"Can you cope?" he asked Verity.
"I did before."
"With rather dire results," he reminded her thinly.
"This time," she said boldly, "I'll see that the biscuit tin is full to the brim."
"This time," he amended, "if I return to find a situation like before I'll —"
"Yes?"
"Just practise your plea for mercy," he advised shortly "your 'Please, Mr. Prince.' "
"You never forget anything, do you, Mr. Prince ?"
There was a silence. It grew to such a long silence that Verity looked at him uneasily. With an effort he seemed to bring
himself back from something that tortured him.
"I wish to heaven I could ! " It was more a cry, Verity thought.
He had tight control of himself, though. At once he went briefly through some of the stock with her, telling her what he wanted pushing. "I need space," he explained, "I'm expecting a new consignment. We don't exactly run sales, but I leave it to you to find a price suitable to all to get rid of an article. You'll be pushed, what with the urgent correspondence, but anything else can wait for Cilla, and the phone as well as the shop. In which case ." He paused a moment, looking at her. Then he said, "I want you to have this."
She looked at notes he was handing her in surprise, then she shook her head. "You already pay me generously."
"For one job. I don't ask anyone to do two jobs for the price of one."
"Mr. Prince" . . . they never called each other by tour names now . . . "there is also the money you've already advanced me."
"Loans, and don't fret, as such they're safely down in my little black book. This is entirely different. This is business. I'm paying you for a job I expect to be well done."
"It will be," she gratefully assured him.
She got into the practice of arriving earlier in the morning and going through the mail. In that way she was free to concentrate on her own domain for the other working hours. It proved a good idea, for though there was much that only Priscilla could handle, there were also quite a number of inquiries that needed to be dealt with at once. It also, or so, taken by surprise, she thought at first, put her into the position of apprehending a thief.
Except . . . and one glance assured her of this . . . he was not. When Mrs. Prince had had her three sons, if they were not identical there was still an unmistakably close resemblance between them. Peter, for instance, was a more suave Bart, yet Peter, looking across at her "thief", was not so outstanding as this Prince. Noting his added maturity, Verity knew he must be Matthew Prince. The first Prince. The eldest. The gracious prince of the old fairytale. The one, Bart had said, earmarked for Cassandra . . . though by recent developments -
She went forward to where Matthew Prince was letting himself into the store with a personal key and held out her hand.
"Mr. Prince," she greeted him.
"You haven't added 'of course'," he smiled at Verity, "people usually do."
"Of course," she obliged.
"Yes, I am Matthew Prince. I'm sorry if I alarmed you, but there was something I needed from here, and I thought if I called early -"
"I've also been calling early," Verity told him. "Your brother has won a big contract for the Castle and has taken Priscilla to help-him with it for the week, leaving me, the newcomer, to hold the fort."
"Which I have no doubt you do admirably," he said sincerely, his eyes estimating and approving her at the same time.
"Thank you. I try." Verity paused. "Can I help you find what you came for ?"
He frowned slightly. "I hope so." He got into step beside Verity and they went down the corridor. "I want Cassie's address. I rang her flat, but there's no reply. I think" ... deepening of the frown ... "she may have gone away. Have you met Cassandra?"
"Yes."
"Then -?"
"You didn't know she had left Sydney temporarily?" Verity. asked tactfully.
"I know nothing, except that she doesn't answer me when I phone."
"Cassandra . . . I met her briefly before she went . . . has gone to Melbourne. She has taken a relief position in a hospital there."
"Do you know which hospital?"
"No . . . but your brother would," Verity said unthinkingly. "My brother," said Matthew Prince quickly. "You mean —" "I mean both, actually, for Bart would have the name, but
really I was referring to Peter."
"Peter," Matthew said after her. "Peter," he said again. There was a pause. "So Peter would know, would he?" He gave a slight shrug.
She told him briefly about Peter's mishap. He nodded as she related it, then when she had finished he said, "It doesn't help much, does it?"
"No. I'm sorry."
He turned and smiled warmly at Verity. "Why should you be sorry? You told me all you know."
Something made her say impulsively, ". . . Sorry for you ' "Meaning?"
"What you meant when you shrugged like you did just now."
"You mean — our one and only Peter ?"
"The charming prince," she nodded. She told him quickly about the old fairytale. She found him very easy to talk to.
"Well, I don't know," he said after she had finished. don't know if I was ever the gracious prince. Conscientious, perhaps, which is after all often a word for dull, or so I'm told by Cassie."
"I don't find you dull," said Verity.
Now he looked at her thoughtfully. "Do you know what,
he said presently, "I don't believe you do. Look, I'm due at the
hospital. After that I've surgery. I have my own practice now, you know. Then there's home calls. However, you won't get away early, either, will you?"
"No —"
"Then — dinner?"
"I don't know. You see, I've already dined with two of the three Princes, and it could seem like I'm making a habit of it."
"But one couldn't be left out," he pleaded. As she still hesitated he said, "Please," and she found she could not resist the quiet appeal.
"I could be closed up and ready by eight," she agreed. "That will be wonderful."
