Part 4 (written 5th November 2006)

Paul looks up at the sign as he enters the building. He may not own it anymore, but he'd spent so much time, money and effort building the place up way back when, it just seemed natural to work here after he was released from prison. Not that it was easy getting back in. He'd had to start all over again, almost from the very bottom. He proved he could be trusted though, the last promotion to Accounts evidence of that.

"Any messages?" he asks his secretary as he enters his office.

"The usual complaints waiting from Promotions, nothing we haven't seen before. Mrs Lambert postponed the ten o'clock meeting to ten-thirty, so you've got some breathing room to psych yourself up."

That stops him short. "Do I look like I need psyching up?" he queries.

"The truth?" she hedges.

"No, lie to me!"

"You're Mr Cool. Totally unflappable."

Paul deflates. "Thanks, Lil," he says sarcastically.

"You look tired too."

"Is this gang up on Paul Robinson day? Chrissie phoned you, didn't she."

"She doesn't need to," Lil starts hesitantly. "Look, I don't want this to sound rude, but... you've looked better."

Paul plays it down. "I was a little restless last night. I'll be fine after I freshen up."

Lil shrugs and looks back down at her desk as Paul opens his office door. "Oh, I almost forgot," she says abruptly, a yellow post-it note catching her eye.

"What?"

"The Erinsborough Cares group called to confirm this afternoon's appointment. They'll be sending a representative around at about two pm."

Paul blinks.

"The Cleanup Fund?" Lil reminds him.

"Oh, right." Erinsborough Cares are a local environmental group. They've been contacting businesses looking for charitable donations towards the clean-up of the local beauty spot, still known as Lassiters Park (even though the hotel chain doesn't actually own it anymore). The lake in particular has become quite polluted in recent years. Looks like it's Lassiters' turn to be handed the begging bowl. And due to their past association with the land, it wouldn't surprise Paul if they were bled for a particularly large cut of the target figure.

"Did they mention the rep's name?" he asks.

"Um..." Lil glances back down at to the hastily scribbled message. "Yes, it's a Miss Hoyland."

Paul stares. Images flash across his mind. Travelling first class to Tasmania, breaking into a building, gloves... fire. The fire blazes hotter than the furnaces of Hell. He can feel the flames licking at his heels, trying to ensnare him as his races through the hotel...

"Paul?"

The stark, undecorated walls of the outer office suddenly appear back in front of him. Lil is looking rather oddly at him.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine!" Paul says quickly. "Hoyland you say?"

"Yes. Isabel Hoyland, do you know her?"

A chill runs through Paul. "No... no, I don't know her at all." He opens the door and enters his office, leaving a perplexed Lil in his wake.

He closes the door behind him and leans back against it. Isabel Hoyland... it can't be... she can't be. Seeing his portable phone on the desk, he grabs it and begins to tap out a number.

.

Part 5 (written 11th December 2006)

"Hoyland residence," Max says after picking up the receiver. Typically no-one had answered his calls to get it, his misbuttoned shirt evidence of his haste. "Sure, what is it?" he asks after a few moments. His brow furrows as he listens. "Sorry mate, can't help you there. I was an only child."

A blonde exits the bathroom, hair still slightly damp, but looking as presentable as a woman who only woke up half an hour ago can. "Who is it? Is it work?" she asks frantically.

Max shakes his head. "Paul," he mouths to her, then speaking back into the phone, "The name doesn't ring a bell, but then there's probably hundreds of Hoylands in the phone book."

The blonde looks curiously at him. "What does he want?"

"Hang on," he tells the caller, then cups the speaker. "Paul wants to know if I have a sister or any other relative on the planet called Isabel. I'm trying to tell him that our name isn't exactly rare, but he's not having it. Don't know what it's got to do with anything, but he sounds like he's about one degree from blowing his stack."

"Chrissie has been worried about him," Max's wife ruminates.

Max is back on the phone and looking brow-beaten already. "Mate, I've already told you, they're no Isabels in this family. No, really, I promise!"

The blonde turns round from collecting her keys. "Cousin!" she says suddenly.

"What?... No, not you." He cups the speaker again and looks at her. But she's found something else in the lounge to busy herself with.

"Claire!"

She turns her head. "Hmm?"

"Cousin?" Max repeats.

"Remember, when we took Boyd down to your Uncle Rick's not long after he was born. Blonde girl, little for her age... plaits."

"Jesus," Max mutters, the information finally clicking in his head. Claire might look as if she has the attention-span of a goldfish sometimes, but her memory's almost supernatural. He hasn't thought of Rick's side of the family for years, not since... well...

He puts the phone back to his ear. "I have a cousin Izzy, well... that's what she liked to be called back then anyway. I haven't seen her in nearly twenty years though." He pauses as he listens. "I couldn't tell you." He drops the phone slightly, not bothering to cup it this time. "Claire, how old do you think she was when we saw her?"

"Izzy?"

"No, the Queen Mum!"

"The Queen Mum was ninety, Izzy was... thirteen, fourteen? SUMMER!"

Here we go. Max sticks a finger in his ear as their youngest strops into the room. "Yeah, fourteen, how did you guess that one?" he tells Paul.

There's a long pause, punctuated by bouts of what sounds like lecturing and teenage sullenness. Max decides to retreat to the kitchen for some peace. "You're kidding!... Well I'm at the pub, but... yeah... well I think so." He tries to visualise Izzy. Would he recognise her today? "Two o'clock? Maybe, but... yeah, okay, I'll be there... Okay... Yeah, see you mate."

Max turns the receiver off and looks thoughtful. Cousin Izzy, eh?

.

