The Purest of Diamonds?
Autore
Susan Stephens
Letto da
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Capitoli
15
Chapter One
TENSION COILED IN Leila’s stomach as she peered out of the cab window to weigh up the party guests pouring into the hotel. This time of year wasn’t great for holding an event in the frozen north. Leila’s home town of Skavanga was beyond the Arctic Circle in the land of the midnight sun, but when her sister Britt threw a party no one cared about the weather. Sky-high heels and bodycon was the order of the day for the women, while the men rocked formal suits beneath their silk scarves and alpaca overcoats. The mantra for the packs of girls heading up the steps to the hotel appeared to be: if you’re going to freeze, do it on the way to Britt’s party.
Leila was the only one of three Skavanga sisters who didn’t shine at parties. Small talk wasn’t her strength. She was happiest in her office in the basement of the mining museum, gathering and recording fascinating information—
Relax, Leila instructed herself firmly. Britt had lent her a gorgeous dress with a pair of spindle-heeled sandals to match, and she had a fleece-lined jacket sitting next to her in the cab. All she had to do was run up the steps of the hotel, breeze into the lobby and get lost in the crush.
‘You have a good time now!’ the cabbie insisted as she paid the fare, adding a hefty tip because she felt sorry for him having to work such a filthy night.
‘Sorry I couldn’t get you any closer to the hotel,’ he added, pulling a long face. ‘I’ve never seen so many cabs here before—’
The Britt effect, Leila thought as she smiled. ‘Don’t worry. This is fine for me—’
‘Careful you don’t slip, love—’
Too late!
‘You all right?’ The cab driver leaned out of his open window to take a look at her.
‘Fine, thank you.’
Liar. She had just performed a series of skating moves that would have done any ice star proud—if that ice star were a clown, that was.
The cabbie shook his head with concern. ‘The roads are really icy tonight.’
She’d noticed. She was currently lodged in an inelegant squatting position at the side of his cab, her tights were ripped, and her dress was...thankfully not completely ruined after a close encounter with the side of a mud-streaked cab. Thank goodness her dress was blue-black. Navy was a great colour. It could be sponged.
Picking herself up, she stood waiting for a gap in the traffic. The cabbie was also waiting for the cars to clear. ‘Aren’t those the three men in the consortium that saved the town?’ he said, pointing.
Leila’s heart lurched. Sure enough, heading in arrow formation up the steps of the hotel were her elder sister Britt’s husband, the Sheikh of Kareshi; her middle sister Eva’s fiancé, the impossibly handsome Italian Count Roman Quisvada; and the third man in the consortium, who drew her gaze like a heat-seeking missile to its target. Powering up the steps ahead of the other men, Raffa Leon. Dangerously attractive. Currently single.
Turning away from more trouble than most women could handle, Leila shook her head with impatience for allowing herself to indulge in a moment of sheer fantasy. She was the shy, virginal sister in a family of out-there go-getters, and Raffa spelled danger in any language. Even the most experienced woman would think twice before falling into his lap, and she was more of a small-town mouse.
But the cabbie was right in saying the three men had saved the town. Leila and her two sisters, Britt and Eva, along with their long-lost brother, Tyr, had used to own the Skavanga mine outright, but when the minerals ran out and diamonds were discovered, they couldn’t afford the specialized equipment required to mine the precious stones. The town of Skavanga had always depended on the mine for its existence, so the future of everyone who lived there had been at stake too. It had been such a relief when the powerful consortium had moved in, saving both the business and the town.
‘There’s one billionaire left, if you hurry,’ the cabbie commented with a wink. ‘The other two are married—or about to be, I heard.’
‘Yes.’ Leila smiled. ‘To my sisters—’
‘So you’re one of the famous Skavanga Diamonds,’ the cabbie exclaimed, clearly impressed.
‘That’s what they call us,’ Leila admitted. She laughed. ‘I’m the smallest stone with the most flaws—’
‘Which makes you the most interesting in my book,’ the cabbie cut in. ‘And you’re still in with a chance, seeing as there’s one billionaire left for you.’
She loved his sense of humour and couldn’t stop herself laughing. ‘I’ve got more sense than that,’ she assured him. ‘And I’m definitely not Raffa Leon’s type.’ She gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Thank goodness.’
