She was almost at the door now, her feet moving with a clumping awkwardness in their skate guards. She always felt like a beached mermaid when she wore blade protectors. She opened the door and now the music was much louder. The corridor between the tiers of seats was crowded with skaters, coaches, and the television cameramen. She stepped carefully over several long rubber cords attached to those TV cameras and sighed with relief as she spotted Beau’s bronze hair just ahead and to the left, his gaze intent on the scoreboard across the arena.
She slipped her arm through his. “Has she finished?” she whispered. “How did she do?”
“Good,” Beau said grimly. “Damn good. Her technical scores were all five point nine except for Canada. He gave her a five eight.” The board suddenly flickered into motion again. Beau’s lips pursed in a soundless whistle. “Not as good in artistic impression, but still excellent. You’re going to have to go all the way to knock her out of first.” He glanced down at her. “You always did like a challenge.”
“I could have done without such a big one at the moment.” Dany moistened her lips nervously. “Nothing like going into the game knowing the other player is holding the aces.”
“Not aces, Dany. Maybe a few kings.” The voice behind her was deep and velvet-soft. “You’re the one who holds the aces.”
Anthony.
She whirled around, her heart leaping with wild, heady joy. Oh, dear heaven, Anthony!
He was standing there, wearing his gray chesterfield overcoat, his hands jammed into the pockets, his dark hair slightly ruffled. “I’ve been drumming that philosophy into you for the past fourteen years. I thought you’d have learned by now. You’re the best damn skater in the world. All you have to do is to go out there and show them that you are.”
He’d actually come. There were so many things she wanted to say, but her throat was suddenly tight, and she couldn’t force them out. “Hello,” she said inadequately. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I didn’t have any choice.” His lips were twitching. “I figured you’d be in a hell of a fix tonight without ‘the ice beneath your skates.’ ”
She made a face. “Oh, dear, did I really say that? How hokey.”
“Perhaps a little grandiloquent,” he conceded, his eyes twinkling. “But I liked it all the same.”
“That’s good,” she said softly. She was vaguely conscious Beau had drawn a few paces away in an attempt to give them a little privacy. A totally futile attempt, surrounded by people as they were. “I hope you were equally impressed by the rest of what I said.”
“Very impressed, but you left before you let me answer the question you asked.” He paused. “Yes.”
“Yes?” she echoed bemusedly. “What question?”
He glanced impatiently around the crowded corridor before he said clearly, “Yes, I will marry you. Tonight if possible, tomorrow at the latest.”
“Oh!” She smiled at him with heart-stopping brilliance. “Thank you.”
There was a little flurry of laughter from those in the crowd who had been trying politely to pretend they weren’t paying attention.
“You’re very welcome,” Anthony said gravely. “It’s only the accepted thing to do with the lady who’s the wind beneath your wings.” He took a step closer and slowly drew one hand out of his coat pocket. He held it out to her, palm-upward. “A lady whom you love … and need.”
It was too much. A gift so beautiful and touching, it filled every particle of her heart and soul with warmth and radiance. She put her hand in his. “Anthony, that’s—”
“Come on, sugar,” Beau said gently. “You’ve got to get ready. They’ll be starting your music any second.”
“What?” she asked dreamily. Then she came abruptly to attention. She gave Anthony’s hand a quick squeeze and released it. “I’ll be right back,” she promised. “Wait for me.”
He nodded. “I’ll wait for you.” His lips curved in a slight smile. “What’s a few minutes more after fourteen years?”
Beau’s hand was on her elbow urging her forward toward the ice. She could see the packed tiers of spectators now and hear the rustle of conversation from the stands as they caught sight of her. Beau held her steady as she removed her skate guards, his gaze fastened on her face. “Ready?”
She nodded serenely. “Ready.”
She stepped onto the ice and skated to the center of the rink, scarcely hearing the burst of applause from the audience. She stood there alone, her head bent almost contemplatively while she waited for her music to begin. Ready? Yes, she was ready. After years of work, of tension, of disappointment, and of triumph, she was ready for this moment. How could she have been frightened when it was what she was meant to do? Dany wondered. All the ribbons of memory the past had woven told her that. Her music began. She raised her head, and there was such a look of luminous exultation on her face that there was a surprised murmur from the audience. She began to skate.
