Count Toussaint’s Pregnant Mistress (9 page)

But what did that mean practically, realistically, day to day?

Did he want to be in his child’s life? In hers?

It was too much to take in, to accept, and Abby fought against a sudden double wave of nausea and dizziness. She closed her eyes and swayed, only for a second, but Luc noticed.

‘Mon Dieu,’
he said, sounding both angry and afraid. ‘You look like you’re going to faint.’

‘No,’ Abby denied, her eyes still closed as she groped for a chair. ‘I’m just tired, and I need to sit down. I haven’t eaten—’

‘You are—what?—four, five months’ pregnant and you haven’t eaten?’

She sank into a chair and opened her eyes to look wryly at Luc. ‘Five. And I was going to say, before you interrupted me, that I haven’t eaten
in several hours.
I need to snack compulsively.’ She leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes once more. ‘There are some peanut-butter crackers in my bag, if you wouldn’t mind getting them for me.’

Luc rifled through her handbag. Idly Abby wondered what revealing items might be in there—an old lipstick, a halfeaten scone?—before weariness claimed her once more.

‘Here.’ Luc handed her the packet of crackers, and Abby nibbled on one gratefully.

‘Thank you.’

‘Have you had dinner? If the village has a pub or restaurant…’

‘We’ll have everyone talking then,’ Abby said, and tried to laugh. She couldn’t quite pull it off.

‘I don’t care what a bunch of fishermen and holidaymakers have to say,’ Luc replied brusquely. ‘Or what anyone has to say, for that matter. You need to eat.’

Abby smiled ruefully. ‘You’ve really gone all cave man on me, haven’t you? The need to protect, and all that.’

‘It’s common sense,’ Luc replied, his voice still sounding terse, and Abby couldn’t argue with that.

‘All right,’ she said, and rose from the chair. ‘But, since it’s your idea, you can pay.’

Luc made a sound halfway between a grunt and a snort, and Abby took it to mean that of course there had never been any other option—for eating or paying.

She reached for her bag, and Luc opened the door of her bedroom. The cottage was dark, and Abby fumbled for the light switch on the stairs.

‘Does no one else live here?’ Luc asked, and she shook her head.

‘It’s a holiday cottage. The owners come on the weekend sometimes, and in the summer, but they like me to keep an eye on it in return for a lower rent and use of the kitchen.’

‘So you’re alone?’ Luc demanded and Abby nearly groaned.

‘Yes, but, as a fully functioning adult, I think I can manage.’

Luc made no reply, and Abby braced herself for more such questions. Clearly Luc was going to find fault with every aspect of her life now that she was pregnant with his baby.

They walked down the village high-street next to the sea, the fishing boats were half pulled-up onto the muddy shore. The water lapped hungrily at their sides, a restless, slapping sound that for some reason put Abby on edge. They didn’t speak until they arrived at the village’s only pub, a whitewashed building with a thatched roof.

Luc opened the door, gesturing for her to enter before him.

‘Thank you,’ Abby murmured, and entered the dim, cozy interior. Within moments Luc was speaking to the owner, and he quickly arranged for a private room in the back of the pub.

‘Did you order as well?’ Abby asked as she followed him past the long, mahogany bar with a row of openly curious fishermen nursing their pints.

‘The vegetable soup and steak,’ Luc replied. ‘Obviously you need to keep your strength up.’

Abby shook her head, slipping off her coat as she surveyed the private room with its fireplace and cozy table for two. ‘Thanks for that consideration,’ she said as she sat down, and Luc cocked his head.

‘You’ve lost your innocence.’

In response, Abby patted her bump. ‘That happened a while ago.’

‘I don’t mean that.’ He slid into the seat across from her, steepling his fingers under his chin again. ‘When I met you in Paris you were starry-eyed, enchanted by everything. You seem more…cynical now.’

‘Just realistic,’ Abby quipped, but Luc shook his head.

‘Was it because of me? Because of what happened between us?’

‘It was a lot of things, Luc,’ Abby told him. ‘Yes, of course
you
, that night, were part of it. But so was losing all the money I thought I had.’ She swallowed and made herself go on. ‘Losing the joy of music. Losing everything I’d based my whole self on.’ She shook her head, not wanting to drown in the old memories. ‘I’m not cynical, you know, or even realistic. I’m just me. I’m not sure I even knew who I was until I stopped playing piano. I finally feel like I have the freedom to be me—to say what I want, do what I want—because there are no expectations. No rules. No public or press to perform for.’ She took a sip of water that a waiter had poured before leaving. ‘You probably can’t imagine how wonderful that feels.’

