Princes and Princesses: Favourite Royal Romances

by Barbara Cartland

  “Shall I pick it up now?” the man beside her asked in an unsteady voice.

  “Yes.”

  Ancella signalled the croupier, who pushed the money towards him and he threw some chips down onto the table for the employees and, picking up the rest in both hands, held it out towards Ancella.

  “Will you take half?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “It is yours,” she replied, “or rather your wife’s. Now she can have her operation and I have a feeling, just as strong as the feeling I had about winning, that it will be successful!”

  She saw the tears come into his eyes.

  They had now turned a little aside from the table and he said,

  “I did not believe there was such kindness or such goodness left in the world.”

  He looked down at the money in his hands.

  “Are you quite sure?” he asked unsteadily, “and what about your original stake?”

  “Buy some flowers with it for your wife from me,” she answered, “and tell her that I shall be praying that you will both find happiness.”

  She turned and walked away from him as she spoke.

  Because he was so moved by what she had said and bemused by what had happened, she was out of sight before he could find any words with which to speak to her again.

  Ancella found the Princess still talking to the Comte.

  She did not join them, but sat on a chair against the wall where she could wait until she was wanted.

  She suddenly felt strangely exhausted as if she had passed through an emotional experience.

  Then she found herself praying that the money she had won would, of all the wins that were taking place in the Casino that night, really bring about good instead of evil.

  Chapter Four

  Dr. Groves arrived to visit the Princess the following morning and, having been with her for about a quarter of an hour, he asked to speak to Ancella.

  They moved downstairs into a sitting room that was not as grand as the salon, but was still very attractive with windows looking out towards Eza.

  “The Princess speaks very highly of you, Miss Winton,” Dr. Groves began.

  “I am glad,” Ancella replied. “I had hoped that I would justify Sir Felix’s trust in me.”

  “I am sure you will do that.”

  Dr. Groves was not unlike Sir Felix Johnson in appearance, being about the same age and having the same charming manner.

  Like Sir Felix he wore a conventional frock coat and top hat to visit his patients and also a cravat expertly tied in the centre of which was a tiepin in the shape of a horseshoe.

  Everything in Monte Carlo, Ancella thought, was invariably an emblem of good luck.

  “I will, however, be frank,” Dr. Groves went on, “and say that I was expecting someone older. But, as the Princess is satisfied, that is all that matters.”

  “Is Her Highness actually ill in any way?” Ancella asked.

  She felt as she spoke that it was only a remote possibility, considering the late hours the Princess spent at the Casino and the fact that she apparently did everything she wished to do.

  “I think, as you are acting in the capacity of nurse to Her Highness,” Dr. Groves said slowly, “you should know the facts about this particular case.”

  He paused and then asked with a faint smile,

  “How old do you think the Princess is?”

  It was a question Ancella had not expected.

  “I have no idea,” she answered, “but I should have thought from her appearance very old – well over seventy.”

  “As a matter of fact,” Dr. Groves replied, “she is only sixty-two!”

  Ancella looked surprised and he added,

  “It is really a very sad story.”

  “Do tell me?” Ancella begged him.

  “The Princess was, I believe, very lovely when she was young. In fact when I first saw her some twenty years ago she was still outstandingly beautiful.”

  Recalling the Princess’s profile, Ancella could believe that was true and she had noticed last night when she was talking to Comte André that, when she was excited and interested, her face had a definite semblance of beauty.

  “The Princess was married when she was quite young,” Dr. Groves continued, “to Prince Serge Vsevolovski, a bridegroom chosen by her parents, who was fifteen years older than she was and, I should imagine, without exception the most outstandingly handsome man in Russia.”

  Ancella was just about to say,

  ‘Then his son is like him,’ but she bit back the words.

  “It was inevitable,” Dr. Groves went on, “that the Princess should fall madly in love with her husband. He was very anxious to have children and the Princess, for no reason that I can ascertain, at first did not conceive a child and then later had several miscarriages. She was in fact thirty-five when Prince Vladimer was born.”

  “Prince Serge must have been very pleased,” Ancella exclaimed.

  “He was naturally delighted. Unfortunately this did not prevent him being consistently unfaithful.”

  Ancella looked at the doctor enquiringly and he went on,

  “One can quite understand the temptations. The Prince travelled a great deal, he visited England, was constantly in Paris and, of course, when Monte Carlo became fashionable he came here.”

  He smiled.

  “There were always extremely attractive women ready to throw themselves into his arms and the Princess, who was very possessive, almost fanatically so, became more and more jealous.”

  Ancella’s eyes were sympathetic as Dr. Groves continued,

  “Having a child and the fact that she had been ill on and off for some years had taken a certain toll of her looks. She therefore consulted every beauty specialist known in Russia and in any other part of Europe. She tried quack remedies of every sort and description.”

  Dr. Groves’s voice sharpened as he went on,

  “There are always charlatans who will make the most out of such a situation and batten on a rich woman, whatever damage they may inflict.”