The day dragged, though of late she seemed barely to have arrived before it was time to close up and go; Verity had supposed it was because she was busy that the hours had flown. But today she was just as busy, yet the hours passed slowly. She realized with a little rueful smile that it was because she was having dinner with Matthew Prince. She had not been out for a while now, and the diversion appealed to her. — Matthew appealed.
He was at the Castle on time, a little tired-looking, and she supposed he had had a heavy day. She suggested coffee before they left, and he agreed eagerly, sitting back in Priscilla's chair as she brewed it, closing his eyes.
"We needn't go," she proffered gently.
"Of course we must go."
"There's a place not far up the avenue. I could bring something back."
He looked at her eagerly, but wiped the look off at once. "What kind of escort would you think me?"
"A nice one." He really was tired, there was a fatigue line from his eyes to his mouth. "Please, Mr. Prince —" Please, Mr. Prince, that was Bart's gibe.
"Matthew, Verity."
"Please, Matthew, you're obviously not up to the social graces tonight. Frankly, after a day coping by myself in this store, I don't think I am, either. Why don't we just relax and talk here? I mean, after we've had something to eat."
"It sounds attractive," he admitted wistfully, "I do feel I've met as many people as I want today, present company excluded. On the other hand it also sounds terribly mean."
"I don't know why," she laughed, "you'll be paying. Look, why not come with me and choose? It's only a few doors up."
He jumped up eagerly, enthusiasm making him seem much younger. "I haven't done anything like this for ages. Lead on, Verity."
The shop from which Bart had bought the supplies that night of Verity's hunger faint was a very attractive one. Paper carrier bags were produced by the obliging shopkeeper, and Matthew and Verity
had a lot of fun choosing their take-away meal. Matthew insisted that although they were not dining out they must still go through the courses, and he not only ordered appetisers, soup, entrée and an elaborate sweet, but white wine as well.
"This is fun," he said, adding little white onions and red peppers to his purchases, "this is as much fun as I've had in a long time."
"Your fault?" Verity asked carefully.
"Why do you say that?'
"Having fun is usually your own thing," she said. "At the very least you have to make the effort."
"I've never been what you might call a funny fellow," He admitted. "I'm afraid I'm a bit of a sobersides."
"The fairytale said gracious," she smiled.
"Oh, that fairytale ! "
They were walking back to the Castle now, both carrying
bags, occasionally their hands brushing. When they got to the office, Verity set the desk as Bart had set it that night — except that she had forgotten to pick up the paper plates.
"Oh, dear ! " She looked rueful and nodded to her omission. "I'll go back."
"I'll go. No, neither of us will. You've brought the implements. What else do two people need when they like each other?" He smiled warmly as he said that "When they like each other."
Eating from one dish necessitated sitting close. They sat close. When they had finished, when the wine was finished, there seemed no reason to sit apart again. A comfortable silence encompassed them, for quite a while neither spoke.
When Matthew broke the silence at last it was tentatively, a little hesitantly, but only because of what he spoke about, not because he was saying it to Verity. Verity had the feeling that he was completely relaxed with her, as she was with him.
"So Cassie and Pete have met up at last?"
"Yes, according to Peter. But why did you say that?" "At last?"
"Yes."
"Because I suppose in a way I've always tried to work it that they didn't meet."
"They had to, some time."
"I expect so, but Peter . . . well, if you know Peter . . ."
"I do know Peter." Her eyes met his a moment, then she
smiled back ruefully to his own rueful smile. "The charming
prince," she said. "Only" . . . a pause . . . "it doesn't last."
"But one day it could." Now it was Matthew who paused.
"This time it could."
"Then why, Matthew, why? Oh, do please forgive the intrusion, but why ?"
"Why haven't I done something about it?"
"Yes."
"You mean — like tie Cassandra down?"
Verity nodded.
"Because I wasn't ready, or rather my prospects weren't. I've always had this thing about a man building up something for his wife, not just — just —"
"Cassandra didn't want you a raving success, no woman would."
"I know, I know. But —" He fell silent again.
They left the subject at that point, and talked about generalities, coming to the general practice he now had, and how he hoped to extend it.
"It's a new district and I'm the first doctor. It's a challenge." Presently he said, "I can't tell you how good I feel having talked to you like this. You've unloosened me. I think I must have needed you."
"And the picnic meal?"
"That, too. It was much better than going out. But I still owe you a proper meal, Verity. When?"
"That's entirely up to a G.P. An assistant to Woman's Castle hasn't the same demands made on her. A dropside table is never a matter of life or death."
"Surgery is at the same hours throughout the week. I have no imminent cases. Of course if an emergency arose —"
"I'd understand," she assured him.
"Then when?"
"Tomorrow night?" She flushed, thinking she might be hurrying things, but for obvious reasons, Bart reasons, she wanted to meet Matthew while his brother was away from the Castle, and already the week was halfway through.
She became aware that he was laughing at her. "Do you know when tomorrow is ?"
"Why — tomorrow."
"Right, but I really think you mean tonight."
"Tonight ?" She looked at him in disbelief, then checked her watch. He was right. Tomorrow was now tonight, it was after midnight. She had never known time to go so quickly.
