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CHAPTER THREE

‘YOU’RE going where? And to do what?’

Susan Burns’s voice was shrill, and Maisie winced as she held the receiver further away from her ear. She had been expecting something like this, she told herself, and she didn’t have to justify her decision to her mother. She was a grown woman, not a schoolgirl. But everything was always a battle.

From the moment her father had walked out on them when she was eight years old and her mother had had to assume the role of a single parent, she had tried to rule Maisie with a rod of iron. She had been that way with her husband to some extent; perhaps that was why he had decided enough was enough and had taken himself off to America, where he’d obtained a very good job in his specialised branch of microbiology, before being killed in a car accident just eighteen months after he’d left England.

Most of the time Maisie went along with her mother’s demands, for an easy life, but there had been a few issues over which she’d dug her heels in. The first had been her decision not to apply for a degree course in one of the areas her mother had deemed suitable. The second had been to take up relatively low paid employment simply because she liked the work, and the third—over which her mother was still smarting —had been her resolution not to move up north when her mother had announced her plans to move to Sheffield three years ago. It had been high time to finally cut the umbilical cord. Maisie had seen it clearly, even though her mother had not and probably never would.

‘I’m going to Italy for a while to take care of some animals for a branch of Jackie’s family,’ Maisie repeated patiently. ‘It’s a good opportunity to get away and assess where I want to go from here. To take stock of my life.’

Her mother snorted. She’d got it down to an art and it was the most irritating sound in the world. ‘You would be far better served to move up here with me and get a decent job. You’re too old to go gallivanting. Your Aunt Eva only said the other day that this thing with Jeff was probably a sign for you to be here with us all.

Maisie was glad they weren’t connected by camera phone. ‘Us all’ meant her mother’s branch of the family, which consisted of three sisters and their families all living in and round about Sheffield. All her aunts were like her mother, and Maisie would have considered it hell on earth to be up there. She had made a rude face but now she took a deep breath and said evenly, ‘I don’t see it that way and, like I’ve said before, all my friends are here, Mum. I like living in London.’

‘Is that why you’re skedaddling off to Italy?’

‘I’m going for a couple of months or so—a short break, that’s all—and when I come back I’ll find another job. It’s no big deal.’

‘And what if this Italy thing doesn’t work out?’

‘Then I’ll be back sooner than I expected.’ Maisie decided to cut the phone call short; a quarrel was brewing and she wasn’t in the mood to continue in saintly mode. ‘I’ll talk to you again in a day or so but I have to go now. OK? Bye, Mum. Take care.’ She put down the receiver before her mother could object.

Having been satisfyingly assertive, Maisie sat staring round her bedsit once she had finished the phone call. It was dreary, although she’d tried to make the best of a bad job with bright cushions and pots and throws to brighten the place. The trouble was that it needed some money thrown at it to make it anything like light and modern, and if anyone did have any money they wouldn’t choose to live here in the first place. Why spend time and effort on a rented property if you had some spare cash which meant you could perhaps take on a mortgage?

‘I don’t want to live here any more.’ Maisie spoke the words of truth which had been hovering in her subconscious for some time, now she thought about it. With Jeff’s ring on her finger and their marriage in view she had thought her days here were numbered. Now she found she wasn’t about to compromise.

It was a revelation. But a good one, she decided, after the distinctly iffy ones concerning Jeff and the beanpole. She hadn’t engineered this but she had already discussed the rent of the bedsit with Blaine, and she had a hefty cheque in her bag right now to cover her four months sojourn in foreign climes. She wouldn’t complicate things by explaining she had decided to move home, but simply bank the money after giving her landlord notice here in the next day or so. And once she was back in England in the autumn she would reconsider her position. London was expensive, horrifically so, and she could easily up sticks and move elsewhere. Not Sheffield—never that—but there were other places where her family wouldn’t take over and she would be allowed to live her own life. She would still continue to keep in contact with her real friends like Jackie, and the rest of them didn’t matter in the overall scheme of things.

The intrusive ring of the telephone cut short her musings. It could only be her mother, determined to have the last word. Excusing the words that came to mind by telling herself she hadn’t actually voiced them, Maisie snatched up the phone. ‘Yes?’ she snapped.

