'I like Jack,' said Alison, sniffing her tears away. 'Pure and simple Jack. One of those names which never goes out of fashion. Why did you wrinkle up your nose then?'

'Sorry,' Eve apologized. 'You're right, Jack is timeless. It's just a bit too like Jacques for my liking. My nose tends to automatically go into spasm whenever I hear anything like that word.' And my head starts to throb and my lip starts to curl, she added to herself.

Alison laughed. 'I'd love to meet this Jacques of yours.' She carried on, despite the fact that Eve lifted up her finger to intimate that this 'Jacques' was most definitely not 'hers'. 'He really has got your goat, hasn't he?'

'He's a charlatan,' said Eve. 'I'm convinced of that more than ever since . . .' Then she stopped.

'Since what?'

Eve didn't answer.

'Since what?' Alison repeated with redhead force. 'Go on.' She studied Eve's guilty expression. She had known her too long not to sense that there had been mischief afoot. 'What have you done, Eve? Tell me now.'

'I know it was wrong,' began Eve. 'But I had to.'

'Had to what?' Alison's hand stilled on the biscuits.

'He left his keys in the office and I drove off and went into his house,' Eve confessed in one breath.

'When?'

'Today.'

'Bloody hell, Eve,' said Alison horrified. 'What on earth made you do that?'

'Gut instinct,' said Eve. 'Something isn't right about that man and I'm glad I did it now, after what I found.'

'Which was what?' Alison leaned forward waiting for Eve's big revelation.

'He's got Stanley's military medal.

'And?'

'A dress.'

Even as she was saying it, Eve realized it all sounded a bit weak.

'A dress?' Alison said, very unimpressed as she reached for another biscuit.

'A dress for a female soldier was hanging up in his wardrobe. Don't you think that's weird? A very big dress as well.'

'Are you insinuating he's also a transvestite?' said Alison, shaking her head with disbelief.

'I don't know. But it's a possibility, if he's into dressing up. He might enjoy getting in touch with his feminine side and wearing female clothes, like that big cage-fighter on Big Brother did. Then again, I didn't see any women's knickers in his drawers . . .'

Alison held up her hand to stem her friend's flow. 'Whoa, whoa, Eve. What do you think you were doing? How would you feel if he'd gone snooping through your knicker drawer?'

Eve tried not to think about that, because she'd have had him arrested. But this was no time for double standards.

'I had to, Ali. I didn't do all this for no reason. He's obsessed with the military. He had uniforms in his wardrobe and drawers of medals and caps and stuff. And eight years ago there was a con man in the area who went by the name Major Jack Glasshoughton. He specialized in targeting pensioners. I found the story on the internet on an old Weekly Bugle site. It all adds up, don't you think?'

Alison laughed. 'What I think is that your Aunt Evelyn must have known that Jacques was into military memorabilia and that's why she gave him Stanley's medal. Have you thought of that very simple but plausible possibility? As for the newspaper story . . . how old did you say it was? And when did the Weekly Bugle get their facts right? That's why they were closed down.'

Oh, don't you start, thought Eve. Alison was as bad as Violet, refusing to see that there was more to the man than met the eye.

'Explain the dress, then.'

'Well,' began Alison, 'I presume it's part of his collection of memorabilia. Was it the only uniform he had?'

'No, he had some men's ones as well.'

'There you go, then.'

'Explain this, then.' Eve prepared to give her coup de foudre. 'He's under a doctor at the hospital. A psychiatrist.' And she gave a smug grin that she was immediately a little ashamed of. Especially as Alison gave her a look of disapproval that wounded her.

'How do you know that?'

'I found an appointment card.'

Alison shook her head. 'Oh, Eve. That's taking snooping a bit too far.'

'Not if he's a nutter it isn't,' Eve defended herself.

'And what if he's just depressed or something like that?'

Boom. Eve remembered too late that Alison had a tremendous bout of postnatal depression after giving birth to Phoebe and had seen a psychiatrist as part of her recovery. She wanted Alison's vintage oak flooring to split and swallow her up. It was time to change the subject and fast.

