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'You'll never do that,' she assured him steadfastly, as she stopped to kiss him goodnight.

Tessa leaped on the bed, pushing between them.

'She's jealous, even of you,' Eliot laughed. He laid his hand on the dog's head.

Sonya went to her lonely bed leaving them together. She had not even a dog to share her solitude.

Sven
did not ring up; it was unnecessary, for when Sonya went to the club next morning she found he was there on the private rink, skating with Thomasina Reed, and Jan van Goort was watching them intently. Sonya became quite unreasonably annoyed. The rink was reserved for her at that hour and Jan was her trainer. Sven, because he was a visitor, might be excused for using it, but Thomasina well knew she had no right to be there at all. She had put on her skates in readiness for her lesson, and she joined Jan at the barrier feeling peeved. Sven and his partner were using all the ice. Nor was she any better pleased when Jan said:

'Watch this, they are good.'

The pair embarked upon an elaborate sequence of jumps and spins. Sonya had never seen Thomasina skate so well; Sven seemed to have inspired her. Naturally they did not synchronise completely, but they were making a very good effort to do so. Thomasina looked lovely, wearing a dark cat-suit which clung to her beautiful body with her golden hair loose upon her shoulders.

'Ach, see, he makes her do whatever he wants,' Jan said wonderingly, as the couple did a spiral. 'Yet he has not skated with her before.'

Sonya watched Thomasina enviously; she had only caught glimpses of her on the ice before, being engaged
in her own strenuous training. How effortlessly she seemed to move, and how vivacious she looked. Try as she would her own work never seemed to attain that fluent ease. She said a little sharply:

'It's time for my practice, Jan.'

He turned to her reluctantly. 'You can do your figures on the ice over there.' He indicated a space at the side of the rink.

'I'll wait until they've finished,' she decided, unable to take her eyes off the skating couple. What they were doing looked like a ballet pas de deux. 'They make a good pair, don't they?'

'It is enough when they play,' Jan told her, eyeing them critically, 'but for a serious competition she would be too tall for him. The lady should reach only to the man's chin. She is lanky, that one.' Thomasina had the model's attenuated figure and necessary height. 'The ideal skater should be more compact.' He glanced speculatively at Sonya.

'She looks good to me,' Sonya sighed as Sven raised Thomasina into the air and set her down again. She descended upon the wrong edge and slipped; lost her balance and collapsed ignominiously on to the ice.

'Try again,' said Sven as he helped her to her feet. But Thomasina was not going to risk another fall with Sonya looking on.

'I'm a skater, not an acrobat,' she said angrily. 'I'll be black and blue all over!'

But Sven only laughed. He too had noticed Sonya and abandoning the disgruntled Thomasina came skimming over the ice towards her. Stimulated by exercise, he exuded vitality, his eyes shining brilliantly. He looked like a Nordic god, Baldur the Beautiful
perhaps, who was adored by all the denizens of Asgard.

'Like to try?' he asked, but Sonya shook her head.

'I'm a soloist and I don't want to make an exhibition of myself. I have to take my skating seriously,' she said sedately, recalling that Jan had referred to 'play'.

Sven's gleaming eyes narrowed mockingly.

'Too seriously perhaps,' he observed, and Jan stirred beside her as if Sven had uttered a truth.

'You can't be too serious when you have a competition to win,' she declared, flatly. 'But I'm glad you're here, Mr Petersen, I've a message for you from my father.'

He looked diabolically attractive in his black outfit, contrasting with his fair hair. Thomasina already regarded him as her property, for she glided up to him and laid a possessive hand on his arm as she steadied herself against him.

'I'm ready to try again now,' she said breathlessly.

Sven ignored her. 'He will see me?' he asked eagerly.

'Yes, he'd like to meet you,' Sonya replied reluctantly.

'Splendid!' He seemed genuinely pleased. 'Just a moment, Tom. Where and when?'

'At our house, if you don't mind. He hardly ever goes out. It's the other side of the Heath and a little remote.'

'I would go to the North Pole if he wanted to make that our rendezvous,' he declared.

'It's not as far as that.' Sonya smiled unwillingly at his enthusiasm. An evening spent with a fractious invalid would not be very exciting for him.