There was a succinct pause. ‘Something tells me I’ve rung at an inopportune moment?’ Blaine drawled softly.

You’d think he’d done it on purpose. Well, she wasn’t sure he hadn’t, Maisie snarled to herself. She counted to ten before she said, ‘Blaine, sorry. I’ve just had some milk boil over. You know how it is.’ Of course he didn’t. He had the air of a man who had never had to do anything domestic for himself in the whole of his life.

‘Cocoa?’

‘What?’

‘The milk. It’s eleven o’clock at night. I thought it might be cocoa you were making. I understand it is a passion of you British at bedtime.’

She ignored the curls in her stomach that his intonation of the word passion had caused and breathed through her nose. He was being nasty. She just knew it. Insinuating that she had nothing better to do at night than drink cocoa.

Because her brain wouldn’t compute milk and the uses thereof, she said, ‘Is there a problem?’ Please don’t say you have changed your mind, not now I’ve called my mother.

‘No problem,’ he said lazily. ‘Just to let you know I’ve reserved your tickets and you’re flying out on Tuesday afternoon. I trust you can tie up any loose strings here by then?’

There wasn’t enough to merit a knot. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Good.’ A brief pause ensued. ‘I’ll meet you at the airport and take you to the house.’

‘There’s no need for that. I can get a taxi.’

‘I’m sure you can, Maisie.’ It was dry. ‘Nevertheless I shall meet you. You are a guest in my country.’

‘I’m an employee.’ She didn’t want him to think she had any expectations.

‘Not my employee,’ he said silkily.

She floundered, the image of a long lean body and wickedly handsome face flashing on the screen of her mind. ‘You … don’t have to.’

‘I know.’ The deep voice and accent was an unfair combination. ‘I want to. You are Jackie’s dearest friend, after all.’

He was laughing at her. She couldn’t see his face but she was sure he was laughing at her. Stiffly now, she said, ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

This time the throb of amusement was unmistakable. Maisie glared at the receiver. The telephone in the bedsit was antiquated. She had seen the state-of-the-art whizkid mobile phone he’d used earlier—it added insult to injury. ‘Goodbye,’ she said tightly.

‘Goodnight, Maisie.’ His tone was easy and relaxed. It told her more blatantly than any words could have done that she could indulge in her little tantrums and he didn’t give a damn. And then she realised she’d got it wrong again when he added, ‘His loss, Italy’s gain. The guy was a fool, Maisie. Don’t waste time thinking about him. He isn’t worth it.’ And the phone went dead.

When Maisie exited Naples airport on Tuesday afternoon she was tired and more than a little apprehensive. It hadn’t been until she was actually on the plane that the enormity of what she had let herself in for had hit her, along with the fact that she would be in effect homeless once she returned to England. But that was all right, she told herself firmly as she shaded her eyes with her hand and glanced round for Blaine, berating herself for not buying a pair of decent sunglasses before she left England. A friend was storing her few bits and pieces and personal belongings in a spare room until she returned home, and Sue had been very enthusiastic about Maisie staying with her until she fixed up a job and somewhere to stay. So she wouldn’t exactly be destitute. Far from it, in fact, with Blaine’s very healthy cheque having plumped up her bank balance, which hopefully would be added to while she was in Italy.

No, her apprehension wasn’t caused by the situation she would face when she returned home but by what she would be facing in the immediate future, she thought, watching a sleek and beautiful black Ferrari nose towards her. It wasn’t until Blaine called her name that she realised it was his car, however.

Oh, wow … She tried to stop her mouth from falling open as she watched him jump out of the sleek confines of the elegant car.

‘Hi, Maisie. Good journey?’

He was wearing an open-necked black shirt and pale cotton trousers, and with his eyes hidden by screamingly expensive sunglasses he was a perfect moving monochrome of black and white. The epitome of Italian manhood, in fact. Jackie had filled her in on the wealth the family enjoyed in Italy, which was considerable due to the successful chain of hotels and cafés Roberto’s father owned and which Blaine now managed, and everything about him reflected this as he reached her side. ‘Very good, thank you,’ she managed evenly as he took her suitcase and sports bag. ‘How is your father?’

‘Bearing up.’

