The man was a walking joke from a Christmas cracker.

The small, pretty forest began to thin and within a few steps it was behind them and Eve was standing at the side of the reindeer enclosure. She had just opened her mouth to drop a sarcastic comment about how stunning the fence was when Jacques raised his finger to his lips.

'Shhh,' he said. 'Prepare to meet Holly.' Then he started to make a soft clicking noise with his tongue and his teeth.

Just when Eve was about to tell him not to hand in his day job and become an animal trainer, she saw an inquisitive nose protrude from the side of the reindeer shed.

'Come on, girl. Come on,' encouraged Jacques in a voice so soft and quiet that Eve wouldn't have thought it possible to have come from him.

With a two steps forward, one step backwards pattern, the small, barrel-tummied, white reindeer edged outwards and towards them slowly.

'Isn't she lovely?' whispered Jacques. 'She's pregnant. Naughty Olly in her last home cleared a five-foot fence to be with her. But who could blame him?'

The reindeer sniffed the air as if trying to pick up the scent of whether she was faced with a friend or a foe. Her soft, dark eyes told Eve that she wanted to trust them, but was afraid, and Eve's heart lurched in her chest in sympathy.

Jacques held out his hand and Holly backed up. 'It's okay, girl, come on.'

Holly seemed to inch towards his hand, then sniffed and jerked backwards, but Jacques' patience paid off and finally the reindeer pushed her head against his cupped fingers.

'She's been hand-reared,' said Jacques. 'She likes affection. But then, don't we all?' And he took Eve's hand firmly and placed it on the reindeer's cheek.

Eve thought it would be wiry, but Holly's fur was thick and soft.

'She likes you,' said Jacques, taking away his hand and letting Holly rub her head against Eve's fingers.

'Oh, she's lovely,' said Eve, mesmerized by this experience, which wasn't on her list of top ten things to do. Holly's fur was so thick she couldn't get her fingers through it. And she'd presumed the reindeer would be much bigger and clumsier-looking than this, with big, dangerous antlers. Eve suddenly became very aware of being watched and turned to see Jacques staring at her, wearing a grin so cheesy it should have come free with a packet of Jacob's crackers.

'You've taken to her big-time, haven't you?' he said. 'You'll be heading up a chorus of 'Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer' any minute now.'

'Don't bet on it,' said Eve, letting her hand drop. 'When's she due to give birth?'

'Could be any time. She's very big,' said Jacques.

'Does the local vet help reindeer give birth?' Admittedly it was a change from diagnosing wet-tail in hamsters. 'I presume you've asked?'

'Believe it or not, I have that covered,' said Jacques. 'You'll have to get up much earlier than that to catch me out. Mr Fleece did a stint at a wildlife park. He can handle a delivery of a reindeer baby when it comes.'

'Mr Fleece?' Well, that was a great name for a vet, thought Eve. On more than one level.

'Yep. He's a jolly good fellow,' replied Jacques, deadpan.

Eve was just about to ask what on earth he was on about when she got it: Fleece a jolly good fellow. She shook her head, tried not to groan, and turned her back on both Holly and him. Poring over the accounts book was preferable to his stand-up comedy routine. Pulling her own teeth out would have been preferable to his stand-up comedy routine, if she was honest.

In the distance, Effin's Carmarthenshire tones were splitting the air as he showered abuse on his workmen Welsh and Polish alike.

'I think in a past life he was Attila the Hun,' said Jacques. And Eve smiled, though she didn't want to. She quickly recovered.

'Right, if you can take me through all that you've done since I was last here, I'd be very grateful,' said Eve, trying not to sound as in need of a sit down and a rejuvenating coffee as she was.

'Certainly,' said Jacques. 'Come and look at the ponies. Shame the traps haven't arrived yet, we could have tested out that romantic drive through the forest.'

'Thank heaven for small mercies,' said Eve, moving towards the horses.

She didn't want to like them, really they were just animals who were going to make her money, but she couldn't help herself. The 'snow ponies' were delightful creatures, five old white ponies, and sharing their paddock was a twenty-five-year-old, huge white Shire Horse called Christopher all of them had been destined for the knackers yard before Aunt Evelyn stepped in to rescue them. She had arranged stabling for them all until the park was ready to take them. The stables they were now being housed in at Winterworld were the equine version of a Hilton.

'Your Aunt Evelyn loved horses, didn't she?' said Jacques.

'Erm, yes,' replied Eve, but in truth she didn't know if her aunt had or not. She had only ever heard her talk about cats.

'The people at the stables were very sad to hear she'd died. She went to visit the ponies every week, apparently.'

Another side to Aunt Evelyn that Eve hadn't a clue had existed.

'They're so friendly,' said Jacques as Christopher lumbered to the fence and Jacques reached out and stroked his muzzle.

