Читать книгу Captive Destiny - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

EMMA was glad she was sitting down. His words delivered in that curt uncompromising manner were completely emotionless, but that didn’t prevent them from shocking her to the core of her being. Andrew Kyle was dying! The man who had once been like a second father to her had only a limited time to live. She found it impossible to accept.

‘But—what’s—–’

‘Cancer,’ retorted Jordan coldly. ‘It’s terminal. The doctors gave him approximately six months.’

‘Does—does he know?’

‘I believe so.’ He straightened. ‘He’s not a fool. He knows the score. I imagine that’s why he wants to—put his affairs in order.’

‘But—but why me?’ Emma gazed up at him with troubled eyes. ‘I—he hasn’t seen me for—oh, seven or eight years. Not since—not since you took over the company, in fact.’

‘I know that.’ Jordan thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his coat. ‘But now he wants to see you, and I’m here to find out how you feel about it.’

‘How I feel about it.’

Emma shook her head. How did she feel about it? Naturally, she pitied anyone served that kind of death sentence, but how could she be expected to feel any kind of personal involvement for so long she had forced herself not to think about the Kyles, father and son? And why should he want to see her anyway? He had shown no obvious distress when she and Jordan went their separate ways, and to receive this summons now was like opening up an old wound.

‘Well?’

Jordan was regarding her intently and she shifted awkwardly beneath that penetrating gaze. What was he thinking? she wondered. Did he resent having to come here and ask her for anything? Or was he perhaps comparing her to the woman he had known, and finding her wanting? Certainly, her straight rope of glossy dark hair could not compare to the champagne brilliance of Stacey Albert’s silken curls, and apart from her eyes, which were a mixture of violet and blue and set between long curling lashes, her features were quite ordinary. She was tall, of course, which was an advantage, but not willowy enough by today’s yardsticks. Her breasts were far too prominent, and although her legs were slim, her hips were not.

Now she rose to her feet again, and feeling at less of a disadvantage said: ‘Tell me where your father is, and I’ll go and see him.’

‘You will?’ Jordan’s features relaxed somewhat. ‘Thank you.’

‘That’s all right.’ Emma held up her head. ‘Uncle—that is, your father—was always very kind to me. And I know—I know Daddy would want me to do as you ask, despite—despite everything.’

Jordan bent his head thoughtfully, and as the silence between them stretched, Emma spoke again.

‘How—how is your mother taking this?’

‘My mother?’ Jordan looked up in surprise. ‘Didn’t you know? My mother is dead. She died eighteen months ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Emma was aghast at her mistake. ‘I—I didn’t know. No one ever said …’

‘Why should they?’ Jordan seemed unmoved, and she flinched from his hard indifference. ‘It was a long way away, and the press are really only interested if they can get an angle on a story. If there’s something unusual or scandalous to write about. My mother’s death would make dull reading.’

Emma pressed her lips together and looked down at the desk. Then she said quietly: ‘Just tell me where your father is staying, and I’ll make arrangements to see him as soon as possible.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Jordan’s mocking tone brought her head up again. ‘Well, that’s where we run into a slight problem.’

‘A slight problem? What do you mean?’ Emma frowned.

‘My father lives on an island in the Caribbean. Didn’t you know that either?’

Emma gasped. ‘Well, yes—yes, I knew that. But I naturally assumed …’

‘What did you assume? That he’d come to England to die?’ Jordan shook his head. ‘Oh, no. Nothing would persuade my father to come back to this country now, particularly not in the middle of winter. No, Valentia is his home, and that’s where he’ll die.’

‘But—but what about his treatment?’

‘What treatment? He’s had two operations, and various radiation therapy. He knows there’s nothing more anyone can do for him, except prevent him from suffering any more pain than is absolutely necessary.’

‘Oh, Jordan!’

The helpless words fell from her lips, and for a brief moment she saw the spasm of pain that crossed his face. But then it was gone again, and she was left with the impression that perhaps she had imagined it.

‘So …’ He flexed his shoulder muscles. ‘Does this make a difference to the situation?’

‘You must know it does.’ Emma shifted her weight restlessly from one foot to the other. ‘I mean—how can I go out to the West Indies? I have a home—and a husband.’ She avoided his eyes as she said this. ‘I can’t just abandon them without thought or consideration.’