Probably because they were in Italy his accent seemed more pronounced than it had in England, and as he opened the car door for her she felt ridiculously shy as she slid into the car with an excessive show of leg. She had never been in such a low-slung powerful car before and it felt almost as though they were on a level with the road as Blaine folded himself into the driving seat.

Gathering her skirt chastely round her, Maisie said nervously, ‘Thank you for coming to meet me.’

‘My pleasure.’ He smiled at her before starting the engine and her stomach twirled.

As he drove out of the airport she sat stiffly beside him, her hands unconsciously clenched into two fists on her lap and her back straight. He seemed even more good-looking and overtly sexy than he had in England, and the close intimacy of the car had every nerve in her body twanging. And they had well over an hour’s drive in front of them, she thought despairingly. Not that she fancied him, of course—she wasn’t that stupid—but it was the whole experience that had wound her up—the car, the man, the bright sunshine, the foreign climes …

He drove the car surely and expertly through the busy traffic, which to Maisie’s fevered gaze didn’t seem to have any rhyme or reason to it. There was a great deal of blaring of horns and screeching tyres, which was less than reassuring, especially as she felt more vulnerable than she’d ever felt in the whole of her life.

‘In a little while you will begin to see the beauty of my country,’ Blaine assured her as the car weaved and dived through the mêlée all around them. ‘I am probably biased, but to me Sorrento is everything that is good about Italy. For centuries it was our best kept secret, contained to just a few privileged foreign travellers, and then Tennessee Williams made it the playground of the affluent and the famous.’ He shrugged. ‘Fortunately Sorrento’s charm cannot be spoilt by excess or those who do not understand her.’

Maisie could detect the delicious aftershave she had smelt before in England, something sharp and sensual, and her voice came out less controlled than she would have liked when she said, ‘Surely the jet set’s presence is good for the hotel and restaurant business?’

‘Of course.’ He shrugged again, a very Latin action. ‘One cannot have everything in life; isn’t that what they say?’

Whoever ‘they’ were, they’d nearly got it wrong with Blaine, she thought ruefully. Roberto’s younger brother might not have absolutely everything, but he was well on the way to it. A privileged upbringing in a stunning part of the world, good looks, wealth—Blaine was the original Italian playboy, in fact. Forget being born with a silver spoon in his mouth; he had a whole cutlery set.

The traffic thankfully became a little more orderly as they left the airport behind and as the car gathered speed Maisie was enchanted with what she saw. Dominated by Mount Vesuvius, Naples was everything she’d heard it to be—bustling, alive, full of breathtaking architecture and rich colours. She made up her mind that before she went home she would explore the city. She could always delay her departure by a week or so and book into a cheap hotel for a few nights. She might never come to this part of the world again and now she was here she wanted to explore most of it.

It was as they wound around the peninsular towards Sorrento that Blaine, without glancing at her, said, ‘Could you try and relax a little? You’re making me feel as though you expect me to run out of petrol or something.’

Maisie had been looking out of the window at the spectacular view that was unfolding, but now her eyes shot to his face. ‘I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you,’ she said tightly.

He said nothing, simply turning his head for a moment and glancing meaningfully at her hands, which were still clenched in her lap.

She breathed in deeply. OK, perhaps not then, but Blaine Morosini was not a man you relaxed with easily. Not that she wanted him to guess that it was his close proximity that was keeping her on tenterhooks. Hastily she said, ‘It’s all a bit unnerving, that’s all. Coming to a foreign country to work for someone you haven’t seen and not knowing anyone.’

‘You know me.’

Well, yeah. Not a great help, actually. That was the main problem, in fact.

His frown smoothed to a quizzical ruffle. ‘I will show you the sights while you are here. You would like to see a little of Italy, yes?’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ she said quickly.

‘Maisie, I never do anything I do not wish to do.’

Now that she could believe. She opened her mouth to insist that she was here to work first and foremost but he continued seamlessly, ‘Besides, my mother would be horrified at the thought that you do not expect to enjoy yourself while you are here. She is very grateful for your services but would not dream of taking advantage of your good nature.’

She looked at him warily. She wasn’t sure Blaine thought she did have a good nature. And this smacked of him feeling sorry for her. She wouldn’t be at all the sort of female he was used to escorting. Socialites, models, the beautiful and the talented, all exquisitely dressed, no doubt, and all used to caviar and the rest of it—they would be the kind of woman he would be seen out and about with. He was probably looking at her as a little waif and stray and she didn’t like it.

