A Winter Flame (9 page)

‘Well, we’re not having those,’ said Eve in a low breath, and put the file back down.

‘You can’t have a Winterworld without reindeer,’ said Jacques.

‘Of course, you can,’ said Eve, picking up the next file: ‘Elves’. ‘Dear God,’ she said. ‘We are most certainly not having elves.’

‘Too late. Evelyn employed loads of them and they’ve all got contracts.’

Eve laughed mirthlessly. ‘How can you employ elves? They don’t exist.’

‘People willing to dress up as elves do. You’ll be saying next you aren’t having any snowmen.’

‘Snowmen are allowed,’ conceded Eve.

‘Goodness. We agree on something,’ chuckled Jacques, chalking a point up in the air with a licked finger. ‘Gets the blood going, doesn’t it? A bit of verbal fencing in
the morning.’

Oh, here we go again, thought Eve. Well, she would ignore his silly, childish flirtations. He would get tired of it eventually. They were going to be far too busy for such silliness.

As if able to read her thoughts, Jacques said, ‘We’ve got a meeting at eleven with the site manager. Nothing to worry about, just touching base. I’ve already had a word with
him about drafting extra men.’

‘Oh, have you?’ He was showing off, she decided. Trying to make out that he was super-efficient. Incompetent people usually tried that tactic but they soon became unstuck.

‘Yep.’

‘What did you know about Winterworld before the will reading?’ Eve asked, chewing the end of her pen. ‘Didn’t Aunt Evelyn ever say anything to you about it, during your
“many, many hours of conversation”?’

‘She talked about it non-stop,’ said Jacques, ‘but not as something she was actually doing, but rather as something she always wished she could have done. In our “many,
many hours of conversation” she spoke about it as someone else would talk about wishing they had enough money to buy a huge house by the sea or try their luck in Hollywood. I never for a
moment thought that she was actually in the process of building a real theme park. She was always drawing little sketches and coming up with new ideas for it – but I thought it was a harmless
fantasy. A diversion.’

‘And where did you have these “hours of conversation”?’ Eve asked tightly.

‘Some in her house, some in mine, some in other places.’

‘How long did you know my aunt, Mr Glace?’

‘Long enough to know when she passed away what she would have wanted.’

‘And what was that?’

Jacques leaped up from the desk, wheeled his chair into the middle of the room, positioned an angle-poise lamp on his desk to shine directly on his face, then quickly sat down.

‘Okay, Mrs Gestapo officer. I’ll tell you everything. Just promise not to tickle me.’

Very unamused, Eve looked at the man in the chair who was pretending that his arms were tied behind his back. She didn’t know how to deal with him. The man was insane. Talking of tickling,
her side was still itching like mad. The calamine lotion she had put on the previous night had made it worse if anything. She hadn’t slept very well at all. Lack of rest wasn’t helping
her temper.

‘Mr Glace. Old ladies do not leave fortunes to strangers. Who are you? Where do you come from, and why are you so bloody secretive?’

Jacques stopped pretending to be tortured and for the first time she heard him talking seriously.

‘I’m exactly what it says on the tin, Miss Douglas. I’m Jacques Glace and whatever your aunt did was as big a surprise to me as it was a shock to you, but she was a fine judge
of character and I consider it an honour that she trusted me to help fulfil a dream that sadly came too late for her to see to fruition. I’m half-French, half-Yorkshire, as I said, and I will
do my damnedest to make sure your aunt’s dream comes true, and that is all you need to know about me.’ He stood up then and took two long strides to the door. ‘If you’ll
excuse me, I have some straw for the paddocks arriving in approximately ten minutes. I’ll be back at eleven with the site manager, Effin Williams.’

And with that he walked outside with his big boots on, leaving Eve wondering if she was actually locked in a bad dream after eating far too much cheese late last night.

Effin Williams looked like a weeble. Eve thought that if she were to push the little round man, he would wobble but not fall down. He had shoulders wider than his short legs
were long but when he shouted, his workforce jumped to attention. His voice was from the Welsh valley of Carmarthen but sounded as if it was full of coal rather than daffodils. He had a name that
suited him down to the ground as most of his workforce called him Effin Williams to his face and effin Effin Williams behind his back.

‘’Ere is the reindeer park.’ He stabbed a stubby finger down on the architect’s plan. ‘Miss Douglas wanted a stable for them, so a stable is what she has
’ad.’

