A Winter Flame (8 page)

‘I’m sure I could rustle up a tub or two for you,’ said Violet. She had the temerity to smile. Eve couldn’t believe it – her cousin was borderline flirting with
this man.

‘Ace,’ beamed Jacques and held up an approving thumb. Then his attention shifted to Eve. ‘So, shall we commence a grand tour of our park then?’ He held out his crooked
arm for her to take. She ignored it and walked forward towards the first log cabin.

Jacques followed behind, unfolding a map from his pocket.

‘So that’s the café then?’ he said, trying to peer in through the boarded-up windows; then he tried the door. As if it would be open, huffed Eve, consulting the map as
she strolled on. She would have had serious words with the builders if it was. She heard Violet laughing behind her at something Jacques was saying and felt a prickle of betrayal.

Eve swept her eyes over the not-quite-finished buildings in front of her and began to visualize how it would all look when it was completed. It was mid-October already. Could they really get
enough of it ready to open for this Christmas? Maybe – if the workmen were here 24/7.

As if Jacques – perish the thought – had delved into Eve’s head and seen her thoughts, he said, ‘It could be ready for this Christmas if we get our act
together.’

‘Surely not,’ said Violet, visualizing the amount of work that would take. She looked to Eve for her reaction and was surprised to see her head slowly nodding an affirmative.

‘All the major building work is done and if we draft in more builders to work around the clock to finish everything off, I don’t see why not. Obviously it’ll take a few years
to build up to its full potential, but I reckon there will be enough here to merit an entrance fee this year. It’s going to be close – mid-December I’d guess – but, yep,
it’s possible,’ Jacques went on.

‘I agree,’ said Eve. Not to cash in on the major money-making period around Christmas would be an epic failure – and Eve didn’t do failure. In the light of Shite
Christmas’s questionable success, other winter theme parks would spring up like pesky dandelions on a lawn, and Winterworld needed to be up and running and bloody fantastic, grabbing all the
limelight. Yes it could be good, and now was the ideal time to do it, with so many builders out of (and desperate for) work. They could make this happen.

Eve walked on, imagining the completed park –
over there the fast-food restaurant, the souvenir shop and ice-cream parlour.
She tried not to think about the must-have Santa’s
grotto. Maybe she could leave that with Jacques Glace to sort out. She imagined he’d be very good at playing with toys.

‘I was just telling Violet,’ said Jacques, coming up behind her and using her cousin’s name as casually as if he had known her for years, ‘that apparently the only
completely finished building on site is the wedding chapel. He grinned and stared at her with a look that was longer than necessary. ‘Wonder why Evelyn put that top of the list? It’s
behind the enchanted forest.’

‘God only knows,’ Eve exclaimed. Damn.

‘I think I might have guessed,’ he said. ‘I bet your aunt thought we’d get along very well.’

Eve ignored that.

They walked along the path to the first of more log cabins – the one with a tower and a single bell hanging in it. What a ridiculous thing to have built – and built first, thought
Eve. It didn’t make any good commercial business sense. Her aunt had really slipped up there.

‘I need to get inside,’ said Eve.

‘I like your enthusiasm for getting down the aisle,’ Jacques winked. ‘That bodes well, too.’

Eve refused to be party to his infantile wedding jokes, and walked around the outside of the chapel getting her sensible Hunter wellies even more caked in mud. Behind her she could hear Jacques
talking to Violet about ice cream. At least he was in agreement with her idea to bring in Violet and Pav. As he would soon be in agreement with all her other plans.

The chapel was bolted shut and they didn’t have a key for the padlock on the tiny, gothic arched door.

‘What a shame,’ said Jacques, leaning over and saying for her ears only, ‘we could have had a practice run.’

And for his ears only Eve said, ‘I don’t know what your game is, Mr Glace, but please be assured that your puerile, unfunny jokes are falling on very deaf ears.’

‘Who’s joking? I always mean what I say; you would be as well to remember that, Miss Douglas,’ he said, so close to her ear that she felt his stubble brush her lobe. She moved
away and scratched at it as if it had just been touched by an irritating insect – which wasn’t too far away from what she thought about her mysterious business partner. Then she moved
her scratching attentions down to her side and stuck her nails into her skin because the itch there was still driving her mental. She was going to write to Procter and Gamble when she got home and
complain that they shouldn’t mess around with their lemon shower gel formulas without informing the public.

