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Authors: Milly Johnson
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herself as Angelina Jolie.
Violet was squeaking with excitement and the sound made Eve smile. She had felt so terribly guilty that Violet was trapped in an awful situation last year and hadn’t been able to talk to
her about it, especially as they were virtually inseparable as children.
‘Come on, then. Into the unknown,’ said Eve, taking out the large key and slipping it into the lock on the large iron side-gate. A security camera fixed to a nearby pole swept around
to them.
‘Oh God, are we going to be mauled by Rottweilers or lions in a minute?’ asked Violet.
‘No, I rang Mr Pitt and told him I was coming,’ replied Eve. ‘So don’t worry.’ And the two women walked through, one slender as a reed and very blonde, the other
dark, taller and curvier. Eve was very much in the mould of her aunt Susan with her big bosom and the nipped-in waist of a fifties film starlet, whereas Violet was like the women on the Flockton
side – pale skin, bluebell-coloured eyes and a fragile frame.
Before them lay a concrete path leading up to a wood full of huge Christmas trees. To the right were log cabins. There looked to be a lot of land. Violet summed it up in just one word:
‘Blimey.’
‘Give or take the F-words, that’s what I was thinking,’ gasped Eve. ‘Look at all those Christmas trees.’
‘What’s that building over there?’ asked Violet, pointing towards a large log cabin. She unfolded the map which Eve had photocopied. ‘Ooh, it must be the
café.’
‘Yes it is. And that one behind it is going to be your ice-cream parlour,’ Eve said, feeling ever so slightly faint. Standing here in the midst of it all was a curious mix of
daunting and exciting. On one side, the sheer implausability of tackling a project of this size, on the other, the challenge, the adrenaline rush, the sense of achievement, because Eve knew she
could make this work better than anyone else ever could. And then she’d be able to retire in six years’ time when she hit forty.
‘It’s a lovely idea having honeymoon cottages for the people who get married in the chapel,’ sighed Violet. ‘That would be so romantic, spending your first night as Mr
and Mrs in a cabin on the edge of that pretty forest of Christmas trees.’
‘Like anyone will want to get married here,’ huffed Eve. ‘The chapel isn’t going to happen, you can bet your life savings on that one. It’s a total waste of a
building.’
‘Can you alter the plans like that? Don’t you need permission from your partner?’
‘I’ll get permission, don’t you worry,’ said Eve, knowing that she easily would. When Eve Douglas put her mind to something, it happened.
‘I’m looking forward to opening another branch of Carousel. Does that make me a magnate?’ asked Violet with a smile on her lips. ‘What do you think the
Daily
Trumpet
would call me?’
Eve chuckled. ‘That newspaper is just unbelievable. You do realize they’ll refer to you as a “magnet”.’
Violet giggled. ‘I have some great flavours that will go down really well – Snowflake, Mince Pie, Brandy Butter. Christmas . . .’ Violet paused as Eve raised a finger.
‘Figgy Pudding,’ she corrected. ‘Sounds better than Christmas Pudding anyway.’
Violet shrugged without saying that she thought Figgy pudding sounded very old-fashioned in a wrong way. She wished Eve would let a little of the festive season into her heart. Five years was
way too much time to be shut away inside oneself. Violet didn’t want her cousin ending up like poor old Evelyn – alone and lonely for many, many years with only the cold comfort of
ever-fading memories.
‘This place could be a goldmine in a couple of years if I get it right,’ said Eve.
Violet winked at her cousin.
‘If you
can’t make it happen, Eve, no one can,’ she said.
Then behind them came the thunderous sound of someone bellowing ‘hello’. They turned to see a grinning, waving giant in a very familiar coat: Eve’s
Violet was squeaking with excitement and the sound made Eve smile. She had felt so terribly guilty that Violet was trapped in an awful situation last year and hadn’t been able to talk to
her about it, especially as they were virtually inseparable as children.
‘Come on, then. Into the unknown,’ said Eve, taking out the large key and slipping it into the lock on the large iron side-gate. A security camera fixed to a nearby pole swept around
to them.
‘Oh God, are we going to be mauled by Rottweilers or lions in a minute?’ asked Violet.
‘No, I rang Mr Pitt and told him I was coming,’ replied Eve. ‘So don’t worry.’ And the two women walked through, one slender as a reed and very blonde, the other
dark, taller and curvier. Eve was very much in the mould of her aunt Susan with her big bosom and the nipped-in waist of a fifties film starlet, whereas Violet was like the women on the Flockton
side – pale skin, bluebell-coloured eyes and a fragile frame.
Before them lay a concrete path leading up to a wood full of huge Christmas trees. To the right were log cabins. There looked to be a lot of land. Violet summed it up in just one word:
‘Blimey.’
‘Give or take the F-words, that’s what I was thinking,’ gasped Eve. ‘Look at all those Christmas trees.’
‘What’s that building over there?’ asked Violet, pointing towards a large log cabin. She unfolded the map which Eve had photocopied. ‘Ooh, it must be the
café.’
‘Yes it is. And that one behind it is going to be your ice-cream parlour,’ Eve said, feeling ever so slightly faint. Standing here in the midst of it all was a curious mix of
daunting and exciting. On one side, the sheer implausability of tackling a project of this size, on the other, the challenge, the adrenaline rush, the sense of achievement, because Eve knew she
could make this work better than anyone else ever could. And then she’d be able to retire in six years’ time when she hit forty.
‘It’s a lovely idea having honeymoon cottages for the people who get married in the chapel,’ sighed Violet. ‘That would be so romantic, spending your first night as Mr
and Mrs in a cabin on the edge of that pretty forest of Christmas trees.’
‘Like anyone will want to get married here,’ huffed Eve. ‘The chapel isn’t going to happen, you can bet your life savings on that one. It’s a total waste of a
building.’
‘Can you alter the plans like that? Don’t you need permission from your partner?’
‘I’ll get permission, don’t you worry,’ said Eve, knowing that she easily would. When Eve Douglas put her mind to something, it happened.
‘I’m looking forward to opening another branch of Carousel. Does that make me a magnate?’ asked Violet with a smile on her lips. ‘What do you think the
Daily
Trumpet
would call me?’
Eve chuckled. ‘That newspaper is just unbelievable. You do realize they’ll refer to you as a “magnet”.’
Violet giggled. ‘I have some great flavours that will go down really well – Snowflake, Mince Pie, Brandy Butter. Christmas . . .’ Violet paused as Eve raised a finger.
‘Figgy Pudding,’ she corrected. ‘Sounds better than Christmas Pudding anyway.’
Violet shrugged without saying that she thought Figgy pudding sounded very old-fashioned in a wrong way. She wished Eve would let a little of the festive season into her heart. Five years was
way too much time to be shut away inside oneself. Violet didn’t want her cousin ending up like poor old Evelyn – alone and lonely for many, many years with only the cold comfort of
ever-fading memories.
‘This place could be a goldmine in a couple of years if I get it right,’ said Eve.
Violet winked at her cousin.
‘If you
can’t make it happen, Eve, no one can,’ she said.
Then behind them came the thunderous sound of someone bellowing ‘hello’. They turned to see a grinning, waving giant in a very familiar coat: Eve’s
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