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Sonya allowed him to make an appointment, though her mind was going round like a whirlpool. Having supposedly manoeuvred to obtain half her heritage, Sven had rejected it. It knocked the bottom out of all her grievances against him. Then she recalled something else.

'Has Sven ... my husband ' (Was he still that?) 'approached you about any other matter?'

'He has not. After signing a paper relinquishing all claim to your father's estate, he severed all connection with us.'

Of course, he would put the annulment proceedings in other hands, but she had not received any papers from any solicitor. She had no idea what the procedure was; perhaps she did not have to be consulted.

'Then could you give me his address?' she asked.

'We are not in receipt of it. Any communications are to be sent c/o of his bank—but surely, Sonya,' he became human, 'this is only a temporary estrangement? Young people in love are hotheaded and passionate, I know, but if you've quarrelled, can't you make it up? Your father would be greatly distressed ...'

'Yes, I know,' Sonya broke in hurriedly, 'but he won't come back ever. I'll keep our appointment.'

Unable to bear any more, she rang off.

She was certain then that Sven had gone to Thomasina, and she could hardly blame him, after her accusations. His final thrust, admitting he had been after her money, had been given with the intention of hurting her as she had wounded him, but it had been totally untrue, as his subsequent action had proved. Young people in love are hotheaded and passionate, Mr Foster had said, but Sven was not in love with her, and he had always declared he did not act upon impulse. He had weighed the pros and cons and as she had said, he would not come back.

Her solitude was finally broken by Derek Barnes, who came to visit her. Although she had told Matheson she was not at home to callers, he admitted the young man, yielding to his insistence, as he was secretly worried by Sonya's voluntary immurement. He feared her brain might become affected if she continued to isolate herself.

So Derek came breezing in one sunny evening carrying a bunch of flowers like a breath of spring from the outside world.

'Your man didn't want to let me in,' he told her when Matheson had shown him into the sitting room, where Sonya sat brooding over a log fire with Tessa, her faithful companion, at her feet. 'But I persuaded him. We've been so worried about you, you never come to the rink now and we've heard you've withdrawn from the International. I thought you must be ill, and you do look a pallid little ghost.'

Sonya had risen at his entrance, prepared to resent his intrusion, but the sight of his honest friendly face, the genuine concern in his voice, tore away the shroud of pain and grief in which she had enwrapped herself.

'Down, Tess!' she said to the excited spaniel, and held out both her hands to her guest. 'I'm so -glad you've come, Derek. I've been so miserable since Daddy died.' And Sven left me, she added to herself.

Derek took her hands, noting with distress how thin she had become; her pale face seemed to have shrunk so that she was all eyes.

'I was so sorry to hear about that,' he said gently. 'I sent my condolences.' (He had, but she had not acknowledged them.) 'But you should be over the worst by now. You'll do yourself no good by grieving here alone.'

She laughed a little shakily. 'I suppose you're right. Sit down, do.' She drew him towards the fire. 'Let me get you a drink.'

Over glasses of sherry, she asked tentatively:

'I don't suppose you've seen Sven Petersen around? He's got a new partner, I believe.'

'The yellow-haired guy? No, he hasn't been to the rink. That's what got me worried. I couldn't believe you'd split up after your success at Wembley.'

Derek did not know about her hasty marriage, only a handful of people did, and Jan had kept her secret; at risk of betraying herself, she wanted news of Sven, even if he had been seen with Thomasina. She felt so completely cut off from him.

'Actually I've given up,' she told him. 'I hadn't any heart to go on without Daddy's encouragement. It was he who was keen on my success, I never cared about it.'

Derek looked shocked. 'My dear, what a pity! You made such a brilliant debut.' His brow darkened. 'Did that fellow let you down? I warned you he was a cad.'

Sonya turned away her head. 'Nothing like that, Derek. We merely decided to dissolve our partnership —he wanted someone more expert.'

