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'I wish I knew less about skating and more about people.'

Derek bit back a retort that her father was to blame for that. Sonya's loyalty would not permit any criticism of him from others. He wondered if Eliot Vincent had any idea of what he had done to his daughter. Probably not; the man was a fanatic and Sonya was his victim.

Jan van Goort came into the canteen and, locating them, came to their table. He was beaming. .

'It is all right, Sonya,' he told her. 'I have spoken to Mynheer Vincent on the telephone and he gives his consent for this once. You may stay to watch Mynheer Petersen skate.'

'Show-off!' Derek muttered.

Jan looked pained. 'There you wrong him, Mynheer Barnes. He gives his consent most reluctantly, but the manager, he is most insistent. There will be a collection for a good cause and because everyone will be most pleased, much money will be taken. It is for this reason that Sven Petersen agree to skate.' He dropped a fatherly hand upon Sonya's shoulder. 'I too am much pleased that my pupil has this chance to see the best skater in the world.'

After this build-up, Sonya took her seat at the rink-side with some anticipation, and when the slim dark figure flashed across the ice, her heartbeats quickened.

Sven Petersen possessed a supple, compact body, beautifully proportioned. He was not very tall, that would have been a disadvantage, about a head taller than herself. Wearing a black cat-suit, every lithe sinew was defined. He was very fair, his hair shone almost white in the artificial light, and as he skimmed gracefully over the ice, Sonya was reminded of Mercury, messenger of the gods, and almost expected to see wings attached to his heels. He ended with a complicated series of spins, sinking to his heels and rising again to bow to the assembled company. Sonya was sitting in the front row behind the barrier, and he finished directly in front of her. She was near enough to note the satirical curl of his fine mobile mouth and sensed he was contemptuous of his audience for their facile enthusiasm. He vanished towards the cloakroom with an arrogant toss of his head.

'Impressed?' Derek who was beside her whispered under the cover of the clapping hands.

'He was brilliant,' Sonya admitted, 'but ...' She
knitted her fine brows, trying to analyse the feeling of antagonism he had aroused in her.

'But what?'

'I'm sure he's a most disagreeable character,' she burst out. 'He's eaten up with conceit. He wasn't accepting appreciation gratefully as he should have done, he was scorning us for being so easily pleased.'

Derek looked taken aback. He had expected she would be full of enthusiasm for the fine skating she had witnessed. That the man's personality had taken precedence over his skill with her was surprising.

'Well, I did warn you,' he said.

'Yes, now I see what you meant. He can never forget he's a champion. I don't like Mr Sven Petersen.'

Derek made no effort to conceal his satisfaction.

Sonya could not wholly explain the antipathy she had felt for the performer. She knew she had witnessed some wonderful skating and if Sven Petersen had looked supercilious it was because he was condescending to appear before such a small audience after his spectacular triumphs and possibly he had not known he had done so. But it was more subtle than that. Sven Petersen exuded power and vitality. For all her short life Sonya had been dominated by a will much stronger than her own. In the Swede she unconsciously recognised a personality as forceful as her father's, and she shrank from its implication. She had not met Sven, she hoped she never would, for she was aware that in spite of her aversion he possessed a magnetic charm. If ever unkind fate brought her under his influence she would be faced with someone even more implacable than her father was.

The
audience, which had been composed of the club members, gathered in the canteen when Sven had finished. The manager, Mr Wylie, delighted with the generous sums the collection had produced, was treating everyone to champagne. Sonya looked wistfully towards the gay chattering crowd, and told Derek that she must go home.

'You must have a drink first,' he told her. 'Your father won't know when the display ended, and it's a shame you should miss all the fun.'

'Daddy doesn't like me being out late alone.' But she was eager to be persuaded.

'Then I'll come back with you. I can get the tube or a bus from your place when I've delivered you safe and sound.'

Sonya thanked him and said she would stay for a little while though she must not be very late.

