Page 18 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

“Oh, right. Yes. Er… I mean, no.” I cleared my throat and struggled to keep eye contact with him. “Just taking a little walk before starting my day.” I spotted his broad shoulders under his tracksuit top and averted my eyes. “Anyway, better be off. Have a good day.”

Zach’s dark chocolate eyes shone back at me from under his flopping hair. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll catch you later. Stories to investigate and people to speak to.”

I struggled to deliver a polite smile. Bugger. That meant he was planning on interrogating me again.

He forced a hand through his hair as he steadied his breath. His attention stayed locked on me, like a heat-seeking missile.

I moved off, setting my shoulders.

Arrogant prick!

* * *

As soon as I unlocked the shop door, I whisked on my pink-and-white apron, so I could water the plants, administer their feed and get a head start with tweaking a couple of the birthday orders that were due to be collected. I also intended to jump in my car and head straight over to Duxbury Hall to see Ezra as soon as there was a bit of a lull in the shop. Bumping into Zach like that just now had made me even more determined to alert Ezra. He needed to know that Zach Stern and Stargazer magazine were on his tail. My indignation fired up. If that journalist thought for one second, he could breeze into Heather Moore and upend Ezra’s life – and possibly mine – he’d better think again!

Amber and Rowan were more than capable of holding the fort in my absence, but I didn’t want them to feel like I was taking advantage.

I stood behind the counter, snipping some nerine stems at an angle so the blooms would absorb more water. They also looked better with angled stems when arranged in a display as it meant they tended not to lie flat at the bottom of vases. I paused to admire their rosy lipstick shades.

As soon as it hit ten-thirty, Flower Power seemed to exhale a sigh of relief as the last couple of shoppers clattered the doorbell on their way out, armed with their burnished seasonal bouquets and berry-studded potted plants.

A couple of stray copper leaves tumbled along the pavement outside the shop door. Christmas was getting ready to land its sparkly, gorgeous, hectic self on us all.

“I’m just popping out for half an hour or so,” I announced, darting out from behind the counter with my coat and bag. “Will you both be ok? Any problems, just ring my mobile.”

Amber saluted and Rowan gave a fervent shake of her red ponytail. “We’ll be fine, Bailey.”

I hugged my quilted jacket tighter around myself and headed for my hatchback car at the rear of Flower Power. I had no contact details for Ezra, so I couldn’t ring him. If he wasn’t there, perhaps I could leave a note? All I knew was that I had to alert him about Zach Stern and his magazine.

Zach’s reference to a “scandal” kept flitting through my head.

I got in and shut the door. The interior smelled like the perfumery counter of a department store and a spare pair of scissors, gardening gloves, and a few packets of flower food were sticking out of the glove compartment.

The November sky was a churning gun-metal grey, promising an imminent downpour.

I set off, driving away from the cluster of shops, which were now sporting festive window displays, and past the moody patchwork fields towards the country lanes that would take me to Duxbury Hall.

I tried not to dwell on Zach’s presence in Heather Moore. I hoped Moira had kept him so occupied with her own lurid tales that he wouldn’t feel much like doing more investigating. Something told me, however, that I was being a little too optimistic on that front.

The sooner Zach Stern took himself back to Stargazer’s offices in Glasgow, the better.

I negotiated my way past a field of curious cows huddled together for warmth by a wooden fence and turned down a side lane, banks of grass rising up on either side.

I pulled my car to a halt and murmured, “Wow,” at the sight that greeted me.

Duxbury Hall now carried just faint echoes of what it used to look like before.

Imposing black and gold gates were now in situ, together with security cameras, at the bottom of the private tree-lined drive.

Ezra had converted Duxbury Hall into a gleaming white turreted affair, with two Grecian-style pillars at the grand entrance.

The gardens had also been transformed, and where there had been rampant weeds and daisies roaming everywhere, there was now a swathe of manicured lawns, together with cultivated flower beds running down either side and freshly planted trees. I could just imagine the fluttering blooms that would erupt out of the earth in the coming spring.

There was even a tinkling Grecian-style water feature further down the garden.

I got out of the car at the gates and pressed a buzzer. There was the faint smell of putty and cement in the air, intermingled with the zing of damp moss. Towards the other side of the house, there was a stillness in the spiky bare branches of the woodland.

A brisk male voice asked me who I was and once they were satisfied, the gates swished open to allow me entry.