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But that's just what he's not, Sonya thought, and shivered. Warm human weaknesses she could forgive, but she could not imagine Sven in love, he was too self-contained, a taker not a giver, and love meant giving, heart, body and spirit.

'Let's talk of something else,' she said, but though they chatted of this and that, she could not drive Sven out of her mind. What was he doing? Was he with Thomasina? London could be lonely for a man on his own, but Sven must have heaps of friends ...

The charity gala was well publicised. Precis of Sven's career and photographs of him appeared in the press, including one of a slender youth with a girl in an acrobatic pose. This had been dredged up from some sporting archives and represented Sven and Ingrid when they were acclaimed champions at the winter sports. Sonya studied it avidly. The youthful Sven looked an altogether softer and more sympathetic character, and his sister was very like him. The intervening years of success had spoilt and hardened him. The letterpress commented upon Sven's reappearance as a pair skater and mentioned that his partner would be the daughter of the British champion, Eliot Vincent. By some oversight her first name was not given and she smiled wryly. Eliot's daughter and Sven's partner—she had no fame of her own to contribute, never would have when after the gala she parted from the Swede.

Her father, rather to her dismay, insisted that he must be present. She had no qualms about her performance, Sven would ensure it was perfect, but she feared the evening out would be too much for the recluse. But Eliot was determined to go and after all it was fitting he should be at her last performance, for she was resolved that was what it would be. Only she, Sven and possibly Jan van Goort knew how inadequate her efforts were without her present partner, and after this one brief appearance she would be seen no more, though how she was going to placate her father she did not know; it seemed she would have to develop an illness or break a limb.

Thomasina had somehow managed to insinuate herself into the show. She was to display, with several colleagues, the latest in feminine sports gear during the interval.

'Trust her, she's a thruster, that girl,' Derek remarked. 'She's determined you shan't hog all the limelight.'

'I shan't anyway, there'll be much better known skaters than I performing,' Sonya told him.

'You'll be in the full glare of it, my darling, being Sven Petersen's partner and your father's daughter.'

'Oh, don't rub it in,' she exclaimed fretfully. 'I would to like just for once to achieve something off my own bat.'

Derek was coming to the show, in the cheaper seats. Sonya had offered to obtain a better one for him, but he said he preferred to be with his pals; a gang of them were going from the club. Her father would be seated at the rinkside with the Mathesons to look after him.

Sven was giving a solo exhibition earlier in the programme, but their pair, being considered the highlight of the evening, was nearly last. Sonya did not watch any of it, she was in a state of extreme nervous tension and could not keep still. When finally dressed and waiting to go on the ice she felt deadly sick and nearly
panicked; she was sure she would forget her steps and bungle the lifts. Then Sven was beside her, lithe and debonair in his skating costume, his smile reassuring as if he sensed her fear.

'You will be all right, my sweet.'

Sweet? She had never been especially sweet to him, why should he call her that now? But his presence restored her confidence, and the touch of his hands soothed her as they glided out on to the ice.

When they appeared they were given an ovation. Sven had already won the audience's appreciation, and here he was again with Eliot Vincent's daughter. Her father's tragic history had been revived for the occasion. She was basking in borrowed fame which she feared she might not deserve. But from that point on Sven took over. Her muscles were governed by his will, not hers, throughout the familiar routine, which had been lengthened from the five of the competitions to give a better show. Sonya glided, spun, pirouetted and was lifted without conscious effort, and in perfect accord with her partner. She was an extension of Sven's expertise, an extra set of limbs attached to his. Only the smile glued to her lips was her own. But she did not appear to be a robot. To the onlookers she was a personification of youth and vitality, with her flying curls, her sparkling eyes and perfect poise.

She came down from the final pose to meet the burst of applause and make her curtsey, feeling that something had snapped, and she was unutterably weary. She knew it was because Sven had withdrawn from her and the mystical bond was broken. She looked at him over the large bunch of flowers with which she had been presented. He looked superb, he was always at his best
when he was on the ice, his slim athletic figure was vibrant with magnetic charm, his eyes alight with triumph, his arrogant head held high, the great ice champion who was unbeatable.