‘Hmm,’ said Eve under her breath, sounding like a very unimpressed Lord Sugar. As soon as this meeting was over she was going to ring up and see what the situation was about
cancelling the reindeer.

‘Is there any other livestock coming?’ asked Eve, casting her eye over the map and doing a double-check for anything with the word ‘penguin’ scribbled on it.

‘Only reindeer and white ponies, and I do believe there was some talk about rescue snowy owls,’ said Effin. ‘Oh, and the polar bear. Not sure if Miss Douglas was
jo-kin’
or not about that. We certainly haven’t built an enclosure, so if one arrives, it’ll have to bunk up
eyor
with the reindeer, until we can build him a
cage.’

Eve saw Effin give Jacques a sly wink, and she bit down on her lip to stem her annoyance. She hadn’t liked Effin Williams any more than she had liked Jacques Glace on sight. She had a
feeling that Effin was wondering what she was doing out at work when it was such a good drying day for the washing.

‘What stage is the restaurant at?’ asked Eve, trying to sound super-efficient and super-in-control and not super-pissed-off.

‘Wiring – check, plastered – check, painted – check, floorin’– check,’ said Effin, using his short, fat finger to cross off an imaginary checklist in
the air. ‘Kitchen equipment being delivered’ – he looked at his clipboard – ‘Thursday this week for fitting.’

‘The caterers are on stand-by. They’re a very good firm. Friends of mine actually,’ put in Jacques. ‘I recommended them to your aunt.’

Eve’s head whirled suspiciously around. ‘Oh, did you really? I thought you didn’t know about this place before she died.’ Ha. He’d tripped himself up there good and
proper.

‘I didn’t,’ said Jacques. ‘She asked me one day if I knew of a catering firm who could run “a friend’s café” as she told me. I put her in touch
with the people I know. I hadn’t a clue she meant this place.’

Did Eve believe him? Not really. It was all a bit too convenient for her liking.

‘Can you let me know if there’s any hold up with anything. We’re on a very tight schedule,’ Jacques said to the squat little foreman.

‘No hold ups at all, Captain,’ said Effin.

Eve huffed. Captain? That was rather close to Major.

‘I know some very good caterers myself,’ said Eve. ‘I had in mind to ring them—’

‘Evelyn booked them already,’ said Jacques. ‘I sometimes wonder if she knew she was near the end. She must have worked like a demon to arrange all the things she
did.’

Eve tried not to look as drowned with information as she felt. What the hell was her aunt thinking of, taking on a project of this size at her age? Gutsy old bird as she was, even Eve felt
totally overwhelmed with the amount of work there was to do and oversee. In truth, she felt uncharacteristically drained. Physically as well as mentally.

‘I reckon,’ said Effin, slurping noisily on the last of his coffee – a huge pot mug bearing the wording
Welsh men are the best lovers, isn’t it? –
‘we’ll just about do it for a couple of weeks before Christmas. Everything will be signed off and perfect. I’ve drafted a load of Poles in. Work like bloody ’ell they
do.’ He turned purposefully to Eve. ‘Then it’s just down to you to pick the curtains for the cabins.’

Eve felt herself rearing. Just because she had boobs he was presuming that her major role was to choose the bloody soft furnishings. And the ironic thing was that his boobs were probably bigger
than hers. She heard a weird short squeak and realized it was Jacques trying to hold in a laugh. Boy, was she going to show effin Effin Williams and effin Jacques Glace what she was capable of.
They’d be eating those cushions along with their own words shortly.

When Effin had left, Jacques watched Eve stomp around the office a few times between boxes.

‘So, do you want to pick the curtains for the cabins or shall I?’

He held up his palms in surrender as Eve whizzed around and tried to burn him with her eyes.

‘Joke,’ he said. ‘Evelyn arranged for a team of interior designers as well. As you’ll know if you read the files.’

‘Yes, I knew that,’ said Eve, scratching her side. The itching pain there was driving her mental and making her very snappy.

Outside they heard the Carmarthenshire tones of Effin ring across the yard and drown out even the noise from the digger engine.

‘Brysiwch y jiawled diog. Siapwch hi!
And for you non-Welsh bastards who didn’t understand that, I’m not telling you it’s bloody tea-break time. I’m telling
you to hurry up you lazy gits and shape up.’