'But...' Derek checked himself. He was not without tact and seeing the pain in Sonya's face suspected something had happened which she did not want to reveal. Silently condemning Sven for an unscrupulous cad, he went on cheerfully:

'But you must do something with yourself, darling.' He glanced round the large old-fashioned room. 'You're still very young, and you can't shut yourself up alone in this huge house like a hermit.'

'I'm going to sell it, and I'll probably get round to doing something eventually. Perhaps take up social work.'

'Very worthy but terribly dull,' he remarked drily. 'Look, darling, why don't you go away? A holiday abroad would be just the thing for you. Get some sunshine.'

'It's an idea,' she agreed. 'But I've no one to go with.'

He seemed to be cogitating, then he said:

'Would you come with me? No strings attached, of course, and I can probably get a week's holiday if I say it's an emergency, and your welfare is urgent. If you like the hotel and make friends, you can stay on a bit longer when I have to leave you, but I'll break the ice for you; only I'm afraid it would have to be somewhere not too expensive.'

'Oh, that's all right, I'll pay,' Sonya said promptly, and when he demurred: 'I've heaps of money, Derek, and nothing I want to spend it on. You'd be giving me your company, and that's beyond price.'

Already she looked much brighter. A break in the southern sun, leaving all regrets behind her in Derek's undemanding society, had become very attractive.

Derek, seeing the change in her, stifled his pride and made no further objections about allowing her to pay. Sonya decided she would like to go to Italy. She had always wanted to see Naples and Pompeii. He left, promising to consult a travel agency.

'Have you got a passport?' was his final query.

She had obtained one in anticipation of going to Canada; it was in her maiden name and strictly speaking was invalid, but it was unlikely anyone would query it. She was going away to forget that she had been married, and since she would be freed so soon—was Sven doing anything about it?—she would resume her former identity. Even her cheque book was still imprinted Miss S. Vincent. She had only been Mrs Sven Petersen for one day, and how disastrously it had ended.

A fortnight later she was in Italy; Derek had been lucky in obtaining a cancelled booking. Mr Foster had highly approved of her proposed holiday and had made ample funds available. The Mathesons were still in the house and would look after Tessa. They had accommodation at a comfortable hotel in Sorrento, Sonya being provided with a suite, Derek insisting upon a small upper floor bedroom for himself, but he could use her sitting room. With its background of mountains and its foreground of sea, Sorrento was a fascinating place and not too crowded at that time of year, with easy access to the places Sonya wanted to see. Vesuvius was visible in the distance, and Capri across the bay. Naples they were advised to avoid; it was not a very salubrious town and its pick-pockets were renowned.

The other visitors in the hotel were mostly elderly. They thought Sonya and Derek must be engaged if they were not actually lovers, but though she enjoyed his company and found his attentions comforting, Sonya had no wish for a closer intimacy with him. She hoped she was not arousing false expectations in him, because she knew she could never love him. He was
quite incapable of exciting her to the state of wild turbulence Sven had done, and she believed such violent emotion only came once in a lifetime, though she still hesitated to call it love, and the mild affection she felt for Derek was but a candle flame to the bonfire of passion she felt for Sven. She and Derek were merely holiday friends, and at risk of hurting him she made her attitude plain to him.

They were sitting on the balcony outside her sitting room with a view of the town and the sea spread before them.

He took it very well.

'I've always loved you, Sonya,' he told her quietly. 'But I've also known I stood no chance with you. It was that Swede, wasn't it?' She said nothing and her expression became withdrawn. 'Did you ... er quarrel?'

'Bitterly,' she admitted with a wan smile. 'But I'd rather not talk about it. He's gone out of my life and I want to forget him.'

'If the swine let you down ...' Derek growled.

'No. Oh, no, it was nothing like that,' she said quickly. 'We agreed to part. You see, he was dedicated to skating and I'd had a surfeit of it. I may take it up again some day, but not for a long while.'

