A Winter Flame

by Milly Johnson

  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.

  Chapter 11

  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?

  Chapter 12

  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’.

  ‘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 hi
m. 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 agreemen
t,’ 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.

  Chapter 13

  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.