they emerged from the hospital, Verity said, "Must he be so bitter ?"

  "It was very bitter for him."

  "But lots of people are involved in bitter things."

  Priscilla looked as though she was about to explain, then must have changed her mind. "It's Bart's story," she sighed, "not mine."

  Yet your consequence, thought Verity, because of Bart's bitterness at what has happened to him, even though he loves you, the position is to remain at that. For now, anyway.

  "Goodnight, Verity," Priscilla said, "thank you for coming, and that thanks is for Bart, too, for I don't believe he thanked you himself."

  As she left the secretary, Verity thought that probably Priscilla had to perform a lot of social niceties for Bart Prince, but then Priscilla would not mind. What had she said? "I couldn't tell you what Bart means to me, has always meant." And then she had said : "Without Bart . . ."

  A little bleakly, Verity boarded the ferry to Balmain.

  She was pleased to see Robin's car drawn up at the terrace, but not so pleased, though she reproached herself over that, when, after opening up, it was Adele who greeted her.

  "Hope you don't mind," smiled the girl . . . a smile for a change? . . . "but Robbie gave me the key. I suppose I could have sat in the car —" She shrugged.

  "Of course you had to come in." Verity wondered unhappily if her voice sounded as false as she felt. No matter how hard she tried she could not warm to Adele . . . Dellie, as Bart had called her.

  As she brewed coffee, she wondered why she didn't like her.

  She was certainly a very attractive girl, but then only an attractive girl would have appealed to her half-brother. Indul—

  ged always, he had had the time and the means to look around.

  But the means were almost gone now, she sighed to herself, and as for the time...

  Almost as if she read her thoughts, Adele said : "He had another turn."

  Her abrupt announcement, not even Robin's name spoken, choked at Verity, but she knew she could only harm Robin by being aggressive.

  "What did the doctor say?" she asked, controlling herself with some great effort.

  "The same, no doubt, as he said to you."

  "Did Robbie question the attack?"

  "No. He simply doesn't know because he never asks." The dark eyes, remarkably dark and large, rested on Verity. "That's what I've come about. He mustn't know."

  This at least was one thing on which they could be agreed, and Verity said at once that she felt the same.

  "For different reasons, though," suggested Adele thinly. "You're thinking of his peace of mind . . . well, perhaps I am, too, I'm not that hard, also I can't stand heroics — I mean, it would be awful to live with a man if he knew that."

  The callousness of her shocked Verity, but in the shock she wondered how Adele would react if she told her more of the truth, told her of her husband's changed financial conditions. She could see the rising colour, the incredulous look, finally the mental checking of where she stood showing plainly in those lovely eyes, and then the girl turning and walking out. Walking out from Robin as well. No, Adele must not know. If Robbie lasted longer than the money lasted, she must still not know. Somewhere I'll get money, Verity thought. I don't know how, but Robin . . . my Robin...

  "I also don't wish Robin to know because lately he has become quite concerned over you," Adele said coldly. "I have no doubt," she went on, "that faced with that he could get quite maudlin, even wish to make a future settlement on you."

  "That's absurd ! " Absurd in more ways than you think, Verity could have added. Aloud, she reasoned, "It was his father's money. I wasn't his father's child."

  "No, and evidently it hasn't worried him until now. There is an obvious solution, you know. Why don't you go back to England ?"

  "We had that out before," said Verity dully. "I can't go until — until Robbie goes. I've always loved Robin."

  "Yes." Adele yawned. "He's told me countless times how you practically reared him. Quite touching . . . so long as there's no other motive."

  "You're an unrewarding person, Adele," Verity said with considerable restraint.

  "I haven't enjoyed the most rewarding of experiences." The girl lit a cigarette, and Verity saw the line to her mouth and thought yes, that would be so, and she's let it harden her.

  "Anyhow, we two are agreed," she shrugged. "If not about your return to England, perhaps, then about not letting Robin know. Of course" . . . another shrug . . . "we wouldn't actually see you stuck, at least I won't see you stuck. But you're doing quite well, aren't you? Anyone would — with the Princes."