The grotto had a protective fence around it so they couldn’t even see the outside, never mind the inside of it. Not that Eve was anxious to. Santa held no attraction for her. It was a
stupid thing to believe in anyway.

‘What do you think we should call the ice-cream parlour?’ asked Violet. ‘Santa’s Ices, Santa’s Pantry . . .’

‘Why should it be Santa’s anything?’ Eve replied with a weary snap in her voice. ‘It’s Winterworld, not Christmasworld. We should concentrate primarily on the
season, not the holiday.’ Why was everyone so obsessed with it being all about Christmas?

‘So you’re just going to cut out all references to Christmas?’ said Jacques, doing a very French-like shrug. ‘Who would you prefer to have running the grotto then? A
child catcher?’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Eve. ‘Of course, we’ll have to have a Santa. But we need to emphasize the winter aspect more than the Christmas aspect. It’s commercial
sense. No one would want to come to a Christmas theme park in July.’

‘I would,’ said Violet, raising her hand as if she were in class. Then she realized that she probably shouldn’t have said that from the withering look Eve gave her.

‘I beg to differ also,’ said Jacques. ‘Some people have Christmas in their heart all year round. Your Aunt Evelyn for instance.’

‘Who was quite obviously more unhinged than I’d thought, looking at all this,’ said Eve under her breath. Well, she’d get her way in the end. She had years of business
experience behind her and only an idiot would try to convince her that she was wrong in wanting to adhere strictly to the ‘winter’ theme. But she was thinking more and more that she was
going to have a battle on her hands with Jacques Glace. He was a Christmasphile and he’d have the park full of festive tat given half the chance. Well, he wouldn’t get that chance. When
Eve found out what his dubious connection to Aunt Evelyn was, she would use it to drive him out of her business.

The track for the miniature railway had been laid already at the side of the path through the forest.

‘This is going to be so pretty,’ trilled Violet. ‘What a shame you couldn’t get the reindeer to pull a sleigh too, along here.’

‘There won’t be any reindeer,’ Eve returned. She thought she had said that under her breath but Jacques heard it.

‘No reindeer?’ he boomed, making Brian Blessed sound like a horse whisperer. ‘Of course there will be reindeer. You can’t have a Christmas park without a
reindeer.’

‘It’s not a Christmas park,’ Eve clung desperately onto her calmness.

‘Oh yes it is,’ Jacques laughed.

‘Oh no it isn’t,’ Eve replied.

‘Oh yes it is,’ Jacques said again, and Eve was just about to argue when she realized he had deliberately dragged her into a pantomime exchange. The man was incorrigible.

‘It is a
winter
theme park, Mr Glace. There is a marked difference. And though there is a crossover, there must have been a reason why my Aunt Evelyn called it
“Winterworld” and not “Christmasworld”. Trust me, she will have thought of that. You must see my point.’

‘I do see your point,’ Jacques nodded sagely. ‘But Evelyn called it Winterworld because the name Christmasworld had been taken by a company who threatened to sue her if she
used it. Trust
me,
I know what she wanted. Santa, reindeers, elves, snowmen and a ton and a half of glitter.’

‘How do you know that?’ gasped Eve, flicking at some loose strands which had broken free from her tied-back hair.

‘Because she told me,’ he said.

Eve didn’t answer because she felt as if she might blow up if she opened her mouth. How
dare
this man whom she didn’t know from Adam tell her what her own aunt wanted. An aunt
she had known for twenty-six years as well. Who was he to do that? She needed to know a lot more about Mr Jacques Glace – or should she say Major Jack Glasshoughton?

‘Well, I think I’ve seen enough for now,’ said Jacques, grinning as if he was pleased at throwing a spanner into Eve’s works. ‘See you bright and early in the
morning.
Au revoir, mademoiselle,
’ he said to Violet. ‘And
au revoir, ma cherie,’
to Eve.

Infuriated, she gave him the briefest of dismissive nods and turned her attention back to the plans whilst he walked off whistling ‘Winter Wonderland’.

‘That was a bit rude, you not saying goodbye to him,’ said Violet.