They fixed a time two nights hence and she gave him directions. Then he and Thomasina left the rink and
she started upon her morning's routine, feeling curiously flat now he had gone.

Since Eliot Vincent rarely had visitors, he made quite an event out of Sven's proposed call. Wine, whisky and refreshments were to be on hand to be offered to the guest. He looked out his old albums of photographs and press cuttings in case Sven was interested in past meetings, and had Matheson shave and dress him with meticulous care. He looked very dignified and impressive, seated in his armchair, clad in a dark suit, his grizzled hair brushed and smoothed, wearing a gold tie-pin and gold cuff-links. Tessa lay at his feet, stretched out on her side in front of the fire, to enjoy the heat of the blaze on her tummy.

Knowing he would want her to dress up, Sonya chose a semi-evening dress of black polyester. It was long with large cuffed sleeves and a deep V neck. She relieved its sombreness with a gold chain belt and a double row of pearls which had belonged to her mother. Her father regarded her dubiously.

'Very nice, my dear, but your dress is a little old for you, isn't it?'

'I feel I should look older to act as your hostess,' she returned demurely. Her choice had been made for that reason. She wanted Sven to consider her mature.

Having divested him of his coat in the hall, Matheson announced Sven with due ceremony. Coming from a more sartorially conventional country than England, he was wearing a dinner jacket with a ruffled shirt. The black and white garb enhanced his fairness. He paused on the threshold, his keen blue eyes surveying the scene, which was so very English, almost Victorian,
with the old-fashioned furniture, the open fireplace, the floor-to-ceiling curtains over the french windows to the garden, the dog lying on the hearthrug, and the disabled man in his winged armchair, his still handsome but deeply lined face showing the stresses and strains through which he had passed. Sven's gaze came to rest on the slim girl standing beside him, her young face unmarked by experience, and whose formal smile did not reach her shadowed eyes. Her surroundings could belong to a well loved home or ... a prison.

'Excuse me not rising,' said Eliot. 'I can't stand without support.' He glanced at the two sticks beside his chair and held out his hand.

'Please do not attempt to do so,' Sven bade him, advancing into the room, but before he could touch the gnarled fingers Tessa created a diversion. Becoming aware of an intruder, she had sprung to her feet, and now she hurled herself at Sven, leaping to touch his outstretched hand, and then grovelled at his feet, thereby dissolving the formality of the atmosphere.

'Be quiet, Tessa!' her master commanded, as she accompanied her performance with yaps of delight. 'I hope you like dogs, Mr Petersen. Tessa is my devoted companion.' He sighed. 'Dogs aren't critical. They give their love without reservation.'

'Be careful she doesn't cover your trousers with hairs,' Sonya warned. It was a point in his favour that Tessa had taken to him on sight. 'My father never disciplines
her.'

'It is no matter, I like dogs,' Sven declared, noting Sonya's revealing emphasis. So Eliot's tolerance did not extend to his daughter. Perhaps she did feel imprisoned in that slightly oppressive room; she should be out amusing herself with young people of her own age, he thought as he patted the dog.

Tessa jumped on her master's knee and Sven was at last free to take the hand Eliot again extended to him.

'I feel I am greatly privileged to meet so renowned a personality,' he said formally. 'Your name is still revered in skating circles, and I deeply deplore the accident which took you from them at the height of your fame.'

'Don't flatter me,' Eliot told him, greatly pleased. 'I don't kid myself that my name is still remembered.'

'Of course it is, sir, or I should not have known it.'

Sonya thought he was being too smarmy. She suspected some purpose lay behind his eagerness for this visit, but she could not imagine what it was.

'Well, Sonya will bring fresh fame to it,' Eliot declared with an affectionate glance towards his daughter. 'But do sit down. What will you drink?'

'A very small whisky and soda.' Sven glanced at the array of bottles on the side table.

'The same for me, Sonya,' her father told her, 'but not too small. You know how I like it.' He gently lifted the dog back on to the hearthrug.

Sven remained standing until Sonya had poured and handed them their drinks. She was acutely conscious of his eyes upon her, so much so that her usually deft movements became clumsy, and she nearly spilled the whisky. Taking a modest sherry for herself, she sat down at a little distance from the two men. Her father's manner was unusually animated as he questioned Sven about his performances and plans.