  "I believe you know them."

  "Most Sydney people would, if only by repute. They're very rich. Riches seem to broadcast themselves." Adele laughed. "Which one are you setting your cap at? Financially they would all bring the same reward."

  "Do you have to talk like this?" jerked Verity.

  "You don't like truths?"

  "It's not the truth."

  "Time will tell," smiled Adele. She glanced at her watch. "Is that the time now? I must go."

  She went without any more discussion, rand as soon as the car moved away from the kerb, Verity came back into the house, left the door open, pushed wide the windows, let the wind come in. She felt stifled.

  She did not visit Bart any more, and one morning, asking Priscilla a little offhandedly how he was, learned from the secretary that she was not visiting him either, since he had left St. Martin's and was undergoing some remedial treatment at an out-of-town clinic.

  "That's the pattern for Bart," Priscilla said regretfully. "Perhaps one day he won't need these attendances. Matthew believes so, anyway."

  "How long will he be away?" Verity asked.

  "As long as they can prevail upon him to stop — but he can be very stubborn."

  Yes, thought Verity, you of all people would know that. "Matthew is a clever doctor, his mother said," she said instead.

  "He graduated very highly. But like all the Princes, he's extremely obstinate. He has the means to set up a successful practice — all the sons have their own means."

  Yes, thought Verity, remembering Adele, financially they would all bring the same reward.

  "But Matthew wouldn't be content with that," Priscilla went on. "He must earn his own way, he thinks. He has taken this practice in an outer suburb, a suburb with a distinctly industrial slant, so you can guess how busy he'll be. While he works his way up he won't avail himself of any of his inheritance. He feels the manner he's doing his thing is putting him on his mettle."

  "And does Cassandra ... oh, yes, I know about Cassandra ... think that, too?" They were having coffee, and coffee was a time for confidences.
But perhaps this one was too close for comfort, for Verity noticed that Priscilla went a dull red, that she looked uneasy.

  The girl did not speak for quite a while, then she asked Verity : "And what do you know about Cassandra ?"

  "Only that she's beautiful."

  "Yes. Beautiful." Again the strained look.

  Now Verity believed she knew what was worrying the secretary. Bart had spoken enthusiastically about Cassandra's loveliness, and seeing that he had said it to her, Verity, he must have also said it at some time to Priscilla. She looked sympathetically at the girl.

  "Yes," sighed Priscilla again, "beautiful. She's all that Bart described."

  "Bart also said," repeated Verity, hoping to cheer Priscilla, "that Matthew was a fool not to rush in."

  "It wasn't Matthew I was thinking of," Priscilla said wretchedly. She pushed her cup aside and walked the length of the room.

  "Have you ever guessed," she broke in abruptly, "the misery of being a plain girl?"

  "All my life," answered Verity candidly.

  "You?" There was no denying the surprise in Priscilla's voice. "Don't you ever look in a mirror?" At Verity's blank face, she went on, "No, perhaps you don't know that you're attractive — some girls are like that, and it is, I think, their main attraction. But look, please, at me, plain Priscilla, without any attraction."

  "The eye of the beholder," refused Verity definitely. "You have a sweet serenity that wins through, and I'm sincere about that."

  "Well, little good it's done me," sighed Priscilla.

  "But your position is quite different, isn't it, your — well, your man is different."

  "Yes," said Priscilla quietly, "my man is very different." "Then why are you worrying? Why is Cassandra concerning you ?"

  "Because she's everything you heard. I . I'm not a jealous person, Verity. For instance, I can't be jealous of you. But Cassandra . . . well, I just don't know," she sighed.

  Verity wished she could find the right words for her, but what were the right words? She waited a while, then went back to work.

  It seemed odd after their talk that the subject of the talk should make herself known that afternoon. Cassandra called in.

  Though she had been told the girl was lovely, Verity still experienced that sudden sharp impact that beauty does to you. For Cassandra was very lovely. She stood at the door smiling at Verity, and Verity knew at once that she must be Cassandra, knew it because beauty, beauty such as Bart Prince had described, was a rare thing, and this girl had it.