‘Have you played piano again?’

She shook her head. ‘No. It’s better that way…for now.’ Even if sometimes she woke up in the middle of the night to find her arms raised, fingers splayed, playing in her sleep. Even if now her fingers drummed out a rhythm on her thigh and she heard notes in her head. Far worse was the thought, the fear, that she would play and she wouldn’t feel anything—no connection to the music, no joy. Nothing…just as Luc felt nothing.

Luc was watching, his head tilted thoughtfully to one side. ‘You’re happy,’ he said, and it was more of a statement than a question.

Abby considered. ‘I’m content,’ she said finally. ‘I’m honest enough to admit I don’t want to haul boxes of food around for the rest of my life, even in a place as pretty as Cornwall. But for now—’

Luc held up a hand, his brows drawn together in an incredulous frown. ‘You’re five months’ pregnant and you’re still hauling boxes?’

‘I asked my midwife, and it’s fine as long as I don’t strain.’

‘Abby, you’re doing heavy manual labour! That is
not
fine.’ Luc dropped his hand, placing it flat on the table, his eyes narrowing. ‘And I won’t allow it.’

‘Oh?’ Abby found herself rising to the challenge, almost enjoying this battle of wills. She’d been bowled over by Luc the first time she’d met him, and still powerless to resist him the second. Now at last, third time lucky, she’d be strong. ‘And how do you intend to stop me?’

Luc swore under his breath. ‘Shall I drag you by the hair? Lock you in your bedroom? Or can we be reasonable about this?’

Abby found herself smiling properly for the first time in days. Maybe weeks. ‘It depends what your definition of reasonable is.’

Luc sat back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He looked weary then, Abby saw, and, strangely, even a little vulnerable.

‘I would like you not to lift heavy things,’ he said finally. ‘Or live alone. You had one dizzy spell—what if you had another, on the stairs?’

‘I won’t.’

‘You don’t know that. And who is there to help? I met your employer when I came here today. She is a nice enough woman, but her back is bad, as you must know. She can do very little.’

‘I don’t need Grace to do anything,’ Abby protested.

Luc shook his head. ‘Do you have other friends, people to call?’

Abby flushed. ‘Yes, of course I have friends,’ she said, but Luc’s words hit home. She might have friends, but they were
not the sort you called during a crisis, or in the middle of the night. They were the kind you said hello to in the street, or chatted to briefly in the shop, and nothing more.

‘Regardless,’ Luc continued, determined and implacable, ‘we are not addressing the main issue here, which is what we will do after the child is born.’

A waiter came in with their food, giving Abby a moment to collect her scattered thoughts and wits. What did Luc mean,
we?

But of course, Abby realized, she knew what he meant. This time, he wasn’t going away. But only because of the baby.

Not because of her.

Which was, she supposed, at least one reason why she hadn’t sought him out after learning she was pregnant—she didn’t want to be his charity case.

The waiter left, and Abby toyed with her food, her appetite vanished. She couldn’t think of a thing to say. Luc, apparently, did not have that problem.

‘There is no question,’ he said, taking a sip of wine, ‘of me not being in my own child’s life.’

Abby still couldn’t think of anything to say. She wanted to argue, but how? Why? On a theoretical level, she believed fathers should be involved in their children’s lives if they wanted to be. Of course. Yet how was that going to work on a practical basis? How could Luc be involved in her baby’s life, in
her
life? How, without her heart breaking, her hopes dying just a little every day?

‘Well,’ she finally said, trying to sound businesslike. ‘Yes, of course. I can see that.’ She took a bite of her dinner, although she could barely taste it. ‘Perhaps we could arrange visits every other weekend…’ She trailed off, for Luc was slowly, resolutely shaking his head.

‘I won’t be fobbed off with the occasional weekend, Abby.’

A sudden spurt of fury fuelled her briefly. ‘If you had nothing to offer me, Luc,’ she asked, ‘why would you have something for my child?’

‘Our
child,’ he corrected, and Abby supposed that said it all.

