It was nearly ten o'clock that night before Violet and Pav got home and far too late to cook, so Violet went for fish and chips whilst Pav laid the table. She was smiling as she walked home, thinking about seeing Eve engulfed in a Jacques hug after the second baby deer was born a new member of the park family. That sight had made her giddily happy. All the park family, as she called them, had seen a different side to Eve today, which she was thrilled about. They had been wary of her, but after today she had gone up leaps and bounds in their estimations. Violet hoped they'd grow to think of her with as much affection as they regarded Jacques. He laughed and joked with everyone, got his hands dirty with the builders and wasn't above mustering up some coffees and sandwiches for the lads putting up the mighty carousel. Violet was growing very fond of the park family because that's what it was starting to feel like she belonged to. She would be quite sad when Effin's men had finished and moved on. The Welsh lads were very funny, totally resigned to Effin's screeching at them. Violet wasn't sure she could live without Effin's fantastic Welsh insults very kindly translated for them by Arfon and Thomas, who was in charge of the train. Still, all good things came to an end, and she herself would need to go back to her ice-cream parlour in Maltstone and employ a manager to run the ice-cream parlour in Winterworld when it was up and running smoothly. She thought Janet might be the perfect person for the job. In the holidays they employed her son Robbie too, a big, strapping, handsome boy who might be up for a bit of temporary work when he had finished his exams in the summer.

Oh, it was a jolly ship. There was always laughter to be heard. Violet had never used the word 'guffawed' in her life, but that was the perfect description for the sound Jacques would make when Effin was at full pelt.

One of that day's Effin-isms was an absolute corker.

'He said that the big horse's arse had done more work today than the rest of us have done collectively since we've been here.' The laconic Arfon had kindly translated that one for them as he lifted up his drill. He said it as nonchalantly as if it was something he heard every day which he did, albeit in different forms.

A couple of the 'elves', not in costume, had come into the ice-cream parlour to have a sneaky look at Pav's horses and hopefully test some ice cream. The elder of the two Marvin was a roofer by trade, but at his age the going was getting tough. Landing a job in Winterworld, even if he did have to wear a daft green costume, was like a Christmas gift in itself. It was a delicious feeling knowing that this winter his feet would be firmly on the ground and he'd be warm inside a grotto. As 'grotto guide' his wages wouldn't be as much as they were on building sites, but he didn't care a jot. The hours and comfort of the job far more than made up for that and the fact that his wife wouldn't be nattering that he'd 'come home dead', as she put it. Apparently Evelyn had sent a recruitment scout looking for 'elves' months ago. She really did have every base covered.

Violet felt a sudden rush of happiness. Today had been a sweet day with Eve trying not to be gooey and maternal over the new reindeer babies, but pride was oozing out of her every pore. It was as if they had defrosted her poor cousin a little given her something to smile about on a day when she wouldn't have thought it possible. If only Jacques would move into her heart. Because Violet felt sure that if Eve let him, he would. He was just lovely.

When she pushed open the outside door, Violet could hear Pav's voice talking to someone in the lounge, but when she walked into the room it was to see him quickly slam down the phone.

'Wrong number,' he said, smiling at her, and she knew he was lying. She didn't accuse him outright. But when he nipped to the loo after the meal, she rang the redial button and heard a merry female voicemail announcement.

'Hi, this is Serena. I'm obviously not in at the mo, so please leave your name and number after the three beeps. Thank you.' A trilling, ditzy voice that Violet could imagine belonging to a Marilyn Monroe clone. Then Violet tried 1471 and the same automated voice answered.

Violet didn't leave a message.

Chapter 28.

The vet was very pleased with the reindeer babies, two little boys. They were tiny and gauche, with long angular legs, but able to stand on them in order to shadow their mother and drink her milk. Eve made them her first port of call the next morning. She had slept solidly for the first time in a long while no dreams about Jonathan, no nightmares about his parents. That was both unexpected and welcome.

