Danielle opened the door and swung her legs out. 'Yes, it's nearly paradise for me,' she said, lowering her head slightly as she stood to look back at Oliver, still seated in the car. 'Are you coming?'

Oliver sat still, staring straight ahead. 'To be honest,' he whispered, 'I'm a little nervous, and that's not my usual state. And I'm nervous because I can't think of one stupid, witty, or sarcastic thing to say.' He turned to face her. 'Strange, isn't it?'

Danielle, her head cocked to one side, said: 'Weird, I'd say. You're sickening for something.'

Oliver opened his door and got out. As he stood looking up at the house, a minor panic attack swept over him. 'Oh, shit, Danielle.'

She looked across at him. 'What's up? Are you OK?'

Can the police arrest you for failing to make a statement?

'Why do you ask?'

'Because I promised the sergeant I'd go in and make one this afternoon.'

Danielle smiled. 'Whoops. Full scale search underway, I should imagine.' Her smile grew broader. 'Don't worry though, you're not the first fugitive I've encountered.'

Oliver stared at her. 'Why are you laughing? It's not funny.'

'Calm down, calm down. It's not an offence but she’ll probably be offended.' Danielle came around the car and stood close to him. 'I think she rather likes you.'

'It's not an offence?'

‘No, you may refuse to give a statement, but the court can still call you to testify.’

Oliver let out a loud breath. 'Thank goodness for that.' He followed Danielle as she walked towards the large double doors beneath a classically designed portico porch.

'My pleasure,' she called back. 'And no charge for the legal advice.'

'Thank you,' said her companion as they stood in front of the doors. Danielle pressed the large doorbell. Oliver examined the oak doors. 'Wonderful knockers,' he muttered.

'Pardon.' Danielle looked at him.

Oliver looked a little flustered. 'No, seriously.' He gestured at the door. 'They're splendid examples of Victorian cast iron knockers. People pay well for them, and these are seriously large – most likely custom made for the door. They are wonderful knockers…'

His voice tailed off at the sound of the enormous door being unlocked. It swung slowly open, and Oliver found himself face to face with a woman too young to be his mother. She smiled at him as she stepped aside, gesturing them to come in. 'Good evening, madam.' She looked at Danielle and then nodded her head slightly at Oliver. 'Good evening, sir. Welcome.'

'Good evening, Aileen,' said Danielle. 'Good to see you again. We're expected.'

The woman closed the door behind them. 'Yes, of course.' She stared briefly at Oliver. 'She's in the library.' Aileen looked across the hall. He followed her gaze. A door in the far corner was partly open.

Danielle stepped closer to Oliver, placing her hand on his arm. 'Are you OK?'

He nodded. In truth, he was far from ready. In truth, he was feeling nervous and wanted to run outside. 'I'm fine,' he lied.

They crossed the hall behind Aileen. He was glad she wasn't his mother for no other reason than he found her incredibly attractive. He watched her as she pushed open the door to let Danielle pass. She smiled again as Oliver brushed past her. He was sure she moved to make the gap smaller for him to pass through.

The room was mostly a mass of books shelved from floor to ceiling. There was a large desk in one corner, two enormous leather chairs in the other. Between the desk and the chairs was a full-length window and standing in front of the window was a woman.

She was tall. She had elegantly dressed and swept her grey hair up on top of her head. As she stepped forward to greet them, she smiled warmly at Oliver. 'Hello Oliver,' she whispered. He stared at her. She moved closer and now she was in front of him. 'I hope you had a pleasant journey.'

He looked into her pale blue eyes. Danielle said nothing. She stood at Oliver's side and tears rolled down her cheek. Oliver's eyes were moist as well. Hettie noticed and took Oliver's hands in hers.

'May I embrace you?'

Oliver nodded. She released his hands and put her arms around him and kissed his cheeks. Impulsively, he held her tight.

After a moment, she pulled away a little and took hold of his hands again. 'Thank God for that,' she said, smiling at him. 'I thought we'd either shake hands or you'd walk in and begin a rant about how I ruined your life, and you wanted nothing to do with me. And that you only came all this way to see what a woman like me looked like and ask for compensation.'

She smiled again. 'I'm so pleased I could hug you. You've made me so happy.' Now tears were rolling down Hettie's cheeks.