She closed her eyes, fighting the mental and physical exhaustion once more. ‘To tell you the truth,’ she finally said, ‘I hadn’t thought much beyond the baby’s birth. I’ve been terribly ill—not
really
ill,’ she amended hurriedly. ‘But nauseous. Morning sickness. So I haven’t been able to do much more than take each day as it comes.’ She let out her breath slowly. ‘I suppose that will have to change.’

‘Yes.’

She lifted her gaze to meet his. ‘But I don’t know how yet, and I’m not prepared to decide such things this evening.’

Luc shrugged. ‘As you wish. I can be here for a week, and then I must return to France. We have a bit of time.’

‘A bit’, Abby thought. In other words, not much.

They ate the rest of the meal in virtual silence, and with a pang Abby remembered their first meal together, at Hotel Le Bristol. The hours had flown by, and she’d never felt at a loss for what to say. She’d chatted and laughed and been entirely at ease.

‘What is wrong?’ Luc asked abruptly, and Abby’s gaze flew to his. She realized she’d let out a little sigh of remembrance, even of longing, without noticing.

‘I’m just tired,’ she said. ‘I should go home to bed.’

Luc nodded, and within minutes he’d paid the bill and was ushering her out of the emptying pub, one arm around her shoulders.

He dropped his arm once they were on the street, and Abby shivered from the chilly early March wind blowing off the sea. She felt bereft from the loss of his touch, and from something deeper still. What had happened to the two people who had
enjoyed that evening—that night—together? she wondered. Where had they gone?

For surely she was a different person—more grown up, more practical, perhaps even cynical, as Luc had suggested. Yet she was more capable too, more in charge of herself and her own destiny. Except, what was she thinking? Abby’s mouth twisted in a truly cynical smile. She wasn’t in charge of anything. Luc had just about told her tonight that he would be involved in their child’s life, that he didn’t want her working for Grace; basically, that he would be the one calling the shots. Forging her destiny.

Abby wasn’t sure she had the strength, or even the will, to fight him.

She shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her parka and bent her head against the wind.

Luc stopped her at the door of the cottage as she fumbled with the key. ‘I’ll see you in safely, and then I should go.’

Abby’s cheeks burned. Had he actually thought she expected him to stay?
Wanted
him to stay?

Yet she could not deny the lurch of longing inside her when she thought of what that would have meant.

‘Of course.’

‘And we’ll talk tomorrow.’

‘Fine.’ She shoved the key into the lock and tried to turn, but in her anxious state it jammed and she was left pushing with increasing frustration until Luc’s hand curled around hers.

‘Let me.’

‘I’m fine!’ she protested, and then watched helplessly as his fingers smoothly, easily, turned the key and the door swung inwards. She turned around to face him. Luc’s hand was still on the door, so she was effectively imprisoned in the cage made by his body, his face all too close as he gazed down at her. Desire—unbidden, unwanted—swamped her.

‘I don’t know if I can do this,’ she whispered.

‘I’m here to help,’ Luc replied, and he reached with one hand to gently touch her cheek. Abby raised her hand to curl her fingers around his. She meant to remove his hand, but somehow she ended up keeping it there, pressed against her cold cheek.

‘I’m not talking about the practical side,’ she said quietly. ‘This, Luc. Us. Or the fact that there is no “us” any more. There never really was. Just two nights, that’s all.’ She swallowed. ‘It’s too hard.’

Luc was silent for a long moment, his fingers still touching her cheek. ‘I will try to make things as easy and comfortable for you as possible, Abby.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I’m afraid that’s all I can do.’

Abby nodded, her throat suddenly tight. It was her own fault, she supposed, for feeling this way. Feeling too much, when Luc couldn’t feel enough. Somehow she would have to get through it, push past the emotion, the hurt and, worst of all, the treacherous hope that just being with him caused inside her, setting her soul to sail.

She thought sadly how once she would have dreamed of a time such as this: she was carrying Luc’s child, and he was here with her, ready to love and protect. Love and protect the baby, of course, not her. Never her. Nodding in silent acceptance of Luc’s offer, she wondered when and how it had all gone so horribly wrong.

