Page 10 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

Ezra dismissed my concern with a wink. “Like I’m twenty-five again.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “The reason I’ve dropped by is because there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

I couldn’t imagine what he was going to say and my eyes grew wider as Ezra explained. “I mentioned to you the other day that I’m a huge flower and gardening fan. Always have been.” He threw me a coy look. “I love to be surrounded by fresh flowers and I used a charming young gentleman when I lived in Knightsbridge. But now that I’m here, I’m looking for a new florist to supply me with stunning floral displays for my new home.”

He paused again for effect. Ever the actor, I thought.

“I wondered whether you would be interested in supplying regular flower arrangements for my home here. I envisaged every couple of weeks?” Ezra steepled his tanned hands together on top of my desk. “Your displays are gorgeous and I suppose it’s also my way of thanking you properly for what you did for me the other day.”

Although this felt a little close to my old celebrity business for comfort, I found myself agreeing. “But I didn’t really do anything.”

“In a way, that’s right. Some people would’ve gone straight to the papers and capitalised on having me in their shop like that. You didn’t. You kept your word, and for that I’m very grateful.”

Empathy for his situation radiated out of me; he was trying to get some peace and equilibrium in his life, just like I was. He had no idea how easily I could relate to his predicament. “I would never do something like that,” I assured him.

My hand flapped to my chest and rested there. Since I’d gone to ground after what happened with Declan and closed down my former floristry business, my previous clients had understandably gone elsewhere for their decadent floral displays.

Flower Power was a fresh start – and a whole new type of client and business model.

But the opportunity presenting itself now with Ezra to get my creative skills noticed again in a new market was priceless. I did worry that perhaps one of his friends might ask for my details and recognise me, since word-of-mouth was how I had grown my old business, but it seemed unlikely and the risk felt small. I was old news, after all, and his Scottish retreat was miles from the social hub of London where famous friends might drop by and ask for local recommendations. How many celebrities needed a Highland florist?

I’d changed my name too and my appearance. In my mind, I had done and would continue to do everything I could, to move on from the mess of my past.

I was aware I still hadn’t said anything. I was delighted, but conflicted. This was such an amazing opportunity for the business. I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to.

The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to take on this commission – and do Ezra’s new home in Heather Moore proud. I’d just have to hope that any of the visitors to his home weren’t keen readers of the society columns, or interested in floral arrangements.

Ezra was appraising me from his chair. “And Bailey, I’m not expecting … what is it you call it? Mates’ rates? You’ve only been open a matter of months, so I insist on paying you the full whack for your services.”

I knew it would be a lot of hard work, but it would be worth it.

Ezra’s brows arched, expecting an answer.

Come on, Bailey! Say something!

Dismissing any more debate with myself, I managed a huge, silly grin.

Ezra’s laughter lines feathered. “Is that delightful smile a yes? Can I rely on you to furnish my house with the most extravagant and dazzling flowers?”

I jumped to my feet, almost knocking over my potted orchid. “You bet you can! Thank you, Ezra! Thank you so much!”

I couldn’t contain the fizzing in my chest. This was such a coup and meant so much for my fledging business.

I darted round my desk, shook his hand and, forgetting myself for a moment, delivered a grateful kiss to his cheek. “Thank you so much, Ezra. I’ll make sure your flowers are something special.” Crikey. My voice sounded like Minnie Mouse.

Ezra’s craggy complexion popped pink as he hitched up the collar of his coat. “I’ve no doubt about that, young lady.”

He plonked his hat back on his head as I escorted him out of the office and towards the fire door, where Jackson was waiting in a big black car. Ezra slipped his sunglasses and scarf back on and glanced up and down the quiet car park. He dug his hands into his coat pockets. “Right. I’d better go. I’m expecting a new sofa delivery at three o’clock.”

My curiosity was piqued. I couldn’t envisage him moving into one of those new-build houses on the estate out towards the farmland. Ezra didn’t seem like a “new build” type of guy.

“Erm… I probably need your address, if that’s ok?”

He rolled his eyes melodramatically. “Oh, I’m a stupid old sod. Of course.” He chuckled to himself. “I’ve bought that old property towards the reservoir. It needed quite a bit of work.” He shifted from foot to foot to keep warm. “You must come over and see inside the house, of course. You’ll need to see what I’ve done with the place so you can design appropriate arrangements.”

“You live at Duxbury Hall?” I said. “Oh wow. I’m sure it’s looking fantastic.”

Situated a couple of miles away, Duxbury Hall was a secluded property – a mix of dry-stone walls, sash windows and stacked chimney pots on a considerable plot of land. I’d heard stories about a flurry of activity in the area since last autumn and the Heather Moore gossips had wagered that a person of note was planning on taking up residence there.