‘No one’s asking you to,’ replied Jordan shortly. ‘I realise how difficult it would be for you. And I’m quite prepared to accept your refusal, should you feel you can’t do it.’

Emma expelled her breath on a heavy sigh. Then she faced him squarely. ‘You don’t really care, do you?’ she exclaimed tautly. ‘You don’t really want me to go out there.’

‘If I’ve given that impression, then I’m sorry,’ replied Jordan politely. ‘Naturally I want what’s best for my father. And if he wants to see you, I shall do everything in my power to accommodate him.’

‘To accommodate him?’ Emma’s lips trembled at the dispassionate tone of his voice. ‘You’re so cold, aren’t you, Jordan? So unfeeling. To you it’s just another job of work, and if anyone’s feelings are hurt, then hard luck!’

‘I see no reason for you to feel so emotively about it,’ he retorted harshly. ‘As you’ve already pointed out, my father has ignored your existence for several years. Why should you rush to his defence now?’

‘He’s dying, Jordan.’

‘And does that eradicate the sins of the past? Are you one of those people who believes that repentance equals forgiveness?’

‘What are you saying, Jordan? What sin has your father committed? Ignoring my existence hardly warrants condemnation.’

‘In your eyes, perhaps not,’ he conceded stiffly. ‘Very well. Do I take it that you’ll come?’

Emma turned her back on him, resting her chin on her knuckles, trying desperately to decide what she ought to do. Obviously, she could make no decision without first discussing it with David, and she already knew what his reaction would be. But here and now she had to decide whether she wanted to go, whether there was any point in holding out hope that she would agree.

After a few moments, she said: ‘What—what would be the arrangements? How would I get to—to Valentia?’

There was a pause, and then Jordan replied: ‘A direct flight operates between London and Barbados. An inter-island transport flies between Seawell and Valentia.’

‘I see.’ Emma turned again, slowly. ‘And—and how long would all this take? I mean—how long would I be away?’

Jordan shrugged. ‘That would be up to you, of course. Technically, the flight to Barbados takes something like ten hours, but bearing in mind the four-hour time lag, you can complete the journey in half a day. The inter-island flight is much shorter—a matter of forty minutes, no more.’

‘And—flights to Valentia; they’re pretty frequent?’

‘No.’ Jordan shook his head. ‘Generally they’re laid on when required. Valentia’s population doesn’t exceed five hundred, so as you can imagine, there’s not a lot of need for a regular service.’

Emma absorbed this with difficulty. Somehow she couldn’t imagine herself flying off to the West Indies at a moment’s notice, going to see a man to whom she was practically a stranger, seeing sights and people totally alien to her normally limited existence. She had seen pictures of the Caribbean islands, shared a common longing for their beauty and tranquillity. But never at any time had she seriously considered going there. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted the dream exposing, for nothing was ever quite as attractive as one anticipated.

‘I’ll have to talk it over with David,’ she said at last, and Jordan’s lean mouth turned downward at the corners.

‘Then you might as well give me your answer right now,’ he remarked cynically. ‘We both know Ingram will never agree to your going anywhere with me.’

‘With—with you?’ Emma’s eyes were wide.

‘Why, yes, with me,’ agreed Jordan dryly. ‘You didn’t imagine I would let you fly out there on your own, did you?’

Emma made a helpless gesture. ‘I thought—that is—the company—–’

‘I have a very capable general manager,’ Jordan interrupted her curtly. ‘Even I am not so heartless as to let my father die alone. At the moment, I’m dividing my time between Abingford and Valentia, but as the time runs out, I’ll stay on the island.’ His lips twisted. ‘There are telephones. My father saw to that.’

Emma didn’t know what to say. Considering going to Valentia alone was one thing. Contemplating the trip with the one man she had hoped never to see again was quite another.

‘I need some time,’ she said now, pushing back her hair with a nervous hand. ‘Surely you can grant me a couple of days. When are you leaving?’

‘At the end of next week,’ he answered, taking his hands out of his pockets to fasten his coat. ‘When will you let me know what you’ve decided? At the weekend? Or is that too soon?’

‘No—no.’ That gave her three days. ‘No, I’ll know by the weekend.’

‘Good. Will you ring me?’

Emma linked her fingers together. ‘I don’t have your number.’