O
F COURSE,
it happened on the stairs, just as Luc had said and feared it would. After a long, restless night, Abby skipped breakfast in an attempt to get to Grace’s and start her round of deliveries on time. One moment she was hurrying down the stairs, car keys in hand, parka thrown over her arm…the next, she wasn’t sure what happened, or how, only that the world seemed to blacken at the corners, like the edges of an old photograph curling upwards. And then she wasn’t aware of anything at all.

When she woke, she felt as if she were swimming upwards through water, to a surface in the distance hazy with sunshine. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking several times as the world came into focus once more. She was in a hospital bed, and Luc was sitting next to her.

It took another couple of blinks before she was able to see him properly. He radiated tension. He was leaning forward in the hard, plastic chair that was painted a virulent shade of orange, his forearms braced on his thighs, his face drawn into a rather ferocious expression.

‘Oh, come on,’ Abby said, and was amazed at how rusty her voice sounded. She tried to smile. ‘I can’t look that bad, surely?’

At the first syllable she uttered, Luc’s gaze jerked to hers,
and for one glorious second his whole countenance—everything about him—lightened; Abby felt as if she could sing with joy. In that moment, that second, she felt anything was possible. Then he turned grim again, his expression closing up like a fan as he reached out to touch her forehead with his fingertips, checking for fever.

‘You’ve been out cold for over an hour.’

‘Really?’ The idea that she’d been involuntarily unconscious for such a length of time provoked a mild curiosity, followed by a far deeper foreboding as Luc stared at her incredulously.

‘Yes, really. I found you passed out at the bottom of the stairs—you’re lucky you didn’t break your neck!’

‘And that the door was open,’ Abby murmured.

‘Yes. And, speaking of, why was the door open?’ Luc demanded. ‘Did you keep it open all night? Anyone could have—’

‘There are no more than seventy-five residents in the village, Luc,’ Abby said, and then her hand flew to her middle as a new, terrifying thought dawned. ‘Am I—is the baby—?’

‘The doctor listened to the baby’s heartbeat as soon as I brought you in,’ Luc told her. He touched her hand briefly in reassurance. ‘Everything sounds fine, but she wants to do a scan just in case.’

Abby nodded, her hand still hovering protectively over her bump, relief pouring through her and making her feel weak. The possibility of a threat to her baby made her heart thud with anxiety and fear even though the danger had passed.

A few minutes later the doctor entered her room, a trim woman in her thirties with a neat bun of light-brown hair.

‘Had a bit of a scare,’ she remarked as she squeezed a cold blob of clear gel onto Abby’s bare stomach. ‘We ran some blood tests, and it turns out you’re a bit anaemic. Have you been taking your pre-natal vitamins?’

‘Yes, every day,’ Abby replied. She resisted the urge to
shoot Luc a knowing glance. Undoubtedly he thought that she hadn’t been taking care of herself properly.

‘Well, then,’ the doctor said comfortably, ‘we’ll add an iron supplement to that. Now, let’s just take a look, shall we?’ She took the electric wand and began to prod Abby’s bump rather vigorously. A second later a blurry black-and-white image came onto the screen, and Abby gasped aloud at the sight of the little life moving around, arms and legs, the tiny heart beating fast and furious.

‘The little fellow looks all right, then,’ the doctor said with a smile.

Abby cried, ‘You can tell? It’s a boy?’

‘That’s actually a gender-neutral term for the moment,’ she replied with a laugh. ‘But I can tell you if you want. First, though, let’s check everything else. According to your due date, you were meant to have a scan next week anyway, so we might as well just have done with it a bit early.’

Abby nodded eagerly, and then listened in rapt attention as the doctor went through all the parts of the baby. Healthy parts—heart, liver, lungs. Everything was ‘spot on and developing normally’.

‘That’s wonderful,’ Abby whispered, and she glanced at Luc. He was staring at the ultrasound screen as if mesmerized, and perhaps he was. ‘I can’t believe the baby is moving so much,’ Abby said. ‘I can’t feel a thing.’

‘You will soon enough. Now, there is a slight concern here.’ The doctor tapped the screen, and Abby’s breath hitched. She didn’t like the sound of a ‘concern’, slight or not. Her hand scrabbled on the sheet and then stilled when Luc found it, lacing her fingers with his, his touch steady and warm.