He turned to her and raised her fingers to his lips and she broke off a flower from her bouquet and handed it to him. It was a red rose. He took it, kissed it and put it in the breast of his shirt, to renewed applause. Then it was as if a light exploded in Sonya's brain, illuminating every corner of her being. She loved this man deeply and irrevocably. Her jealousy of Tom, the ease with which he could dominate her, her rebellion against his indifference and her hurt pride were now all explained. She just could not let him go out of her life even though her love was not returned. Always impulsive to the point of rashness, she murmured: 'Do what you will with me, Sven, I'm all yours.'

Whether he heard her through the noise of the applause, she did not know, as his face registered no reaction, but the centre of an arena in the midst of several thousands of spectators is not a suitable setting for a love scene. He took her hands and guided her almost roughly off the ice, where they were separated, by the stampede of performers preparing to go on for the finale, which followed by some speechifying would conclude the entertainment. Sonya fled to her dressing room already regretting her impetuous words. She must have been crazy to utter them; that in the light of the revelation that had come to her they were true did not make it any better. If Sven had heard them he would accept them as unconditional surrender. They would be married after all. The thought made her feel dizzy, she felt young and vulnerable. But perhaps he had not
heard and she still had time for consideration.

When she had changed she went to join her father who was making his way to the exit. She was shocked to see how tired he looked and all thought of Sven fled, swallowed by anxiety.

Eliot smiled into her anxious face as he leaned on Matheson's arm.

'Wonderful, darling, you've fulfilled all my hopes.'

'It wasn't me,' she told him as they pushed their way through the crowd. 'I couldn't do it without Sven.'

But he did not heed her, continuing to murmur, 'Wonderful, wonderful!' until at the exit they met Sven.

'I will follow you home,' he told them.

'Daddy is very tired,' Sonya demurred, unable to meet his eyes.

'It is you I must see.'

So he had heard, and she would have to face the consequences of her impetuosity. Suddenly she was afraid of him and how he would react.

Thomasina came towards them, glamorous in a leopard coat.

'Sven, can you help me, my car won't start.'

'I am sorry, but I am engaged,' he told her. 'Ring a garage or get a taxi.' Sonya felt an unworthy flicker of triumph.

He helped Eliot into the front seat of the car, which Matheson was driving, and herself and Katie into the back.

'Au revoir,' he called as they moved off.

At the house all was bustle getting her father into bed. Some time during the proceedings Sven arrived and was shown into the sitting room; Sonya was dimly
conscious of his presence in the house and wished he had waited until the morning. She lingered in her father's room. He looked very wan and aged lying in the wide bed with the dog at his feet, and all her concern was for him. She was reluctant to face the man downstairs, for she was realising what she had done. Now she could never escape from the skating rink; from henceforth she would be chained to it, following in Sven's footsteps until she was too old to skate. She must even forgo her nationality. If only he had been an ordinary man and she could live in peaceful obscurity bearing his children, but he probably did not want children; they would interfere with his plans, in which she must play her part. What a mockery their partnership was, so close and yet so far apart in essentials.

But these afterthoughts had come too late. Carried away by excitement and his glamour, she had told him she was his to do with what he willed, and he would not allow her to back out, nor would it be acting honourably to do so. He was waiting to claim her and when she came again under the sway of his personality, she would be unable to resist him.

Eliot said impatiently:

'Why don't you go downstairs? Sven's here, isn't he, and it's not very polite to leave him on his own. You can tell him I'm fine, that's what he's waiting to hear, isn't it?' He looked at her eagerly, for he was hoping there was another reason and their success coupled with Sven's brilliance on the rink had caused her to change her mind.

