There Were Three Princes

by Joyce Dingwell

  "Priscilla!" Verity waited for Priscilla to come out of herself, then she demanded : "If it was not Bart with you, then —"

  "Then who ?" broke in Priscilla. "But I've just told you. The other Prince, of course."

  "But that leaves —"

  "Peter? Yes. Then — Peter. Are you astonished? Yes, I suppose you must be. Peter has everything, I am a dull mouse."

  "You're not. You never have been."

  "So," said Priscilla softly, "Peter told me ... just before I

  flew down. Verity ... oh, Verity, we're being married. I've always known for myself, and I've always sensed ... I suppose I'm being boastful . . . that Peter would know, too, one day. He had to go through the gamut, he had to grow up. But he knew he was the type who needed tying . . . there are people like that, you know . . . and that I was the one to do it."

  "A kind of mooring, Priscilla?"

  "You understand it perfectly. So long as I have known the Princes, Verity, Peter has always been the 'scrape' one. As I said, he never grew up. Too much charm, too much of what it takes.

  "But I knew one day he would need me, and when he came up from Melbourne to Sydney for Matthew's and Cassandra's wedding, it was That Day. He didn't need you, he didn't need any of the many women he had 'fallen in love with' " ... a little loving laugh . . . "but old Prissie he did need. And," finished Priscilla, "I was there waiting for him."

  She leaned forward to Verity. "I've sometimes wondered whether it would happen, whether it could happen, but always there persisted that feeling that it was going to happen, that it was going to be all right. Bart was aware of my feeling. He supported me. Each time he smiled at me he was telling me so

  . and you thought —"

  "Yes," said Verity, "I thought that."

  "I'll be a restraint on Peter," admitted Priscilla, "but I think the youngest Prince has come to the stage when he's ready for that. Perhaps Peter is weak ... in fact I know he's weak . . . but the weakness will pass, and even if it doesn't, I have the strength and capacity for both of us. And I feel that in time he won't resent that strength . . . that he'll come to like me for it."

  "He'll love you for it," said Verity, touched.

  Now Priscilla's warm pink had deepened to a glowing rose.

  "I know," she said softly. Then she smiled. "Because he's told me already."

  A few minutes went by in happy silence.

  "Another Prince accounted for," Verity said presently in a light tone.

  "Yes. Only Bart to go."

  Only Bart to go. If Priscilla knew the truth ! Yet what was the truth? It was this : Bart was less than married because he had a marriage that was not a marriage at all.

  "Priscilla," she broke in abruptly, "were you surprised when I went away?"

  "No," answered Priscilla, surprised herself, "your brother had died, and after that you came down here for Bart. It was part of the job."

  "Yes," said Verity dully, "part of the job." Then she said, finding every syllable hard but making herself say it : "Do you know that soon there'll be three Princes accounted for?"

  "What do you mean, Verity?" There was a smile in Priscilla's voice, but Verity quickly stopped it.

  "Bart — and my brother's wife," she said in a tight voice. "Adele?"

  "Yes. Adele."

  "But you're so wrong." Priscilla was looking at her in amazement. "Never Adele," she refused.

  "Always Adele ... In fact it would have happened before had Adele not lost her head when Robbie came out here."

  "It would never have happened, not in a lifetime. I should know, Verity, I've been around the Princes for years. I don't say if Adele had had her way it wouldn't have come about, but never, never Bart."

  "You know very little, then. You wouldn't know that Bart — that he —" But Verity's voice trailed off. How could she say to Priscilla : "You wouldn't know that my husband of only two days rang Adele as soon as he knew she was free, and that he . . . that she . . . that they . . ."

  "I know a lot," Priscilla was saying confidently. "I know, and I'm going to tell it to you, Verity, whether you are ready for it, or not. And this is it : It's you whom Bart wants, and has wanted right from the start. No, don't try to stop me. I've gone through too much with Bart not to know that."

  "But he never said anything."

  "Bart couldn't. He was still too choked up with what had happened to his life. He was still uncertain of himself. He would have told you all this . . . had you helped."