She swallowed. ‘I think it might be best to see how things go,’ she said carefully. ‘Whether your mother wants me to stay, if the animals settle with me …’

‘As you wish.’

He didn’t sound as if he cared one way or the other, which bore out her supposition. She slanted a look at him under her eyelashes as he concentrated on the winding road ahead. She didn’t think she had ever met such a male man, she thought uncomfortably. It wasn’t just the broad shoulders and muscled arms or the curling black hair visible at the top of his chest through the open-necked shirt, it was him, an aura—oh, she couldn’t find the words to describe it. But, whatever it was, it was dangerous and all the more powerful for his casual unconsciousness of it.

She turned her head and stared out of the window. Blaine was the very antithesis of Jeff. He was blond and boyish-faced, the sort of man she usually went for. Gary, her first love, had been the same. And they had both been cheating so-and-so’s. They’d both been the helpless kind of male too, but she hadn’t minded that. She’d enjoyed looking after them and fussing round them. At least that was what she’d told herself at the time.

As the thought struck her eyes narrowed. Neither of them had wanted to look after her, she realised with something of a jolt. They wouldn’t have dreamt of meeting her like Blaine had done today; they would just have assumed that good old practical, sensible Maisie would have sorted herself out. And she probably would have, she admitted, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t nice to have someone take charge once in a while.

Why hadn’t she realised this before? She frowned to herself as she searched her feelings. Probably because she had been too busy making sure no one tried to tell her what to do or forced their will on her in the way her mother had attempted to do all her life. Subconsciously she had started a pendulum swinging without realising it had gone too far. Her frown deepened. Hell, she hadn’t realised she was so mixed up.

‘Are you hungry?’

‘What?’ She came out of her reverie to the sound of Blaine’s voice and blushed scarlet as though he’d been privy to her thoughts. ‘Oh, a little. Not too bad.’

‘I’m starving.’

They were climbing high above the blue waters of the Bay of Naples now and had just passed a tiny village of terracotta-roofed stone houses clinging to the cliffs. Citrus orchards, vineyards and olive groves were becoming apparent in the golden sunshine bathing the southern coastline.

‘There’s a wonderful old inn on this road where I eat sometimes; they serve the best fish and crustaceans in the world. We’ll stop there. You like seafood?’ he added as an afterthought.

Maisie smiled. No one could accuse Blaine of being a helpless male, that was for sure. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Good.’

He smiled at her, just a quick smile before his eyes returned to the windscreen, but Maisie found her heart was pounding and it horrified her. What was the matter with her? she asked herself silently. She was broken-hearted over Jeff, wasn’t she? So how could another man’s smile—a man she didn’t even like—make her heart race and her senses heighten in what was a definitely sensual way? Certainly she had never had this problem with Jeff or anyone else for that matter. In fact, she had always considered herself rather a cold fish sexually. It certainly hadn’t involved an enormous amount of sacrifice on her part when she had kept any lovemaking to boundaries that did not involve full intercourse. She had always felt that ultimate commitment was for marriage and, although most of her friends had thought she was mad, she’d stuck to her guns on the issue with both Gary and Jeff, neither of whom had seemed to mind too much. She couldn’t see Blaine Morosini accepting such stipulations from any of his girlfriends, though. She glanced at him again, her eyes registering the way his trousers pulled tight across lean hips in the confines of the car, accentuating his flagrant masculinity. She suddenly felt hot.

By the time they arrived at the inn, situated on a vertiginous slope, its window-boxes blazing with bougainvillea and bright red geraniums, Maisie was glad to get out of the Ferrari. She didn’t know if it was the car or what, but she had never been so conscious of every tiny movement from another human being in the whole of her life and it was not conducive to easy conversation or relaxed travelling.

Sorrento was only a short distance away now, however, and once fortified by a good meal she could keep her thoughts under control until she was safely at Blaine’s mother’s house. She hoped.

In view of her suddenly improved bank balance she had splashed out and bought a couple of new things before she’d left, the first new clothes she had had in ages. Green had always suited her warm colouring and brown hair, and as they walked up the steps leading to the front door of the inn Maisie was glad she’d decided to wear the pale green gypsy skirt and delicate fitted chiffon top in a mixture of greens and browns to travel in. She probably wouldn’t eat out with Blaine ever again and she wanted to look … nice.