‘He has got a bit of a reputation,’ the cabbie agreed. ‘But you don’t want to believe everything you read about people in the press.’
Remembering how the glossies made out that all three Skavanga sisters were currently monopolising the world stage, at least as far as celebrity went, Leila was inclined to believe him. The only stage she stood a chance of monopolising was the bus shelter on her way to work.
‘And remember this,’ the cabbie added, giving Leila an appraising look. ‘Billionaires like to marry down. They want a quiet life at home. They have enough excitement in the office. Don’t take offence,’ he said quickly. ‘I mean that as a compliment. You look like a nice, quiet girl, is all.’
By this point Leila was convulsed with laughter. ‘And no offence taken. Now you be careful of the icy roads. I’m guessing you’ve got a long, cold night ahead of you.’
‘Too right, I have. Goodnight, love. You have fun at that party.’
‘I will,’ she promised. Just as soon as she had visited the restroom to sort out her dress. Parties might not be her thing, but she had no intention of letting down her glamorous sisters by arriving at their celebration looking as if she’d been mud wrestling before she arrived.
Picking her way carefully across the icy road as soon as there was a gap in the traffic, she launched herself into the shadows. Raffa Leon was standing at the top of the steps scanning the street, probably waiting for some glamorous socialite to decant from a limo.
God, he was gorgeous!
But bang went her plan for an anonymous entrance—
Not necessarily... All she had to do was choose her moment and scoot past him. He wouldn’t even notice her—
Wrong.
Everything was going so well. Raffa was looking one way while she was running up the steps on his blind side. But then she hit a patch of ice, and while her heels went one way she went the other. With a shriek, she prepared to hit the stone hard.
Wrong again.
‘Leila Skavanga!’
She was shocked into silence for a moment as the most impossibly handsome face in the world hovered inches from her own.
‘Raffa Leon!’ She faked surprise. ‘Goodness! Please forgive me. I didn’t see you standing there—’
Much.
Surprise? Make that deeply embarrassing. If there was one lap she didn’t want to land in tonight, it was this lap. And Raffa was holding her so firmly she had no option but to remain exactly where she was, with him shooting heat through her veins, and quite a lot of other places too. Trying not to breathe in case the cheese sandwich she’d chomped down earlier overrode the smell of toothpaste, she remained immobile, while he...while he just smelled amazing. And those eyes...
‘Thank you,’ she said, recovering her senses as he lifted her and steadied her on her feet.
‘I’m glad I caught you.’
His voice was deep and sexy, and faintly accented in a way that would have made the call of a corncrake sound melodious. ‘I’m glad you did too.’ He had just performed a save that would have earned him a standing ovation if she’d been a rugby ball.
‘You didn’t twist your ankle, did you?’
The man for whom the phrase tall, dark and handsome had been invented was looking at her legs. Deeply conscious of her ruined tights, she made a big play of brushing herself down. ‘No. I’m fine.’ She shook both feet in turn as if to prove the point and then felt stupid. He made her feel so gauche.
‘We have met before,’ he said, easing his big, sexy shoulders in a shrug.
‘In the reception line at Britt’s wedding,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
Not only did he smell divine, and he was unreasonably compelling in a swarthy, piratical way, but those wicked eyes and that energy flying off him, both were off the scale. This encounter was so far out of her comfort zone, it was embarrassing, and she was longing to escape, but Raffa seemed in no hurry to get away. In fact he was studying her face as if she were one of the exhibits in the museum. Was her mascara smudged? She wasn’t very good at applying make-up. Worse! Did she have sandwich stuck in her teeth?
Closing her mouth, she checked discreetly with her tongue.
‘Not only did we meet before, we’re almost family, Leila.’
‘Sorry...’ When Raffa’s eyes smiled into hers, she couldn’t think straight. ‘Family?’
‘Sí,’ Raffa insisted in his addictive Spanish drawl. ‘Now the second member of the consortium is marrying a Skavanga sister, there’s only us two left. There’s no need to look so shocked, Señorita Skavanga. I only meant that perhaps we can get to know each other a little better now.’
Did he really want to?
Why did he want to?
Instantly suspicious of why such a devastatingly successful, good-looking man would want to get to know her better, she blurted, ‘I don’t have many shares in the company.’