Part 6 (written 10th June 2007)

Paul looks across at Max as they hear a quiet tap on the door. It opens and Lil half steps in. "Miss Hoyland is here."

"Send her in," Paul says, sitting back as his secretary disappears. A few seconds later and a woman tentatively enters the room. Paul sees her. The venomous vixen, cocksure and defiant. His partner-in-crime... his lover.

Paul blinks and his mind's fascade drops away.

"My apologies for being late, it seems I was sent to the wrong part of the building."

Paul stares for a moment, then catches himself. "That's fine, Miss Hoyland, it's only been five minutes."

"Still, punctuality is a virtue." She moves to the chair opposite Paul. "May I sit down?"

"Yes, of course," Paul answers, taking in the sight of her as she sits and prepares herself, pulling brightly coloured folders out of a hemp bag. Is this really her? A wispy but demurely fastened cotton dress the colour of autumn leaves covers the body he knows every inch of. Or does he? Round thin-rimmed spectacles perch on her nose and her hair is swept forward partly over the sides of her face, as if she's trying to hide behind it.

"This is Mr Harris," Paul gestures to Max. "He'll be sitting in on the meeting."

Isabel barely gives him a glance. He's no concern of hers unless he makes himself so. "As you know, we at Erinsborough Cares are very concerned at the condition of Lassiters Lake" she begins, handing over an open green folder. "The purity of the water is severely degraded and there's significant evidence that the lake has been used as a dumping ground by local businesses."

"I can assure you that Lassiters has no involvement in such activities," Paul interrupts as he idly flips through the contamination figures. "Our environmental record speaks for itself."

"Yes, I've perused the report you issued us," Isabel tells him. "Your record is either unusually commendable or a lamentable fabrication. Which is it, Mr Robinson?"

Perused? Lamentable? It's not the kind of vocabulary he's used to hearing from Izzy. "The former of course."

She doesn't make the expected retort. "Well I'm sure that as such a caring and conscious company, you'd be willing to assist us in repairing the damage done to both the lake and the surrounding parkland?"

Paul frowns. "What's wrong with the park?"

"What isn't wrong with the park might be the shorter answer, Mr Robinson. Refuse containers are few and far between, resulting in an epidemic of littering. As well as making the park look unsightly, discarded cans, cartons and bags are also endangering the safety of the local wildlife."

"It's a public park. Erinsborough Council is responsible for it's upkeep."

"Administration and bureaucracy are the staples of local government. By the time they conduct their own analysis and pay off their focus groups, nothing will be done. Therefore it's down to private enterprise to set the example. To show that they care about the environment their customers are subject to. A clean community is a happy community."

Paul snorts. "Did you write that one yourself?"

Isabel reddens slightly. "To repair the damage of course requires monetary funds," she says, ploughing on with her spiel. "Several local businesses have been generous, but to reach our target figure we require a significant cash injection. As one of the larger companies in Erinsborough, we would be happy if you'd pledge us the following." She hands over another folder, orange this time.

Paul looks at the sheet inside and goes wide-eyed. "You're joking!"

"I can assure you, Mr Robinson, that it is not."

Paul looks contemptuously at her. "No, this is a joke, Izzy and you're it! Did you think I wouldn't see through your little scheme? You looked up a few big words and thought you'd throw me enough so I'd agree to finance your entire operation? Well forget it, you're not getting a red cent out of me."

Isabel blushes furiously. "But Mr Robinson, it's... it's an entirely reasonable-"

"Reasonable?" His voice rises. "You're a gold digging wh*re, you always have been. Well this time you're not going to bleed me dry because I'm not going to let it happen. Not anymore." Paul jumps out of his seat and marches to the door.

Isabel's mouth is open, but no words will come out. How can she possibly respond?

Paul firmly opens the door. "Get out!"

"But-"

"I said get out!"

"This is entirely-"

Paul steps forward and grabs her arm, pulling her to the door. "Go dig your claws into some other poor sap," he spits at her before slamming the door in her shocked face.

There's a long silence before Max, who has witnessed everything, ventures a comment. "If that's how you usually deal with charities, I'd hate to rattle a Salvos tin in front of you."

Paul shoots a surprised look in his direction. He'd forgotten Max was there. "I... it's just Izzy. She gets under my skin."

"Know her a bit then?"

"You know I..." Paul stops, staring at him. No... no of course he doesn't. "Shit!" he mutters to himself. What had happened there? It all came flooding back, Izzy's manipulations and lies, the constant drain on his credit-card, her inability to even feign feelings for him other than the pursuit of sex and money. But that was a dream... right? The enormity of what's just transpired hits him. "Shit! What have I done?"

"Just inebriated off the greenies I'd say," Max quips, getting up.

"Ah, yeah." There's an uncomofrtable pause. "Did you recognise her?"

"Well it has been twenty years. I'm not sure to be honest, but I got a couple of pictures off." Max briefly holds up his daughter's digital camera, borrowed for the occasion. "We'll see what Claire makes of her, she remembers Isabel more than I do."

"Yeah," Paul nods a little unsurely, "she's good with faces."

"Well, it's been an experience seeing how you work," Max tells him as he heads to the door himself.

"I'm sorry!" Paul exclaims suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"For calling your cousin a gold-digging wh*re."

"Well we don't know she is yet... my cousin I mean. But... let's talk about it after, ay?"

Paul nods as Max pockets the camera and exits the office.

Seeing her boss standing in the open doorway looking lost, Lil leaves her desk and approaches him. "Can I assume we're off their christmas card list?

Paul turns his head to face her. "I don't think I'll even be getting one off Rosemary when she hears about this."

"I'd say you'd be lucky if a christmas card is all you lose." Lil then spies the green and orange folders still lying on Paul's desk. "Then again..."