'Anyway,' Eve waved away that conversation and prepared to start another, 'can I borrow Phoebe at the weekend to come and check the place out and meet Santa?'

'Oh, can I, Mummy?'

A small voice came from behind the door.

'Phoebe?' called Alison. 'How long have you been standing there?'

'I've just hanged up my coat,' said Phoebe. 'Can I go to the winter park? Please please please?'

'She's going through a nosey phase, just in case you're wondering why I'm asking,' Alison whispered to Eve, leaning right over so Phoebe wouldn't hear that. 'You should have taken her with you to Jacques' house.'

'I will next time,' replied Eve, quickly adding, 'Joke,' as she noticed Alison's finger start to wag.

'Please, please, please, Mummy.'

'Well, if you are very good from now until the weekend, I am sure Auntie Eve will take you to Winterworld.'

Phoebe burst into the room and threw herself on Eve. 'I'll think of loads of reindeer names before then,' she said. And Eve tried to recall how far back in the conversation reindeer had occurred, which would determine how much Phoebe May Tinker had overheard.

Chapter 34.

The Daily Trumpet would like to apologize to a bride and groom who appeared on our 'Newly Weeds' page last Saturday. The bride, Mrs Chelsea Shirt is manageress of Joshua Green's pawn shop and is not, nor ever has been, a porn star. And the groom is called James Shirt and not John Shit as the wording under their photograph read. Mr Shit is a chartered accountant and is not the chairman of 'I Guess That's Why They Call It The Booze' chain of off licenses. As chairman of the Yorkshire Teetotal Society, we understand that this was especially distressful for Mr Shit to read.

We apologize to Mr and Mrs Shit for any inconvenience and distress and wish them a very happy marriage.

Chapter 35.

In the wee small hours, Violet lay awake staring at the ceiling, hoping her sniffing back the tears did not awaken Pav. He had pulled her to bed that evening with more urgency than she could ever remember. They had fallen onto the sheets, undressing each other and kissing madly, and Violet had savoured the feeling of his hardness pressing against her. His lips travelled all over her body and her orgasm was one born out of relief as much as excitement, but when Pav tried to make love to her he couldn't.

'It's fine,' she said, holding him, knowing that it wasn't good at all. He was twenty-five, she thought. Why would a twenty-five-year-old man fail to keep his erection?

There was something on his mind, she knew. Or someone. Had he whisked her upstairs hoping to convince himself that he still wanted her, but his body wouldn't be fooled? And in those cold, dark hours before dawn, Violet listened to the sound of him sleeping and wondered who was there with him in his dreams.

Chapter 36.

Anyone watching Eve as she stood at the fence and watched Holly grazing, being followed by little Blizzard and his tiny nameless sibling, would have said, 'She looks a contented woman. One at peace with herself. No one could smile like that, if they weren't pre-disposed to happiness.'

And for a few moments, watching the ridiculously gauche creamy-white calves balancing awkwardly on their long pin legs, Eve forgot the world outside their little bubble. Flakes of snow began to drift down on her head, so perfect that Eve wondered if they were really coming from the skies. As she looked up, she heard a trio of triumphant 'Yeah's.

'At pissing last,' said a Welsh voice from high up a Christmas tree.

'Language, Dai,' said another voice from the ground. 'The boss is over there.'

'Captain or missus?'

'Missus.'

'Shit. Sori, missus.'

Were they all calling him Captain now? Had he instigated and encouraged that? It fitted in nicely with his military obsession. Well, if he thought she was going to start saluting him and jumping to attention, he had another think coming. She was only surprised he hadn't started the rumour off that he was a Field Marshal.

She stomped through the forest, joining the white path just as the little train passed her at 125 miles an hour.

'Don't worry, it's being adjusted, missus,' called Thomas, his voice fading to an echo as he sped off through the trees like Casey Jones on whizz. And is that what they are calling me 'missus'? Eve wondered again. Missus. It made her sound at best sixty, at worst like a battleaxe. That didn't help her ratty mood.

