A Winter Flame

by Milly Johnson

  Eve applied an arc of dark-pink lipstick and pressed her lips together. The day, despite looking very chilly and dull, carried a very thrilling buzz about it. Her cousin was getting married to probably the most considerate, thoughtful man in the world. She doubted even Jonathan would have gone to those measures. Or would he? She had found out recently that she didn’t know as much as she thought she did about her Aunt Evelyn, her cousin, even herself. So how much did she really know about a man she had been with for only nine months? On the fringe of her memory teased something she had read about Henry VIII and Jane Seymour at Alison’s house, but it wouldn’t be pinned down and then vanished.

  She had replaced the candle the previous night. The flame was long and steadily burning without any flicker. Violet was getting married to a man, and she was wedded to a candle. It would be funny if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

  She slipped on her green coat which matched her dress and shoes. A Christmas colour for Christmas lovers, she decided. She had put a cheque in an envelope for the happy couple and hoped they would spend it on something frivolous and flighty. Tonight they were staying in one of the log cabins. Champagne was on ice, bowls of chocolate and fruit arranged for them and at six o’clock precisely, a dinner of lobster and all the trimmings would be delivered.

  Eve drove round to pick up her Auntie Susan, who was wearing a red dress and jacket. Big Patrick the butcher had a matching red tie on and a red handkerchief tucked in the top pocket of his grey suit. He held out his arm for Susan to take after she locked the door as she looked less than steady on her new high heels.

  ‘I’m sick with nerves,’ said Susan as she got into the car. ‘I hope it goes all right.’

  Patrick looked upwards at the clouds. ‘I wish the weather had been better for her. It’s like night-time.’

  ‘The forecast is dry but bloody freezing,’ said Susan. ‘I don’t mind freezing, but I do mind wet. I don’t want it to rain for her.’

  ‘I’m sure Pav has fixed the weather too,’ chuckled Eve. ‘He seems to have done everything else.’

  ‘I wonder what Violet’s doing now,’ said Susan, her voice all trembly. ‘I haven’t dared ring. I’ve tried to play the game and pretend I don’t know.’

  Eve noticed that Patrick was holding her hand tightly. They looked like teenagers in the back of one of their parents’ cars. Love made everyone feel sixteen. Eve wished she could experience that smiling inner tickle of joy again. But she knew she never would. Her life was mapped out – work, work and more work, and watching other people holding hands and getting married in her own chapel.

  The service road went down the side of the park, past the paddocks, and met with a car park out of sight behind the grotto. They parked up next to a silver Mercedes. Standing next to that car were Violet’s friends Max and Bel and their partners. Eve and Susan waved at them.

  ‘Wotcher,’ said Max, when they all got out of the car and came over for hugs. ‘This is a bit of an unusual one, isn’t it?’

  ‘Says her.’ Bel thumbed at Max. ‘The master of outlandish weddings.’

  ‘Well, wait until you see my next one,’ winked Max.

  ‘Where’s Pav?’ asked Eve.

  ‘Shitting himself in the chapel by now, probably,’ said Bel. ‘I thought it was one of the snowmen when I first saw him; all the colour has drained out of his face. He told us not to follow him in until ten to.’

  ‘It’s nearly ten to now. Shall we go in?’ said Max. ‘I’m bloody frozen.’

  ‘I can’t walk far in these heels,’ said Susan. ‘I knew I should have brought some flatties with me.’

  ‘It’s not far, Auntie Susan,’ said Eve. ‘Just around this corner.’

  ‘Aye, come on, my watch says ten to eleven exactly,’ said Patrick, and threaded his arm through hers. ‘Shall I carry you in?’

  ‘If you think I’m nursing you whilst you’re on traction for months, you can think again,’ huffed Susan. ‘I’ll walk, thank you.’

  The small wedding party started to walk towards the chapel. As they turned the corner, a beautiful sight met them – hundreds of red and green coloured lanterns hanging from trees and poles painted in candy-cane stripes, bringing their own magic to the dull December day. And light snowflakes began to fall from a secretly placed snow machine.

