He did, when I was thirteen. I had just played the part of his younger counterpart in a school play about the Liberation of the Ministry, written by none other than Karoline Baddock, née Moon. He found the whole thing terribly distasteful, but apparently felt bad (hard to imagine, from him?) that he might have hurt my feelings with his response.

But no, he didn't know what red roses meant. Not terribly cunning, that.