Once inside the inn she found the view from the big shuttered windows was tranquil and the glass of wine Blaine placed in her hand was like the nectar of the gods. They had been seated at a little table for two by the smiling inn-keeper and she sensed immediately that Blaine was a favoured customer.

‘This is lovely.’ She absorbed her surroundings like a child at a wonderful birthday party. ‘It’s so utterly Italian.’

Blaine nodded gravely. ‘I’ve always thought so,’ he said seriously and then, as he caught her eye, he allowed his mouth to twist in a smile. ‘You will love Italy,’ he assured her softly. ‘It’s a passionate country, warm and vibrant and emotional.’

She stared at him. ‘Do you consider yourself more Italian than American?’ she asked curiously, wondering how his mother would feel about that.

The raven head tilted as he considered. ‘I think so,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’ve always lived in Italy, of course, but several times a year I’ve taken trips to America to see my maternal grandparents and aunts and uncles and so on. It is certainly my second home. But Italy is my lifeblood; it sings through my veins like rich red wine. You know?’

Maisie shook her head. ‘Not really. I’m just an ordinary English girl,’ she said, half jokingly.

He frowned. ‘Do not say that. That you are ordinary.’

She looked at him in surprise. ‘But I am.’

‘I do not think so.’ The greeny-blue eyes were almost luminescent. ‘The other friend of Jackie, the girl who was with us in the coffee bar, her name escapes me—’

‘Sue.’ It felt indescribably good that he’d forgotten Sue’s name, which she knew was horribly bitchy.

‘Ah, yes, Sue. Now Sue is an ordinary girl. Articulate, attractive, independent, successful—’

He needn’t spoil it.

‘But without that spark.’

‘Spark?’ She didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about.

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you fishing for compliments?’

‘No.’ She glared at him over her wineglass. ‘Of course not. I don’t know what you mean, that’s all.’

‘Perhaps that’s the secret.’

He was talking in riddles and her stomach was rumbling. She’d discovered since she had been in the inn and smelt the food that she was, in fact, ravenously hungry. Her brow wrinkled. ‘Secret?’

‘No matter.’ He looked at her quietly as a waiter appeared at their elbow with two menus. Once he had departed and she gazed helplessly at the writing, which was all in Italian—only to be expected, of course—Blaine said, ‘Would you like me to choose something delicious for you? As I said, I eat here fairly often and I’m used to the various dishes.’

‘Thank you.’ He probably knew she couldn’t speak a word of his language, so Maisie said, ‘I was never any good at languages at school; it was the sciences that grabbed me.’

‘Interesting.’ His eyes laughed at her. ‘And lucky sciences.’

Was he flirting with her? Maisie stared at him uncertainly. But then Italian men flirted all the time, didn’t they? Of course Roberto didn’t but he was Jackie’s father and therefore relegated into a different strata. She gave a tentative smile.

‘I will have to teach you some basic Italian while you are here, yes?’

Umm, probably no.

‘Polite words, of course—thank you, please, how to ask for directions if you are lost, that sort of thing. And the casual brush-off to unwanted suitors. That might not be quite so polite.’

He was definitely flirting with her. Maisie refused to acknowledge how captivating it was to have a man like Blaine flirting with her, telling herself that as she was the only woman present it wasn’t quite such a triumph. Any port in a storm sort of thing.

The waiter appeared again and Blaine fired off an order in rapid Italian, which still managed to sound utterly soft and enchanting. It really was a gorgeous language. Like the country. And the men. The last thought jolted Maisie into realising she hadn’t eaten a thing since breakfast—thanks to the euphoria of losing six pounds in as many days she’d been motivated to starve herself some more—and the glass of wine in her hand was empty. She had also had two gin and tonics on the plane to steady her nerves—perhaps not such a good idea with hindsight.

Another glass of wine appeared in front of her like magic. Obviously Blaine had seen her empty glass when he had ordered the food. Not wishing his mother’s first impression of her to be one where she was carried into the house like a sack of coal, Maisie left it exactly where it was, saying, ‘What is it we’re eating?’

