A Winter Flame (13 page)

‘Same thing,’ sniffed Jacques.

‘No, it is NOT,’ said Eve, feeling the rise of temper inside her. Some other workmen were chuntering to each other in Polish as they pulled a huge sleigh loaded with wrapped presents
in the direction of the gift shop. Eve watched it pass in front of her with a mouth open in disbelief, whilst Effin was screaming at the men, stabbing his finger in the opposite direction.

‘The grotto. I said take it to the bloody grotto.
Dw i erioed ’di gweithio ’da’r fath gr
ŵ
p o dwats di-glem!
’

‘What he say?’ asked Mik, one of the Polish sledge-pullers.

Once again Arfon translated it.

‘He said that he’s never worked with such a group of incompetent twats. We’re in the wrong job us, Mik. We should be employed as official interpreters in this place.’

Mik then translated what Effin had said into Polish and Eve watched the Polish workers bow their heads to hide their sniggering.

‘Who authorized that sleigh thing? I thought all monies spent had to be jointly signed for,’ said Eve.

‘Ah, well.’ Jacques stroked his stubble. ‘The thing is, we needed to act quickly, and so thank goodness you gave me permission.’

‘I most certainly did not,’ said Eve. Then her brain caught up. Violet had asked her to sign some forms when she wasn’t quite compos mentis. He’d got her own cousin to do
his dirty work – the conniving bastard. Oh boy, he was starting to show his colours now.

‘This isn’t happening,’ said Eve, watching a trio of snowmen bumble past her, carrying wreaths of holly leaves and boxes labelled ‘baubles’. She was still in the
grip of shingles and having a nightmare. Any minute she was going to wake up and see the Winterworld she had imagined, devoid of stupid things like elves, candy canes and bloody reindeer.

‘We have even got our first booking for the wedding chapel,’ said Jacques with a little wink. Then he sighed. ‘Shame it wasn’t us, but then again we can wait.’

‘More fool them,’ she whispered under her breath as she turned away. She had only been in his presence for five minutes and already her heart was thumping with fury.

‘Come and let me show you the animal enclosure,’ he said, chuckling at her bristling. ‘You’ll notice something very different about it since the last time you saw
it.’

‘I hope I will,’ said Eve, ‘considering the last time I saw it, it was a square of mud.’

‘The ponies have arrived and totally settled in,’ said Jacques.

‘Great,’ replied Eve, in a voice that reflected the news was anything but great.

‘And she arrived on Saturday,’ he said, keeping to her pace.

‘She?’ asked Eve. ‘Who is “she”?’

‘Holly.’

‘Holly who?’

‘Hollywood . . . hurrah for Hollywood!’ Jacques started to sing with a very bad Ethel Merman vibrato.

Eve looked blankly at him.

‘It sounded like we were doing a knock-knock joke,’ he explained.

‘Hmm,’ hummed Eve, totally unimpressed by his attempt at humour.

‘What do you think of the enchanted forest, then?’ asked Jacques, pride beaming in his eyes as they entered the small forest of snow-capped firs twinkling with lights.

‘It’s nice,’ Eve nodded with reserved approval, even though she was far more impressed than she let on. The forest looked as if it had been there for ever. There was a magical
prickling in the air, like a low dose of electricity, which hung like the lanterns between the trees. For a few seconds it was as if she had wandered into her childhood favourite book,
The
Enchanted Wood,
where the trees were a darker shade of green than usual and whispered their secrets to each other with a wisha-wisha-wisha sound overhead. And the smell was like fresh,
pine-scented aftershave, though she realized a split second later that it was drifting from Jacques. She didn’t like the way his ‘enchanted forest’ was making her feel. It was
dredging up a memory of her Auntie Susan taking her and Violet to see the Father Christmas who visited Higher Hoppleton Hall every year. She had a clear memory of walking into the oak-panelled
library and seeing the huge man with the long white beard and small half-moon glasses, and
knowing
he was the real one. That was especially sweet because she had been losing her faith. At
school, the class rough-arse Charlene Prince had been mocking her for still believing in Santa, but after meeting him at Higher Hoppleton all her doubts disappeared. Then four days later, she woke
up on Christmas morning to find no presents because Ruth had been too plastered the night before and forgot to put them out. Charlene Prince was right after all – he didn’t exist, and
something in Eve began to die that Christmas. And kept on dying more with every passing Christmas until it died outright five years ago.