'You will be selected for the next Summer Olympics, I'm sure,' he said. 'That is every sportsman's ultimate goal. I am hoping that my little girl will also be selected for the British team after the Canadian International.'

Sonya visibly winced, and she was afraid Sven had noticed. He did not seem to miss anything.

'As a soloist, I suppose?' he asked quietly.

'Yes, the same as yourself.'

'Ah, but this time I hope to enter as a pair.'

'A pair?' Eliot was astonished. 'But why the change?'

'It is not really a change. I won my first medal as one of a pair. It is the most difficult form of skating and the most spectacular. I feel it is a challenge.'

'But so much depends upon your partner,' Eliot objected. 'I myself would rather rely upon my own skill. Doubtless your original one is still available?'

'Unfortunately not. My sister Ingrid gave up skating in favour of matrimony.'

'Has she given up altogether?'

'She considers her family more important, she has children, and I am only a brother.'

'And skating was only a pastime?' Eliot spoke harshly. 'Few women take sport seriously, but I've every hope that Sonya will put her career first for many years to come.'

Both men looked at the girl, and she lowered her eyes to conceal the rebellion in them. That 'many years to come' awoke no enthusiasm in her.

'As she is her father's daughter, I am sure she will,' Sven said, but there was a dubious look in his eyes which were fixed upon Sonya's mouth, the red, slightly sensual lips which Derek had speculated about and suggested her father's hopes were doomed.

'I'm almost a woman,' she said almost pleadingly.

'And a very charming one,' Sven declared gallantly.

She shot him an inimical look. She had not tried to charm him, rather the reverse, and his remark seemed insincere.

Eliot said suddenly, 'If you're looking for a substitute for your sister, why not try Sonya?'

'But surely Mr Petersen has already selected his partner?' she asked, thinking of Thomasina.

'Actually I have not decided,' Sven told her.

'I'd be no good as one of a pair,' she insisted, 'I'm a soloist.'

'That is for Mr Petersen to decide,' Eliot remarked.

In his secret heart, Eliot Vincent was not too sure of his daughter's ultimate success. Van Goort, though unwilling to disillusion him, had thrown out hints. But if Sven Petersen were willing to take her in hand he was sure she would be made.

'What does your team manager say about this change?' he asked. 'Wouldn't he prefer you to continue as a soloist?'

'He would, but it becomes monotonous. I was originally a pair skater and at the International I am to be accepted as such. I am in a strong position to be able to please myself.' Sven spoke with lordly arrogance.

It seemed to Sonya that it was an act of madness to choose a mediocre partner, not knowing that to Sven she represented an even greater challenge than to succeed as a pair. Jan had told him she was technically well trained, but there was something lacking. She needed stimulation. That he was confident he could supply. The girl was very young, used to discipline and still malleable. He would be her Svengali, her Pygmalion, recreating her as a perfect skater. The idea had been in his mind ever since he had met her, and that the suggestion had come from her father, who he had expected would oppose it, had been a pleasant surprise.

'You've seen her skate?' Eliot asked.

Sonya answered for him. 'He saw me doing some figures the other morning—he can't possibly judge from that.'

'Oh, but I can,' Sven declared. 'I decided then that you were the girl for me.' His narrow gaze was fixed upon her with a slightly malicious expression as if he were aware of her reluctance and was determined to overcome it. Sonya wilted. Jan was on the whole a lenient taskmaster. He knew her limitations and did not try to push her too hard, but this man would have no mercy at all, and after he had discovered her faults, he would reject her as inadequate and, worst of all, betray her failure to her father.

'I'm sure Mr Petersen can find someone more ... more suitable,' she protested.

'Who could be more suitable than Eliot Vincent's daughter?' Sven enquired blandly. 'I have discussed your work with van Goort and he agrees with me.'

'Oh, does he?' Sonya's eyes blazed, while fear knocked at her heart. What had Jan said? 'How dare he discuss me with an outsider?'

'You're being childish,' her father told her severely. 'Naturally Sven would consult with your trainer before asking you to partner him.' He turned to his guest with a singularly sweet smile. 'Forgive her, Sven ... I may call you that? She is young and egotistical, wanting to win her own success, and doesn't realise the honour you're doing her.' His glance flicked back to Sonya. 'You haven't won your laurels yet, my dear, he has.'