​

Oliver looked at the floor and then back up at her. 'I have to be honest,' he began quietly, and then cleared his throat before continuing. 'The reason I came is straightforward.' He looked around the room. 'Our local library has closed down, and I wondered if I could borrow a book.'

Hettie laughed loudly. 'Oh Oliver, Danielle said you have a barmy sense of humour. And, of course, you can have anything you like from me. If I have it, it's yours.'

Oliver pursed his lips and considered her commented. 'But don't we have to prove who we are to each other first?'

She let go his hands. 'I think that's all done. We can go through all the detail in the morning. Right now, I can test to check if you're my boy or not.'

'How?'

Yes, how?' chimed in Danielle.

'What would you like to drink?'

Oliver didn't hesitate. 'Whisky, please.' Hettie smiled.

Danielle offered to leave them alone to chat, but they both asked her to stay. If the conversation got difficult, then Danielle was the distraction – she could break the silence.

They moved into the sitting room. Aileen – Oliver discovered was the live-in housekeeper – brought sandwiches and drinks.

Over the next hour, Oliver heard the family story. He remembered discussing Hettie's husband and then his father, and then the rest of the family misfits.

Hettie explained she married Andrew, the elder (as Oliver dubbed him) after her parents, or more specifically her father, plotted and pushed for the union. Her mother, explained Hettie, never forgave her father for the blatant offering of their daughter to Andrew the elder.

Everyone saw from the very beginning that Hettie was unloved. She couldn't explain to Oliver at what point she came completely under his control, and she couldn't explain why she never tried to leave him. 'I had nowhere to go,' was her defence.

Her older husband would often be in the room when she was shared with other men. If she ever said 'no' to her husband's sport, she took a beating.

'I won't go into great detail now about your father,' she said, 'but I will at some point, dear. I promise you that.'

At certain points in her story, Oliver felt physically sick. He was emotionally drained by the time she revealed his father was no other than Sir John James, an undistinguished but infamous politician of his day.

He was, as Oliver recalled, the sort of politician who provoked much talk in hushed tones and endless allegations in the press – some carefully disguised, others simply confrontational. But he was also the sort of person upon whom no-one could ever make even the merest hint of skulduggery or treachery stick.

At that point, and with no hesitation, Oliver decided there should be no further mention of his natural father.

​

Thankfully, at that point, Aileen brought in more drinks. Oliver, his relaxed torso slumped in an immense chair, decided he wanted no more discussion about the family. He was staring at the red tartan carpet. He'd only ever seen tartan carpets in hotels. 'It's very bright,' he blurted.

'What is?' asked Hettie. Aileen set down a large whisky on the table next to Oliver.

He nodded down at the carpet. 'That is. The carpet. I thought tartans were usually sombre and subdued.'

​

'We have never been sombre and subdued, despite – over many centuries - the best efforts of the English.' She waited for a response, but Oliver didn't have one. 'That is the Cunningham tartan and the one thing I liked about the family. I believe they came from Ayrshire originally.' She paused and then added, 'Well, maybe two things. I like Ayrshire as well.'

Hettie seemed quite relaxed. For her own reasons, she was pleased Oliver wasn't pressing her for a raft of answers to all the questions he must have in his head. He surprised her, though; his only reaction to the mention of his father was to change the subject.

For his part, Oliver let the conversation go along at its own pace – or rather at Hettie's pace – rather than appear pushy or confrontational.

After a few more minutes of idle chat, he said: 'If someone was prepared to blow me up down south, I can't presume I'm now safe just because I'm in the north. What if we have a gas explosion here?' In truth, he thought, they'd probably want to blow him up because of his father.

Hettie shook her head. 'Impossible,' she announced, adding, 'I'm pleased to say.'

'Why?' asked Oliver.

'Because we're not on gas here. Too far from the main pipeline which runs to the village. It's oil for us - and logs. We have thousands of logs.'

'Oh,' continued Oliver. 'Oh, well, that's reassuring. At least there won't be any confusion. If there's a loud bang here, it'll be a bomb.' He looked at Hettie and then at Danielle. 'And that'll be easier for the police.'

They sat in silence for a moment, each sipping their drinks. 'Tell me about the housekeeper. Is she above all suspicion, and do you know whose side she's on?'

'Oh, mine. Most definitely,' said Hettie, nodding her head. 'She's been with me for years. She aims to please and is trustworthy. So let her fuss. I've asked her to make sure you both have all you need while you're here; especially you, Oliver, because you bought little with you? I'm sure she'll fuss over you like a mother hen.'

