Page 19 of A Scottish Highland Hideaway

I drew up at the entrance and parked. Jackson was there waiting for me on the grand steps. A sliver of gold light shone out behind him.

Part of me expected Zach Stern to stride out, brandishing his notebook, after tailing me here.

I gave my head a mental wobble. Bloody hell. I hoped not!

“Bailey,” beamed Ezra’s distinguished expression, appearing behind Jackson.

“Ezra. Hi. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

He beckoned me in with one generous sweep of his hand. “No apology needed. I was just on the phone to my manager.” He grinned at me. “It’s a pleasure to see you. Please do come in.”

I stepped into the tiled hallway to find myself confronted by an ornate pearlized staircase which surely even Cinderella would have envied, a floor-to-ceiling mirror edged with gold leaf to my left, and a polished chequered floor in champagne and white tiles under my feet.

An appreciative smile enveloped my face. “I know this is going to sound like a cliché, but I really do love what you’ve done with the place.”

Jackson smiled. “Not too shabby, is it?” Then he evaporated.

Ezra stood with his hands clasped together behind his back. “I wish I could take the credit, my dear, but that belongs to my interior designer, Gaston, and a squad of talented builders and interior design people.”

He gestured to the left. “Would you like a coffee or tea? Mrs Watson, my housekeeper, has rustled up one of my favourites – pecan shortbread.”

“Thank you, but I’d better not. At any other time, I would, but I’ve left Amber and Rowan manning the fort back at Flower Power and as it’s Saturday, I don’t want to leave them alone too long.”

“That’s all right. I understand. So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked. “Have you come round to discuss your design ideas?” He offered me a delighted grin. “I hope so, because I also wanted to speak to you about my plans to throw a little, private soirée. I was thinking about having it on New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh?”

“I wondered if you’d be interested in providing the floral arrangements for that too?”

I let out a delighted gasp. “That would be wonderful. I’m… I’m honoured. Thank you.” My face split into a grateful grin. “I’m more than happy to chat things over with you while I’m here.” Then I remembered the real reason for my visit and my smile faltered. I flicked him an awkward look. “In all honesty, I wish flowers were the main reason why I’ve come to see you.” I paused. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Ezra angled his head to one side. “What is it?” He performed a small smile as he eyed me. “I thought you seemed rather preoccupied, if you don’t mind me saying.”

I let out a sigh and plucked my mobile out of my bag, which was dangling from my shoulder. “Have you heard of Stargazer magazine?” The house smelled of warm vanilla potpourri and the scent wrapped itself around me.

One of Ezra’s thick salt-and-pepper brows arched. “Yes, I have. Something tells me I’m not going to like this.”

He beckoned me to turn and follow him into his sitting room, which was just past the staircase.

It was very grand, as I thought it might be, with an eclectic mix of polished maple furniture, two sumptuous sofas in bitter-chocolate leather scattered with lemon-yellow cushions, and silky, Chinese print drapes in pale gold pooling down the patio doors at the rear of the room. They led out onto the lawns that seemed to stretch on forever, taking the eye right down to another bank of thick trees.

Ezra sat down on one sofa, I seated myself on the other one opposite him. His swathes of thick white carpet made me nervous. Thank goodness I’d declined a cup of tea. I also prayed I didn’t have mud on my boots.

I pulled up the Stargazer magazine website on my phone and scrolled down to Zach’s bio. His handsome, angular features shone out of his photo. I thrust the phone towards Ezra.

He gave me a wary look and stared down at my phone.

“This reporter, Zach Stern, turned up at Flower Power last night, just as I was closing up,” I said. “He was asking about you, Ezra.”

Ezra’s looked up abruptly from examining Zach’s photograph. “Me?”

“Yes. Apparently, two women travelling through Heather Moore thought they saw you in your car and decided to tip off the magazine Zach works for.”

Ezra’s breath sounded like a balloon deflating. His shoulders sank under his navy jumper. “Oh dear. Maybe I shouldn’t have ventured out like I did.”

“It’s ridiculous that you feel you can’t go out,” I protested.

He cast Zach’s bio another cool glance and handed my phone back to me.