‘Very tall. Not dark though, but he could have easily gone grey in eight years. I’m going to ring the police again and report him.’
Violet looked horrified. ‘Eve, you can’t go around accusing people without good reason.’
‘Well, I’m going to tell Mr Mead anyway and see what he has to say about it all. I knew there was something fishy about the man. Do you know, I could quite happily bring Aunt Evelyn back to life just to kill her,’ said Eve, scratching hard at her stomach. ‘How could she be so careless and then leave me to sort all this out?’
‘Got lice?’ Violet nodded towards her.
‘They’ve obviously been buggering about with the formula for shower gel again,’ Eve answered. ‘I appear to have become allergic to my own knickers.’
‘Don’t tell Jacques Glace that one,’ giggled Violet. ‘He’ll suggest you take them off.’
Eve shuddered. ‘Don’t even joke.’
‘Come on then,’ said Violet, clicking off her seat-belt. ‘Let’s go and check out your inheritance. I’m so excited. My cousin owns a Christmas theme park.’ She clapped her hands together with delight.
‘Winter theme park, please,’ said Eve, mumbling in a very disgruntled way to herself. She had been non-stop poring over plans for Winterworld and now had a very definite idea of what it was going to be like: oodles of quality, less kiddy and more adult orientated than the rubbishy ‘Lapland-type’ theme parks which had garnered so much bad press for being gawdy and, well, crap. Winterworld was going to be a much classier act. She had dragged Violet along for half an hour to get a sneak peak of the plot before tomorrow’s big day: her first day at work there. Violet was always so full of puppyish joie de vivre that it would be useful to see things through her eyes, Eve thought. Violet was the equivalent of an adult Phoebe May Tinker.
Eve stood peeping through a slit in the high builder’s barricades, trying to imagine the park open and running before December if she had her way. She might have had more success imagining herself as Angelina Jolie.
Violet was squeaking with excitement and the sound made Eve smile. She had felt so terribly guilty that Violet was trapped in an awful situation last year and hadn’t been able to talk to her about it, especially as they were virtually inseparable as children.
‘Come on, then. Into the unknown,’ said Eve, taking out the large key and slipping it into the lock on the large iron side-gate. A security camera fixed to a nearby pole swept around to them.
‘Oh God, are we going to be mauled by Rottweilers or lions in a minute?’ asked Violet.
‘No, I rang Mr Pitt and told him I was coming,’ replied Eve. ‘So don’t worry.’ And the two women walked through, one slender as a reed and very blonde, the other dark, taller and curvier. Eve was very much in the mould of her aunt Susan with her big bosom and the nipped-in waist of a fifties film starlet, whereas Violet was like the women on the Flockton side – pale skin, bluebell-coloured eyes and a fragile frame.
Before them lay a concrete path leading up to a wood full of huge Christmas trees. To the right were log cabins. There looked to be a lot of land. Violet summed it up in just one word: ‘Blimey.’
‘Give or take the F-words, that’s what I was thinking,’ gasped Eve. ‘Look at all those Christmas trees.’
‘What’s that building over there?’ asked Violet, pointing towards a large log cabin. She unfolded the map which Eve had photocopied. ‘Ooh, it must be the café.’
‘Yes it is. And that one behind it is going to be your ice-cream parlour,’ Eve said, feeling ever so slightly faint. Standing here in the midst of it all was a curious mix of daunting and exciting. On one side, the sheer implausability of tackling a project of this size, on the other, the challenge, the adrenaline rush, the sense of achievement, because Eve knew she could make this work better than anyone else ever could. And then she’d be able to retire in six years’ time when she hit forty.
‘It’s a lovely idea having honeymoon cottages for the people who get married in the chapel,’ sighed Violet. ‘That would be so romantic, spending your first night as Mr and Mrs in a cabin on the edge of that pretty forest of Christmas trees.’
‘Like anyone will want to get married here,’ huffed Eve. ‘The chapel isn’t going to happen, you can bet your life savings on that one. It’s a total waste of a building.’
‘Can you alter the plans like that? Don’t you need permission from your partner?’
‘I’ll get permission, don’t you worry,’ said Eve, knowing that she easily would. When Eve Douglas put her mind to something, it happened.
‘I’m looking forward to opening another branch of Carousel. Does that make me a magnate?’ asked Violet with a smile on her lips. ‘What do you think the Daily Trumpet would call me?’