  ‘Oh my, isn’t this just lovely,’ gasped Susan. ‘I feel like I’m walking in a Christmas card.’ There was more to come.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Bel, as they set foot into the chapel. Which more or less summed up what everyone else was thinking. The tiny chapel was covered in displays of holly and mistletoe, and large swooping ribbons of red and green. Then one of the elf-people, in full elf regalia, started playing on the organ at the front left of the church. It was a portable instrument, but fake pipes had been adhered to the walls to make it look like a grand church organ. Her feet were nowhere near the forte and piano pedals so there was some sort of wire contraption travelling between them and her shoes to allow her to work them. She was playing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’ note perfect.

  ‘It’s like something out of a story book,’ said Max, mouth open in wonder as she sat on a pew. ‘Can I smell gingerbread or am I hallucinating?’

  Just as Susan was about to ask Eve where Pav was, he emerged from the door on the right of the tiny altar. He was wearing a black suit with tails, a high white collar and a green cravat, and there was a sprig of holly and the tiniest red poinsettia in his buttonhole. He was flanked by the mighty figures of Santa with his white beard and red cloak, and Jacques, also in a black coat with tails, cravat and holly sprig. Eve gulped. She had never seen him in anything but big puffy coats and jeans. She didn’t like that her eyes were appraising him so much. He waved and everyone except Eve waved back, because she was still trying to absorb the figure of him in a suit so obviously made to his exact measurements whilst equating him to the clumsy buffoon she was accustomed to. This man with the straight back and gorgeous threads made George Clooney look like Columbo. She watched him reassuring Pav, checking they had the rings, patting his back. Then he waved over at Eve, beckoning her forward.

  ‘You need to sit with me as the second witness,’ he said. ‘You’re very red, are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Eve snapped defensively, taking her seat at the side of him on the pew.

  Violet was also sitting down. Two women were giving her a manicure, one was faffing with her hair and another was waiting to put some make-up on her. The taxi which Pav was going to order for her never arrived, funnily enough. Instead, a team of smiling women rang her bell and when she opened it, one of them said, ‘Hello. We’re here for a Miss Violet Flockton, courtesy of Mr Pawel Novak.’ So Violet, with trembling hands, went through the charade of ringing Pav to ask who these women on her doorstep were.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I forgot to tell you, Violet. Today we are getting married.’

  And even though Violet knew of this in advance, the, ‘Wha-at?’ she gave by way of an answer, was still one of delighted shock.

  ‘Violet. I will see you in one hour. Then you will be Mrs Nowak,’ he said masterfully, giving her no time for protest as he put the phone down.

  ‘You better come in then,’ said Violet to the smiling army waiting outside.

  The woman now applying make-up to her face had an instantly recognizable voice – high-pitched and squeaky. She didn’t quite have as many pronounced curves as Marilyn Monroe, but she had the same blonde hair and slightly dizzy way about her.

  ‘We don’t get many brides who haven’t a clue we’re coming,’ said Serena. ‘Are you excited?’

  ‘I am,’ trilled Violet, who was getting more giddy by the second.

  ‘I don’t think everyone would be,’ confided Serena. ‘I must admit, we were all a bit nervous about coming here. Maria, who did your left hand, had visions of you calling the police on us.’

  Violet chuckled. ‘If you’d have asked me a couple of months ago if it was the way I’d visualized getting
married, I would have said no, but,’ I thought I’d lost him – ‘I love him. I don’t think anyone’s ever gone to this sort of trouble for me before.’

  She tried not to think about her ex-fiancé, who put her on a pedestal but was driven by the need to control and satisfy his own wants. Dear Pav thought of her first, and what he was doing was driven by love for her.

  ‘Time changes all the things you think are set in stone,’ said Serena, working on Violet’s eyes. ‘Look down for me. I used to be bothered about having a big house and a fancy car, but not any more. They aren’t the important things in life – people are. You’re a lucky lady, pet. He’s a lovely man.’

  Serena had told her that her soldier husband had been killed in action in Iraq. He never did get to see his twin girls, born a month after their father’s funeral.

  Violet knew then, knew without a doubt in her heart, how much Pav must love her, adore her, want to be with her. Serena was right – she was a lucky lady. A lady who wasn’t going to resist throwing herself into married life with Pav any more. What on earth was she thinking of saying ‘there’s no rush’ in the first place? The way she felt now, she wanted to take that aisle in one running jump.