Tim, the keeper's wife, had given birth to a little boy, too. A temporary keeper had been found for now until he came back to work, totally gutted that he had not been there for Holly.

'Great, aren't they?' said Jacques, coming up behind Eve as she hung over the fence and watched the calves unsteadily walking behind their mum. 'Our boys.' He made it sound as if Eve had just given birth and he was cooing over their twins.

'I think you'll find they are her boys,' said Eve, moving her hand towards Holly.

'Of course, but they're ours too. I've come over all paternal,' laughed Jacques. 'What shall we call them? I don't think Holly's forte is going to be picking their names out of a hat.'

'I don't know,' said Eve. 'I really don't want the responsibility.'

Jacques' blue eyes began to twinkle. 'Why's that then? In case you pick a wrong one and they grow up with a complex?'

'No, I didn't mean that at all.' Eve flicked a loose strand of hair behind her shoulder.

'You do that a lot,' said Jacques.

'What?' Eve half snapped, suspecting he was going to start his daft flirting.

'Flick your hair back.'

'How can I? It's tied up,' and Eve pointed behind her back at her long French plait.

'I know. But strands work loose and you flick at them. They say if you play with your hair, you're flirting.'

Eve hadn't a clue if she did do that with her hair or not, but she wouldn't be drawn deeper into the conversation and give him the satisfaction of having banter with him.

'Maybe it's just annoying me and in my way,' she said, turning away from him and making a full-stop statement.

'Me or your hair?' Jacques said.

'Both,' replied Eve, and Jacques laughed his big infectious laugh, and Eve had to bite her lip to stop herself smiling because she really, really didn't want to.

Then there was an almighty whoosh sound and they were both suddenly covered in snow.

'Sorry,' called a voice in one of the trees. 'Adjusted the bloody thing too high.' One of Effin's men was fixing a snow machine to the trunk.

In the paddock, Holly and her two little boys raised their heads to the snow drifting down. The way they were closing their eyes made it look as if they were smiling.

'Think you just found a name for one of the twins,' smiled Jacques.

'Silly bloody snow machine?' asked Eve, brushing the wet snow from her skirt.

'Blizzard,' said Jacques, and winked at her.

Chapter 29.

'I have to go out,' said Pav, wiping his hands on a towel after tea that night. 'I may be some time.'

He sounded so much like Captain Oates that under normal circumstances Violet would have joked about it.

'Okay,' she said, a lump rising to her throat. Who was he going to see? Serena with the nice voice? Wrong-number Serena? She had a sudden moment of panic. She wanted to throw herself onto him and hold him tightly, but she fought against her desperation. She had been in a relationship once with a man she did not love, whom she stayed with because she knew she would break his heart if she left. She did not ever want to have Pav stay unless he wanted to be with her. But just for a moment, she felt the panic that her ex must have felt on a daily basis, knowing that she was slipping away from him.

'Is there anything you want whilst I am out?' he asked. 'Milk, bread?'

'Not that I can think of,' said Violet, pinning on a smile. Come on Violet, get a grip, said a voice inside her. You're growing a big tree from a little seed. It may have been a wrong number after all and Pav rang it back to see who it was. But the other half of her brain was shrugging its shoulders. If that was a wrong number, I'm Gwyneth Paltrow. She took a deep breath and tried to deliver the question casually. 'Where are you off to then?'

'I just have somewhere to go,' said Pav. 'Something to do.'

And he kissed her on the head and was gone. The sort of kiss that David Beckham gave Victoria in that first photoshoot after his affair allegations.

Chapter 30.

The next morning the Portakabin was freezing because the fire needed a new gas cylinder. One of Effin's men had gone out for a new one and Eve stood huddled in her old black woollen coat by the window, watching Jacques talking to a couple of the 'elf-people' as they liked to call themselves.

Her coat afforded her plenty of warmth but it really needed to go in the bin. The sleeves were going at the elbow and there was a pull at the back. And she couldn't remember how many times now she had had to stitch a button back on. She had bought it new to go out with Jonathan on their first dinner date. That March was freezing and she had been delighted to find a coat that looked smart and was in the sale because she didn't have a lot of spare money to spend on herself in those days. Then again, she was a damned sight happier and warmer back then than she ever was now.