Raffa laughed then forced a gasp out of her as he bowed over her hand. ‘I don’t have any intention of stealing your shares, Leila.’
How could someone brushing his lips over the back of her hand cause so much sensation? She’d read about things like this. Before they were married or engaged her sisters had talked incessantly about romantic encounters, but this was a whole new world for Leila. Not that Raffa meant to be romantic. It was just his way of putting her at ease.
So why was it having the opposite effect?
People were still pouring up the steps to the party, pressing in on them from every side, making conversation impossible, let alone making it easy to move away from each other. And she was hopeless at small talk. The weather? It was always cold in Skavanga. That would keep them talking for all of ten seconds. But this was a Skavanga sisters’ party, and Raffa was their guest, so it was up to her to make him feel welcome.
Bracing herself, she launched in. ‘I hope you’re enjoying your trip to Skavanga.’
He seemed amused by her opening sally. ‘I am now.’
This was accompanied by a slanting smile that would bring Hollywood to its knees.
‘It’s been back-to-back business meetings for me before tonight,’ he explained, his face turning serious, which was another great look for him. ‘I just finished another meeting.’
‘So you’re staying here at the hotel?’
She blushed as Raffa held her gaze and frowned slightly. He probably thought she was coming on to him, when that was a typical example of Leila Skavanga out of her depth and swimming frantically to reach the shore. Or, to put it another way: she had zero small talk.
Fortunately, Raffa had turned to assess the logistics of making it through the door without being trampled on. ‘It seems to have quietened down a bit. Shall we go in?’
‘Oh, I can make it from here,’ she insisted, guessing he was longing to get away.
‘Don’t look so worried, Leila,’ he said, smiling. ‘You’re going to love the party. Trust me...’
Trust Raffa Leon? When everyone knew his reputation? ‘I’d better find my sisters, but thank you for your assurance—and for your great save,’ she added as an afterthought, smiling.
‘Don’t mention it.’
His eyes were warm and luminous, and they plumbed deep, considering Raffa Leon was practically a stranger. This only made her more determined to stick to her original plan, which was to share a quick drink with her sisters, eat dinner—without spilling food down her, if possible—and then indulge in a little non-controversial chit-chat before shooting off as soon as she politely could.
‘You’re shivering, Leila—’
Oh... She was, she realised now.
‘And you’re laughing?’
She bit her lip, to stop thinking about the Raffa effect, and how her shivering had nothing to do with the freezing cold.
‘Here—put my overcoat on...’
‘Oh, no, I—’
Too late! She might have a perfectly good jacket, but Raffa’s reflexes were too fast for her and now she had his coat draped round her shoulders. It was hard to pretend she wasn’t distracted by his residual heat in the coat, or by the fact that it still carried the faint imprint of his cologne.
‘How did you get all this mud on your dress, Leila?’
As he noticed everything she decided to make a joke of it. ‘I...um...slipped away for a minute?’
He laughed. ‘And I thought I saved you.’
‘Almost.’
‘Next time I’ll have to do better.’
‘Hopefully, there won’t be a next time. It was my fault for chatting to the cabbie instead of looking where I was going.’
Raffa’s mouth kicked up at one corner as his eyes lit in a conspiratorial smile. ‘The landing wasn’t too hard, I hope?’
It was hard not to laugh. ‘Only my pride got bruised.’
‘I think we’d better go inside before you have another accident, don’t you, Leila?’
His smile was indefensibly sexy, she concluded, dragging her gaze away, but it was nice to have a man take care of her for once, especially when she was Ms Independence—not that she was going to make a habit of it, but for a few short minutes on this one special night, it couldn’t hurt to lap up his aura, and she was quite sure Don Leon would find some excuse or other to part company as soon as they were inside the hotel.
* * *
So, he’d finally met the third Skavanga sister. And for longer than a ten-second handshake in a receiving line. She had turned out to be quite a surprise. Tense, but funny, Leila Skavanga was hugely lacking in self-confidence for some reason. He didn’t blame her for not relishing the prospect of a party—false smiles and meaningless chit-chat weren’t his favourite form of recreation either.
It was hard being the youngest in a family, as he knew only too well, though he’d broken free of the constraints imposed on him at a young age. When he’d been young, with absentee parents, and three older brothers to kick him around, not to mention two older sisters, who took great pleasure finishing the job, it was no surprise he’d turned out to be a handful. In his experience you went one of two ways as the youngest child: determined and driven, as he was, or retiring and apologetic, like Leila Skavanga.
