Hamish had been one of the youngest graduates ever to gain a first-class commerce-law degree from Harvard. After that had come his appointment with one of the most prestigious broking firms in New York, and he’d whizzed up the corporate ladder with the speed of light. At thirty-three, Hamish was a full partner and a millionaire a couple times over. There’d been no time in his fast-moving history for a leisurely stroll around Scotland. ‘Hamish, this means you really might have inherited.’

‘This is cool.’ Jodie beamed, forgetting her dislike of Marcia as imagination took flight. ‘The letter says they’re not sure whether they have the right person, but it does fit. It says your father was one of three brothers who left Scotland in 1947. The oldest two went to Australia and your dad came here.’

‘He can read it for himself,’ Marcia snapped and handed it over to Hamish.

‘It’ll be a scam.’

‘Read it,’ Marcia snapped.

And Jodie thought, Whoa, don’t do that, lady. If Hamish was my guy I wouldn’t talk like that.

But Hamish didn’t notice. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ he said at last, but dismissal had made way for uncertainty. ‘But with the Loganaich connection… Maybe we should check.’

‘I’ll make enquiries about this law firm,’ Marcia said. ‘I’ll get onto it straight away.’

‘There’s no need…’

‘There certainly is,’ Jodie breathed. ‘Oh, Mr Douglas, the letter says you’re an earl and you’ve inherited a castle and everything. How ace would that be? A Scottish earl. You might get to wear a kilt.’

‘No one’s seeing my knees,’ Hamish said. He grinned-and then the phone rang and a fax came through that he’d been waiting for and he went back to work.

Castles and titles had to wait.

‘They think they’ve found him.’

Susie Douglas, née McMahon, was sitting on a rug before the fire in the great hall of Loganaich-Castle-the-Second, playing with her baby. Rose Douglas was fourteen months old. She’d been tumbling with her aunt’s dog, Boris, but now baby and dog had settled into a sleepy, snuggly pile, and the women were free to talk.