Jacques half winced, half laughed. In a past life, Effin would have been beating galley slaves. He was only glad the little gaffer didn’t get PMT weeks.

‘Oh, and as far as the stocking of the gift shop goes, I can manage that by myself, if you don’t mind, Mr Glace.’

Jacques turned his eyes to her. Big and blue with a gaze so laser-intense, she found herself blinking and having to drop contact with them before they incinerated her irises.

‘Miss Douglas,’ he said, in a patient and highly amused tone, ‘may I remind you that there is no “I” in team.’

‘But there is a “me”,’ countered Eve.

‘And a “meat”,’ said Jacques.

‘What on earth does that mean?’ Eve threw back.

Jacques shrugged. ‘I don’t know, actually.’

Was there any wonder she felt unable to work with him?

‘I think it might be best if we head up half the projects each rather than try and do them together. That way, we can play to our strengths.’
And I can see you as little as
possible.
‘As I say, I have contacts in the gift-shop trade and the ice-cream shop, as you know,’ said Eve sweetly. ‘And if you have contacts with Santa, you take over the
grotto.’

‘Okay,’ Jacques replied, those blue eyes twinkling. ‘If that’s how you would prefer to operate, then we will do that.’ He held out his hand to shake on the deal. A
bit superfluous, thought Eve, and said so.

‘Is that necessary?’

‘A gentleman always shakes on an agreement,’ he answered. ‘Plus it gives me a chance to hold your hand.’ She wished his eyes would stop twinkling. It was as if he was
going to play a practical joke on her at any minute. She almost felt as if she should check his palm in case he had one of those electric buzzers lying in wait for her.

Eve took his hand, intending to shake it quickly with as little contact as she could get away with, but he held on firmly and gave it a hearty shake. The man didn’t know his own strength.
But if it got him away from her and busy on his pet projects she would let him shake her hand on the hour, every hour, for a week. She would let him get on with his side of things for now whilst
she carried out her investigations on him. If he thought she trusted him, he would start to act. Very possibly money would start being syphoned off, so she would keep a close eye on the accounts.
Whatever he was planning to do, she’d find out and expose him – nothing surer.

Eve sat down at her desk and opened up her address book whilst she tried to shut out the sound of Jacques Glace humming ‘Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer’. Not surprisingly, he was
word-perfect.

Eve immediately fixed up a meeting with Nobby from Nobby’s Novelties for the next day. He sounded out of puff just from answering the telephone. He could supply all they
needed for a theme park gift shop – colourful child-attracting items with a high profit margin.

She went to bed that night worn out but happy with her progress – and woke up the next morning feeling as if she had been kicked in the back by a horse. She must have slept in a very
twisted position, she decided.

Winterworld was a hive of activity when she got there. Big trucks were rumbling through the gates. She arrived at the Portakabin, loaded with ibuprofen because her back pain wasn’t
subsiding, if anything, it was getting worse. And that damned rash was spreading too, but she hadn’t any time to go to the doctors because she had the heavy-breathing rep to meet with. What a
great start to the day. And if that wasn’t enough, Effin Williams was standing there watching her get out of the car, hoping for a flash of thigh, no doubt.

But despite his chauvinistic ways, no one could take away from him that he was a damned good foreman. There was no lounging about on long, infamous builders’ tea breaks when he was in the
area.

She imagined his Welsh eyes burning into her bum as she climbed the four steps into the Portakabin. The office was full of the smell of fresh coffee; Jacques had beaten her in again, it seemed.
She hoped he would bugger off and not be hanging around when Nobby Scuttle arrived. She poured herself a coffee and sat down, because the pain in her back really was dragging her down. It felt as
if she had been thumped by a hammer. She wasn’t in the mood for Jacques’ jolly ‘
Bonjour
’ as he blasted into the office with a giant flying jacket on, and she hoped
that was indicative of him making a flying visit. But he settled on his chair, threaded his fingers, and looked as if he didn’t really know what to do with himself next. He started whistling
– a syncopated, annoying version of ‘Away in a Manger’, which made Eve lose her thread of concentration.

‘It’s going to be great, isn’t it? I love Christmas,’ he enthused. ‘If we weren’t spending it on my grandparents’ farm in France, we were at home with
lots of relatives staying over. Big fires, lots of laughter, kids, animals, games.’