  Had she helped? Verity knew she had done everything —save help.

  "But Adele —" she persisted wretchedly.

  "Was never anything ... except that perhaps he was sorry for the girl. She brought a lot of trouble on herself one way and another, and because Bart understood trouble ... who would more? . . . he was always there to help a lame dog."

  "He kept on helping," said Verity bitterly.

  "He's a rich man."

  "Not just that way." No, Verity was thinking, not just with money but with his presence that afternoon of Robbie's funeral. An afternoon that had run into a night? Into days? Weeks?

  But it was the day of Robin ... two days after a marriage that comprised the sharp hurt.

  "But mostly that way, mostly money," Priscilla was saying in her practical secretary way. "For instance on the occasion of your brother's death he went over to her apartment to hand Adele a cheque for —" She named an amount that fairly shocked Verity into a long, long silence.

  "That much," she said at last.

  "That much," Priscilla nodded.

  "Are you sure?"

  "I went with him. I made it out for him. Knowing Bart as I do, I suppose I must have looked astounded at it, for he said `It's to be' for a long time, Cilla.' He might have meant a long time for Adele . . . or he might have meant a long time for him to make out any more. For, of course, he'll be out of it all for some months."

  At first her words did not sink into Verity, then slowly, starkly, they did.

  "How do you mean, Priscilla ?" she asked.

  "Bart is going into hospital. Didn't he say? It won't be like the other clinic stays, just brief ones, it will be much more than exploratory this time. It will be the real thing. Matthew has finally persuaded Bart to go through with it, and it will mean being totally invalided for a very long time."

  "When?" Verity knew it must be she who asked it, but she was not aware of opening her mouth, of making any sound.

  "The first of the operations, and the indicative one, for if it is not a success, then . ." Priscilla paused to make a little movement with her shoulders.

  "Yes? Yes, Cilla?"

  "Should be very soon. It might even be now. — Why, Verity . . . Verity, what are you doing?"

  For Verity was running through the house like a whirlwind, she was calling, "Grete . . . Grete dear, I'm so sorry !

  "Grete, I'm going down to Sydney with Priscilla. One day I'll come back and finish off the boys with their howareyoumate." She gave a breathless little laugh that ended in a half sob. "At least, Grete," she promised, "I'll come back to explain."

  "Do you know what," said Grete who had appeared from the kitchen, "I might have been wrong about Chris, but I don't feel I'm wrong about something else. And it is this : You

  won't be back, Verity."

  "I will, Grete. I promise."

  "No, Verity, you — and Bart will be back," smiled Grete.

  "Oh, Grete," Verity said, not pausing to wonder how the Swedish woman had guessed that, "please hope it. Please hope it." She added : 'Hope for us."

  She was still crying "Please hope it for us", but to herself, as she threw her things into her bag.

  CHAPTER XII

  PRISCILLA asked no questions. She must have been curious about that mad whirlwind race through the house, the announcement that there would be two of them returning to Sydney, but when Verity came out carrying her bags, telling her that if she was finished they could leave today, that Gunnar was on the telephone now confirming their ticket
s, she simply, and typically, welcomed a travelling companion home.

  The secretary must actually have said "home", for at once Verity was thinking: Home? But where is home? — Her Balmain flat was relinquished now, and even if Bart had not closed his own apartment to enter the hospital, could she — could she —

  Oh, no, she knew, I'm not entitled.

  "And I really mean home. My home." Verity's doubts must have conveyed themselves to Priscilla. "You would have cancelled your own place when you went to the Dahlquists, so now you must come with me until you start your own flatting again. That is . . . if you do." A careful smile.

  Verity let that pass in her relief to have somewhere to go —and yet in an equal anxiety not to intrude now on Priscilla and Peter.

  "I would appreciate it for several days, Priscilla," she ac mitted.

  "For as long as you like?"

  "And — Peter likes?" Verity smiled.

  "Don't worry about that." Priscilla's rejoinder was shy but assured. "After waiting so long for Peter, it will do him good to wait for me."