Derek found her a seat and brought her a glass of champagne. Sonya had never seen the big room with all the lights on and everyone in a festive mood, and her spirits rose. She forgot her shyness and responded naturally to the observations made to her. Finding her unusually accessible, several young men lingered in her vicinity, attracted by her flushed cheeks and shining eyes. Soon she was exchanging backchat with them and marvelled how easily it came to her. Derek saw that she was actually sparkling and was delighted by the change in her. Again he blamed her father for suppressing her youthful vivacity.

Sven Petersen appeared among them, having changed into a white sweater and corded slacks. He had a natural distinction which would have caused him to look elegant in rags, and his very blond head was remarkable among the browns and blacks of the other men. Mr Wylie escorted him, introducing him to the more important members and was unobtrusively guiding him towards Sonya, believing that as Eliot Vincent's daughter she would be of interest to him. Their progress was slow, as the more brazen youngsters sought to intercept him, demanding autographs. Within a few yards of where Sonya was sitting, Thomasina glided up to him. Though most of the members were still wearing their sports clothes, she had contrived to change into a long dress of midnight blue which clung to her figure and the colour flattered her white skin.

'Thomasina is our most decorative member,' Mr Wylie said gallantly. 'Mr Petersen—Miss Reed.'

Sven Petersen looked her up and down with a faintly derisive smile as she gushed at him, pouring forth a stream of compliments.

'You skate yourself, of course,' he said when she paused for breath.

'Well, yes, I do.'

'I shall look forward to seeing you in action.' He spoke English without a trace of accent, though his phraseology was a little more precise than the normal jargon.

'I'd be too nervous to go on the ice in front of such an expert,' Thomasina simpered.

'Oh, come off it, Tom,' Mr Wylie intervened. 'You know you have plenty of confidence. He turned to Sven. 'Thomasina looks quite spectacular on the ice.'

'I am sure she does,' Sven murmured, studying her appraisingly. Thomasina preened herself, believing she had made an impression. She had a reason for putting herself forward. In her most dulcet tones she asked:

'Is it true that you're looking for a partner to form a pair?'

'Now what gave you that idea?' he countered.

'A little bird told me,' she said demurely. She looked a picture of sweet young girlhood, except for the glances she threw him from beneath her false eyelashes, which betrayed an avid glitter in her eyes.

'A very indiscreet little bird,' Sven observed. 'It is true I have given pair skating a thought, but it would be very difficult to find a partner with whom I would be en rapport.'

The eyelashes batted seductively. 'I feel an affinity with you already,' Thomasina declared in her sexiest tones.

Sven smiled satirically. 'I am flattered, but to be successful, your feeling would have to be mutual.'

She did not at first realise he had administered a snub.

'Isn't it?' she murmured.

'No.' His eyes went past her as if he was becoming bored with the fluttering eyelashes, and encountered Sonya's disdainful gaze. The youths around her had parted as they turned to watch Thomasina doing her stuff, and she had seen, though she had not heard what they were saying, Thomasina's manoeuvres. Was the great man about to fall for such obvious tactics? she wondered, but no doubt he expected flattery from pretty girls. For a second his gaze met hers, and she saw his eyes were long and narrow and so piercing a blue that their colour was discernible across the intervening distance; they caused her a moment's acute discomfort. He said something to Mr Wylie, and the manager beamed, then to her dismay they came straight towards her.

'Sonya, Mr Petersen asks to be introduced to you,' he said. 'He wants to meet Eliot Vincent's daughter.'

The magnetic blue eyes scrutinised her face with an intent searching gaze, they were as different from Thomasina's blue-grey orbs as a diamond is from quartz. Sven made a little foreign bow, bending from the waist.

'I have the greatest admiration for your father, Miss Vincent. He has become a legend in the skating world.'

Sonya's face lighted up, giving her a transient beauty. Famous sportsmen are all too quickly forgotten and she was delighted at this tribute to her father. She sprang to her feet, her big eyes glowing.

'Thank you,' she said simply.

'Such a tragedy that he was incapacitated at the height of his fame,' Sven went on. 'But you will carry on the family tradition.'

The light died out of Sonya's face and she mumbled uncomfortably: 'I suppose so.'

'He trains you himself?'

