There Were Three Princes

by Joyce Dingwell

  They spoke little on the return trip. Once he glanced at his watch and remarked on the wonder of flying, how already Matthew and Cassandra would be reunited, how —

  Verity turned away.

  But she could not keep turning away. That fact came home to her, as, having left her at the flat, she ran upstairs and opened up to find a note pushed under the door. It was in Adele's writing, and for Adele to have called personally Verity knew the matter would be urgent. She tore away the envelope.

  Adele had gone straight to the point. She had written :

  "What's happened to our money? Robin had a bad attack today and our doctor called in some specialists in Robin's trouble. These men are coming again tomorrow, and, as you can guess, these private calls cost the world. There is also special medicine, and a nurse will be required. For heaven's sake, Verity, do something."

  Verity read it again. Then she put the letter down. She had never felt so heavy, so burdened in all her life.

  There seemed no way out. Except...

  There was no awakening in the morning, for though at last she had left her seat by the window and gone to bed, she had not slept.

  She wished the week-end was an ordinary working one, for then she could have occupied herself in the Castle, escaped, even briefly, from her crowding thoughts. But also she would have had the likelihood of Bart calling in upon her, waiting for her decision, even though he had assured her that she was not to answer him yet.

  She did not know which would have been the most racking : the unnerving possibility of Bart — or her aching thoughts of Robin. For those thoughts . . . those memories ... kept flashing through her tortured mind like the facets in a kaleidoscope. Robin, as the baby brother she had carried everywhere, Robin, as the toddler to whom she had taught his first steps, Robin, the schoolboy, getting help with his homework, Robin, the adolescent, getting help with his pocket money, Robin, the man, getting help with his love affairs. Robin ... since he was Robin.

  She supposed she had adored him so much because there had been no one else. There had been the warmest of feelings between her mother and herself, but her mother's real love had gone to the kindly man who had come later into her life to make a rich happiness out of her poor remnants. Louis had been sweet, and Verity had been glad Mother had returned his feelings for her. Most of all she had been glad that between them they had made Robin for her. "He's your baby," they had said.

  And now the baby was a man, and the man was dying. Robin was dying. She felt she could not bear it, her grief seemed large enough to fill an eternity. But whatever she felt, the sitnation still existed. All she could do was keep it from Robin . . . from Adele. Just as she had spared the little boy, she must spare the man. And she was going to spare him.

  So on the evening before her return to work, she picked up the phone and dialled Bart's own number.

  His voice came back immediately, he must have been waiting there. "Verity?"

  "How did — how did you know ?"

  "I think I know everything about you. You haven't slept, you haven't eaten, you've gone through every possible means of escape." A dry laugh at that choice of words. "You've turned over pictures in your mind of what-once-was until the torture was unbearable. And now you're ringing to tell me —"

  "Go on, please, Bart."

  "No, you must say it." There was a final note in his voice and she knew there would be no compromise.

  "Then — it's yes," she said.

  Now there was a silence at the other end, and for a hideous moment she wondered if he had been joking with her, if it had all been a kind of game. If he had, she thought .

  "Thank you." His voice came at last. It came as though he was speaking from a long way off.

  "Will you call at the Castle tomorrow to tell me?" She was actually trembling and she hoped he didn't hear it in her voice. "I mean — tell me — when? — That is — I mean —"

  "No," he said, and the tone came stronger this time. "No, we'll be married by then."

  "We couldn't ! " she gasped.

  "But we shall. You can do your shopping in the morning while I see to the necessary details. Then in the afternoon —"

  She was holding on to the receiver so tightly that her fingers hurt. She couldn't go into it that fast, she was thinking, she had to have more time.

  As if he read her over the wires as well as face-to-face, he drawled, "On second thoughts we'll start life as we intend to go on, doing all things together. You can come with me while we fill in the necessary papers — probably you'll be needed there, anyway — and I'll help you shop."

  "I don't need anything." She said it blankly, just for something to say while she still withdrew from what he had just told her, and she was unprepared for his quick reply.

  "Certainly you'll need things. How often do you think I've been married? At least my bride will wear a new gown."

  "But I have dresses."

  "The dress ?"

  "Well, I —"

  "Or something suitable in navy?"

  "It is, as it happens."

  "It won't happen."

  "Then — what about —?"

  "I'll tell you when I see it."

  She was quiet a moment. Then : "What about the Castle?" she asked.

  "As we've concluded our assessing, Cilla can open up, keep an eye on the sales . . . for that matter she can close the shop section altogether, just attend to the accounts."

  "Poor Cilla " It was out before she knew it. Now the man must say something, she thought.

  "Yes, poor Cilia," he agreed. Then, at once : "Tomorrow at nine, Verity."

  She held on to the phone for minutes after he had rung off. During the evening the phone pealed again. She looked at it warily. What did Bart Prince want now?

  It was not Bart, it was Adele.

  "The specialists have just left. Robin seems to be reacting favourably . . . well, anyway, he does seem as good as can be expected, to use the old hospital phrase."

  "That's grand news."

  "So was the cheque. You've certainly achieved something at last."

  "You — you got it?"