  "Then if you're certain —"

  "Verity, I've never been more certain in my life." A pause. "Of everything. Otherwise would I be talking so confidently like this?"

  "No, Pris, you wouldn't," Verity smiled back.

  They had relapsed into silence, Priscilla to her dreams, Verity to her less than dreams.

  The Dahlquists, Big Gunnar, Grete, Gunnar and Ulf, had come to wave them off. Just as the country plane had started along the narrow strip between the bleached grass and last year's dandelion, Chris had raced up in his Rover. Verity's final wave had been for Chris.

  She looked down now at the country over which they were flying. The western plains had given way to tablelands, soon they would cross the mountains, cross the lodge on those mountains where she and Bart had spent the first night of their honeymoon . . . honeymoon? . . . one month and an eternity ago.

  Then they would cover Sydney's suburban sprawl.

  She dared not mull over the mess she had made of everything, and even if she had tried to do so her concern for Bart would have pushed it aside. Let him be all right, that was all she could think. Let this big, initial, indicative operation show what other operations can avail. Most of all, let Bart realize this, and persist. For, although she knew nothing of medicine, Verity was sharply conscious that half of the battle was to be Bart's, and that if he didn't offer his bit, then it would be of little use.

  "Fasten up," prompted Priscilla at her side. "We're nearly there, Verity."

  Verity snapped her seat belt catch, and their plane touched down.

  On Priscilla's decision they went first to her flat.

  "You can settle yourself in, Verity," she said. "The hospital may not want visitors around for some time yet. It will be better, anyway, to ring first."

  "Yes, Pris." Verity felt she had to agree.

  As they took a taxi to Priscilla's suburb, Verity repeated, "Pris, you are sure?"

  "About staying with me? Very sure."

  But Peter, in the flat waiting for his Priscilla, was not sure, and it was the most welcome thing, Verity told him frankly, that she had heard.

  "You'll be hearing much more welcome things," Peter grinned, "but not from me. No, I'm not sure I want you here, Verity, in fact I'll be honest and assure you I don't. How long do you intend to interrupt my new love life? I don't mind a day or so, but —"

  "Peter ! " reproved Priscilla.

  "Sorry, sweet." Peter flashed a smile at her.

  As she went out to make coffee, he looked boyishly at Verity.

  "When I said my new love life, I was wrong, you know, for, Verity, I think I've loved Prissie ever since I first saw her, which is a long time ago now. But I was completely self-absorbed, I wouldn't read any other signs but ones to do with me. Thank heaven Pris had the maturity to wait for me to come to my senses. I really have come to them, and all I regret now is that I never came earlier. Mad, isn't it?"

  "It was mad of you, Pete," Verity replied.

  He nodded whimsically. "Yet sweet, too, in a way," he went on. "There's something to be said for a late start. I know all that I'm saying now must sound pretty impossible to you, I mean after you and I . . . after we . . ."

  "Go on, Peter," Verity encouraged with a smile.

  "Then Cassie so soon afterwards. Girls before that. Girls before that again. But —"

  "But?"

  "But they were nothing. You" ... apologetically ... "were nothing. Cass was nothing — the rest. Only one ever stood out. I think I must have known it, but wouldn't accept it. I wanted life first, or what I thought was life." He gave a comical shrug.

  "But Prissie is my life. She's my heart, Verity, and a man can't live without his heart. — I say now, there's a pretty speech if you like," he grinned.

  After a pause, he went on again. "Don't think, either, that this is another Peter-phase. It's true. It's lasting. I've had my fling, and in more ways than one. For instance, I'll definitely take over the Castle. And don't think I'm being heroic about that, I'll be taking it over because I want to. I mean that, Verity,

  "Then good for you . . . but what about Bart? What about his role in the business?"

  Peter smiled across at her. "Bart will never come back to it, of course."

  "You mean . ." Peter could mean several things. For instance he could mean —

  "No, nothing dramatic, Verity. It's simply that Bart never did attach himself to it. Sawbones were always in his veins. — I say, that isn't so good, is it? If I'm to handle the Castle's publicity I'll have to read up on metaphors."

  "Oh, Peter ! " she laughed.