‘You have a partial placenta previa,’ the doctor said. ‘It’s a fairly common condition, where the placenta is blocking the opening of your cervix, but it presents some danger to
the baby during delivery, so we need to monitor it. With any luck it will resolve itself before your nine months are up, and no worries.’

She smiled kindly at Abby, who could feel her face draining of colour as worry bit at her nerves and thoughts. ‘However, you’ll need to take it a bit easy until then. No running up and down stairs, no lifting heavy things—and, unfortunately, no sex.’ She smiled apologetically at Luc. ‘We’ll book you for another scan in a month, and it might have cleared up by then. Now.’ She brought her hands together in a soft clap, her eyes glinting merrily. ‘Do you want to know if you’re having a boy or girl?’

Abby glanced at Luc. ‘Do you want to know?’ she asked, and he paused, hesitating, before uttering with heartfelt sincerity, ‘Yes.’

‘A girl,’ the doctor said. ‘A beautiful baby girl.’

A girl. A daughter. Luc could scarcely believe it. His mind spun as he helped Abby up from her bed and then guided her out of the hospital. He had a baby girl.

‘You should eat something,’ he told Abby. She looked far too pale. The moment when he’d seen her at the bottom of the stairs had been the worst of his life—second-worst, he amended grimly, but utterly terrifying nonetheless. She’d looked so still and waxen, as beautiful, fragile and lifeless as a doll. For a horrifying second he’d thought she was dead, and it had felt like his world had stopped, as if he had stopped.

Then she’d let out a low moan, and he’d sprung into action, pushing away the thoughts, fears and memories as he’d sought to make her safe, to protect her and their child in a way he hadn’t been able to protect before.

He had scooped her up, amazed at how light she felt even when pregnant. Her head had fallen back, revealing the long,
vulnerable column of her throat. Luc had choked on a sob of desperation.

No. Not again. Not this time…

Still the feelings had come, the helplessness, the hopelessness, the bleak despair. And then the regret, the guilt. He should have insisted she stay with him. He should have been with her. He should have…he should have…So many shoulds.

It hurt to feel this much, to fear this much. The hour in the hospital room, watching Abby breathe in and out without so much as fluttering an eyelash, had been an utter agony, a torment of uncertainty.

What if? What if? What if?

Then, when she’d opened her eyes, he’d felt as if life had been given back to him, precious, fleeting. And the giddy rush of hope had hurt too, because he knew it couldn’t last. He’d clamped down on it, pushed the emotions away and accepted the mantle of cold numbness that had, with time, become his only armour against the pain of feeling.

‘We can stop at the chemists’ to get the prescription for iron tablets,’ he told Abby now as he helped her into the car, keeping his voice brisk. ‘And then we should have some lunch.’

‘I need to see Grace,’ Abby murmured. She still looked pale and dazed, and Luc wondered what she was thinking, feeling. His hands tightened on the steering wheel.

‘You’ll have to give her your notice.’

Abby leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. ‘I suppose.’

‘There’s no
supposing
about it.’

‘Oh, Luc.’ She shook her head wearily. ‘Give it a rest.’

Impatience—and, worse, fear—gnawed at him, as persistent and ferocious as a rat. He couldn’t let go of it, couldn’t stop wanting to manage. To control. To keep Abby safe, as he never had Suzanne.

He needed to stop, he told himself. He needed to relax. Abby was a competent adult, fully capable of making her own decisions and taking charge of her own life; she’d shown him that. Yet he couldn’t quite stop himself from saying, ‘Fine. But we need to make some decisions soon.’

‘Fine,’ she murmured, sounding almost asleep, and Luc finally forced himself to leave it at that.

She was so tired. The buzz of seeing her baby on the scan had evaporated for the moment in the cold reality of what this meant. She couldn’t take care of herself after all. She needed Luc. She didn’t want to need him, to be dependent on him. To be his burden.

Abby couldn’t process it any more, couldn’t consider all the implications. She certainly couldn’t have the necessary conversation with Luc. Not yet, anyway, while her head still ached and her vision swam. She closed her eyes once more.

They arrived back at the cottage, and Luc helped Abby out of the car. He didn’t speak, and Abby was grateful for the silence. She let him help her up the stairs—she didn’t have much choice, really—and settle her in bed. She remained as docile as a child.

Luc left, murmuring that he’d be back soon. Abby must have slept, for when she woke the sun was already starting to descend in a darkening sky and the room was dim.