‘Let’s find the restroom first, to sort out your clothes,’ he suggested as soon as they were inside the hotel. He was feeling unusually protective towards this woman, he realised as Leila glanced at him.
‘That was my plan,’ she confirmed as if to let him know that she was setting the ground rules—and she could look after herself, thank you very much.
‘Before I intercepted you?’
‘Before I landed in your lap,’ she corrected him.
He laughed into her eyes. He liked the defiance he saw there. There was more to Leila Skavanga than met the eye. But then her cheeks flushed red and she looked away.
Why was she embarrassed? Too much physical contact? Too much physical contact with him?
Could Leila really be that innocent? His ingénue radar—rusty from lack of use—said yes. Her sisters weren’t noted for being shy and retiring, which only made Leila all the more intriguing. And when she turned to look at him with eyes that, apart from being very beautiful, were wide and candid, he registered a most definite physical response.
‘Come,’ he said, forging a passage for her through the crowd. ‘Let’s get you sorted out so you can enjoy the party.’
Leila bit her lip to hide her smile. The thought of Raffa Leon ‘sorting her out’ was rather appealing. Thank goodness she had more sense.
There was one good thing about all this. Everyone was so busy staring at Raffa as they walked through the lobby that no one noticed Leila, or the mud on her clothes.
Shame on you, Leila Skavanga! Wasn’t this supposed to be your breakout year?
Pegged as the dreamer of the family—the youngest, the quietest, the peacemaker—if she was ever going to break out of that safe, cosy mould, she had to change, and she had to change now. But not all those changes had to happen tonight. In fact, it would be safer if they didn’t. When she had made that promise to herself that she would change, and that she could change, she hadn’t factored the devil at her side into the equation. Don Rafael Leon, the Duke of Cantalabria, to give Raffa his full title, was not the sort of man to practise anything on. She had set her heart on finding the modern-day equivalent of a pipe and slippers man—someone undemanding and kind. Someone safe. And Raffa Leon was not safe.
So what about his chivalry towards her?
Innate politeness, she decided. Even great whites had the decency to circle you before they struck.
She exclaimed as Raffa grabbed her hands to draw her in front of him beneath the searching light of one of the hotel’s glittering chandeliers.
‘Dios, Leila! This is worse than I thought!’
Standing back, he stared long and hard at her ruined clothes, while she was only capable of registering the unaccustomed heat flooding through her.
‘Are you sure you didn’t hurt yourself?’ Raffa demanded.
‘No, not at all...’ She just wanted to stand there for a moment longer, enjoying the heat and strength in his hands. How cold and limp hers must seem by comparison, she thought, tightening her grip. She quickly released her grip, realising she had given Raffa entirely the wrong message.
‘Well, I’m not going to let you out of my sight tonight,’ he said with a hint of humour in his eyes as if he knew how awkward she felt having touched him. ‘We can’t risk any more accidents.’
‘Agreed,’ she murmured, still staring at him like a loon.
‘The restroom, Leila?’
‘Of course.’ Mentally, she shook herself. ‘And, really, I’m fine—I can handle it.’
‘Can you?’
‘Without you,’ she confirmed pleasantly.
So ignore my wishes, she thought as Raffa drew her by the hand across the lobby, where the crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.
‘I’m sure you’ve got places to be, people to meet, Raffa.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Right here with you, making sure the rest of your evening goes better than the start has. And you’re not keeping me, Leila. Any excuse to avoid a night of small talk with people I don’t know, don’t want to know and will never see again.’ At this point he gave a delicious Latin shrug that drew her gaze to the width of his shoulders. ‘Getting away from the crowd is great for me, Leila.’
She’d felt exactly the same when she’d left the house, but only because she was so shy in a crowd of people she didn’t know, which surely couldn’t be Raffa’s problem.
‘I’ve been thinking back to Britt’s wedding,’ Raffa admitted as they waited their turn in the queue for the cloakroom. ‘I remember you playing tag with those tiny flower girls. You did a great job of keeping them entertained.’
‘I enjoyed it too,’ she admitted. ‘I’m afraid sophistication is not my middle name.’