‘It hasn’t changed,’ he reminded her shortly. ‘Abingford double-six-one-nine. Or you can ring me at the office. I’m sure you remember that number.’

Emma’s skin prickled. ‘My father’s number, you mean?’ she countered tautly, and saw the faint colour run up under his tan.

‘You remember,’ he observed, and turning, opened the door into the showroom. ‘Until the weekend, then …’

Emma nodded, and followed him out into the now empty shop, empty, that was, but for Gilda lounging carelessly on the edge of her desk. When she saw them, her eyes flickered thoughtfully, then she put aside the pen she had been holding and smiled.

‘Good afternoon, Jordan,’ she said, the mockery in her tones only lightly veiled. ‘This is an unexpected honour.’

Jordan’s expression was equally sardonic. ‘Good afternoon, Gilda,’ he responded in kind. ‘Still as defensive as ever, I see.’

‘Defensive!’ Gilda straightened to face him, and then subsided again as she realised she was automatically proving his point. Controlling her temper, she said: ‘Might one ask why you’re slumming? I’m sure you have enough antiques in that mansion of yours to furnish half a dozen salerooms, so I can’t believe that’s why you’re here.’

Jordan smiled then, and Emma had to admire his self-control. ‘You’re right, of course, Gilda,’ he agreed imperturbably, turning up the collar of his coat against the cold outside. ‘Quite enough antiques. Yes. Nice to have seen you again. G’bye, Emma!’ And with a polite nod to both of them he left.

‘Conceited bastard!’ declared Gilda as soon as the door had closed behind him, and Emma was glad of the brief respite to collect her own composure. ‘What did he want? Can’t he take no for an answer? You did say you had refused his invitation, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Emma turned aside to rescue the sandwich she had brought for her employer from her handbag. ‘Here you are: ham! Are you ravenous?’

‘Not particularly, but put the kettle on, will you?’ said Gilda, peeling the sealing plastic from the roll. Then, as Emma moved to comply, she added: ‘Well? Are you going to tell me what he wanted, or aren’t you?’

Emma sighed. ‘His father wants to see me, that’s all.’

‘Old Andrew?’

‘Not so old. He must be about—sixty-five.’

‘Even so …’ Gilda was perplexed. ‘I didn’t know he’d come back to live at Athehnere.’

‘He hasn’t.’

Emma disappeared into the back office to fill the kettle in the tiny cloakroom adjoining, but Gilda moved to stand, eating her sandwich, at the open doorway, and she was waiting for her when she emerged again.

‘Emma …’ she said, chewing almost absently. ‘Emma, he hasn’t asked you to go out to the Caribbean, has he?’

‘As a matter of fact—–’

‘But why? Emma, why?’ She gulped. ‘You can be considering it!’

Emma plugged in the kettle. ‘Why not?’

‘Why? Why, because—because—how do you know it’s his father who wants to see you? How do you know it’s not some devious—–’

‘Gilda!’ Emma’s impatient use of her name silenced her. ‘Don’t be foolish! Jordan Kyle isn’t interested in me. Good heavens, you said yourself he was involved with Stacey Albert! And in any case, aren’t you forgetting—I’m married!’

‘Is that what you call it?’ retorted Gilda sharply. ‘Being at the beck and call of a man who’s only half a man!’

‘Gilda!’ Emma was trembling now as much with nervous reaction as indignation, although she would never have admitted it. ‘Gilda, David isn’t responsible for his condition.’

‘Isn’t he?’ Gilda was unsympathetic. ‘Who is, then? Who else was at the wheel of the car if it wasn’t himself? He was alone when they found him, wasn’t he? You can’t blame yourself for that.’

‘I don’t. I just wish you wouldn’t talk like that about—about my husband.’

‘But he’s not your husband, is he?’ pursued Gilda relentlessly. ‘He never has been. And don’t forget, I was with you that week before the wedding. I know the doubts you had, long before Master Ingram chose to smash himself, and your relationship, before it had even been consummated.’

‘Oh, Gilda …’ Emma dropped two teabags into the pot. ‘Must you keep bringing that up? David and I are married. We’ve been married for almost four years. Why can’t you accept it? There’s no point in thinking about what might have been. This is here and now, and there’s no—no—–’

‘Escape?’ suggested Gilda dryly, but Emma vigorously denied it.

