Author's note: This story popped into my mind this morning and I had to write it down. It's rather sad but I hope you'll forgive me.

Updated: Correction of a typo.

You're a fraud.

'

That's what they think.

I see it in their eyes as I walk up the aisle behind my father's coffin.

So many people came to pay their last respects to the 8th earl of Asherton that the church in Nanrunnel is too small. We pass the anonymous crowd crammed at the back of the church, and I start to catch glimpses of familiar faces, men and women I've known since childhood, neighbours, tenants.

'

You're a fraud.

'

My twin sister takes my arm and gently squeezes it; she too can feel their antipathy.

We're not used to it.

We used to be our father's children.

Not anymore.

It's strange how a title can change everything.

'

You're a fraud.

'

I guess they never expected me to become the 9th earl of Asherton.

I'm not really my father's son, am I?

I'm an adopted child.

I'm not a true Lynley.

I don't even have the right skin colour.

'

A smile.

'

Someone's smiling at me.

God bless, Winston Nkata.

He looks terrible, but his sad smile is a comfort to me.

I know he took some time out of his busy schedule as the Met's Commissioner to come to my father's funeral.

He's the only one from New Scotland Yard my father had kept contact with after he left the Force almost forty years ago. I'm happy he came; I need true friends around me today.

'

You're a fraud.

'

We pass the Allcourt-Saint James' family and I can't resist the urge to hug Simon, ailing and frail in his wheelchair.

I put a kiss on Deborah's cheek. She's been crying but I don't have time to talk to them further, I need to keep walking.

We sit on the bench reserved for family. Aunt Judith sits next to me but she's a million miles away.

Uncle Peter's not here. His demons won several years ago. He overdosed soon after my grand-mother's death.

Behind me are Peter's ex-wife and their two sons, my cousins Elliott and Jacob.

I feel their presence behind my back. Elliott's gaze on my neck burns my skin.

'

You're a fraud.

'

Had my father put blood ties over his love for me, as everyone expected, Elliott would have been his heir.

My cousin always had his eyes on the title. In a sense, that's not his fault, his mother raised him to be the 9th earl of Asherton.

He was 11 years old and used to be treated as his heir when my father adopted two little orphans, my sister and me, out of a desire for parenthood.

Father wanted to have children but he had made the choice not to remarry after the death of his wife, Helen.

'Too many heartbreaks,' he had told me one day I had summoned up the courage to ask him why he hadn't remarried. From time to time one woman or the other would come to our home, and stayed for the night or for a few days. It took us a while, my sister and me, to understand why they didn't sleep in the guest room but in Father's. When we grew uncomfortable with their presence in the house, Father stopped to bring them home. Maybe he saw them somewhere else, I don't know.

'

You're a fraud.

'

Everyone thought Elliott would inherit the title and the estate. Father didn't put them right. They should have known better. He loved my sister and me as if we were his own flesh and blood. I think we were his only joy in life. He was a rather sad man, my father. His smiles were rare, life had hurt him too badly, but I loved his smile. He kept his lips tight, unlike me who show all my teeth, but his smile was so wide it drew lines in his cheeks that emphasized his cheekbones. When he smiled, he looked like a child.

'

You're a fraud.

'

The mass is over and people shake my hand and offer their condolences but I see that they're trying to tell if I'll be up to the task. If I'll live up to my father.

The opening of Father's will was a shock to everybody. His fortune was cut in half, one half for me, the other for my sister. The rest he bequeathed to me: Howenstow - the family estate in Cornwall – and its lands, farms and dairies, the townhouse in London, his cars, his plane, on condition that I provided for my sister and her descendants. Aunt Judith received a small amount of money and some keepsakes. Elliott and Jacob, already set up in life received nothing. Elliott, who was counting on the inheritance to help him sort his recurring money shortages, was furious. I know he consulted his lawyer to try and invalidate the will. He couldn't accept that some things are stronger than blood ties.

'

You're a fraud.

'

My father will be put to rest with his wife and their unborn son in the private chapel at Howenstow. We gather behind the hearse and bid goodbye to those who will not attend the burial. It will be a private ceremony, only family and my father's closest friends. It's a small group, too small for the great man that my father was. I am hit by the sudden realization that nothing will remain of him. He touched many lives, he loved and was loved but it's not tangible, not palpable. He will forever live in our hearts but his memory will be lost when we die. I feel cold inside. I look around for Simon and Deb but I catch a glimpse of Winston. He's talking to an oddly-attired old woman. I see him kiss her cheek before she leaves. Winston catches my eye and comes to me.

'Who's that?' I ask.

'Barbara. Barbara Havers, when she worked with your father. She may bear another name now because she told me she was married and had a son.'

'She worked with Father? He never told me about her.'

'Oh, yes, they worked together. They were the best team of the whole CID and they both were my friends. When she left without notice your father was devastated. He resigned shortly after.'

'Do you know why she left?'

'I'm not sure. They used to argue a lot, about everyone and everything, that was their way of working. Maybe they had one argument too many.'

'But they were close?'

'Very close.'

'Do you think she'd like to come with us to the chapel?'

'I think your father would be happy if she were there.'

'

You're a fraud.

'

I go after Barbara but I don't know where she's gone. I go up the street and turns left but she's not there. I turn round and try another street. This little hide-and-seek play takes my mind off the hostility I felt around me in the church and that almost overwhelmed me. I feel myself again.

I see Barbara just when she's reaching an old car parked by the shore. The driver, a young man with his back to me, her son I think, is sitting on the bonnet and gazes at the sea. When he hears his mother coming he stands up and turns to her.

I stop dead in my tracks. That straight nose, that aristocratic jawline! I am looking at a younger version of my father. I see him help his mother get into the car. He's older than me, late thirties. Finally, he notices me and our eyes meet. For a few seconds Thomas Lynley's adopted and natural sons gaze into each other's eyes. He smiles at me – he has his smile –, goes into the car and drives off.

I go back to the church slowly. I need some time on my own to take in what just happened. I want to ask Winston about Barbara, find out where she lives. I want to know more about her son, my father's son but at the same time I don't want to intrude into their lives. Obviously they didn't want anybody to know about them. Barbara was pregnant when she left the Yard but she never told my father and now it seems their son preferred to stay away from his father's burial. Does he know whose funeral it is? Does he know he's by right the 9th earl of Asherton? I don't know and I will probably never know. What I know is that they were right.

I am a fraud.