  “What happened?” Ancella asked, already knowing the answer.

  “One of these quacks sold her a ‘miracle preparation’, which he averred would change her appearance overnight to that of a girl of eighteen. You can see for yourself what occurred!”

  “Her skin!” Ancella cried.

  “Exactly!” Dr. Groves agreed. “The so-called ‘miracle preparation’ destroyed the texture of her skin until it became as you see it now, criss-crossed with lines almost like a Chinese parchment.”

  This was exactly how Ancella had described it to herself and now she felt a deep compassion for the Princess, who had sought to repair her beauty because she loved her husband.

  “Can nothing be done?” she asked.

  “Absolutely nothing! It has, of course, made Her Highness look immeasurably older and, while Prince Serge was alive, it was an inexpressible tragedy. Now I don’t think the Princess cares.”

  “I think every woman, however old she may be, cares about her appearance,” Ancella suggested.

  “You are right, of course,” Dr. Groves conceded, “but the Princess has transferred her passionate and possessive love to her son. Whereas in the past she was jealous of her husband, she is now jealous of Prince Vladimer.”

  Ancella began to understand some of the things the Princess had said to her.

  “I am telling you this,” Dr. Groves went on, “as a warning, because at times the Princess may seem a little unbalanced, especially where her son is concerned.”

  “I had already guessed that in her mind she sometimes confuses him with her husband,” Ancella said.

  “That is very perceptive of you, Miss Winton. It is what I have imagined might be happening, but I have not been long enough with the Princess since she arrived here to be certain.”

  “There is nothing we can do?” Ancella asked.

  “Nothing! Except keep her well, keep her from taking drugs of any s
ort and keep her interested in other things besides Prince Vladimer and his love affairs.”

  “Are there many of them?”

  Ancella knew that it was indiscreet, but she could not help asking the question.

  Dr. Groves shrugged his shoulders.

  “In a place like this people only do two things. They gamble and they gossip! If the gossips are to be believed, wherever Prince Vladimer goes, he leaves a mountain of broken hearts behind him.”

  The doctor laughed.

  “That may sound over-dramatic, Miss Winton, but I assure you that I often have to treat broken hearts, although they are usually referred to by far more complicated medical terms.”

  Ancella had the feeling that, while he was talking impersonally, Dr. Groves was warning her.

  She was certain that this was the truth when he said slowly,

  “If you find yourself in a difficulty of any sort, Miss Winton, I hope you will look on me as a friend you may speak quite frankly to. Sir Felix has told me how fond he was of your father and I should like to feel that I was always there should you need me.”

  “That is very kind of you, Dr. Groves, and I appreciate it,” Ancella said. “I hope, however, not to be a nuisance in any way, but to look after the Princess as I came here to do.”

  She gave him a little smile and added,

  “I was not expecting, however, to visit the Casino every night.”

  “When you have lived here as long as I have,” Dr. Groves replied, “you will find it extremely boring, especially if you cannot afford to lose your money.”

  “I certainly cannot afford to do that!” Ancella exclaimed. “At the same time I find it very interesting to see the place which is looked on with such horror by many people in England.”

  “So I believe and the Bishops have made violent attacks upon it. But quite frankly most of the accusations levelled are very exaggerated.”

  “I thought that must be the truth,” Ancella replied, “except – ”

  She was about to mention the man last night who had gambled away everything he possessed and then she thought that it would be a mistake to speak of it, even to Dr. Groves.

  “The truth is the Casino receives too much publicity!” he exclaimed, “like The Man Who Broke the Bank at Monte Carlo.”

  Ancella, who had heard the song, which had become a natural favourite and was played on every barrel organ in London, laughed.

  “Did he really exist?” she asked. “I thought he was just a fictitious character.”

  “No, indeed!” Dr. Groves replied. “His name was Charles Deville Wells and I met him when he was here seven years ago.”

  “And he really did break the Bank?”

  “Yes, he broke the Bank several times in three days. When that happens and the Roulette table runs out of money it is covered with a black crepe sheet until new boxes of gold and notes can be brought from the Head Office.”

  “How fascinating!” Ancella exclaimed. “And how much did Mr. Wells win?”

  “It is always said that he turned his original capital of four hundred pounds into forty thousand pounds in three days! He was an unpleasant little man and he is now in prison!”

  “In prison?”

  “Too many people trusted him with their money! He obtained nearly thirty thousand by inviting them to invest in his invention of a new type of fuel-saving device for coal-burning ships. Actually there was no such invention!”

  Ancella thought that this was certainly a case where money had not only brought no happiness to the winner but had even made him a criminal.

  Dr. Groves looked at his watch.

  “I would like to stay here talking to you, Miss Winton,” he said, “but I have half a dozen patients waiting for me, none of whom, I may add, are really in need of any urgent attention!”

  He walked to the door and then paused.

  “Look after the Princess,” he said, “and yourself.”

  Again Ancella knew that there was a warning in his voice and, when he had gone, she went upstairs somewhat reflectively to find the Princess.