Eve chuckled. ‘That newspaper is just unbelievable. You do realize they’ll refer to you as a “magnet”.’
Violet giggled. ‘I have some great flavours that will go down really well – Snowflake, Mince Pie, Brandy Butter. Christmas . . .’ Violet paused as Eve raised a finger.
‘Figgy Pudding,’ she corrected. ‘Sounds better than Christmas Pudding anyway.’
Violet shrugged without saying that she thought Figgy pudding sounded very old-fashioned in a wrong way. She wished Eve would let a little of the festive season into her heart. Five years was way too much time to be shut away inside oneself. Violet didn’t want her cousin ending up like poor old Evelyn – alone and lonely for many, many years with only the cold comfort of ever-fading memories.
‘This place could be a goldmine in a couple of years if I get it right,’ said Eve.
Violet winked at her cousin. ‘If you can’t make it happen, Eve, no one can,’ she said.
Then behind them came the thunderous sound of someone bellowing ‘hello’. They turned to see a grinning, waving giant in a very familiar coat: Eve’s fellow will beneficiary.
‘Bonjour,’ he shouted. ‘Fancy meeting you here. Aren’t we on a wavelength? That bodes well.’
‘Who’s that?’ whispered Violet.
‘It’s him,’ Eve replied under her breath. And from the way she said ‘him’ and that her hair appeared to be standing up on end like a pissed-off cat, Violet knew this must be the mysterious Jacques Glace. Violet was intrigued. She had wondered what he looked like. From Eve’s description she had imagined a cross between Nosferatu and Frankenstein’s monster, not this smiling, handsome silver-fox with shiny blue eyes and very nice, generous lips curved up into a smile. Jacques strode towards them.
‘Don’t let him shake your hand, V,’ warned Eve quickly. ‘I’ve only just managed to get my arm back in its socket.’
‘So here we are on our land,’ said Jacques, managing to imply intimacy with the way he said that. ‘Huge, isn’t it? Look at those trees – wow. How strange you should be here at the same time as me. That’s a good sign, don’t you think?’
His damned eyes were twinkling mischievously again. Eve didn’t ask what that was a good sign of. She wasn’t in the mood for another of his stupid jokes about marriage. He was a charmer all right, but she was safe. Forewarned was forearmed.
‘Hi there, I’m Jacques Glace. No doubt you’ve heard all about me from Eve.’ He winked at Eve and she felt her lip curling over her teeth. He held his paw out towards Violet, seeing as no introductions from Eve were forthcoming.
Eve flashed a warning at Violet as she was taking his hand, but Jacques shook it very gently. It was the sort of handshake that spoke volumes to Violet. She got a very good vibe from him, however much of an obvious downer Eve had on the man.
‘Sisters, I presume?’ asked Jacques, flicking his finger from one to the other. Despite their different builds and colourings, that wasn’t as ludicrous as it might have sounded, because there was a distinct similarity in the shape of their large black-fringed eyes – even if Violet’s were the shade of May bluebells, and Eve’s Christmas-tree green. They also had identical smiles – but Jacques wouldn’t have noticed that because he
hadn’t seen Eve genuinely smile yet.
‘Cousins,’ said Violet, in a voice that told Eve she was a little charmed by Jacques. Traitor. She wouldn’t be that charmed when Eve exposed him for ripping the arse out of old ladies’ savings.
‘Ah,’ said Jacques, and he turned to Eve then and raised his eyebrows in such a way that she felt duty bound to make introductions.
‘Mr Glace, meet Violet,’ said Eve. ‘Violet makes ice cream. I am hoping I can persuade her to supply Winterworld.’
‘Oh, I love ice cream,’ beamed Jacques with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old child faced with a giant Mr Whippy cone studded with twelve flakes in it. ‘My grandmother used to make the best ice cream in France. And a gorgeous orange and cinnamon sorbet at Christmas. Do we get free samples?’ He rubbed his hands together and somehow reminded Eve of the big, daft red setter puppy which used to live a few doors down from her mother in one of the houses they had lived in. That’s what Jacques would be if he were suddenly turned into a canine. She wished. He’d be easier to control that way. Then again, thinking of that hyper dog that never seemed to calm down – maybe not.
‘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 r
ailway 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.
A Winter Flame Page 6
