We unpacked our gear, shoed up and strolled over to the first tee.

“How many strokes do I get?” asked Pierre with a grin. “None.” “Wait a minute. That’s not reasonable. I haven’t played for several months; I don’t know the course and I’ve never played with these new clubs before – and on top of that, over here you guys drive on the left!”

Mike and I looked at each other. “I suppose he is our guest,” I said. “Tell you what. We’ll toss a coin. If you call it right you can have one shot on each nine to use when you want, but you must announce it on the tee before you start the hole. OK ?”

He called heads, won the toss and off we went. Pierre, we discovered fairly quickly, knew how to hit a golf ball. Being physically fairly small and wiry, his swing was compact and he relied on timing for distance. No great heaves of the club, just a smooth swing, a nice wrist movement and the ball flew effortlessly off the face of the club. After a few holes he started to get the hang of his new clubs and he and I settled down to a tight contest. He was three down by the eighth but had caught up his deficit by the time we got to the fourteenth. From then on it was stroke for stroke for the next four holes.

All square on the eighteenth tee. Pierre and Mike had got to know each other during the round and seemed to be getting along fine. I had intentionally left them walking up the fairways together as much as possible. I wanted Mike’s impressions of him to be as little influenced by me as possible. That little hesitation when I had announced that he was joining us still made me wonder a bit. When we had shared our dinner and the wine had been flowing I had perhaps not been as alert as I should have been. Once I had got over the surprise of his story I have to admit I wanted to believe him as I had instinctively liked him. There was still the second reason why he had wanted to meet me and that hadn’t come out yet.

We still had the eighteenth to play. It’s actually not a difficult hole when you know it. Seeing it for the first time, however, it looks rather daunting. As you stand on the tee with the flag in the distance waving in front of the clubhouse you’re starting to think of that nice cold beer. But between you and that beer there is a drive across an immense dip in the ground which stretches completely across the course in front of you and is all rough. To reach the fairway there is a carry of about a hundred and fifty yards but it looks more. If you don’t make it you’re dead. It is full of hillocks and patches of heather and the only clear ground is the path that wends its way through this mess of vegetation.

Pierre looked at it with apprehension. I wasn’t going to tell him the distance. It looks further than it really is. I grinned at him.

“All square and one to play?”

“Sure – no problem.” It was my honour. On a good day I could clear it with a four iron but that would be giving away the fact that it was not as long as it looked. So I took out my three wood and fortunately hit a clean one straight up the middle. You can’t see it bounce on the other side but I knew I was fine.

Pierre was up next. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me the distance to the fairway?”

Mike and I exchanged glances. Two smiles and two shakes of the head.

He had seen the club I had taken. He knew that I hit the ball just a little bit longer than he did. What he didn’t know, and I did, was that I had landed probably fifty yards clear of the rubbish in front of us.

He teed up his ball, hesitated a bit over his choice of club and finally plumped for the driver.

We could feel the tension and the nervousness as he started his back swing. Unfortunately for him he forced his shot. The hands came through just a bit too quickly and, although he hit the ball cleanly with the centre of the club face, the result was a solidly hit slice. We all watched the ball curve gracefully through the air and finish up amongst the trees on the right of the fairway.

“Bad luck.” Mike and I were both very sympathetic but he realised that he had been had.

“You bastards,” he said, “That ball’s miles over.” “But not straight I’m afraid,” said Mike with a grin. “You wait. The hole’s not finished.” We wended our way down the path and up the other side in a solid spirit of comradeship. It had been an enjoyable game and Mike seemed to be getting on well with his newly acquired half-brother.

We finished the last hole in good spirits. A par for me. Pierre hit a lovely four iron out of the trees and chipped on to about four yards. Mike managed to chip in from twenty yards short of the green which made his day. We conceded Pierre’s putt, explaining that it was a tradition of the club to do so to someone who was playing the course for the first time. I don’t think he believed us but accepted it gratefully.

After stowing away our clubs in the car and changing our shoes we repaired to the bar to refresh ourselves and ease my aching muscles.

“Pints all round?” asked Mike, still looking disturbingly fresh and chirpy.

He brought them over to us at a table by the window, sat down and grinned at us. He was still basking in the glory of that twenty-yard chip on the eighteenth. All the thrashing around in the rough earlier was completely forgotten.

Pierre and I exchanged a resigned glance as he relived his moment of glory. It had been an enjoyable round and amply served its purpose. I had seen Pierre on a golf course and it had helped me confirm my initial impressions of him.

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to organise for you to meet your half-sister now. I haven’t asked you how long you’re planning to stay in Scotland.”

Pierre didn’t answer at once. He seemed to be trying to decide to say something but wasn’t sure if it was the right moment. After a pause he addressed himself to me.

“Do you remember that I told you that there were two reasons for my trip over?”

“Yes.” “Well I’d like to tell you both the second reason. I need some advice, or some help, on a financial matter here in Scotland.”

This came as a bit of a surprise. What kind of financial matter could Pierre be involved in over here?

Naturally I said I would help him if I could, little imagining the dramatic consequences that we were all about to get involved in.

Chapter 4

A quiet beer in the bar of the club house is, I suppose, as good a place as any to be the starting point of a major change in the direction of my life. Especially at the age of sixty-six.

When I look back on it I wonder what Liz would have said if I had come home to her with the news of an unknown brother and the prospect of a much more active retirement than I had envisaged. She’d have taken it in her stride, I think. She had always been very pragmatic about my sense of adventure and my sometimes cock-eyed ideas. Much as we had had a wonderful relationship, since my retirement she had had to adjust to me being around the house much more than before and upsetting the rhythm of her life. She’d probably have welcomed anything that took me out and about.

“So how can I help, Pierre?” “Let me get us all another drink first,” he said and went over to the bar to order.

Mike looked across at me, “What do you think this is all about?”

“I haven’t a clue, but we’ll soon find out.” Pierre came back and carefully deposited the drinks on the table and sat down again.

“The other night over dinner I told you about how my father happens to be the same man you both know as your father. I was distinctly nervous as to the reaction I would get as you can probably well imagine and, if you remember, most of what we talked about was him and how it had all happened.”

“I didn’t tell you much about myself. I first of all needed to know how you would react and how we might get on with each other. The fact that we are sitting here together after a very pleasant morning, enjoying a beer, leads me to believe that you’ve both got over the shock and that we will be good friends. I certainly hope so. I’ll never be able to have the closeness with you two that you have with each other, having been brought up together within a family situation, but I hope we can get somewhere near it.”