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Georgie turned to face her with an irritated expression on her face. ‘That’s completely irrelevant.’
Rhiannon’s finely arched brows lifted. ‘Is it?’
‘Of course it is,’ Georgie said. ‘You know what we said. No dating until after Easter.’
‘Just checking,’ Rhiannon said with a little grin. ‘So what did he do to get you so hot under the collar?’
‘Well …’ Georgie nibbled at her lip for a moment. ‘I guess it was sort of my fault …’ she said, and gave her friend a quick overview of the morning’s events.
When she had finished Rhiannon gave her a wide-eyed look. ‘That’s really spooky,’ she said. Tapping her chin thoughtfully, she added, ‘I wonder what Madame Celestia would make of that.’
Georgie rolled her eyes. ‘Madame Celestia is a fraudulent charlatan,’ she said. ‘Besides, how come she had to cancel your last appointment due to unforeseen circumstances? And if she’s such a great fortune-teller why does she need an appointment book anyway? She should know exactly who’s coming and when.’
Rhiannon tossed the cushion to one side as she got to her feet. ‘I know you’re a sceptic but don’t forget she predicted my sister’s pregnancy and she predicted it was going to be a girl before Caitlin had even had an ultrasound.’
‘She had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, for heaven’s sake,’ Georgie pointed out. ‘Anyway, Caitlin probably gave off a thousand clues the first time she went. It’s called cold-reading, Rhiannon.’
‘Madame Celestia told me you were going to marry a doctor,’ Rhiannon said authoritatively. ‘And she said he was blond.’
‘What?’ Georgie stared at her. ‘You mean you consulted her about me?’
Rhiannon gave a little offhand shrug. ‘I didn’t see any harm in it, especially as you don’t even believe in any of it anyway.’
‘But that’s not the point,’ Georgie protested. ‘I don’t like the thought of someone speculating about me. It doesn’t seem right. I want to forge my own destiny, not have it thrust on me by the power of suggestion.’
Rhiannon folded her arms. ‘What colour hair does Mr Blackwood have?’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake!’ Georgie said. ‘You surely don’t for a moment think I would be interested in that … that arrogant, stuck-up, I’m-your-boss-and-you-will-do-what-I-say jerk, do you?’
Rhiannon tilted her head. ‘What colour?’
‘Black as the ace of spades,’ Georgie informed her. ‘And not a grey hair in sight, in case Madame Celestia got her wires crossed.’
‘Oh, well, that’s settled, then,’ Rhiannon said. ‘He’s not the one for you.’
Georgie rolled her eyes again. ‘Thank God.’
The supermarket was crowded at that time of the evening, professional people rushing in on their way home, all jostling to get last-minute items for dinner. Georgie wandered up and down the aisles with her basket as she waited for the queues to ease down a bit.
Shopping for herself was still a bit of a novelty for her, having only just moved away from home. She knew twenty-seven was rather old to be leaving the nest but she’d been perfectly happy living with her parents up until her father had retired a few weeks before Christmas. Ever since then both he and her mother had started to butt in on her life, as if theirs had come to a sudden end. Georgie recognised the very great adjustment her father had yet to make in moving from a demanding and stressful surgical and teaching career to being a retiree with no pressing commitments other than a few casual rounds of golf. Many retiring medical specialists suffered the same doubts and insecurities once their career identity was removed. And she also recognised the changes her mother was undergoing in having twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week access to a husband she had rarely seen in the past thirty years of their marriage.
Her father’s generous offer to buy an apartment for her had precipitated Georgie into deciding it was time to move out and leave them to it. Besides, she had to study, and study hard, to get through four years of neurosurgical training. Although after today’s ignominious beginning she was starting to suffer doubts and insecurities of her own.
She looked up to check the condition of the queues and locked gazes with a midnight-blue one. Her mouth went dry and her heart started to thump, her hand on the basket handle moistening.
She turned away and feigned an avid interest in the confectionary display in front of her, hoping he would just ignore her and move on.
‘Good evening, Dr Willoughby.’
No such luck, Georgie thought sourly as she slowly turned around to face him. ‘Good evening, Mr Blackwood,’ she said in a distinctly cool tone.
Ben’s eyes went to the basket she was carrying. His mother always said you could tell a lot about a person from how they shopped. Fresh fruit, low-fat yoghurt, wholegrain bread and … two chocolate bars. Somehow that made him smile inwardly. His younger sister Hannah was exactly the same—perhaps it was a girl thing.
He had been feeling a little bit guilty about reading the Riot Act to Georgie the way he had. She was young and inexperienced but clearly eager to learn, and the accident after all had been exactly that: an accident. She had probably been nervous and preoccupied on her first day, which every registrar, including himself, had experienced.
His eyes did a quick scan of her stiff little figure, standing with her basket like a shield against her, those big brown eyes of hers unwavering as they held his, and he felt his groin tighten another notch.
Yep, she was cute all right.