  ‘When you find someone like you obviously have, you cling on for as long as you can, and you enjoy every minute,’ said Serena. ‘Keep both eyes closed now. You’re going to have a great day. Pav made sure that he didn’t leave any stone unturned.’

  ‘I wonder if he remembered a dre—’

  ‘Now open your eyes.’

  Violet opened her eyes to see left-hand Maria standing by the door and draped over her arm was the most beautiful pale-cream gown and a fur-trimmed cape and hood. And the woman who did her right hand was holding up a pair of short cream boots.

  ‘Like I say,’ said Serena. ‘He didn’t leave a stone unturned.’

  In the chapel, Santa was checking his watch. ‘Fashionably late,’ he said with a grin, peering at Eve over his gold half-moon spectacles. Eve dropped her eyes shyly. That Santa could see into her soul, she was sure. He was every tick on a Santa checklist – hair, build, beard, clothes, rosy cheeks complete with tiny thread veins, laugh straight out of a boom box. Children were going to love him. Their Winterworld Santa was the best there could be.

  ‘Wonder how Violet is,’ Jacques said.

  ‘No one has dared to ring her,’ replied Eve, trying not to think how dashing he looked in that suit. How big and handsome and confident.

  ‘You look very beautiful in that dress, Eve.’

  Eve gulped. She must have heard him wrong. He wasn’t looking at her, his eyes were forward.

  ‘What did you say?

  ‘You heard.’

  He still didn’t turn to her. So she had heard him right.

  ‘I’m not, never have been, nor ever will be, beautiful,’ snorted Eve.

  ‘Many as your abilities are, I don’t think you have quite managed to see yourself through the eyes of others yet, unless I’m very much mistaken.’ Then his head swivelled around to her. ‘Your eyes are the same colour as your outfit. Green as Christmas trees. However much you might hate that comparison.’

  Eve opened her mouth to speak and then found no words followed. She didn’t like the alien effect they had on her, making her slightly light-headed and her brain full of fizz. She was grateful that Max shouted, ‘She’s here.’ And the organist began to play the first bars of ‘The Wedding March’ which slid seamlessly into ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’.

  Pav stood and turned to see his beaming bride in the perfectly fitted dress. He had borrowed her favourite dress and taken it to Serena, whose colleague took the measurements from it. He had designed the dress himself though. He knew she wouldn’t want it to look anything like the last dress she bought for the wedding that never was. All his nerves disappeared when he saw her lovely smile. She was here, she looked happy. He knew he had taken a big gamble. Her ex-fiancé was a total control freak and this could so easily have been seen as similar behaviour: choosing her shoes, her dress, searching through her things in order to pack a case for her.

  Violet walked down the very short aisle holding a bouquet of white roses and mistletoe, which one of Serena’s girls had made for her. The fur of her hood was softly framing her pretty pale face. She looked stunning, shining from the inside out.

  ‘Dearly beloved,’ began Santa in a smiling boom of a voice, as he opened the ceremony to wed Violet and Pav.

  Chapter 45

  Violet signed the register under her new name ‘Violet Nowak’. It made her feel all warm and tingly inside.

  ‘Smile,’ ordered Max, raising her camera. ‘Look at your new husband.’

  Violet turned her face to Pav’s. He was looking down at her with such love and happiness, she wanted to cry.

  ‘I thought you weren’t going to ask me again to get married,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Pav. ‘I just went ahead and booked it.’

  ‘I’m so glad you did,’ said Violet.

  ‘So am I, my love,’ and Pav leaned down and kissed her on the lips, and there was a rumble of cheers from the small congregation.

  ‘Boys and girls, I do believe there are some refreshments waiting for you,’ said that too-real Santa whom Eve found difficult to get eye contact with. So it was to her horror that she felt his arm fall around her shoulder as the party was filtering out of the tiny wedding log cabin.

  ‘Young lady, can I have a word?’ he said.

  ‘Y-yes,’ stammered Eve, hoping it was a quick one. He made her feel very childlike again.