Back at the cosy-warm Portakabin, Eve got out her address book to chase the firm who were printing the menus for the restaurant. Kicking some ass would do her good, she thought. And it did. There was nothing like venting your fury on a bit of incompetence to get the blood flowing to all the right areas and blasting fake Captains out of her head. She rewarded herself with a cup of coffee from the snarling machine in the corner, and was just about to sit down and kick some more ass with a sweet supplier when there was a soft tap at the door and a dear, familiar voice said, 'It's only me.'

'Come in, Violet. You don't need to knock,' said Eve. 'Coffee?'

'Thanks,' said Violet. 'And of course I need to knock. You might be in the middle of a meeting.'

'Blimey, Violet, are you okay?' said Eve, handing over a coffee and seeing her cousin's face full-on. She looked as if she hadn't slept for a fortnight. Violet's huge and usually sparkly mauve eyes were as dull as dirty dishwater and she was shivering. 'Sit down,' Eve commanded, and pushed her into a chair.

'I'm fine,' said Violet, sounding anything but. 'I just haven't slept very well.'

'Why?' asked Eve. 'Aren't you feeling well?'

Violet so wanted to open up the floodgates holding everything back. That had been her intention coming to the Portakabin. She couldn't work in the ice-cream parlour, looking at Pav's beautiful back as he put the finishing touches to the last horses. All she could think of was their flop of a love-making session last night, and who Pav might be thinking of whilst he was bringing her to orgasm, something that had always excited him to do before because her pleasure was more important to him than his own, he had always told her. She had lain awake in the wee small hours of the morning torturing herself with pictures of him rolling around in bed with Serena, enjoying her much younger, curvier body, as Violet imagined her. But instead, all she said was, 'I'm a bit under the weather, I think.'

'Oh, don't be down,' Eve said, hoping to gee her up. 'You've got too many lovely things in your life to be depressed.'

Violet took in a deep breath. 'I think Pav-'

Then the phone rang and interrupted her flow. Instinctively, Eve picked it up and wished she hadn't. It was the printers reneging on all the promises they had just made to her. She made a 'sorry' face at Violet.

Violet made an 'I'll go' gesture, to which Eve replied with an 'I'll come and find you in a bit' mime. Violet waved an 'It's fine, don't worry' at her, put down the untouched coffee cup and left.

Eve continued with the call and didn't go and find Violet as she had promised. Her head was too full of trying to piece together all the things she knew about Jacques and make them into a picture she could recognize. Later, when she remembered that she hadn't gone to catch up with Violet, she waved it off as unimportant. Violet knew she was busy and would understand. It wasn't as if her cousin, with her gorgeous young artist, thriving business and beautiful cosy cottage, could have that much on her mind now, was it?

Chapter 37.

'You think he's what?'

'I think Pav has got someone else,' said Violet, a second before bursting into tears and feeling two arms close around her shoulders.

'No way. Pav isn't a bumhole like that,' said Violet's friend Bel. 'I'd put my life savings on that.'

'What the hell makes you think that?' asked Max, from the other side. The formidable Max McBride. The three women had only known each other little over a year, when they had been shopping for wedding dresses in a strange little shop in Maltstone. A friendship had been struck so deeply between them, it was as if they had known each other in previous lives. So much had happened to them in that year and it had acted as cement on their bond with each other. All three of them were living such different lives when they had first met. But neither Max nor Bel liked to see that old sadness return to Violet's eyes.

'He couldn't . . .' Violet raised her eyebrows, 'you know . . . last night.' She stuck her finger up in the air.

The tension in both Max's and Bel's shoulders dissipated. 'Is that it?' they both laughed in unison and relief.

'Men aren't machines,' said Max. 'It does happen occasionally.'

Bel nodded. 'You think because he couldn't get it up for one night that he's shagging about? You silly cow. You're both running around like blue-arsed flies trying to get one ice-cream parlour up and running and overseeing the other. He must be under pressure as well as you.'