‘We are making the most of the fresh fish by having two courses where seafood features. Not exactly the done thing, I know, but …’ He gave another of his Latin shrugs and she wondered if he knew quite what it did to her. ‘We begin with carpaccio di tonno, which is essentially cooked peeled crayfish and very thin slices of fresh raw tuna on a bed of lemon iced salad sprigs. Following this I have chosen linguine all’aragosta because the lobster here is second to none. In most restaurants you would be lucky to get a few mouthfuls of lobster with the pasta but here even I am satisfied.’

Maisie nodded as though she knew exactly what he was talking about.

‘Ah, the appetisers.’ As the waiter reappeared with several small plates holding delectable-looking morsels, Blaine thanked him, adding to Maisie, ‘The Italian word for appetiser is antipasto, sì? This is your first lesson, mia piccola.’

He was becoming more Italian by the moment. And more irresistible. Something told her not to ask what the last two words meant. Instead she tucked into the appetisers and discovered they were absolutely delicious. As was the rest of the meal when it came.

Maisie had always liked her food and made no apology for it, although she would have loved to wave a magic wand, of course, and eat what she wanted without it showing on her waistline. Somehow she had never quite managed the knack of surviving on lettuce leaves and brown rice and all the other things which were devoid of cream and butter and everything that made life worth living, though. Halfway through the meal she decided to put the diet on hold until she was back in England. Time enough then for being miserable. She was well overdue a bit of pleasure with all she’d gone through in the last few weeks.

She did refuse dessert though. Not through any misguided and belated feeling of guilt but simply because she couldn’t eat another thing after the most wonderful lobster since the beginning of time.

‘You eat like a true Italian.’

They were sitting having coffee and Maisie was wondering how she was going to waddle out to the car when Blaine spoke. She looked at him warily. ‘Meaning?’

‘You enjoy your food. I cannot bear to sit and watch a woman move the food about her plate as though it is going to poison her.’

But he had probably been sufficiently attracted by their slim nubile bodies to take them out in the first place. Maisie acknowledged the waistband of her skirt was threatening to split. She had been thrilled to bits to find she could actually fit into a size twelve for the first time in years when she had gone on her shopping spree, even though it had been a bit of a near thing between that and the size fourteen. She wrinkled her small nose. ‘I’m not fashionably thin,’ she said, stating the obvious. ‘Jeff, my ex, went off with a size eight blonde who’s recently had breast enhancements.’ And then she wondered why on earth she had told him that.

He folded his arms over his chest, studying her with an air of quiet interest. ‘That must have been hard for you.’

In a nutshell, yes. She tried to inject a note of nonchalance into her voice. ‘It obviously wasn’t meant to be.’

‘No, it wasn’t.’

Not into comforting words and polite platitudes, then. Although he had only agreed with her, she found herself bristling. ‘Actually, we were very well matched.’

He raised cryptic eyebrows.

‘We both love animals and long walks and good food,’ she said determinedly, ‘and going to the theatre and lazy Sundays …’ What else? She knew there was more.

‘So does most of the population,’ said Blaine, his mouth curving.

‘We would have been very happy together.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘Oh, really?’ Maisie glared at him. ‘Why is that?’

‘Because if he was fool enough to let you go in the first place he would not have had sufficient fire to match you flame for flame,’ Blaine said with lazy coolness. ‘Fire and water never mix and this is the cause of many divorces. Passion must be met by equal passion or one partner will be left feeling unfulfilled and the other believing they haven’t measured up. This Jeff sounds like a water person to me.’

‘You don’t know him,’ she snapped while secretly thrilled that he thought she was a fire person. She wasn’t at all sure she was but she was glad he thought so.

‘I don’t have to. If he had fulfilled all he should have done you wouldn’t be like you are now at his going. You would be devastated, distraught—’

‘I was. I am!’ She was furious. ‘Just because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve, it doesn’t mean I’m not upset, does it.’

‘He did not touch the core of you, Maisie. Face it. He didn’t have what it takes. If you had married him you would both have been miserable in time. Maybe this size eight, breast-enhanced female is what he needs.’

‘So he did the right thing in starting an affair behind my back when we were due to be married in a few weeks’ time? Is that what you’re saying?’ She couldn’t remember when she had been more mad.