‘No. I was about to say there’s no—altering it. That’s all.’

‘All right.’ Gilda finished the sandwich and delicately licked her fingers. ‘So where does that leave us? Oh, yes—Jordan’s invitation to temptation.’

‘Gilda!’ The kettle boiled at that moment, and she made the tea with hands that spattered drops of boiling water all over the papers on the desk. ‘Jordan’s father is ill. He wants to see me before—in case—anything happens.’

‘I see,’ Gilda nodded.

‘That’s confidential, Gilda.’

‘Of course,’ Gilda agreed. ‘But that doesn’t answer the question, does it? Are you seriously considering going?’

‘I don’t know …’ Emma added milk to the teacups. ‘I honestly don’t know.’

The chiming of the shop bell brought their conversation to an abrupt halt, and leaving Gilda to drink her tea in peace, Emma went to attend to the customer. For the rest of the afternoon, she was kept busy and although she knew that Gilda only had her well-being at heart, she was relieved. The whole situation was too new, too fraught with difficulties, to discuss coherently, and the arrival of Gilda’s latest boy-friend just before closing time curtailed any prolonged farewells.

‘See you Friday,’ she called, as she left the shop, but she was not unaware of her employer’s impatience at the knowledge that it would be two days before she heard her decision.

Outside, Frank Horner’s Jaguar was parked at the kerb. A man in his early fifties, he had already been married twice before, and Gilda was his present quarry. Gilda herself took him much less seriously. She had not reached the age of forty-two without learning a little about the opposite sex, and while her slim figure and good looks attracted plenty of attention, she seldom got seriously involved with anyone. She was a career woman, first and foremost, and the income from the shop more than compensated any need for security. Emma doubted she would ever get married, despite Frank Horner’s ambitions.

David’s mother had left by the time she got home, and to her relief David was engrossed in his study, working on his present commission. He spared a moment to greet her, and then, while she set the casserole she had prepared at lunchtime on a low light and went to bathe and change before serving their evening meal, he returned to his work.

Later, eating their meal from a serving trolley set before the fire in the drawing room, Emma let herself relax. It was pleasant in the lamplit room with the television playing away quietly in one corner, there to be seen or not as the mood took her. She could almost convince herself that they were any ordinary couple sitting eating their supper together, until David got bored with quiet domesticity and thrust his tray savagely aside.

‘God, I wish this weather would improve!’ he muttered, reaching for the bottle of Scotch on the table beside him and splashing a generous measure into his glass. ‘I’m so sick of being confined to this house, day in and day out! I get so bored I could scream!’

Emma gathered the dirty dishes together on to the trolley. ‘We could go out tomorrow, if you like,’ she offered mildly, looking up to see his reaction, and predictably, he scowled.

‘With you driving?’ he demanded, and then shook his head. ‘You know I hate being driven by a woman.’

‘I know that. But unless you do—–’

‘I know, I know. Don’t remind me. Unless you drive, I can’t go anywhere.’

‘David, you know you could have transport …’

‘One of those ghastly three-wheelers? No, thanks!’

‘No. I believe there are other vehicles—–’

‘It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same. They all have disabled driver on the back.’

‘Well, that’s what you are, David,’ Emma pointed out quietly. ‘Surely you see that if you could only accept that, things would be so much easier …’

‘For you, you mean. Would it take some of the guilt from your shoulders knowing I was mobile?’

Emma sighed. They had had this argument before and it always ended the same. ‘David, accepting your disability would make it easier for you, too. Don’t you see? There’s so much in life to enjoy—–’

‘Not in my life. I’m just a living vegetable. I just about manage to feed and clothe myself, and that’s all.’

‘You have your work …’

‘My work!’ David snorted. ‘Do you think I don’t know that all the jobs I get now are second-rate commissions? Langley never sends me anything worthwhile any more. That’s why he never comes here. He daren’t show his face.’

‘David, Harry Langley doesn’t come here because you’re so unpleasant to him when he does, that’s all. And I think you’re wrong. The commissions he sends you are good commissions. It’s just that you don’t take the—the interest in them that you used to do.’

‘Don’t give me that! I’m interested all right. David Ingram used to be a name to be reckoned with, and I’m not about to give that up.’