A curling path had been laid through the wood for the pony and trap rides. At least Jacques hadn’t overridden her plans on that score whilst she was ill.

As if reading her thoughts, he said, ‘Path okay for you? Does it meet with your approval?’

‘Yes,’ said Eve, unable to resist adding, ‘remarkably.’

‘Good,’ said Jacques. ‘Think how romantic it will be to ride a pony and trap to the wedding chapel through here. Or the betrothed couple could take the mini-train if they so
wish. The forest will be covered in twinkling lights.’

‘It is already.’

‘Oh, this is nothing compared to what it will be like,’ said Jacques. ‘Romantic with a capital R.’

Eve nodded. He was right, it would probably be the most romantic part of the whole ceremony.

‘And there will be snowmen and elves waving at the bride and groom from behind the trees,’ Jacques went on.

Eve groaned. ‘Dear God. You’re not serious?’

The man was a walking joke from a Christmas cracker.

The small, pretty forest began to thin and within a few steps it was behind them and Eve was standing at the side of the reindeer enclosure. She had just opened her mouth to drop a sarcastic
comment about how stunning the fence was when Jacques raised his finger to his lips.

‘Shhh,’ he said. ‘Prepare to meet Holly.’ Then he started to make a soft clicking noise with his tongue and his teeth.

Just when Eve was about to tell him not to hand in his day job and become an animal trainer, she saw an inquisitive nose protrude from the side of the reindeer shed.

‘Come on, girl. Come on,’ encouraged Jacques in a voice so soft and quiet that Eve wouldn’t have thought it possible to have come from him.

With a two steps forward, one step backwards pattern, the small, barrel-tummied, white reindeer edged outwards and towards them slowly.

‘Isn’t she lovely?’ whispered Jacques. ‘She’s pregnant. Naughty Olly in her last home cleared a five-foot fence to be with her. But who could blame him?’

The reindeer sniffed the air as if trying to pick up the scent of whether she was faced with a friend or a foe. Her soft, dark eyes told Eve that she wanted to trust them, but was afraid, and
Eve’s heart lurched in her chest in sympathy.

Jacques held out his hand and Holly backed up. ‘It’s okay, girl, come on.’

Holly seemed to inch towards his hand, then sniffed and jerked backwards, but Jacques’ patience paid off and finally the reindeer pushed her head against his cupped fingers.

‘She’s been hand-reared,’ said Jacques. ‘She likes affection. But then, don’t we all?’ And he took Eve’s hand firmly and placed it on the
reindeer’s cheek.

Eve thought it would be wiry, but Holly’s fur was thick and soft.

‘She likes you,’ said Jacques, taking away his hand and letting Holly rub her head against Eve’s fingers.

‘Oh, she’s lovely,’ said Eve, mesmerized by this experience, which wasn’t on her list of top ten things to do. Holly’s fur was so thick she couldn’t get her
fingers through it. And she’d presumed the reindeer would be much bigger and clumsier-looking than this, with big, dangerous antlers. Eve suddenly became very aware of being watched and
turned to see Jacques staring at her, wearing a grin so cheesy it should have come free with a packet of Jacob’s crackers.

‘You’ve taken to her big-time, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘You’ll be heading up a chorus of ‘Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ any minute now.’

‘Don’t bet on it,’ said Eve, letting her hand drop. ‘When’s she due to give birth?’

‘Could be any time. She’s very big,’ said Jacques.

‘Does the local vet help reindeer give birth?’ Admittedly it was a change from diagnosing wet-tail in hamsters. ‘I presume you’ve asked?’

‘Believe it or not, I have that covered,’ said Jacques. ‘You’ll have to get up much earlier than that to catch me out. Mr Fleece did a stint at a wildlife park. He can
handle a delivery of a reindeer baby when it comes.’

‘Mr Fleece?’ Well, that was a great name for a vet, thought Eve. On more than one level.

‘Yep. He’s a jolly good fellow,’ replied Jacques, deadpan.

Eve was just about to ask what on earth he was on about when she got it:
Fleece a jolly good fellow.
She shook her head, tried not to groan, and turned her back on both Holly and him.
Poring over the accounts book was preferable to his stand-up comedy routine. Pulling her own teeth out would have been preferable to his stand-up comedy routine, if she was honest.

In the distance, Effin’s Carmarthenshire tones were splitting the air as he showered abuse on his workmen – Welsh and Polish alike.

