I agreed to the beer suggested by Oliver and went back in to see Heather. She was just washing her hands, having finished whatever it was she had been doing. I went over, gave her a hug and signaled her to sit down for a minute.

“So the surprise friend is not female,” she said with a grin. “You had me wondering.”

“No, not female. French, in fact. I’ll introduce him to you in a minute.”

Oliver wandered through clutching several bottles of beer. “We’ll be out in a few minutes,” I called.

“Take your time.” I then proceeded to tell my wee sister about the unexpected visitor I had had the previous week, the dinner we had together and the astonishing news. She listened to the whole story without a word of interruption. When I had finished she looked at me closely.

“You’re kidding, aren’t you?” “Absolutely not. It’s all true. You can even see a family resemblance from time to time.”

“And you believe this story from someone turning up out of the blue?”

“I really do – and he’s a nice guy. Mike and I have got to know him over the last week and we’ve had a chance to get used to the idea. I have to admit it was a bit of a shock at first. But when you think about, it doesn’t seem an unreasonable story. Apparently he’s not the only person in France of that generation who didn’t know his father. I’m telling you, when he put that photo down on the table in front of me I was completely astounded. It’s a smaller version of exactly the same one as you’ve got hanging in your dining room.”

We explored the business from all angles for a few minutes until Heather seemed to me to be convinced. Finally she got up and said, “Well, I suppose I’d better go and meet him.”

Mike, Oliver and Pierre had migrated over to the duck pond and were chatting amiably, glasses in their hands. They turned as we approached. Pierre must have guessed that Heather had been told. He looked at her rather nervously.

She walked slowly up to him, her keen eyes taking in everything about him. She paused about three feet away, cleared her throat, swallowed and then said in a soft voice, “Bob has just told me.”

Her lips quivered and her eyes started to water. She took a step forward, put her arms round him and said “Welcome.”

She let go of him after a few seconds and stepped back. “It’s a bit of a shock, as you can well imagine, and it’s going to take some getting used to. Come on. Put your beer down and let’s go for a short walk. The lunch can wait a bit. It’s cold stuff anyway.”

She took him by the arm and walked off down the driveway.

Oliver clearly wondered what the hell was going on. He looked at me questioningly, then at Mike, then at his wife and this stranger wandering off down the drive talking to each other.

“Could someone tell me what is going on?” Just then there was a shriek from the house, followed by the emergence of two young boys from the kitchen door dressed in swimming shorts. They pelted past us and plunged into the pond to the vocal disapproval of the sitting tenants. The ducks took off noisily and the boys had the water to themselves.

I looked at Mike. “Why don’t you go off for a short wander and explain to Oliver. I’ll look out for the boys.”

Mike nodded his agreement and he and Oliver went off with their beers in the direction of the horse field. I was left to sit on the bench and babysit while I awaited the return of the family.

When all four had returned and before we all sat down to lunch we agreed that it wouldn’t be right to tell the kids. Heather would organise breaking the news to their mother first.

Lunch was jovial. The food was, as always, excellent. The Pouilly Fuissé was deliciously cold. Jokes about the French cropped up. The kids were boisterous but also curious about a country they had never visited and peppered Pierre with questions which he handled with good humour. He was clearly interested in them and gave as good as he got. Vague plans were discussed about going out to France, although we had not yet mentioned how rich our new brother was.

I was quieter than usual and was more interested in watching Pierre slip into an affectionate relationship with my family. All in all things had gone even better than I had hoped. Pierre was delighted with his new-found sister. After we had finished eating she took him to show him round the farm and introduce him to the horses.

By the middle of the afternoon Mike had left for his evening rendezvous and Oliver, Pierre, Heather and I carried on chattering until Heather proposed that we stay for supper. The main subject was of course Dad and we were able to add still more of the picture to Pierre. He was also able to tell what he knew about that year in France from what he had heard from his mother. We knew almost nothing of that period in Dad’s life.

I drove a very happy Pierre back through to Fife and deposited him at his hotel. We agreed to get together the next day. I still had to tell him about my visit to Alice.

The next morning I was obliged to call Pierre earlier than anticipated.

“Hi, it’s Bob. Morning. Sorry to bother you but could you come over this morning? I think I’ve had a break in at home.”

“What?” “I said that I think someone has been in my house – presumably while we were away yesterday. Can you come over?”

“That sounds crazy. Has anything been taken?” “I don’t think so. That’s what’s so strange.” “Hold on. I’ll be with you in three quarters of an hour.” He arrived fifty minutes later. During the time I was waiting for him I had gone over the house a second time to make sure that nothing was missing. I saw his car draw up outside and went to let him in. He entered, looking concerned. I offered him a drink. While I was pouring a beer he looked around the downstairs looking puzzled.

“If nothing is gone, how do you know there’s been a break in? How did they get in?”

“I haven’t a clue. There are no broken windows or bust locks or anything. If I’m right they were professionals.”

“What do you mean nothing? How do you know someone’s been in here then?”

I explained how, when I had got up and was having my breakfast, I suddenly had a feeling that there was something strange about the house.

“I couldn’t put my finger on it but it troubled me. When I was putting the breakfast things away I noticed a leaf lying on the floor in the kitchen. I absentmindedly picked it up to put it in the rubbish. Then I thought, wait a minute, that’s queer. I’m normally very fastidious about brushing my feet when I come in the back door from the garden. How the hell did this leaf get there? I’m sure it wasn’t there yesterday when I left. I’m sure I would have noticed it.”

“So, what then?” asked Pierre. “I had a look around. Everything seemed normal, but . . .”

I then explained to him how I had gone back into the living room. I had stood in the middle of the floor and scanned the room slowly. It had seemed as usual.

“But you get used to certain things being in certain places when you live on your own. And you know that you’re the only person that can move things.”

“That I understand,” said Pierre. “I have one particular hang up which always used to annoy Liz. I hate pictures that are not exactly horizontal. Sometimes I even check them with a spirit level. Liz thought I was daft but it’s always been something that disturbs me. I’ve even been known, much to her embarrassment, to straighten pictures in other people’s houses, or tell the proprietor of a restaurant that his pictures are squint.”

“What did you notice?” “Dad’s picture, on the wall leading towards the kitchen, was not quite right and that big oil over there of Glencoe that Liz gave me for our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary was definitely on a slant. How the hell could that have happened?”

I then described to Pierre how slowly the idea had started to percolate into my brain that someone had come into the house while I was out and had been snooping around. Impossible. Crazy. But what if it was true?