I have always known that I was adopted. In early 2003, I travelled from Scotland to visit my aunt Grethe in Denmark yet again. She was like a mother to me and insisted that I look up the data of my real mother. My aunt wanted me to find my roots. We spent a day just doing that, but it didn't get me anywhere in my search.

I walked down the few steps entering one of the oldest wine bars in Copenhagen. Nothing had really changed during its 300 years of existence, not even the fact that it was still a popular place to meet up for an informal drink or two.

At first I didn't see anybody I knew, but turning a sharp corner into the next little room I saw them sitting around the old wood table tucked into an alcove. My daughter was all smiles, and I gave her an affectionate hug, and proceeded to greet her father and his wife.

Tommy, my ex husband, looked at me and smiled. "What are you having?"

"Oh, a dry white wine would be nice, thanks." And I sat down next to Amelie and Tommy's wife Bente. Tommy soon returned, placed the glass in front of me, and we all lifted our glasses, when Tommy said.

"So tell us, how did you get on with Grethe today?"

I looked at him in surprise and asked how he knew what we had been doing.

He grinned. "I also speak to Grethe, so I know what you two were planning to do. So please tell, do spill the beans!"

I couldn't help laughing, and before I knew it, I told them about the day that had led me absolutely nowhere. I looked at Amelie, not wanting her to feel I'd forgotten about her. But I needn't have worried; she stared back at me as if enraptured. I told them that, indeed, I did feel disappointed, but then again what could I expect? It wasn't as if I'd ever been looking for my mother. I had to admit, though, that by now I was a bit more than just curious.

We spent another hour just chatting about this and the other, when Bente looked at me. "Ulla, while we've been talking, I've been thinking... thinking of something that might be useful to you."

I looked at her in surprise, leaning towards her. "What do you mean, Bente? What would be useful to me?" She must have thought me a half-wit, but at the time I didn't catch on at all.

Bente smiled. "What I mean is in the search of your real mother."

All I managed was. "Oh, all right, what...?"

"Well, it so happens that my best friend works in the Foreign Ministry, and frankly, if anybody can find anything about your mother, it will be her."

"What do you mean Bente? I uttered."Please, go on!"

"Ulla, even the police turn to my friend when they can't locate someone. So you're in safe hands. All I want to know is, if it's OK with you that I leave her with your mobile number so she can contact you."

I looked at her, not believing my ears. Of course it was all right for her to pass on my mobile number!

From then on, the rest of the evening passed in a haze, and I was back with Grethe before I knew it. I briefly told her about the meeting, but she was tired, and admittedly, so was I. It would be better to leave it until the next morning to tell her about the new development, and we soon tucked in for the night.

I didn't know what to make of it all, but I really needed some sleep before my flight back to Scotland the next day.

The next morning, while enjoying our breakfast, I told Grethe about the evening in more detail, and she was just about to say something, when the phone rang. Grethe went to answer it, and turned to look at me. "It's for you, Ulla". How strange... nobody I knew apart from my daughter would phone me here. My aunt shook her head, indicating that she didn't have a clue who it might be, but whispered, "It's somebody called Marianne."

I took the phone. "Ulla speaking."

"Hi, my name is Marianne. Bente said that it would be OK to ring you, and yes, I do have your mobile number, but Bente also assured me it would be all right to phone you at your aunt's. It's somewhat cheaper than a call to a mobile from Scotland, taxpayers money and all that." I could hear the smile in her voice.

"Go on," was all I said.

"Well, what I'm about to suggest is that when you get back home, you send me an e-mail with all the information you have of your real mother. What I'll do then is to start a search and dig out as much as I can find."

I was silent for a moment until I was able to say: "Wow, do you really want to do that for me?"

"I'll be delighted," came back the answer. "Bente is my best friend, and I have met your daughter many times, and she is a wonderful young woman. I'll be so pleased if I can help you in your quest to find your mother. I may not be able to come up with all the answers, but I feel confident that something will turn up."

I thanked her profusely, and promised to send her all the info I had so far. I wrote down her e-mail address, and we hung up.

I sat down opposite my aunt, and explained what had just passed, and she looked at me with a big smile. "Oh Ulla, this can only be good news."

Later that afternoon, back home in Scotland, I sat at the bay window, booting up my PC. I looked out at the grey waters of the river Clyde flowing by. It was a murky afternoon, but beautiful all the same, Loch Long reaching in towards the distant hills.

Meanwhile, I was in deep thought, mulling over everything that had happened during the last forty eight hours.

The latest development was that a letter from the Danish Tax Man had awaited me, informing me that they owed me a handsome little sum from way back. It had already been sent off, and was now on its way to me.

At that very moment I think I believed in omens.

Finishing the e-mail to Marianne, which included everything I had learned about my mother, I was confident that I could do no more, at least not for now. I closed down the computer, and proceeded to the kitchen and prepared a light meal.

I went to bed early feeling very tired, and my last thoughts before I fell asleep were that tomorrow I would request a holiday from work, one that I was well overdue, and that I hoped there'd soon be news from Marianne.

To be continued.