  "Yes. — Well, I thought I'd let you know about Rob."

  Again the other end of the phone went down before Verity could cradle her own end.

  Bart, she was thinking, had wasted no time. That was good for Robbie, so therefore it must be good, too, for her. Only Robin mattered, and she was grateful that Bart had acted at once. But the signed, sealed and delivered feeling that was encompassing her frightened her. It's too late, she thought, to go back now. Perhaps I could cheat, now that Adele has received the money, but other cheques will be needed. I'm closed in. I can't get out. Bart said nothing in navy blue, but I feel it should be black . . .

  It was gold. Not the warm gold of the sun but the faintly green-gold of a young acorn. From the dress department they went to the jewellery for a circle of yellow sapphires for Verity's engagement ring, a plain Band to be tried for size for her wedding ring. For a string of amber to lighten up the dress.

  "Now you're an acorn," Bart said.

  "Usually it's a flower," she said for something to say. "Flowers fade. You can keep an acorn in your pocket for years."

  "I know," she nodded, still using words to hide behind. "You don't get rheumatism and you won't grow old."

  He shrugged. "I only know the years," he told her. "If I leave you now will you promise not to disappear by two o' clock?"

  "Is that — when —?" She had been beside him when the arrangements had been made, but she realized now she barely had heard a word.

  "Near enough," he said. "Will you promise?"

  "But I couldn't not promise, could I? I mean it's too late. You see Adele rang and —" She stopped at a look on his face.

  It was there so briefly she could not have said that it was what she first had felt . . . pain. At once the look was impersonal again, nothing at all conveyed.

  "Yes, a little late," he agreed coolly. "Two, then?"

 
; "Two." She got off at the beauty shop and went through the usual ritual. — Afterwards Adele told her that she had rung and rung . . . rung the Castle . . . rung the flat. Rung to tell her that —

  At two Bart came to the beauticians and took her to a small hotel where everything was laid out in readiness — dress, shoes, all she needed. She did not ask who had done it, there could be no one else but Bart.

  She dressed, went downstairs, they drove round to the church that Bart had arranged, and were married within the hour.

  An hour after Robin had died.

  Only a witness supplied by the minister stood at the ceremony, and there was no one but themselves at the dinner in the same little hotel where Verity had changed.

  They sat at the candled table opposite to each other, and Bart, lifting his wine glass, said : "There, it wasn't so bad, was it?"

  "No," she answered him indistinctly, for she was all choked up.

  She seemed to be thinking in too many channels at the same time, yet she still did not want to direct her tumbled thoughts into one channel, because she knew now what that channel would be. For ever since the simple service her awareness had kept returning to that incredulous but unmistakable serenity that she had experienced as she had stood beside Bart Prince and made her vows. It had been so totally unexpected she still could not believe it, and yet it had existed, it had been there, a peace of mind she had never known before. And a happiness. — Happiness?

  But she could never tell him. Not this man who had gone into marriage with her for as well as an undisclosed reason .. . what 'reason? she wondered briefly . . . for the blatantly admitted reason of establishing himself in the eyes of the outsider. To use Bart's own unadorned words : "To get something that my two brothers undoubtedly thought about. — A satisfaction than an ugly wreck can still show them something."

  No, she could never tell him how she felt after that.

  "When we're done," Bart said, "we're going up to the Mountains." At a look on Verity's face, as, as always, she thought of Robin, he reassured her: "I'll leave Cilla a number." He paused a little diffidently. "It won't be much of a break, Verity, but we can catch up later."

  She said something trite about the mountains being new to her, anyway, avoiding his eyes as she said it, suddenly almost girlishly shy because of those unfolding minutes standing beside him and knowing something so intrinsic she was afraid now to try to recapture it. And so they finished the dinner.

  She went upstairs and packed her few things, very conscious of Bart standing behind her in the room . . . and why not, it was their room? . . . as he said : "It's only the night, Verity, so just take a few articles. One day" . . . a pause . . . "we'll do it all properly."

  She did not know quite what he meant by that until two hours later when they had reached the mountain town with the Swiss-inspired hotel where they were to lodge.

  The air smelled of wet violets and fir trees, and there was a fire crackling in the suite to which they had been led ... a large bedroom, a smaller annexe with a bed, bathroom and dining alcove.

  "It's an apartment," Verity cried.

  He was putting her bag on the big bed, and he did not look at her as he said : "Yes." Then he paused. "You see, Verity, tonight this room is yours."

  "What, Bart?" She looked round at him, but his glance was still averted.

  Then he turned suddenly, and held her eyes until she lowered her gaze.

  "We've a long way to go and all our lives to complete the journey. You're tired ... you're strung-up. So, little one, good night." He stepped towards her and lightly kissed her brow. It was the first time he had kissed her since the minister had smiled at them in the church and intoned: "The groom will now kiss the bride."

  "But Bart —" She spoke impulsively, and he turned instantly, a world of eager inquiry, had Verity looked up into his dark eyes. But Verity's glance stayed down.

  "Yes?" he asked.

  "Bart, I'm not a child ... far from it. I mean I've mothered Robin all these years. What I really mean is — I'm adult. I understand that a man and a woman —"

  "I'm glad you understand that." There was no eagerness in him now, rather a cool acceptance of basic facts. "Because I do intend us to live a full life."