‘Luc?’ she called out, blinking sleep from her eyes, her voice rusty again.

‘I’m here.’ He switched on a lamp, and Abby found herself smiling at him, a ridiculously wide grin; she was too happy to see him. He was
here.
‘I brought you some soup, if you can manage it. I think that knock on the head was a bit harder than anyone thought, although the doctors did rule out the possibility of concussion.’

‘Perhaps it was,’ Abby agreed. ‘And, actually, I’m starving.’

‘That’s a good sign. Just a moment.’ He left the room, returning
a few minutes later with a tray of food. Abby looked down at the steaming bowl of soup, chunk of fresh bread, and cup of tea—milky and sweet, just as she liked it. She felt tears rise behind her lids and lodge in her throat in an aching lump. She couldn’t bear him to be so kind, so utterly thoughtful, and yet know that he was only doing it because of the baby. She wanted it to be because of her.

She wanted him to love her.

Abby pushed these thoughts away, managing a smile as she took a sip of soup. ‘Thank you. It’s delicious.’

‘Courtesy of the pub,’ Luc told her. ‘Cooking, alas, is not one of my talents.’

‘Mine neither.’

‘Yes, I remember—learning to cook was right under flying a kite in a list of things you wanted to do.’

‘And still haven’t learned,’ Abby replied with a shrug and a smile, although she was more touched than she could admit by Luc’s memory. Luc was staring at her in a thoughtful, assessing way that she didn’t quite like. She turned back to her soup.

‘Abby,’ Luc finally said, his voice turning gentle, ‘we need to discuss the future.’ Abby said nothing. The lump in her throat had grown bigger, and her eyes burned. She stared down at her soup, blinking hard. ‘You cannot continue here as you are,’ Luc said, his voice low and steady. ‘Surely you see that?’

‘I understand,’ Abby said after a long moment, ‘that I can’t continue lifting boxes.’

‘Or living alone, or working as you have been. None of it—you heard the doctor.’

‘What am I supposed to do, then?’ Abby demanded. ‘Lie in bed for the next four months?’

‘No, of course not,’ Luc replied after a brief pause, making Abby think that was exactly what he would like her to do. She was carrying precious cargo, after all. ‘But you
need to rest and relax, without worry for money or meals or any of that.’

‘That does sound nice,’ Abby said with a little laugh. ‘Although—’

‘I want you to come to France.’ Luc cut her off abruptly. ‘With me.’

Abby stilled, his words reverberating through her. Then she looked up, and was caught by the intensity of Luc’s firm stare. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said slowly.

‘It’s the only workable solution,’ Luc replied, his tone turning brisk. ‘I can’t stay in Cornwall, and there’s nothing really keeping you here anyway.’

Abby bristled. ‘What about my job—and Grace?’

‘Your job has to end,’ Luc informed her brusquely. ‘And Grace can visit if she means so much to you. You need looking after.’

‘I’m not an invalid—’

‘Not yet. But you’re anaemic and exhausted, Abby, and you have a condition that requires some care. You must see the reason in this!’ He paused, and when he spoke again his voice was careful, controlled. ‘I accept that you do not wish to spend time with me, as it will undoubtedly be uncomfortable for us both. But, for the sake of our child, surely we can both look past this…discomfort and do what is necessary?’

He made it sound as if spending time together was the equivalent of taking a dose of particularly nasty medicine. Perhaps it was, to him.

It was that thought that made her determined not to go to France, as much as her heart leaped at the thought. As much as she wanted to. In the end it would be unbearable, living with Luc, being so near him and yet still so very far away.

‘There have to be other options.’

‘Let’s name them, shall we?’ Luc sat down in the chair next
to her bed and began to tick off on his fingers. ‘You could go and stay with your mother?’

Abby shook her head. ‘No, she’s too busy.’ The thought of spending her days in the little terraced house in Manchester, listening to her mother’s lectures about how to resurrect her music career, was too awful an idea to contemplate.

‘Your father, then.’

Again Abby shook her head. ‘He’s on tour.’

‘Tour?’

She smiled. ‘My retirement turned out to be the best thing for both of us. He turned back to his own music and was picked up by an agent. He’s going on tour for the next few months. That’s why I was in London, actually.’