‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked, as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

He sounded heartbreakingly suspicious.

‘Because Wynter’s Trees needs some extra help,’ I said. ‘You obviously love the place as much as my dad did and that’s good enough for me.’

‘I’m really sorry about what happened to him,’ he kindly said. ‘I lost my nan this year. It’s tough, isn’t it?’

‘So tough,’ I swallowed.

‘I’ll ring the office tomorrow,’ he said, as he climbed out.

‘And I’ll see you Saturday,’ I called after him.

‘But we don’t need more help,’ Ned objected. ‘I don’t want more help. What you should have done, Liza, is report the little sod to the police.’

The argument had carried on, right from the moment I’d told Ned what had happened late the evening before and it had completely taken the shine off my cart conversion unveiling the next day. With hindsight, what I should have done was shown him my handiwork before blurting out that I’d recruited a lad who I’d found wandering around the plantation after hours, but it was done now.

‘These are amazing,’ Ned said, momentarily distracted from our disagreement as he cocked his head and pulled one of the sleighs backwards and forwards.

‘I made sure there was decent clearance,’ I said, highlighting all the effort I’d gone to, to think of the practicalities as well as the aesthetics. ‘And I thought we could maybe take some promo shots with Bandit somehow harnessed up to the front.’

‘That’s a brilliant idea,’ Ned nodded. ‘He’ll love that.’

‘I wonder if he’s strong enough to pull a tree,’ I pondered, biting my lip.

That would make an even prettier tableau.

‘And you know, the little kids love sitting in these,’ Ned carried on, the shadow of a smile eradicating his frown. ‘They’ll be clamouring more than ever for their parents to pull them about the place now.’

I had assumed the carts were used solely for transporting trees, but if children loved them too then that was fine by me. A plump, rosy cheeked two-year-old wearing a padded snowsuit being pulled about in a miniature red sleigh with the family business name emblazoned down the side by a willing husky would make the perfect feel-good festive story.

‘In that case,’ I wheedled, tracking back to our original conversation, ‘maybe our new assistant can make sure everyone lines up and takes it in turns.’

Ned’s frown made a sudden reappearance and I regretted bringing Liam up again.