Her eyes were fixed on the distant horizon and she looked infinitely remote. Derek studied her pale profile with jealous eyes. He was certain there was a lot more which she did not choose to reveal. Foreign scum, he thought angrily, though Sven was reported to be a British citizen, but he did not look English and would have imbibed the free and easy morals of his Continental forebears. He would not have appreciated how innocent and untouched Sonya was, and had exploited her inexperience. Thomasina had been after him too, and she came no more to the club. That was significant. Were they together, and was that why Sonya had broken the partnership? She would naturally be shocked, and Sven was blind if he could not see Sonya was worth a dozen of the flirtatious blonde.

Sonya's thoughts were running in the same direction, but it was not Tom but Sven's new partner she was wondering about. Though she had apparently not been ready for the International, Sonya was sure he would continue with pair skating. Would the new couple suddenly appear, blazing a trail of glory through the skating events, and finally achieve the Olympic gold? She knew it would hurt her when that occurred. For she might have been with him to share his triumphs, and she had thrown the chance away.

The next day they went to Pompeii. Though Sonya had read about it, the reality far exceeded her expectations. She had no idea there was so much of it—acres and acres of streets, gardens and houses. Many buildings were more or less intact, others had been reconstructed. It was easy to imagine the life of those indolent patricians enjoying their leisure at this Roman Brighton, in their painted dining rooms looking out on to flower-filled patios some with fountains and pools, enclosed by colonnaded walks. The common people did not have it so good, but they, as is the way of common people, had not left much trace. The roads still bore the marks of the chariot wheels which must have been uncomfortable driving since the paving was rough and uneven and in places crossed by large stepping-stones, which must have taken skill to negotiate. Were the streets sometimes flooded, or merely strewn with garbage? Some of the street signs were still in place, and there appeared to have been a disgraceful number of brothels. Vesuvius, looking harmless and benign, rose above the town, the mountain's purple sides bare and scored with lava. It took an effort of imagination to believe it had once belched forth fire and ash in sufficient quantity to bury a city. Looking into a glass case which held the petrified cast of what had been a man, lying on his back, his hands raised in helpless agony, Sonya shivered. Death had come so quickly and ruthlessly out of the blue. One moment there had been a town, bustling with life and gaiety, and only a short while later, a cinder heap.

⁴
A bit overwhelming, that old mountain, once it gets going,' Derek remarked.

'Is it extinct?'

'No, I don't think so. I believe it still smokes at times. It last blew its top in 1944, but nothing spectacular happened.'

Sonya had read Bulwer Lytton's
Last Days of Pompeii.
According to him games had been in progress when the first ash fell. Prototypes of herself and Sven might have been skating when destruction came, only they did not have artificial ice rinks in those days. But fatal accidents could happen anytime. Suddenly in spite of the warm sunshine she felt deathly cold, and a tight band seemed to surround her head. From one of the distant houses she heard Sven's voice crying to her on a note of desperate appeal:

'Sonya! Sonya! Where are you?'

'What's the matter, don't you feel well?' Derek asked anxiously, for she had gone very white.

She put her hand to her head and the tight band seemed to loosen, the chill began to recede from her limbs.

'I'm all right. I... I just had a strange fancy. Did you hear anyone call?'

'Only that kid over there bawling for his mum. Don't know why they bring small children to a place like this, they can't appreciate it and they get tired out.'

The colour had returned to Sonya's cheeks, but the dead city began to oppress her. She wondered if ghosts haunted it at night.

'Let's go, Derek. I've seen enough for one day. We can come again if you want to explore further.'

She did not voice her dread. It had been Sven's voice. Had something happened to him?

Later on back at the hotel she was able to dismiss the incident as a fantasy. She always had been hypersensitive, and Pompeii was a place to stimulate the imagination.

London papers were available, usually a day late. Derek liked to have one, but Sonya was not interested. Several mornings later, as they sat on her balcony drinking coffee while he idly skimmed through the current edition, he uttered a startled exclamation.

'What is it?' Sonya asked idly.

He glanced at her guiltily. He did not want to mention Sven when she seemed to be getting over whatever had happened, whatever that had been.

'Oh, nothing,' he mumbled.

But Sonya knew he was concealing something; since her strange experience at Pompeii she had been uneasy.

'It's something about Sven Petersen, isn't it?' she asked quietly. 'He isn't... dead?'