‘Some might call it charming, Leila.’
Her secret was out. She loved children. In fact, she loved children and animals more than most adults outside her family, because they were straightforward and she wasn’t good at playing mind games.
‘Our turn,’ Raffa prompted with his hand in the small of her back as the queue to the cloakroom cleared.
His touch lit every part of her with awareness. Maybe because his hand was so strong, and his touch was so light...
‘So, you like children?’
‘Yes, I do.’ Handing his borrowed jacket over, she turned to face the man she was sure would rather be a million miles away and hit back defensively. ‘As a matter of fact, I can’t wait to have children. I just don’t want the man.’
Raffa’s lips pressed down in the most attractive way. ‘Could be awkward.’
She frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Biology?’
If there was some sort of danger/beware register, Raffa should be put on it, Leila decided as he flashed his wicked smile.
She had a lucky escape from more verbal jousting when her gorgeous sister Britt chose that moment to enter the hotel on the arm of her handsome sheikh. Spotting them immediately, Britt gave Leila a what-the-heck-are-you-doing-with-him? look, swiftly followed by a jerk of her beautiful blonde head in the direction of the elevators—a signal that Leila should get herself out of trouble and up to the family suite pronto, before she got herself into deeper water with the most dangerous man in town.
She returned Britt’s look with a slanting smile that said, do I have to?
Did she want to? That was the question.
Britt shrugged as if to say, on your head be it.
It was all right for Britt. Fantastic in company like Leila’s other sister, Eva, Britt would be an asset to any gathering, while Leila would only get in the way if she went up to the suite Britt had taken for her pre-party gathering.
‘Put your ticket away safely, Leila.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Your cloakroom ticket,’ Raffa prompted, handing it over. ‘Now get yourself into the restroom to sort out your dress. And, okay—’ His gaze descended and lingered for quite some time. ‘Your stockings are shot.’
‘My tights,’ she corrected him primly.
‘Please don’t disillusion me.’
That smile!
Her equilibrium having been taken and turned upside down, it was definitely time to take a short break from the hottest man around. ‘Don’t bother waiting up for me,’ she called over her shoulder with a grin as she headed at speed for the restroom.
She’d given him an out. Hopefully, he’d take the hint. Leaning over the washbasin, she took a much-needed moment to catch her breath. Forget the dress. Forget the mud. Her mind was full of the man outside that door. Would he wait for her? Almost certainly not, thank goodness. No one had ever had this sort of effect on her before. Which had to mean she was certifiably crazy. Raffa Leon had a reputation that made Casanova look like a choirboy. He was single because he played the field. And she had no intention of applying to become a member of his team.
Pulling back from the basin, she tore off a strip of paper towel and, wetting it, cleaned the mud off her dress. The dress was soon okay-ish, but, as Raffa had clearly identified, her tights were ruined. Stripping them off, she dumped them in the bin.
Bare legs?
She pulled a face. Chalk legs weren’t exactly the look she’d been aiming for, but who would notice?
Raffa.
Raffa noticed everything.
But he probably wouldn’t even speak to her again that night. And if he did, wasn’t this year supposed to be about chilling out and freeing herself to do some of the things she had longed to do—like travelling, like meeting new people, for instance? And if he was waiting outside the door for her, why shouldn’t she allow him to escort her to the party? Britt and Eva wouldn’t miss her up in their suite. They would be heavily into hosting cocktails and canapés by now. And Raffa was surely more entertaining than the mayor of Skavanga, whose unofficial job it was to make a wallflower feel valued. Or the elderly vicar, who could always be relied upon to give Leila a pep talk on finding a husband before it was too late.
Too late at twenty-two?
And who needed a husband, anyway? All she wanted was a child—children, preferably. She was perennially broody. And, in the unlikely event that Raffa was desperate enough to be outside that door, she would be well chaperoned at the party. Britt and Eva would be there with their partners, along with a hundred or so guests. And it wasn’t every day she got to swap small talk with a billionaire.
So... Would he be there? Or would Raffa Leon have breathed a sigh of relief the moment she closed the restroom door and made his escape? Before her courage deserted her completely, she opened the door to find out.
‘Leila.’
‘Raffa...’