Jonathan had held both sides of the collar when he kissed her for the first time as girlfriend and boyfriend, before his hands had slipped around her back. Her memories were tied up in the threads. The thought had crossed her mind more than once, when she opened up a bin bag to throw in the coat, that she would be throwing a part of Jonathan away if she got rid of it.

But as she tried to recall that first kiss, she found that as soon as Jonathan's hands touched her, they changed into those of Jacques Glace yesterday, holding her as she shook with aftershock from delivering a baby reindeer. Why had she let him cuddle her? Why hadn't she extricated herself from him? Why had she needed to feel someone's arms around her so much and not just anyone's arms but his. Jonathan was a man of honour; God knows what Jacques Glace was and she had let him hold her like a lover.

She stood at the Portakabin window and watched him holding court with the elf-people. He was amusing them with a tale, claiming their attention as he gesticulated wildly with his long arms. Then his audience fell about laughing together, real laughter, not fake laughter to get on the right side of the boss. Had Eve looked at herself then, she would have seen she was smiling too. She wasn't aware that she was touched by the ripple effect of Jacques' charm. Then one of the elf-people saluted Jacques and he returned that salute, and Eve's jaw tightened. What right did he have to do that? Any softening she had done towards Jacques Glace hardened right on up again. He was using a military gesture in a light-hearted, mocking way. She knew she was over-reacting but she couldn't help it. The military was a hair-trigger as far as she was concerned.

Eve knew she needed to get inside his house sooner rather than later, and find out who Jacques Glace was and where he came from. The man was a one-man charm offensive and she didn't want anyone else getting close to him until she had worked out what his game plan was. Charlatans often played a long and sneaky game she'd watched all the series of Hustle, so she knew how polished they could be. But con men in real life weren't nice people turning the tables on the greedy. They knew that people were pre-disposed wanted to trust and they used that trust to trample all over people's lives.

So whilst Jacques was still regaling a crowd with his raconteuring skills, Eve quickly rang Barbara, Mr Mead's secretary, to ask for Jacques Glace's address.

'He's asked me to order a chair for his house, and do you know, I can't put my hands on my address book and he's not answering his phone,' she lied with a tinkly, innocent laugh. She felt a soupcon of guilt that Barbara believed her rubbish lie and trustingly recited the address, but still she wrote it on her hand, grabbed her car keys and sneaked out to the innocuous enough address: 1, May Green, Outer Hoodley.

The village was situated off the BarnsleyWentworth road, although the word 'village' was pushing it a bit. Really, it was more of a hamlet, consisting of a shop, a pub at the side of the river Dick Turpin's Arms (as if it could be anything else, thought Eve when she saw it) and some very old cottages. Eve pulled up in the village car park and looked round for the presence of a wicker man. These places were curtain-twitching heaven.

She grabbed an old envelope from the car so she could look as if she were posting a letter if anyone asked her 'what she was doing in these parts'. Blimey, it was only a few miles from Barnsley town centre and yet she could have been forgiven for believing that it was The Hills Have Eyes territory. It was too quiet, too pretty, too still. Like Midsummer Murders land.

May Green was easy enough to find. She guessed that he lived in one of the five houses around a central square of grass with an ornamental maypole in the centre. Each one very different, too: number 5 was a tall, three-storey construction; number 4 had large picture windows and a roof terrace; number 3 was a bungalow, hidden by tall trees; number 2 was a medium-sized house painted white, decorated with lots of hanging baskets; and then there was number 1. Eve hadn't spent a lot of time thinking about what sort of house a man like Jacques Glace might live in, but it wouldn't have been this. It was a double-fronted, but tiny, cottage with a bright-red front door. She noticed that the door knocker was a brass soldier, which made her bristle.