Oliver shook his head. 'I'm afraid not. They didn't allow me back in the house.

There was a knock on the door, and Aileen stepped into the room. 'Will there be anything else, or shall I clear up now?'

'I think we're all done, Aileen. Thank you.'

Aileen looked across at Danielle. 'Will you be requiring a night cap or any supper, madam?' Danielle shook her head. 'No, thank you.'

'Sir?' She looked at Oliver.

'I think I'd like the nightcap, and could I ask that you call me Oliver rather than sir? I don't do formal - not comfortable with it.' He looked around for approval. Everyone smiled and nodded.

'I'll make sure your drink is upstairs.' Aileen moved towards the door. 'I've laid out towels for you both and each of your rooms has an ensuite shower room. Both rooms are on the first landing. Yours, madam, is along the corridor to the left and is the yellow door. Yours,' she smiled at Oliver, 'is a little way along the corridor on the right and is the blue door.' She turned to leave. They heard her giggling as the door closed. 'Sir Oliver.'

Twenty minutes later, Oliver was in the shower. He'd been deep in thought about the day's events, standing under the cascade of water. He was sure he heard a knock on the bedroom door, so turned off the shower and stepped out, and threw on the robe that was hanging on the wall and opened the bathroom door.

Aileen was standing by the window. She turned when she heard the door open. 'Hi, I was just straightening the curtains. I'm a bit OCD with things like that.' Her accent seemed lighter; her tone softer. 'I've brought your whiskey.' She pointed at the top of the bedside cupboard.

Oliver looked at the glass. 'Thanks. Give me a second. I just need to dry off a little, but there are a couple of things I'd like to ask you. That's if you don't mind.'

She shrugged. 'OK.'

'Thanks.' He stepped back into the bathroom. A minute later he appeared again, still wearing the robe but drier and his hair combed.

He stopped in his tracks. 'Sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you. Would you like me to get dressed?'

Aileen shook her head. 'Not at all. You're fine as you are.'

There was one chair in the room. Oliver gestured to it. 'Please sit down.'

She looked at the chair and then at Oliver. 'Thank you.'

Oliver sat on the bed and then swung his legs up, picked up his glass and smiled at her.

'What would you like to know?'

'I'm not sure,' replied Oliver. He sipped his drink. 'And that's the truth.' He turned the glass in his hand as he looked at her. She said nothing. 'I think the last few days have stressed me out and if I'm honest, I'm not the best company for myself.' He rolled his eyes. 'Well, that made little sense. But hopefully you know what I mean.'

Aileen looked at him, her head slightly tilted to one side.

'Do you know all the family background? Do you know why I'm here?'

The woman nodded slowly. 'Yes, I do. I know all about everything. It sort of goes with the territory, as they say.'

Oliver looked at her. 'For many reasons, it's like I had four bad parents. They didn't tell me things. All of them. No-one was honest with me and right now I can't tell one from another. Hettie included. Even though I like her. I don't know her… do I?

'I'm rambling, I know – mumbling and fumbling - but I just need some assurance that I'm not going mad, that I'm not surrounded by manic idiots all wanting to kill me.' Still, she said nothing. 'Well, I know some of them are, but if it's not everyone, I can at least keep track of it all. It's not everyone, is it?' She smiled. 'Well, if you are one of them,' continued Oliver, 'who's trying to kill me, then I've made a big mistake thinking you're one of the good guys.'

Suddenly, she stood up and crossed the room. Standing at the side of the bed, Aileen put a finger to her lips. 'Shhhhh.' Oliver stared up at her. She reached down and switched on the bedside lamp. Then she walked to the door and turned off the ceiling lights.

The mood of the room changed at once. Aileen stood at the foot of the bed.

'There's another glass and a bottle in the cupboard next to you. Pour me a drink, please.' Oliver reached down to the cupboard and pulled out the bottle and glass.

He poured a large measure. She moved forward and took the glass he held out for her and swiftly drank half of it and put down the glass. She stood looking straight at him, then she bent down and undid his robe, pulling it open.

Looking down at him, she traced her finger from his lips to below his belly button. Oliver stirred. 'Nature has been kind to you, Oliver.'

Oliver nodded slowly. 'Shall I undress?' she asked.

He nodded again. 'Yes, please,' he whispered.

Back to instalment four