She shook her head and Mr Wylie explained hurriedly: 'Mr Vincent is a great recluse, he never comes to the club.'

It had been suggested that Eliot should visit the private rink unobtrusively from time to time, but Jan van Goort for his own reasons had not encouraged the idea; his critical presence might sap' Sonya's confidence, he had said. Eliot had agreed thankfully. He feared the sight of Sonya skating might recall too vividly the memory of the wife for whom he still grieved. Jan hoped that she would one day make a surprising leap forward and be worthy of her father's notice. Sonya sometimes felt that the three of them were creating an enormous fantasy of Sonya Vincent, World Champion, which would never materialise. Eliot had declared that he would be present when she was ready to compete and that had been no comfort to her.

'He is waiting for her debut, no doubt,' Sven remarked, appraising Sonya thoughtfully. She was the right height and build for a skater and she moved with grace, but Jan van Goort had been doubtful of her success. An emotional stimulant might help her, break down the inhibitions he sensed in her. But the callow youth standing beside her who was looking daggers at him was not the right person to arouse her. The 'callow youth' was wondering why he was wasting time with his protégée while the luscious Thomasina was hovering at his elbow undeterred by his snub and anxious to claim him again.

'Yes, that's it,' Sonya said hurriedly. 'Meanwhile he's selected Mr van Goort to be my trainer, he's every confidence in Jan, and so have I.'

'And rightly so. You could not be in better hands,' Sven told her. He noticed her discomfort and changed the subject smoothly. 'I am not old enough to have seen Eliot Vincent skate,' he went on, 'but I have met eye-witnesses who have, and I have read descriptions of his work. I wonder ... would it be possible to meet him?'

All his supercilious manner had evaporated and he made his request as eagerly as a small boy asking for a treat. Sonya hesitated; she did not want Sven Petersen invading her home.

'I don't know,' she said doubtfully. 'He ... he's terribly conscious of his disability, and to meet someone who is all he once was himself might be painful to him.'

'I understand,' he agreed, rather to her surprise, she had not expected him to appreciate her father's sensitiveness. 'But you might sound him. You see, I might be able to help you with your career if he is agreeable.'

For an idea had occurred to him which might benefit all concerned, but he would need to have the father's approval.

⁴
1 don't need any help, but thank you all the same,' Sonya said stiffly. She did need help desperately, but there was nothing this arrogant Swede could do to sort out her dilemma and instinct was warning her to avoid further contact with this disturbing man. For he was disturbing, her untutored senses were aware of that, and his keen, narrow glance suggested he had seen through her pretences. What, she wondered, had Jan said to him when they were watching her that morning? Being an expert he must have noticed that her efforts did not bear the hallmark of genius.

'You have not heard my proposal yet,' he told her with a charming smile which illuminated the rather severe lines of his face. She was startled to learn that he had something concrete in mind. 'But I want to discuss my plan with your father first.'

'He has his own plans for me,' she retorted.

'But will you be able to carry them out?'

Her heart sank. He had seen her skate and doubted her efficiency. Lifting her dark head proudly, she said faintly:

'I shall do my best to do so.'

'I am sure you will.' His voice was silkily soft, but with a hint of determination in it. This was a man who expected to get his own way. 'But perhaps you cannot achieve your objective without assistance, and mine is not to be despised.'

Their companions had drawn aside while he conversed with her, but both Derek and Thomasina were glowering, and at this point Mr Wylie touched his sleeve deprecatingly.

'There are other important people waiting to be introduced to you, Mr Petersen, and you mustn't allow Miss Vincent to monopolise you, charming as she is.'

He was a portly little man with a great idea of his own consequence, and he felt he had been ignored long enough. Sonya might be the founder's daughter, but she was not the only person in the club.

Derek interposed. 'It really is getting late, Sonya, your father will be worrying.' He glanced belligerently at Sven. 'It's my doing she stayed, so I feel responsible for her.'

Sven swept an amused glance over the young man. 'So nice to find a modern youth with a sense of responsibility,' he purred, and Derek bristled indignantly. Sonya took his arm.

'Derek's quite right, I must go,' she told Sven.