  "You may reassure yourself." In her shyness, she said it a little stiffly, she still did not look up, and when he did not respond, she burst out: "I'll keep my side of the bargain, never fear."

  "Bargain !" He said it so faintly she was not sure she really heard it. When she did bring herself to turn round, he had left the room.

  She could hear him in the annexe next door, moving around, probably taking out his things. Then she heard the door close between them . . . then his light snap out.

  She put her own light out and undressed in the dark. Then, tremblingly, she got into bed. She felt sure she would not sleep, but when the telephone rang some hours later she woke up with a start.

  Before she could grope for the receiver, Bart was there, already in his dressing gown although it had barely begun to peal. He took it up and asked : "Yes?" Then he said : "Yes. —Yes, I do understand. — Yes, I'll do that. — Yes." He put the phone down.

  Already she was going off to sleep again, and for a long moment he stood looking down on her, she could see him faintly through her almost closed eyes, and for a second —

  "Yes, Bart?"

  "It's nothing. Go to sleep." He went out.

  She did sleep. She slept until the next morning, and Bart standing beside her with coffee. He was dressed ready to leave. He had been right when he had said it would only be a brief break.

  "Drink it, Verity." Something in his voice made her look quickly up at him

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Coffee."

  "I didn't mean that, I meant—"

  "Drink it first." He said it authoritatively, and after a moment she did so. He waited until she drained the final drop, then he said quietly : "That ring last night."

  "Oh, yes?" Only now did she remember it.

  "It was a message for you."

  "For me?" She sat up straighter.

  "From Cilla."

  "Oh." She relaxed back again.

  "You see".. . gently.. . "Adele had been trying to get you, and when she failed she finally got Priscilla's home."

  "Adele trying to get me? Bart — Bart — not Robin?" "Yes, little one." He sat down on the bed beside her. "He's — worse?"

  "No, Verity. No. It's all over."

  "All over ?" She looked at him stupidly. For a moment she thought : Robin's better. The nightmare is finished. Robin is all right again.

  And then the meaning of Bart's words became clear. "No ! " she cried.

  "I'm sorry, but yes, Verity."

  "And that was the phone call last night?"

  "Yes."

  "You should have told me."

  "There was nothing to be done. I wanted you to have a night's rest at least. Besides, it had already been over for some hours."

  For a while what he said did not sink in. Then Verity said in a muffled voice : "How many hours?"

  "Does it matter?" he answered harshly, and but for the harshness she would have left it at that.

  "Yes," she said, her pain because of Robin making her unreasonable, for what she said then she did not really mean. "Yes. Because I think you knew before you married me. Because if I'd known, I needn't have gone through this thing. I mean —"

  She stopped at his hand on her, hard, relentless.

  "I didn't know, but had I known I would have done just what you said."

  "To even up with your brothers." She shivered. "To show them something?"

  "Verity . . ." he began.

  "Isn't it true? Didn't you give me that reason? That reason for this — this farce?" She was looking down at her ring. "Verity ..."

  "To establish yourself, you said. To show them. And because of Robbie, I agreed. And now Robbie has died too early." She stopped to put a shaking hand to her quivering mouth. "And I've found
out — too late."

  CHAPTER IX

  THEY drove down to Sydney with the separation between two seats ... and a world . . . dividing them. Neither of them spoke for the two hours that it took.

  Only when they joined the snarl of the city traffic did Bart address Verity.

  "I'll take you straight to your brother's apartment. Have you any money for the taxi fare home?"

  Home? But where was home? When two people married it was presumed that they lived together. But she — But Bart —

  Reading her thoughts, he said sharply, "Our home, of course." For a moment he took his eyes away from the stream of cars to give her a quick searching look.

  "I may be late." She did not look back at him. "I'll have to go to my own flat to pick up some things."

  "That can be attended to tomorrow."

  She said stiffly, "Very well . . . but I still can't say what time it will be."

  "That's all right, I'll be waiting. I'll be as near as the phone."

  "Thank you . . . but I don't think Adele will be requiring anything." Her voice was brittle.

  His mouth tightened. "I didn't say Adele."

  "No, you didn't. I'm sorry. — Yet it does come down to the

  same thing, doesn't it? It was only because of Adele that we —" His face had paled with suppressed anger. "You're under strain. I'm not arguing with you. Later —" He hunched one shoulder, the shoulder near hers. Briefly the pair of them touched, and she withdrew slightly. She knew he felt her withdrawal, for his tightened mouth grew even tighter. In spite of herself Verity shivered.

  A few minutes afterwards he turned into a quiet avenue, went a short distance, then pulled up at the lavish block of flats where Robin and Adele . . . where Adele . . . lived.

  "Want me to come in with you?" he asked offhandedly, and Verity knew that if he had not asked like that, she would have answered an eager Yes.

  "Yes," she would have appealed, "yes, Bart." For, looking up at the window at which Robbie often had sat, she longed for someone's hand now in hers. — But it could not be Bart's hand. Not with a carelessly tossed offer like that.