“You are so spoiled! And I am very busy.”

He looked up and down the street. Cars couldn’t get along it without slipping, and the snow was only just being shoveled away from the doorways. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

“You bloody aren’t.”

“I have to shovel snow,” said Carmen.

“Aha!” said a voice emerging from the gloom.

To Carmen’s complete astonishment, it was young Mr. McCredie, dressed head to foot in the most peculiar outfit she’d ever seen. On his feet he wore long pointed shoes that seemed to be made of some kind of hide. His trousers were oilskin, ancient and patched, and he had a heavy tweed jacket over a jumper with another hide skin over the top, and a big furry hood.

“Ooh, lovely finnesko!” said Blair.

“Thank you,” said Mr. McCredie, beaming broadly and showing off his bizarre shoes. “Best reindeer fur.”

“Splendid!”

“Wait a second,” said Carmen. “You’re wearing reindeer?”

“Technically right now I’m more reindeer than human,” said Mr. McCredie.

“You’re like the most evil Santa Claus ever.”

“This jacket,” he said, “went to the South Pole. Almost,” he added. “Fortunately,” he also added, mostly to himself.

“Wow,” said Carmen. “Shouldn’t it be in a museum?”

“Oh yes, eventually,” said Mr. McCredie. “Plenty of wear in it still, though.”

Carmen looked at him. There was no doubt that he looked as happy as she’d seen him, lifting his ancient shovel.

“Hey, have you got another pair of those?” she said, staring at the ridiculous pointed boots. “Blair needs some.”

“Well, I . . .”

“No, it’s all right,” said Blair hastily. Whether they worked or not, he most certainly was not putting hundred-year-old reindeer boots on. You never knew when the paparazzi might show up. “Carmen was just taking me to buy Wellingtons.”

“Was I?”

“After all, you can hardly open up yet.”

But Mr. McCredie just waved them off and started shoveling snow.

“Be careful,” said Carmen.

“You saying a McCredie can’t handle himself in snow?” he said back to her, and she smiled at him properly.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll bring back hot chocolate this time.”

“I don’t know why you’re insisting on rotting my teeth at this age.”

Because, Carmen thought, somebody needs to spoil you. And I don’t know why, but it seems to have to be me.

BLAIR PICKED HIS way carefully down the street as Carmen slid, laughing.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Isn’t it lovely?”

He sighed. “Would you mind just calling the airline for me?”

“What? Yes, I would. Why?”

“Oh, I don’t understand the accents, do I? You’d be much better than me. Go on.”

“No!”

“I’ll take you somewhere lovely.”

“LA?”

“If you like.” He smiled his very white teeth at her.

“Don’t forget I’m afraid of your teeth,” warned Carmen.