Dorothy peeled off the paper and lifted out two pictures, both with purple wooden frames. She gazed at them and sighed. ‘Jamie, these are beautiful, I love them. What a talented boy!’

Jamie pointed to one of them. ‘I did this ages ago, but Mum thought you’d like one of the bridge from your bedroom. If I did it now, I’d do Fife better, it looks all flat. I’d draw more hills now.’

‘But it’s great, you’ve drawn the old columns where the old bridge stood too.’ Dorothy looked up at her husband, who was peering over her shoulder. ‘What d’you think, Pa? Look at the detail.’

‘I think it’s his grandfather as well as his father he takes after, what a hugely talented artist. Look at the precise lines of that bridge!’ He poured more bubbly into the glasses on the table.

‘And this picture of the house is amazing. Look, you’ve got the gravel path and the gate and the windows all just right.’

‘And the pillars, Jamie. Remember I told you what they’re called?’

‘Iconic, Pa.’

Struan guffawed. ‘Nearly, Jamie. Ionic.’ He patted Jamie’s head. ‘The lad’s learning well.’

Dorothy peered closer. ‘Goodness, you’ve even got the magnolia tree in it, with the flowers out. And what’s that behind the tree?’

‘A summer house. Pa said there used to be one there and there was a gap in the picture so I put it in.’

Dorothy frowned. ‘What?’

Struan took a gulp from his glass. ‘The original plans for the house from 1871 showed a small stone structure in the garden. It was a little summer house, behind the magnolia.’

‘So when was it taken down?’

‘Don’t know. I can’t remember my grandfather mentioning it and he was born in 1880.’

‘It must’ve been lovely in the summer,’ Fiona said, going to the window and looking out to the magnolia tree. ‘Would it have had large windows like Jamie’s drawn?’

‘Definitely, they would have had lovely views over the river but complete privacy inside as it’s high up on the lawn. Maybe they wanted to sunbathe naked in there?’

Jamie stared up at his grandfather, eyes wide. ‘Would they have done that, Pa?’

‘Who knows, young man. The Victorians were a funny lot, all prim and proper on the outside, but a den of iniquity inside.’

‘What’s iniqu…’

‘Moving on,’ said Fiona, grinning at her dad. ‘Open your other presents, Mum.’

Dorothy was staring out at the magnolia tree. ‘You must have some idea of when it was demolished?’

‘End of the nineteenth century, maybe.’ Struan pushed his present towards Dorothy. ‘Mine next, Dottie.’ He downed his drink. ‘Now, who’s ready for another glass?’

* * *

Fiona turned on her laptop and clicked onto her emails. Another one from Swansea Library.

Dear Ms Craig,