Sonya gave a long sigh. She would have liked to confide in him, but that would mean confessing that all her life hitherto had been founded on a lie. She did not and had never wanted to be a skating star. That her success was entirely due to the empathy between her and Sven, and that without him she would have been a flop, took all satisfaction away from it; there was no achievement in being a sort of automaton. But she could not speak. Eliot exercised over her an emotional blackmail by reason of his health. Never had she been able to be frank with him in case she caused him heart failure. Between her love for him and her love for Sven she was caught in a trap from which there was no escape. Both were set upon a career for her which she did not want herself, and she had a nasty suspicion that that was all they
did
care about. Her father saw her as a projection of himself, and Sven as a willing partner, subservient to his mastery, with the added bonus of a bedmate thrown in. Even the faithful Derek was attracted by her potential as a rising star. Sonya Vincent, stripped of her skating glamour, was nothing to anybody but a very ordinary, unsophisticated young girl.

'Very well, Daddy, if you don't want anything else, I'll go,' she said submissively. Submission seemed to be her role in life. 'Matheson is within call, isn't he?'

'Run along and don't fuss,' Eliot told her testily. He was disappointed by her demeanour. She did not look like a girl about to join her lover.

Yet as she ran downstairs, Sonya felt a surge of the familiar excitement which Sven always aroused in her. What would he say to her, and what would he do? Suddenly she was hungry for his presence and the comfort of his arms. Surely now that she had capitulated he would show her some tenderness, some sympathy.

But as she came into the sitting room she was overwhelmed by embarrassment. He was standing in front of the fire and he too looked constrained. To cover her confusion, she said conventionally:

'Do please sit down and let me get you a drink. Whisky, isn't it? A small one.'

He did not speak and she turned to the drinks tray, aware he was watching her as intently as a predator does its prospective prey. Her hand shook a little as she handed him the glass.

'Are you frightened of me?' he asked abruptly.

'I think I am a little,' she admitted honestly. 'I ... I'm shy.'

He laughed. 'You surprise me. After making that brazen announcement in front of all those spectators! I nearly fell through the ice.'

He put down his glass and moved towards her and she backed away nervously until she came up against the couch. Sven stopped and regarded her with a frown.

'You puzzle me, Sonya, this was hardly the reception I expected, but I warn you, I will not allow you to play fast and loose with me.'

'Oh, I'd never do that, but ... but ...' She glanced at him timidly. He was not being lover-like at all, instead he looked menacing. 'I was a bit over-excited,' she went on. 'I... I'm not sure what I did say.'

'You know very well what you said, and your face confirms it. You are very transparent, Sonya. Well, having changed your mind, as you declared you never would, I may take it there's nothing to prevent our marriage?'

There was no feeling in his voice, though he was pale and his eyes glittered. It did not occur to her that he too might feel embarrassed, and she was not helping him at all. What she did think was that she could never live in intimacy with this formidable being. Marriage would mean sleeping with him. Could she do that? Her untouched virginity quailed, and her love, which would have blossomed under a different approach, wilted before her fear.

'I ... I don't think I'm quite ready for m ... marriage,' she faltered.

'You are a normal young woman and at your age you should be,' he said drily. 'If only you would grow up.'

Her eyes fell upon a paperback romance which she had been reading and left on the arm of the couch, and an idea occurred to her whereby she could satisfy him and preserve her integrity.

'But ours isn't to be an ordinary marriage,' she told him. 'I mean people, usually marry because they're in love.' He made a gesture of dissent, but she went on hurriedly; 'You gave me a lot of reasons for marrying you, but that wasn't one of them, so I just thought it would be a good idea if ... if ...' she glanced at the book with its evocative title,
The Untouched Bride,
'our marriage was one in name only.'

She had been unable to look at Sven while she made this suggestion and in the silence that followed she ventured to steal a glance and saw utter incredulity in his face. Then he began to laugh.

'Sonya, Sonya, where do you get your ideas from?' He noticed the book and flicked it contemptuously to the floor. 'Romances, I suppose, but be realistic for once. We are both young and healthy individuals and we would be driven frantic with frustration.'