So far, so disastrous. One glance into those laughing dark eyes and she could hardly breathe. Raffa looked amazing—even more than amazing. In a dark, formal suit that moulded his powerful body to perfection, he was taller than most of the other men present, and exuded energy like a fighter jet amongst a fleet of biplanes.
‘I apologise for keeping you waiting so long.’
‘It was worth the wait, Leila. You look sensational.’
What? She stopped just short of rolling her eyes. Then, remembering this was another example of his practised charm, she filed his compliment away under Trivia.
‘Well, at least I’m mud free,’ she agreed, glancing down at her clothes. Unfortunately, under the lights they still looked a bit ropey. ‘I had to take my tights off—’
Uh? What kind of message did that send?
There was laughter in Raffa’s eyes, but now she couldn’t stop herself and nerves were starting to make her babble. ‘Bare legs... Well... White legs, actually—’
Good of you to point it out, she could imagine him thinking.
Great legs, he thought. And the rest was very nicely packaged too. Leila was wearing the same dress she’d worn at Britt’s wedding when she had been playing with the children. He remembered it now.
‘Britt’s dress,’ Leila said, seeing him look at it. ‘I wore it at my sister’s wedding.’
‘I remember.’ And Leila would win any Who-looks-best-in-this-dress? contest hands down.
‘It’s the prettiest dress I’ve ever seen,’ she rattled on as if she had to excuse the fact that she was wearing something that suited her so well. ‘I begged Britt not to go to the expense of buying some silly bridesmaid’s dress I’d never wear again—and, look! Here I am, wearing it again! That’s what I call getting your money’s worth...’
As Leila’s hectic explanation petered out, he hummed, wondering why she didn’t have any pretty dresses of her own to wear.
And why should he care?
‘It’s a bit too tight,’ she said, getting her second wind. ‘Britt’s so slim—’
The tighter the better, as far as he was concerned. He’d never gone for the half-starved look. The dress would always look better on Leila because she was voluptuous.
‘I don’t go to many parties. Don’t feel sorry for me,’ she insisted before he had chance to say a word. ‘I usually hang out somewhere quieter than this—’
‘My preference too,’ he said, shielding Leila with his arm as more guests piled into the lobby. Quiet rooms and hot women would be his preference every time. ‘Here’s an idea—’ He had stopped in front of the elevator. ‘There’s a quiet lounge just down this corridor. Why don’t we take five? It would give you chance to recover your composure.’ And calm down a bit, he thought.
‘You mean, I look a mess?’
She looked adorable and so trusting as she turned her face up to his. Well, she was safe tonight. He had already reined in his thoughts from champagne and seduction to soft drinks and a few very necessary moments of calm for Leila. She needed to relax before facing the bright lights of the party, and, surprising even himself, he wanted to get to know her a little better. ‘Come on—let’s get out of this crush. The party isn’t due to start for another half hour,’ he reassured her when she looked doubtful. ‘We won’t be missed.’
‘But my sisters are expecting me.’
‘Your sisters will be so busy doing what they do well, they won’t miss either of us.’
Opening the door on the tempting setting of a quiet lounge, he stood back. They wouldn’t be alone. There were quite a few residents who weren’t going to the party sitting around reading newspapers and chatting quietly, and there was a big, welcoming log fire burning lustily in the grate. There were still plenty of cosy armchairs where they could sit and chat without being overheard. It was the perfect spot for a girl who wasn’t sure of herself yet, or of her companion.
‘This is lovely,’ Leila said with relief, gazing round.
‘Orange juice?’ he suggested.
‘With a splash of lemonade, please. How did you know?’
He loved the way Leila’s smile lit up her face. ‘Lucky guess.’ Not such a stretch. It was going to be a long night, and, though Leila was reputedly the shyest of the Skavanga sisters, there was a hint of steel about her that suggested she would face the party clear-headed or not at all.
Leila intrigued him, if only because she was so different from her sisters. The middle sister, Eva, whose eve-of-wedding party this was, could be a headstrong handful, while Britt was a hard-nosed businesswoman who only softened for her sheikh. Leila’s sisters and her brother, Tyr, had clearly protected her when their parents died, as Leila had been so very young when the tragic plane crash happened, but the intuition that had never let him down so far said there was more to Leila Skavanga than simply a sheltered girl who worked in the archive department of the Skavanga mining museum, and he was keen to find out what that was.