‘I don’t like him and I don’t trust him,’ said Eve. ‘When I find out who
he is,
I might be more inclined to speak civilly to him.’ She was totally
convinced that Jacques Glace was a man with more secrets than three Aunt Evelyns.

The house was freezing when Eve got in. The central-heating clock had reset itself and thought it was the middle of the night and switched itself off. It was a cold house at
the best of times, far too big for one person rattling around in it. Then again, when she and Jonathan had bought it, they’d had plans to fill it full of friends and parties – and, in
time, children.

Eve altered the clock on the control panel, heard the rumble begin in the pipes and stood by the window, holding her hands over the hurricane glass with the large candle burning brightly inside
it. The heat touched her fingers and warmed them like a caress.

She tried to imagine how Jonathan’s hand used to feel when it held hers and she couldn’t, however much she tried. Life had robbed her of her fiancé and if that wasn’t
enough, it whittled away at her remaining memories, stripping them of tiny details day by day. They thought they had all the time in the world to record the progress of the house renovation on the
camcorder, but they didn’t. Just one fifteen-second film bite remained on her iPod of Jonathan, in his uniform, lighting the candle in the window before he left for Helmand Province.

Eve played it for the millionth time and smiled as he appeared on the screen, so slim and handsome in his uniform. He struck a long match and held the flame to the thick white pillar candle.

‘As long as this burns, Evie, remember I’m with you,’ he said, and blew a kiss at the camera. See you soon, honey. You look after yourself. And look after my candle.’
Then the film ended. Five minutes later, he was gone, and she never saw him alive again.

The candle had been replaced many times over the five years, but she had never let that flame go out, never gave up the thought that Jonathan, wherever he was, was hers and she was his. The
candle was proof that that hadn’t changed. No one could ever come close to loving anyone the way they had loved each other. No one. So there was no point in her ever opening up her heart to
let anyone else in, was there?

Whatever Mr Jacques Glace might have decreed, Eve was on her way to work by half-past seven the next morning. She had presumed she would be the first one on site, but was wrong
by a long mile. The large gates were open and diggers were operating, and in the car park was an old Jeep with a personalized reg on it. The first five letters read J4CK G. That must have cost a
fortune, she thought, quickly followed by: I hope that money didn’t come from Aunt Evelyn.

‘Ah, good morning, Mademoiselle Eve,’ Jacques greeted her, as Eve pushed the door to the Portakabin open and found him there, drinking coffee, surrounded by open boxes of papers,
his enormous feet up on the desk. ‘You went for an early start too. Couldn’t sleep. Far too excited.’ He grinned, then offered: ‘Can I make you a coffee?’ He pointed
to an old-fashioned percolator, on the top of a nearby table, which was spitting and hissing like something that needed the services of an exorcist.

‘Thanks, I’ll get my own,’ said Eve, stripping off her gloves. It might have been frosty outside, but at least the Portakabin was toasty-warm.

‘Milk’s in the fridge.’ Jacques pointed to a tiny box at the other side of the table. ‘Sugar’s . . . Ah, don’t expect you take sugar.’

‘Actually, I do,’ said Eve.

‘That surprises me,’ laughed Jacques.

‘Why? Why should it surprise you?’ snapped Eve. The man knew nothing about her and was pretending he did.

‘Because . . .’ He drew the shape of a woman in the air with his hands: a woman with a small waist. Eve didn’t like that the drawn-in-the-air woman had quite big boobs and hips
though. Dear God, she’d only been in the room for five minutes and he had wound her up already.

‘Sugar’s in the top filing cabinet with the crockery,’ said Jacques, an amused smile playing on his lips. Then Eve was sure he muttered something like, ‘Alas we’re
out of Evening Primrose Oil.’ She didn’t give him the satisfaction of asking him to repeat it though.

‘I’ve found loads more files,’ said Jacques. ‘I’ve left them out on your desk for you to look at.’

Eve bristled again. There were two desks in the Portakabin and already Jacques had decided which was hers and which his. Admittedly, the one he pointed to was by the window in the nicer position
but still, he had chosen and that’s what rankled.

‘Thank you,’ she said, managing to sound not in the slightest grateful.

Eve poured herself a coffee, splashed in some milk and added half a teaspoon of sugar. Then she went back to the desk which Jacques had
so kindly
selected for her and lifted up one of the
files. It bore the label: ‘Reindeer’.