‘I think in a past life he was Attila the Hun,’ said Jacques. And Eve smiled, though she didn’t want to. She quickly recovered.

‘Right, if you can take me through all that you’ve done since I was last here, I’d be very grateful,’ said Eve, trying not to sound as in need of a sit down and a
rejuvenating coffee as she was.

‘Certainly,’ said Jacques. ‘Come and look at the ponies. Shame the traps haven’t arrived yet, we could have tested out that romantic drive through the forest.’

‘Thank heaven for small mercies,’ said Eve, moving towards the horses.

She didn’t want to like them, really – they were just animals who were going to make her money, but she couldn’t help herself. The ‘snow ponies’ were delightful
creatures, five old white ponies, and sharing their paddock was a twenty-five-year-old, huge white Shire Horse called Christopher – all of them had been destined for the knackers yard before
Aunt Evelyn stepped in to rescue them. She had arranged stabling for them all until the park was ready to take them. The stables they were now being housed in at Winterworld were the equine version
of a Hilton.

‘Your Aunt Evelyn loved horses, didn’t she?’ said Jacques.

‘Erm, yes,’ replied Eve, but in truth she didn’t know if her aunt had or not. She had only ever heard her talk about cats.

‘The people at the stables were very sad to hear she’d died. She went to visit the ponies every week, apparently.’

Another side to Aunt Evelyn that Eve hadn’t a clue had existed.

‘They’re so friendly,’ said Jacques as Christopher lumbered to the fence and Jacques reached out and stroked his muzzle.

‘He’s very big, isn’t he?’ said Eve, hoping the thing wasn’t going to suddenly jump over and trample them to death.

‘He’s a softy. Stroke him.’

Eve showed willing and put her hand on the horse’s head. He seemed to like it, because when she stopped he nudged her hand, wanting more.

‘Not sure he’s had a lot of love in his life,’ said Jacques. ‘But we’ll make up for it here, won’t we, fella.’

‘Touching,’ said Eve drily. ‘Okay, show me the rest.’

They headed back into the lovely man-made forest, and once again she was visited by that sweet ache of a rare Christmas memory which she could think of without wanting to run from it.

Jacques must have had the ability to stop time, was Eve’s only thought, as he showed her all that had changed in the past month. It wasn’t possible. Well it was, with the amount of
workmen they had, but still . . . The log cabins were complete and ready to be furnished, the restaurant was equipped, the gift shop fully stocked with really nice stuff, which he obviously
hadn’t got from Nobby Scuttle. Eve couldn’t remember seeing a conical cabin selling soup and hot chocolate on the original plans, but one had sprung up at the side of the ice-cream
parlour. Elf-people were practising their shows and routines in a specially built theatre, snow machines were discreetly placed everywhere and puffing out practice sprays of snow. To say that Eve
was overwhelmed by the changes was putting it finely. She didn’t like the idea that her absence had shown her to be almost expendable, because she hadn’t thought anyone could have
powered a project like her, but Jacques Glace – the idiot buffoon Jacques Glace – had surpassed anything she could have done in less than a month. He left her in the Portakabin needing
a sit down and a coffee, and exited with a smiling sense of pride that he had gobsmacked her with his military-precision organizational skills. He knew it would have rankled that she had met her
match as far as making things happen went. That much he had learned first-hand from old Evelyn Douglas.

Eve tried not to be impressed, but it wasn’t happening. The man wasn’t human. She expected to find the paperwork a mess, but it was exactly the opposite. Everything was accounted
for, filed precisely, the figures stacked up to the penny. It’s all too perfect, her brain told her. It’s so good that there has to be something wrong. Now she was on the mend, she
could carry on her private investigations about the serial con-artist who had gone to ground for a few years, and if there was any link whatsoever to Mr Glace, she would have him in a police cell
as soon as look at him. Then Aunt Evelyn’s will would be altered and Winterworld would be all hers.

She lifted up an invoice for 200 Schneekugel which had been shipped in from Germany. It didn’t help that the invoice was in German. But whatever he had bought cost thousands of euros.
Maybe, this was it – the first evidence she had of a scam, she thought with some glee. She grabbed the invoice and marched off to find Mr Glace.

After a five-minute fruitless search, Eve went into the ice-cream parlour, which was really taking shape now. Pav was putting the finishing touches to his mural – white glitter paint on
the white Carousel horses that adorned the walls. Violet was in the kitchen humming ‘White Christmas’ as she stirred some edible silver flakes into a white ice-cream mix.