'He's very big, isn't he?' said Eve, hoping the thing wasn't going to suddenly jump over and trample them to death.

'He's a softy. Stroke him.'

Eve showed willing and put her hand on the horse's head. He seemed to like it, because when she stopped he nudged her hand, wanting more.

'Not sure he's had a lot of love in his life,' said Jacques. 'But we'll make up for it here, won't we, fella.'

'Touching,' said Eve drily. 'Okay, show me the rest.'

They headed back into the lovely man-made forest, and once again she was visited by that sweet ache of a rare Christmas memory which she could think of without wanting to run from it.

Jacques must have had the ability to stop time, was Eve's only thought, as he showed her all that had changed in the past month. It wasn't possible. Well it was, with the amount of workmen they had, but still . . . The log cabins were complete and ready to be furnished, the restaurant was equipped, the gift shop fully stocked with really nice stuff, which he obviously hadn't got from Nobby Scuttle. Eve couldn't remember seeing a conical cabin selling soup and hot chocolate on the original plans, but one had sprung up at the side of the ice-cream parlour. Elf-people were practising their shows and routines in a specially built theatre, snow machines were discreetly placed everywhere and puffing out practice sprays of snow. To say that Eve was overwhelmed by the changes was putting it finely. She didn't like the idea that her absence had shown her to be almost expendable, because she hadn't thought anyone could have powered a project like her, but Jacques Glace the idiot buffoon Jacques Glace had surpassed anything she could have done in less than a month. He left her in the Portakabin needing a sit down and a coffee, and exited with a smiling sense of pride that he had gobsmacked her with his military-precision organizational skills. He knew it would have rankled that she had met her match as far as making things happen went. That much he had learned first-hand from old Evelyn Douglas.

Eve tried not to be impressed, but it wasn't happening. The man wasn't human. She expected to find the paperwork a mess, but it was exactly the opposite. Everything was accounted for, filed precisely, the figures stacked up to the penny. It's all too perfect, her brain told her. It's so good that there has to be something wrong. Now she was on the mend, she could carry on her private investigations about the serial con-artist who had gone to ground for a few years, and if there was any link whatsoever to Mr Glace, she would have him in a police cell as soon as look at him. Then Aunt Evelyn's will would be altered and Winterworld would be all hers.

She lifted up an invoice for 200 Schneekugel which had been shipped in from Germany. It didn't help that the invoice was in German. But whatever he had bought cost thousands of euros. Maybe, this was it the first evidence she had of a scam, she thought with some glee. She grabbed the invoice and marched off to find Mr Glace.

After a five-minute fruitless search, Eve went into the ice-cream parlour, which was really taking shape now. Pav was putting the finishing touches to his mural white glitter paint on the white Carousel horses that adorned the walls. Violet was in the kitchen humming 'White Christmas' as she stirred some edible silver flakes into a white ice-cream mix.

'Haven't seen Jacques, have you?' Eve asked.

'No, I haven't, sorry,' said Violet.

'Any idea what a Schneekugel is, Pav?' asked Eve.

'Yes, it's a ball,' said Pav, struggling to find the words. 'A snow ball.'

'I hope not,' said Eve. 'If I found out Mr Glace has spent three zillion quid on snowballs I might be cutting off his own snowballs.'

'Ah, I remember,' said Pav. 'He is in plot two with the carousel.'

'I might have known he'd be playing on swings,' Eve grumbled. 'See you later.'

Violet watched her cousin stride off in the direction of the fun park area.

'I think Eve protests too much,' said Pav, who had turned to watch Violet watching Eve.

'What do you mean?'

'I think if she let her guard down, she and Jacques would be very good for each other. He's a good man.'

'She never lets her guard down,' said Violet.

'You women always have your guards raised,' said Pav, lifting his forearms in front of his face. 'Like a portcullis. You think only enemies are waiting outside, not friends.'

There was a sadness in his eyes as he turned his attentions back to his painting. And Violet didn't say anything, because she knew he was right.

Chapter 21.

Plot two in Winterworld would formally be known as Winterpark when the sign was raised over the great iron arch that marked the entrance. Three of Effin's men were just fixing the 'PARK' part of the name luckily for Eve's blood pressure, she didn't see the 'SANTA' part that would go up to prefix it another of Jacques' changes. In the near distance, the first horse was being bolted onto the biggest carousel Eve had ever seen in her life a horse as white and sparkling as the horses on the ice-cream parlour wall. Eve's heart was stabbed again with a memory of being at a Christmas fair in the park as a youngster, spending all her pocket money on the carousel rides rather than use some of it to hook-a-duck. She remembered waving to her mother, then seeing a man approaching Ruth and taking her attention away. Whenever there was a man on the scene, Eve was pushed right to the back of the queue for her mother's time and affection.

Jacques' loud singing of 'Let it Snow' with all the wrong words rang out from a nearby log cabin.

