“She’s gone out somewhere with Rocco. They’ve been visiting the local estate agents.”

“When she returns get her to look at this.” He passed her the list.

“And you? What are your plans?”

“I need to lean on Julian for more information—the soil sample and the CCTV from the pub, for starters.”

He put his mother’s envelope on his desk.

“Something I should know about?”

“Nothing to do with the case—it’s personal.”

Ruth scrutinised the list of names. “There are six names here. I thought we were looking for three, sir.” She shuddered. “Aren’t you going to open that?”

“I’m trying to pluck up the courage. I keep putting it off; it’s something of a mystery. It’s from my mother, a letter from beyond the grave. She didn’t want me to have this until after she…well, until she was gone. So she left it with Monika. I went round last night and she gave it to me.”

“That’s good—you went to talk, so I presume things are better.

I’m glad you took my advice. Did you get anywhere? Are you and Monika back on track? Is that why you look tons better today?”

She wasn’t going to like this. No doubt she’d think he was a right idiot.

“Er, no—not really…Well, no not at all. Me and Monika are definitely over for good, I’m afraid.” His face was a picture of guilt.

“I don’t understand. What went wrong? Why didn’t you make her listen? You obviously didn’t do the right sort of grovelling.”

“No, that’s not it. I changed my mind about the whole thing. I actually went to the care home for an entirely different reason.”

“So what happened? And don’t spin me a tale either, Tom, because I know you.”

What was the use? She was going to find out sooner or later.

“Lydia’s back. She turned up on my doorstep yesterday, and—I just can’t resist her.”

“The blonde bimbo? Tom! Where’s your self-control?”

“Where she’s concerned, in my boots.”

“So, why’s she back now? What does she want?”

“I’d like to say because she can’t live without me—but that’s not it. She’s chasing my bloody cousin. He’s going to be the subject of some scoop she’s planning to write. Investigative journalism, she calls it, and I’m a soft target for the information she needs, apparently.”

“So she bats her lashes and you go to mush—is that about right?”

Calladine nodded. “I’m not proud of it, but I’m a push-over where that woman is concerned. She’s a weakness I can’t control.

Monika paled to insignificance the instant I saw Lydia.”

“You’re a disgrace! Lydia Holden’s bad news. Your future is with Monika and you know it. You’re not stupid. That blonde will dump you the minute she gets what she wants. You won’t know what hit you, it’ll happen so fast. Remember last time? She didn’t hang around then, did she?”

“I know all that, but having it stuffed down my throat doesn’t help. I like Lydia—really like her, so get off my back.”

Ruth knew she’d have to rein it in. “Okay, but don’t say you weren’t warned, when it all comes crashing down around your ears

—and it will. Anyway, you should open the envelope. That letter must contain something very important. Your mother left you that for a good reason.”

“The truth is it’s scaring the hell out of me. Why would she do this? Why couldn’t she simply tell me whatever it is, when she was alive?”

“I’ve no idea, Tom, so you should read it and then you can stop fretting.”

He picked it up and looked at the delicate handwriting. His mother’s hand. He’d not really felt the loss before, but now he felt it keenly. His stomach knotted and there was a lump in his throat.

She was gone and there wasn’t a thing he could do about it.

My dearest Tom,

If you’re reading this then I’m no longer with you. I know how upset you’ll be but please try to temper that with the memories you have of all the lovely times we spent together. I want you to be happy, son, and I don’t want you to mourn my passing. Do things as you think fit with regards to the funeral but put me in with your dad.

Now—to the real point of this, I have a confession to make. I have agonised over this all your life, and while you were with me I never had the courage to tell you. I knew you would be upset and I knew it would change things, which is why I decided to do it this way.

With this letter there is a key—it fits the cupboard in the back of the grandfather clock I gave you—the one in your hallway.

Inside the cupboard is a box and in there you will find the documents to support what I’m going to tell you now.

Fifty-two years ago your father had an affair. It didn’t last long and I forgave him. I never reproached him about it and you never found out. However—the outcome of that affair was you, Tom.

One night he came home with you in his arms. He also had a few baby clothes, your birth certificate and some photographs of your birth mother.

I hope you are sitting down to read this, son. I can only imagine the shock you must be feeling now. Anyway—I took you. Your dad and I never had any children of our own, so you were a gift I couldn’t refuse.

Despite how you’d been brought into my life, I loved you from the very moment I set eyes on you. You look very much like your father—so how could I not? He never extxted to me why your birth mother gave you up and I never asked. But he assured me that she would not come looking and she never did.

Forgive me, son, and please, try to understand why I kept this to myself. I couldn’t bring myself to spoil things—the things we had as a family. Look in the box and try not to think any worse of me.

Your loving mother.

Tears blurred his vision.

Ruth looked at him tenderly. “Cup of tea, Tom.” She patted his arm and rose to go and put the kettle on.

“Stick a scotch in it…Well she’s really gone and done it this time, hasn’t she?”

“Look—you don’t have to tell me just because I’m here. Like you said, it’s personal and I won’t pry. But if I can help, if there’s anything I can do, then tell me.”

Calladine tossed the letter over to her. “You are one of my closest friends as well as being my work partner—so go on—read it, please. I need to share this with someone, otherwise I’ll go barmy.”

Ruth sat down again opposite him and read through the letter.

“It’s one giant confession she’s making there; one that changes everything, don’t you think?” His voice was faltering. “Why didn’t she just tell me, explain it while she could? Reading that, it’s clear that the mistake was dads, not hers. At least then I could have got used to the idea – asked all the questions.”

“Perhaps she couldn’t, she’d be protecting him. She must have loved your father very much,” Ruth looked up. “She’d know that it would inevitably change how you felt about both your parents and possibly everything else too.”

“I’m a grown man—she could have told me. What did she imagine I was going to do? Go off the rails?”

“She brought you up—from infancy, so she is still your mother, Tom,”

“Not according to that, she isn’t. Not by blood anyway.”

They both fell silent.

“But does that really matter? Freda raised you, loved you and helped to make you the man you are. Surely that must count for something?” Ruth offered.

“Yes, of course it does, I’m not daft. But all these years and I never knew—I didn’t even suspect, not once. She should have told me—they both should have told me. Everyone has a right to know the truth about their parentage.”

“Well, she’s told you now, hasn’t she? And if you think about it, she didn’t have to. So the knowledge must have been a burden for her, and it will have taken some courage to write that.”

Ruth was right. There was no date on the letter, and he wondered when she had written it.

“You need time to take this in. Why don’t you go home? Look in that box and get your head together.”

“I can’t spare the time.” He reached in his desk drawer for the whiskey bottle and poured some into his tea. “Want some?”