‘Then—then stop feeling so sorry for yourself!’ exclaimed Emma urgently. ‘And stop drinking so much. That’s the second bottle of Scotch you’ve started this week.’

‘Who’s counting?’ retorted David, and deliberately refilled his glass.

Shaking her head, Emma rose and wheeled the trolley out of the room. It was useless trying to reason with him, particularly when he’d been drinking. His self-pity was absolute, and she could see no end to it.

As she loaded the dishes into the sink, she pondered the improbabilities of her life thus far. Gilda had been accurate about the doubts she had had before her marriage to David. There had been times in those weeks before the wedding when she had considered calling the whole thing off. She had not loved David as she should have done, but he had known that and wanted her anyway, and she had foolishly allowed herself to be persuaded.

It was all down to her feelings for Jordan Kyle. Maybe if she had never known him, her affection for David would have been enough. As it was, she had known what love could be like between a man and a woman, and didn’t they always say that a woman never forgot her first affair?

She sighed, dipping her hands into the soapy water. The trouble was, she had never known a time when Jordan had not played some part in her life. She remembered when she was little more than a toddler and he was already twelve or thirteen years old, the way he had given her rides on his back, taught her how to swim, had snowball fights with her, and given her trips on the crossbar of his bicycle. As she grew older he was always there, to tease or mock, to chide or admire, the older brother she had never known. Because they were both only children, and because their fathers were partners in business, it was natural that they should see a lot of one another, and by the time Emma was eighteen and home from boarding school, her infatuation for Jordan was complete.

The magical thing had been that he appeared to feel the same. For all there were ten years between them, he had never seriously bothered with any other girl, and that summer of her maturity had been the most marvellous summer of her life. Although even then Jordan had already joined the company and was starting to make a name for himself in the cold hard world of finance, all his free time he had spent with Emma, and their relationship became the most important thing in her life. She had adored him with all the stirring passion of her youth, and had been able to deny him nothing …

The blade of a knife skimmed her finger, and a thread of blood appeared along the parting skin. With an exclamation, she ran the cut under cold water, wondering whether the careless gesture had been an omen. Certainly it epitomised the savagery of their parting when it happened; she had felt then that she was bleeding—but inside.

It had happened so suddenly, so unexpectedly, so brutally. So wrapped up in her own feelings had she been, she had not noticed the strain in her father’s face which had increased daily, the anxiety her mother must have been feeling. Instead, when the crash came, it tore into her like a physical blast, shattering her home and her family, everything she had held dear.

Her mother had stood up well under the strain. She had blamed Emma’s father entirely, and perhaps this had been her means of recovery. And it was true, Jeremy Trace had been gambling recklessly, using shareholders’ money to subsidise his debts. He had always enjoyed the good life, sometimes to the detriment of his wife and daughter, but inevitably time had caught up with him. Even then, he had taken the easiest way out. He had shot himself in the library of their home, leaving his womenfolk to settle his debts and face the inevitable scandal that followed.

Andrew Kyle had tried to help them, but naturally he had to think of his shareholders first, and in any case, her mother had not wanted his assistance. Instead, she had sold the house standing adjacent, to the Kyle home, and moved herself and Emma into a tiny flat in Abingford, overlooking the yard of St Stephen’s Church.

During this traumatic time, Emma had seen little of Jordan, or his parents. She had not thought a lot about it, being in the grip of her own grief, and needing to comfort her mother. But as the weeks passed and the scandal died down, he still continued to avoid her, and her suspicions were born.

It took some time before the truth gradually began to sink in. Jordan had been interested in her only so long as she was her father’s daughter. By marrying her, he would have gained ultimate control of both family’s shareholdings. Once that situation no longer applied, he had decided to cut his losses. Why marry a girl without a penny to her name when there were plenty of well-heeled ladies around only too willing to share their inheritance with a man as attractive as Jordan Kyle?

She had considered the possibility that perhaps her father’s suicide and the scandal which had ensued might have affected his feelings towards her, but she couldn’t believe Jordan to be so small-minded, so the obvious explanation seemed the most probable.