'Oh, the weather is really bummy, but the fire is super scrummy . . .'

That was another log cabin that wasn't on the original plan. If she didn't know better, she would have thought Jacques Glace had magicked her into having shingles so he could have his own way on everything.

'Bonjour, ma cherie,' he boomed as she walked into a shelf-lined cabin to find him knee-deep in boxes, opening them all with a Stanley knife. His cheery face made her cross, and she shook the invoice at him, which seemed to amuse him and inflamed her even further.

'What are Schneekugel?' she snapped. 'And why have you bought two hundred of them over from Germany at the price of Roman Abramovich's yacht?'

He crossed his arms and looked at her with mischief playing in his eyes. 'What do you think they are?'

He knows he is irritating the crap out of me, thought Eve to herself. She tried not to rise to the bait, but failed.

'I don't know what they are,' she growled. 'Pav said they're snowballs. Please tell me that's lost something in translation.'

'Didn't you look them up on Google Translate?'

'Wha . . . why . . . Just tell me what they are please, Mr Glace. And why you've bought so many.' Her hand flicked back some stray pieces of her dark-brown hair. 'Aunt Evelyn might as well have burned all her money. And that carousel is enormous.'

'Yes, I know,' said Jacques. 'But what a magnificent specimen it is. I know a man who buys them and restores them.'

'Ah, you "know a man", do you?' humphed Eve. 'Pity you didn't "know a man" who could have let you have two hundred Schneekugel cheap instead of paying this amount of euros,' and once again she shook the invoice.

'Actually I did,' replied Jacques. 'A German man Herr Kutz.'

Another pathetic joke. Did the man ever turn off?

'Oh, for goodness sake. Just for once, can't I get a sensib-'

'Look at the signature at the bottom,' said Jacques. 'I kid you not.'

There at the bottom of the invoice, in best copperplate, was the name 'Helmut Kutz'.

'Helmut gave us this consignment at a cut price. One hundred to exhibit, one hundred to sell. And they will sell.' And he pulled from a box something covered in bubble wrap which he peeled off and handed over to Eve: a polished glass globe. 'Schneekugel snow globes. And you're standing in our new Schneekugelmuseum. I'm guessing you can now work out the translation to that.'

Eve stared at the beautiful scene inside the glass. A formation of Nutcracker soldiers playing instruments, their teeth bared in a fixed grin. She shook it gently and the snow floated around their heads.

'Look at this one,' Jacques said, handing over a smaller globe with a pale-furred reindeer in it, just visible between dark-green fir trees. 'Holly's got her own Schneekugel.'

Eve felt as if someone had ripped her breath away. They were stunning.

'And this.' Jacques handed her a globe which he had shaken so the scene wasn't instantly recognizable. As the snow settled, Eve saw a bride in fur cape, her groom in a sleigh behind her. The bride was smiling, and that smile was full of hope and promise and it was suddenly too much for her. She needed to get out of there before she made a fool of herself.

Eve handed the globe back to him.

'Okay, you win this round, they're lovely,' she said and left quickly, before he saw the tears dripping from her long black lashes.

Chapter 22.

Eve returned home that night for the first time in a month. The first thing she did, as always when entering, was to make sure the candle was still lit. Violet had been looking after it for her and all was well.

There was a few days' worth of post to sort through nothing exciting at first glance, most of it junk, but then she came to a pretty pink envelope with some childish writing on the outside. It was a get-well card from Phoebe May Tinker and a note from Alison in which she apologized yet again for not coming to visit her whilst she was poorly at her aunt's. Eve took her mobile out of her handbag and pressed the speed-dial number for Alison.

'Eve, how are you?' came Alison's concerned reply after two rings. 'I'm so sorry-'

Eve cut her off there and then.

'If you apologize once more, Alison Tinker, you and I will fall out. You couldn't possibly have come to see a woman with shingles when you're pregnant and have a small child, so please shush and let that be an end to it.'

'I half wish Phoebe would get chicken pox and get it over and done with,' sighed Alison. 'Then again, I don't want her to get it. I felt so awful about-'

'Naughty Alison,' Eve admonished her. Then a thought visited her brain like a bee making a surprise detour to a flower. 'Actually, you can make it up to me. You can let me borrow Phoebe to come and visit the new theme park soon. I want to see what she thinks.'

'She'd absolutely love that,' said Alison. 'Can I tell her when she gets in from Brownies?'

'Of course,' smiled Eve. 'I am presuming you won't want to trudge around in your advanced state of pregnancy?'

'I am dying to see it,' said Alison, 'but I'll wait until I'm a bit less fat and heavy, if you don't mind. I'm walking like a duck at the moment: any more than twelve steps and I'm ready for a sit down. I'll let Phoebe show me all the pictures she'll probably take with the camera you bought for her birthday.'