  Her employer was in an extremely good humour, all due to the fact that the night before she had sat talking to Comte André until the early hours of the morning.

  Going back in the carriage drawn by the four fast horses she had said to Ancella with a new softness in her voice,

  “Comte André de Valpré is a very dear friend of mine.”

  “I thought he must be,” Ancella replied.

  She was feeling sleepy. The hours had seemed very long while she sat waiting for the Princess to leave, but in a way it had been a relief that she did not have to stand at the Roulette table putting on her stakes.

  “He was very kind to me when I was desperately unhappy,” the Princess said.

  She spoke as if she looked back into the past for her own satisfaction rather than Ancella’s.

  “I felt that my life was finished, but he showed me it could still hold a great deal of happiness and amusement.”

  “He fell – in love with you?” Ancella asked.

  As soon as she spoke, she felt that she had perhaps been impertinent in making such a suggestion.

  “But, of course,” the Princess answered. “And he was an ardent, an eloquent lover, as are most Frenchmen.”

  “Did you want to run away with him?” Ancella asked curiously.

  The Princess laughed.

  “There was no chance of that!” she answered. “He had a very jealous wife, as he still has. What is more, she holds the purse-strings!”

  Then the Princess said with a note of venom that had not been there before,

  “She is one of those title-hunting, multi-million-dollar American heiresses who descend on Europe like locusts, snatching up Noblemen in the same manner as they snatch up pictures and objets d’art of every description.”

  She obviously hated the Comte’s wife so intensely that Ancella decided to ask no more questions, but the Princess was not so easily silenced.

  “Women are harpies,” she asserted. “All women! They want men for what they can get out of them. They suck them dry! They are insatiable – houses, horses, jewels, gowns – there is nothing they will not demand of a man and, of course, if they are unscrupulous and clever enough, they also force him to give them his name! I have warned Vladimer – I have warned him! But he does not listen to me any more than Serge did.”

  Her voice dropped and she muttered almost beneath her breath,

  “Harpies! Witches! Vampires without hearts, without souls, and men so foolish that they cannot escape them!”

  There was silence as they journeyed on towards the Villa d’Azar.

  Then the Princess said more calmly,

  “Mixed marriages between people of different nationalities are always a mistake.”

  She looked at Ancella and added,

  “That English woman, the Marchioness. Do you think she wants to marry my son?”

  Ancella thought quickly and then replied,

  “Your Highness forgets, I arrived only today.”

  “Yes – yes, of course! But when Vladimer does marry, which need not be until I am dead, it must be to a Russian – a Russian!”

  Ancella did not reply, but now as she went upstairs she thought that what Dr. Groves had told her about the Princess explained her outburst against women the night before.

  She felt desperately sorry that in Her Highness’s efforts to remain beautiful and attractive she had in fact destroyed everything she sought to preserve.

  She understood now why the Princess rouged her face and reddened her lips, which was considered extremely improper in England. There it was only the unmentionable type of women who used cosmetics of any sort.

  At least that was what her aunts had always told Ancella, but she could not help suspecting that the Marchioness’s skin was not the pearly white it appeared to be in the evening and that the wild rose flush on her lips was not entirely due to nature.

  But the Marchioness employe
d her aids to beauty very expertly.

  Ancella had seen women in the Casino the night before, who made no pretence about accentuating the natural colours of their faces in a most flamboyant manner, although there was no doubt that it made some of them look exceedingly attractive.

  The Princess was working on a new gambling system.

  Her bed was covered with calculations on pieces of paper, with replicas of the Roulette board and half-a-dozen of the books that Ancella had learnt were on sale in Monte Carlo describing various ‘infallible’ systems.

  There were dozens of them – the Turin Game, the Samur Game, the Triangle of Pascal, Dominating Numbers, The Differential Calculus as applied to Astrology.

  They cost from sixpence to twenty-four pounds, but Ancella was certain that if any of them were really successful the person who had invented them would not have felt obliged to write a book about it.

  But she had seen quite a number of women in the Casino carrying one or other of them.

  “I am considering that I might do better at Baccarat,” the Princess said reflectively.

  “I wonder if His Highness won last night,” Ancella remarked without thinking.

  “He was playing Baccarat?”

  “I think that was what he was going to do, after I had given him your message,” Ancella replied.

  “And who was with him? “ the Princess enquired.

  Too late Ancella realised that it would have been better not to mention what had occurred, but there was now nothing for her to do but tell the truth.

  “The Marchioness.”

  “She would be!” the Princess said sharply. “I am absolutely convinced that woman should not be staying here, and Boris tells me – ”

  She stopped as if she realised she had been about to be indiscreet and, picking up one of the pieces of paper from her bed, studied it.

  It was soon time for the Princess to dress before luncheon and, when she was carried downstairs, with Ancella walking behind her, they went into the salon to find the guests already assembled.

  They were a party of twelve with two distinguished couples from nearby villas. Ancella was introduced to them, but they made no effort to talk to her and she faded discreetly into the background.