Whatever, Emma had suffered a severe relapse herself. Her relationship with Jordan had been such that she had never given the idea of not marrying him any serious consideration, and to discover that he had deceived her in that way had been more than she could bear. As soon as she was capable of finding a job, she had taken herself off to London, wanting to put as much distance between herself and the Kyles as was humanly possible. Her mother had encouraged her decision, and Emma had decided that so far as her mother was concerned, the break-up of their relationship had not been unexpected.

Inevitably, time wrought its own miracles of healing. Emma was lucky enough to get a job in an auction house in London. She had always been interested in antiques, and her apprenticeship there served her in good stead when she finally returned to Abingford. She came back when she discovered her mother was finding it difficult to live on the allowance she made her, and for a while Emma shared the flat with her again.

It was about this time she met David Ingram once more.

She had met him first in Jordan’s company. David was a freelance commercial artist, working at that time on an advertising campaign for Tryle Transmissions. She had known immediately that she attracted him, but whether that was because she was the boss’s girl-friend or not, she could never be sure. What had always been apparent was that any girl who could hold a man like Jordan had to have something, and several of his friends had made passes at her when they thought Jordan wasn’t looking.

Emma had quite liked David, although she had sensed his feelings towards Jordan contained quite an element of envy. He had always had an intense ambition to be wealthy, and having money meant a lot to him.

From the minute he learned that Emma was back in Abingford to stay, he had started dating her, and within a very short time he asked her to marry him. Emma had demurred, insisting that they hardly knew one another, secretly wondering whether Jordan might ring her once he knew she was home again. She knew he was still unmarried, unattached, if what the papers said was true, and she cherished hopes that perhaps time would have worked its miracle for him, too.

But as the weeks and months went by, and there was no word from Jordan, she was forced to accept that so far as he was concerned, their affair was over. Her mother, guessing her feelings, had ridiculed such foolishness. David, she said, was a far better candidate than Jordan Kyle could ever be, and besides, she wanted Emma to have nothing more to do with that family.

The crunch came the night Emma casually encountered Jordan at the charity ball. He had spoken to her politely, but that was all. His eyes had looked straight through her and she had known that whatever there had been between them was dead—and buried. That was the night she had accepted David’s proposal, and lived to regret it. His accident, just four days before the date of the wedding, had destroyed any idea she might have had for cancelling the ceremony. Instead, it had been conducted around his bed in the hospital, the only thing, they said, that would give him a reason for living. A reason for living …

Emma pressed her lips together tightly now. That was ironic. From the moment David learned that he was paralysed from the waist down, he had despised the life he was forced to live, and gradually he was forcing Emma to despise her life, too. It was as if there was a malignant cancer growing inside him that was gradually corrupting his soul, and Emma seldom looked into the future without a sense of despair.

If only David had accepted his disability. If only he could appreciate how good it was to be alive, instead of persistently bemoaning his lot in life, and allowing the envy he had always possessed to poison and destroy what little happiness they might have had.

‘Emma!’ She heard him calling her now, the irritability evident in his voice. ‘Emma, what in God’s name are you doing? Does it take half an hour to make a cup of coffee?’

‘Coffee!’ Emma started guiltily. She had forgotten to turn on the percolator.

‘I won’t be long,’ she called in reply. ‘I’m just finishing the dishes!’ and as if to emphasise this point she clattered plates and dishes on to the draining board.

But later that night, lying in the lonely isolation of her bed, she gave in to the frustrated tears that stung the backs of her eyes. She and David didn’t even share a bedroom, he having decided he needed the double bed they had once intended to use for his own use downstairs, while she occupied the single divan in the bedroom upstairs. How could she suggest going to the West Indies? she thought helplessly. Apart from anything else, it was unfair to David to even think of such a thing when he was stuck here at home, hating the cold weather. There had never been money for expensive holidays. Even the accident insurance had been denied to them on a technicality, which Emma had never understood, and without her job in those early days they would have had to have applied for social security.

Besides, what could Andrew Kyle have to say to her that was so desperately important that he should send for her practically on his dying bed? It didn’t make sense to her, so how could David be expected to understand, let alone agree to the trip?

She sighed. Jordan would not be surprised if she refused. Relieved, was his more likely reaction. After all, how boring it would be for him having to escort her all that way, and embarrassing, too, if she chose to bring up the past. But she wouldn’t do that, she thought, fumbling under her pillow for a paper tissue. She had some pride! Of course, he didn’t know that, and now he would never find out.