  "No, Bart never wanted business, not really, and after he's better —"

  "But will he be better, Peter? I mean — properly better? Career better?"

  "It's more likely than unlikely," cheered Peter. "If this first go is a success, then I think there'll be nothing to stop old Bart from finishing those years he began. That is, nothing except the lack of incentive."

  "Yes," murmured Verity, "incentive." She looked directly at Peter. "Why did you think he might lack that?"

  "Matthew wasn't sure at any time," admitted Peter. "There's a purposelessness about Bart, Matt says. — I say that's quite a word. Purposelessness."

  "Peter" . . . Verity said jerkily . . . "I don't think I want to hear your words. I just want —"

  "Coffee? Here it is now." Peter got up to take a tray from Priscilla.

  But Verity knew she could drink no coffee, not until —"No," she said, "I just want to see Bart."

  Once she had spoken she felt much better.

  She was aware that Peter and Priscilla were exchanging glances, that they were glancing back at her.

  Then, at a nod from Priscilla, Peter said : "I don't know if you can, but, anyway, we'll try. Come on, old girl."

  By the time they reached the hospital it was to learn that Bart's first operation had been successfully concluded. —Though Matthew's face as he told them this was not as pleased as it should have been.

  "What is it?" Peter asked bluntly at once.

  "He's not co-operating. Even this early that is quite apparent. He's not pulling out as he should. Surgically speaking, everything has gone off perfectly. According to text, he has come through A.1. But the fact remains —"

  "That he still hasn't." It was Peter again.

  "No," said Matthew gravely. "He's simply lying there. And don't think that because physically he's been passed as all right he can not be all right. Things can still happen. Even in successful cases like this, things sometimes do. In fact unless something turns the tide, he could —"

  Matthew grew silent.

  "All this is strictly unprofessional," he went on presently, "it is also between this family." — Family? wondered Verity, what family? But she did not wonder long in the impact of what Matthew said, next.

  "If Bart," he told them all, "doesn't exert himself ... if he doesn't hold on, then —"

  "M
atthew." Verity's voice broke in quietly but definitely. "Can I see him, please?"

  The eldest Prince looked gently at her, he even leaned over and touched her hand.

  "Sorry, my dear."

  "I must see him."

  "He's not being seen by anyone — by that I mean anyone outside, Verity, he's not up to that stage. Why, even our mother —"

  "And even his — wife?"

  There was a silence. The two men looked at her, looked at each other. Priscilla looked at her. Then, without asking any questions, Matthew stood up and put out his hand to Verity.

  "Come on, Mrs. Prince," he said.

  Bart lay in the darkened post-op room, and one look at him told Verity why Matthew had spoken as he had. Bart looked frail.

  "He's conscious," Matthew reported in a low voice, "but I would say barely so. He should be fully out of it by now, but it almost seems he doesn't want to be, that he's holding back on us. The thing is he must be out of it. Do you understand me, Verity?" He looked briefly at her. "I don't know what happened between you two, but something must have, but if you can forget it, if it should be forgotten, or remember it, if it can

  help, then — try."

  "There was nothing, Matthew" . . . well, that was the truth . . . "but I'll be trying." Verity sat down beside the still form.

  She heard Matthew go out again, but she knew he would not go far. She knew the other doctors were waiting as well.

  "Bart," she said softly, "Bart."

  The man did not respond.

  She sat on for a while, sat desperately. At times she repeated, "Bart —" but still he did not move. Then, unable to bear it any longer, Verity leaned over and called, "Bart, I'm here. Verity is here. Bart, your wife is here. I'm your wife," she repeated.

  She said it several times more before he showed any response. Then, his eyes opening slowly, Bart Prince looked up at Verity and said : "My wife." He closed his eyes again.

  Soon after, Matthew came back. Several of the doctors came with him. Verity was led outside.

  It seemed an eternity before Matthew joined her, but when he came he was smiling.

  "I'm not asking any questions, I'm not even asking if you went into there with a genuine reason, Mrs. Prince. No, all that can wait. Right now I'm only concerned with results."