The long program had been choreographed as a complete change of pace from the short. The mood was to be lushly romantic and dreamlike. The haunting beauty of “Somewhere in Time” would merge with Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini for a triumphant crescendo, then drift gently back into the original theme for a touching and infinitely moving ending. She’d done the routine hundreds of times, but suddenly it was as if it were brand new. As if the world were brand new.
She felt lighter than morning air as she performed the first slow, exquisitely graceful movements. And the music! Oh, the music was part of her and she was part of the music. It beckoned to her and beguiled her and completed her. The poignantly beautiful Rachmaninoff theme was coming in now, and the mood changed to heart-lifting exultation. A split soaring for the sky, a triple, a layback spin reaching for the stars. Another triple. It was all so thrilling to know she was the shining center of that lovely music. Yet when the soft richness of the first theme began its encore, it was also absolutely right. Poetry, nostalgia, and a rapture that was all the more moving for the touch of sadness that lay beneath the free joyousness.
The audience was silent for a long emotion-charged moment as the program ended with Dany on her knees, her back arched, her arms rising above her head, and her face lifted with that same expression of radiant elation that had bewitched them in the first instant. The applause began, hesitant at first as if the audience were reluctant to wake from the spell she’d woven about them. Then it became a roaring, hysterical cacophony and swept roughly over her, jarring her out of her own dream.
She’d done it! No matter what the judges said, she’d never skated better in her entire life. She was on her feet, skating back to where Anthony was waiting, gathering flowers from the ice as she went. She waved and smiled, but she was scarcely aware of what she was doing. Her gaze was on the three people waiting for her just ahead. Anthony, Beau, and Marta. Her lover, her friends, her family.
Then Beau was enfolding her in a bear hug and whirling her around in an exuberant circle. There were tears pouring down Marta’s cheeks as she grabbed Dany’s shoulders the minute Beau put her down and shook her with the affectionate roughness of a lioness for her cub. “I told you you didn’t have any competition,” she said shakily. “I told you!” Someone was thrusting a huge bouquet of red roses into her arms and there were people all around her. But where was Anthony?
She drew a deep breath of relief as she saw him just on the outside of the perimeter of the crowd that was surrounding her. Dammit, he was doing it again, she thought with loving exasperation. Standing on the outside looking in. Letting her have all the triumph and adulation, making sure that both the victory and the spoils were entirely her own.
“Excuse me,” she said, thrusting the bouquet at Marta. “Excuse me, I have to get through.” The crowd was parting before her and then she was standing in front of Anthony.
“Hi,” she said softly, stretching her hands out to him. “Thanks for waiting.”
His silver-green eyes were suspiciously bright. “
My pleasure,” he said huskily, taking her hands in his. “How do you feel?”
She thought about it. “Proud, happy, eager for what’s to come. How do you feel?”
His hands tightened on hers. “Proud. So proud. You were magic out there.” His gaze went over her shoulder. “The technical scores are coming up. Don’t you want to turn around and look at them?”
She shook her head. “No, I want to look at you.” She wanted to remember always that expression of pride and love on his face. “You tell me what they are.”
He read them off slowly as they flickered on. “All five point nine except for East Germany. He gave you a five eight.” His eyes met hers worriedly. “It’s going to be very close, Dany. We may not make it.”
We. He hadn’t wanted to steal even a little of her victory, but he would share her possible defeat. She felt a heady surge of pure love. “We may not,” she agreed, smiling tranquilly. “But not because we didn’t give it our best shot.”
His eyes were on the scoreboard again, and she could feel the tension in him. “They’re coming up.” He began to read off the scores, but suddenly she couldn’t hear him as the audience went wild. “Six, five point nine, six, six.” His hands were tightening on hers with bone-crushing strength. “My God, even that bastard from East Germany gave you a five nine!”
“Is it enough?”
“You’re damn right it’s enough,” he said thickly. “You’ve got it, Dany.”
She had it. The gold. It was almost unbelievable. The noise was deafening, and the excitement surrounding her was nearly alive. But she was aware only of Anthony’s hands holding hers, his eyes wrapping her in all the love and tenderness she could ever want.
She shook her head. “We’ve got it!” she corrected softly. “We, togetherness, the wind beneath our wings.”
He smiled gently and then nodded slowly. “The wind beneath our wings.”
White Satin Page 17