"I must go," she said hastily.
"Or the carriage will turn into a pumpkin and you'll be back sitting among the cinders ?"
She laughed at him. "I'm a working woman. I can't keep these late hours and give the Castle what I want to give it."
"I must go, too. I suppose I shouldn't have stopped so long, but I just couldn't call a halt."
"Then you knew the time?"
"Yes."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"No." A pause. "Verity — I was lonely."
I was lonely. Matthew's quiet admission rang in Verity's ears long after she had gone to bed. I was lonely. Well, he hadn't been tonight. She hadn't been. She thought how the time had flown and what a pleasant evening it had been with the eldest Prince. She knew he had enjoyed it as she had. She did not try to sleep, she just lay relaxed.
When morning came she had snatched only a few naps, and as she joined the rush into town she knew she would not look her best for her formal night out.
At six the phone went and it was Matthew.
"Verity ?"
"Yes."
"All beautifully dressed and desirable?"
"Most unbeautiful and undesirable."
"I know you could be neither, but you sound as drained-out as I am, as — well, an unforward-looking."
"You're quite right, Matthew," she said.
"Then I wonder could we . . . I mean it's not fair of me to
ask, but I did appreciate it. Somehow it was like being home —" "You mean do what we did last night?"
"Yes." Diffidently.
"Matthew, I'd love that." Eagerly.
"Then you enjoyed it, too?"
"Very much."
"Then you stay on at the Castle. I'll bring the food." "And the plates ?" she laughed.
There was a short silence at the other end.
"We got along all right last night without them."
Now it was Verity's turn to hesitate. But she didn't. She said at once, and warmly : "Oh, yes."
After two nights it had become a pattern. Verity would finish the day's work, close the shop, then while the percolator bubbled she would wash, take off her smock and comb her hair. By then Matthew would have arrived, smiling like a delighted small boy over the goodies he had in the carrier bag, pleased when he could show her something they had not sampled before.
That he found pleasure in their relaxed meals was very apparent. "After our father died and my mother had to carry on the business, we three boys were put into boarding school. liked it all right, I've always been fairly adaptable ... rather dull, as I said before . . ."
"I would say adaptable."
"You're kind, Verity. Yes, I suffered no setbacks, but I remember longing to sit at an unshared table."
"You're sitting at a shared one now."
"Not shared by thirty boys. Anyway, this is a desk, and yet —"
"And yet, Matthew ?"
"It could be a family table in a home."
"It's a home," she reminded him, "and home's what a woman's castle is."
"Yes," he said quietly, and his eyes smiled into hers.
It was Verity who forced her glance away in the end. This won't do, she thought. Matthew and I are seeing far too much of each other : it means nothing, it is nothing, we're just two rather confused, rather lonely people who have turned to each other for company, for companionship . . . but it still won't do.
Yet when they parted that night and Matthew asked eagerly "Tomorrow ?" she could not say no.
Occasionally during the day Bart called in to see how she was coping. He reported that he and Priscilla were progressing favourably with the assessment.
"It's going t
o be a bigger job than we thought. We may take longer. Is that all right with you?"
"Perfectly."
"You're sure ?"
"Why the doubt? Isn't my work satisfactory?"
He frowned. "I didn't ask you that. Your work is quite satisfactory, so satisfactory I'm wondering if you are over-exerting yourself," he said probingly.
She was over-exerting herself. Though she would not have admitted it, there was always present an uneasy doubt, a reluctant knowledge that if Bart had frowned on her episode with Peter, he would more than frown on this. Though not fully aware of it, she had salved her conscience by putting more into Woman's Castle than she could have credited from herself. Bart had evidently noticed something. He was still looking at her searchingly.
"There's no prize at the end," he said briefly. "I require you only to cope, not create an all-time record."
"I'm only working normally," she assured him.
"I hope so. I also hope among other things that you are
keeping the regulation hours. Are you, Miss Tyler?"
A little nettled, she said, "What are the hours? Oh, I know Priscilla's are nine to five, but mine depend on other issues, don't they ?"
There was a silence. Then Bart said, "Yes — other issues." He was still looking estimatingly at her.
Presently he said, "You look different."
"I assure you I'm the same."
"But what is the same ?"
"What do you mean, Mr. Prince?"
There was another pause. He seemed about to say something, but he must have changed his mind.
"Everything seems as it should be, Miss Tyler," he said briskly. "We could wind up the assessment next week. Any queries before I go ?"
"Any troubles ?"
"No."
"In fact all plain sailing ?"
"Yes, Mr. Prince. Thank you."
"On these records" . . . he tapped the ledger . . . "I should say gratefully to you to keep it up. — Whatever you're doing."
She waited . . . but he did not say it. He gave her another long steady look, then left the shop.
She did not see him again until the end of the week. But she saw Matthew.
Verity and Doctor Prince were on much closer terms now. He had listened sympathetically to her account of Robin, nodding now and then, inserting pertinent questions. When she had answered them, and when she had finished her report, he had said gently : "There's nothing I can add, Verity, you must know that."
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