  ‘I just wanted to say what a wonderful lady your Aunt Evelyn was,’ he said.

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ Santa made her feel speechless as well as everything else.

  ‘It was a terrible shame she discovered her niche in life so very late. If only she had years ago, when she was young and beautiful.’

  Beautiful? Was Aunt Evelyn beautiful as a young woman? The few photographs Eve had of her aunt didn’t show her to be what she would call classically beautiful. Evelyn had a long, thin face as a young woman and clouds of sadness in her eyes. Eve was suddenly intrigued.

  ‘Did you know her when she was younger, S . . . Nicholas?’ Christ, she nearly called him Santa then.

  ‘Our paths first crossed many years ago,’ he said. He had nice, white, small square teeth, Eve noticed. Santa teeth. She half expected him to say that her aunt had come to see him in his grotto when she was a nipper and asked for a whip and top. ‘I hadn’t seen her for over thirty years when she got back in touch in March to ask if I’d be interested in taking up the position here. She said she’d never forgotten me.’ A sad wistful note accompanied his words.

  Eve was about to ask what he did in his previous life but amazingly she stopped herself – because she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to hear that he had been an accountant or a vicar or swept roads for the council. It suddenly didn’t matter. She wanted to believe that he always had been what he was now. She didn’t want to hear that he hadn’t been the magical Santa who had restored her faith in the library of Higher Hoppleton Hall.

  She took a huge gulp of cold air when she left the cabin and walked out into air filled with fat snow-flakes from the switched-on machines. ‘What the frig is going on with you, Eve Douglas?’ she gave herself a stiff word. But it was hard not to be mixed up, standing in a crowd of small people dressed in elf costumes, throwing confetti in the shape of green holly leaves and little red berries at a happy couple getting married in a snow-filled, bauble-decorated bubble. A few of the builders had downed tools as well to see the newlyweds and give them the thumbs up. Effin Williams was amongst them, a big sloppy smile on his round-as-the-moon face. Luckily he didn’t scream that the newlyweds were useless tossers incapable of putting a plug in a socket, as he had done at the electricians yesterday.

  Pav led the way to the cabin behind the grotto, which had been built as staff quarters. The guests followed, arm in arm with their partners, all
except for Eve and Jacques. She was annoyed with herself for feeling disgruntled that he didn’t offer her his arm but chose to walk at the side of Susan and chat to her instead.

  The buffet that awaited them was a feast to behold. The caterers had excelled themselves with tiny two-bite sandwiches: turkey and stuffing, pork and apple, Wensleydale and red onion chutney, prawn and curried mayonnaise. There were the diddiest little mince pies with a brandy butter swirl, caramel apple crumbles with custard, mini tubs of Christmas pudding ice cream. Latticed pies, pastries, miniature chocolate rum roulades . . . and long-stemmed glasses of steaming mulled wine to wash it all down with.

  Violet was grinning like a loon and fanning her face trying not to cry.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she kept saying over and over again. ‘I’m so happy. I never thought I’d be this happy, ever.’

  Pav leaned over and kissed the top of her white-blonde hair.

  ‘I am going to make you this happy every day of your life,’ he said. ‘Starting with tonight. Then we are going to fly to Lapland for three days. It’s going to be cold. You need to keep very close to me to stay warm.’

  Violet’s mouth was wide with delight. ‘I have always wanted to go there.’

  ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I only wish we could stay longer, but the park will be opening soon.’

  ‘It’s enough,’ said Violet. ‘It’s more than enough.’

  ‘I have packed your case for you,’ said Pav.

  ‘Is there anything you haven’t thought of?’ grinned Violet.

  ‘No,’ said Pav. ‘Nothing. Oh yes.’ He grinned too. ‘I don’t think I have remembered your nightdress.’

  ‘So you see, men can organize things just as well as women,’ said Jacques’ voice in Eve’s ear. She caught the scent of his breath as he bent – spicy and sweet with mulled wine.

  ‘It appears so,’ said Eve, trying to herd her thoughts back into order. The sight of Jacques in that suit was distracting her from her mission to keep him at arm’s length until she had exhausted the trail on Major Jack Glasshoughton.