Cream linen curtains hung at all the windows, the paintwork looked fresh, and when she went around the rear, she found a small but impeccably neat garden. She peered in through the back window and saw a tidy kitchen with a wooden work surface. Through the second window she saw a beamed lounge with a battered, but chic, leather Chesterfield sofa opposite a stone inglenook fireplace. There didn't seem to be much furniture in it at all.

'Can I help you?'

A voice cut into Eve's reverie and scared her to death. She jumped and yelped at the same time, and patted her chest to still her heart. For a moment, Eve turned into a human beat-box.

'I'm looking for Mr Glace's house,' said Eve, growing menopausally hot under the little old lady's hawk-like gaze.

'This is Mr Glace's house, yes,' came the scratchy, suspicious reply.

'I was hoping to catch him in rather than just post this, so I came around the back because I couldn't hear anything when I knocked at the front,' said Eve, all too aware that she was over-explaining. She must have looked as guilty as a Great Train Robber with a bag full of loot and a Ronnie Biggs name-badge.

'He's not in,' said the pint-sized village guard dog.

'No, well, I'll . . . er . . . call back,' said Eve, backing away. 'Thank you.'

'Who shall I say called?' said the old lady, padding towards Eve at an alarming pace.

'No, it's fine,' said Eve. 'He doesn't know me. Thank you, bye.'

She walked off as fast as she could without making it look as if she was running. She was slightly worried the villagers would appear with burning torches if she didn't get out of Outer Hoodley quickly. She slid her key in the ignition and twisted it, thinking that this was the point in horror films when the engine made a tired cough and died. But instead, her car vroomed into life and Eve crunched over the gravel and out of the car park, and in her rear-view window was the little old lady watching to make sure she went.

It wasn't going to be easy to get inside that house if the chance arose. Not if May Green had its own Leo the lion patrolling it. It needed a little planning. And a disguise.

Chapter 31.

The Daily Trumpet would like to apologize to the family of Harold Lamb for the error in last week's obituary. The entry which read, 'To Our Dead Dad', should of course have read, 'To Our Dear Dead'.

We truly regret any distress caused.

Chapter 32.

The chance to suss out Jacques Glace fell so beautifully into Eve's lap, she was almost suspicious that he had planned it himself.

Four days after the little old lady had badgered Eve, Jacques burst into the Portakabin office as he always did. The man was incapable of opening the door and walking in, he had to throw himself in as if he was finding sanctuary from a minus forty-eight blizzard.

'Eve, are you leaving the park today?' he asked.

'Only at home-time,' replied Eve.

'I've got to go out for a few hours, but I'm hitching a lift with Effin. My car needs a new battery and a mechanic in Maltstone is dropping one off and fixing it in for me. If I leave you my keys, would you hand them over to him for me, please?' And he fished in his coat pocket and put his ridiculously loaded key ring down on her desk.

'Could you give me a clue as to which one it is?' asked Eve.

'Yes, sorry, of course. It's the one with the red top. I keep all my keys on the one ring for convenience sake even if they do take up half my pocket.'

All of his keys? Including his house keys, that must surely mean.

You're joking, thought Eve to herself. He was handing over the bullets which she was going to use to shoot him.

'No worries,' she said, with an inner Dick Dastardly laugh. 'They're in safe hands.'

'I won't be back before lunchtime. I'm going to have to hang around with Effin at a builder's merchants.' Jacques sighed, but his eyes were sparkling with mirth. 'I hope he keeps his temper. He threatened to eat Arfon's liver earlier on. I was tempted to send out for some fava beans and a nice Chianti.'

'Enjoy,' said Eve. 'By the way, when do we have the pleasure of meeting Santa Claus?' She wanted Phoebe to vet him. There would be no more stringent test for Santa than meeting Phoebe May Tinker.

'Nick is coming over on Saturday,' said Jacques.

'Nick?' Eve rolled her eyes. 'Is he really called Nicholas? Have you picked him just because that was his name?'

'I didn't choose him, your aunt Evelyn did,' replied Jacques. 'And yes, he really is called Nick. Nick St Wenceslas.'