Her Christmas Eve Diamond. Scarlet Wilson

weren’t even blinking. She was staring so hard Cass thought she would bore a hole through her skull.

      She looked around her. Books everywhere. Piles of magazines. Shelves and shelves of ornaments, all looking as though they could do with a good dust. Another allergy to set off. One, two, no, three … no, there was another one hiding in the corner. Four cats in the room. All looking at her as if she shouldn’t be there. Maybe they knew something that she didn’t.

      ‘So, what do we do?’ she asked quickly.

      Belinda’s face had appeared kindly, homely when she’d answered the door. But in here, when it was just the two of them, she looked like a cold and shrewd businesswoman. Cassidy wondered if she could read the thoughts currently in her head. That would account for the light-sabre stare.

      Belinda shuffled the cards again. ‘We can do whatever you prefer.’ She spread the cards face down on the table. ‘I can read your cards.’ She reached over and grabbed hold of Cassidy’s hand. ‘I can read your palm. Or …’ she glanced around the room ‘… I can channel some spirits and see what they’ve got to say.’

      The thought sent a chill down Cassidy’s spine. She wasn’t sure she believed any of this. But she certainly didn’t want to take the risk of channelling any unwanted spirits.

      The TV special she’d watched the other day had claimed that all of this was based on reading people. Seeing the tiny, almost imperceptible reactions they had to certain words, certain gestures. Cassidy had come here tonight determined not to move a muscle, not even to blink. But her cat allergy seemed to have got the better of her, and her eyes were a red, blinking, streaming mess. So much for not moving.

      She didn’t like the look of the cards either. Knowing her luck, she’d turn over the death card—or the equivalent of the Joker.

      ‘Let’s just do the palm, please.’ It seemed the simplest option. How much could anyone get from some lines on a palm?

      Belinda leaned across the table, taking Cassidy’s slim hand and wrist and encapsulating them in her pudgy fingers. There was something quite soothing about it. She wasn’t examining Cassidy’s palm—just holding her hand. Stroking her fingers across the back of her hand for a few silent minutes, then turning her hand over and touching the inside of her palm.

      A large smile grew across her face.

      The suspense was killing her. Cassidy didn’t like long silences. ‘What is it?’

      Belinda released her hand. ‘You’re quite the little misery guts, aren’t you?’

      ‘What?’ Cassidy was stunned. The last she’d heard, these people were only supposed to tell you good things. And certainly not assassinate your character.

      Belinda nodded. ‘On the surface you’re quite the joker with your friends at work. On the other hand, you always see the glass half-empty. Very self-deprecating. All signs of insecurity.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But very particular at work. Your attention to detail makes you hard to work with. Some of your colleagues just don’t know how to take you. And as for men …’

      ‘What?’ Right now, men were the last thing on her mind. And the word ‘insecurity’ had hit a nerve she didn’t want to acknowledge. It was bad enough having parents who jet-setted around the world, without having a fiancé who’d upped and left. The last thing she wanted was some random stranger pointing it out to her.

      ‘You’re a clever girl, but sometimes you can’t see what’s right at the end of your nose.’ She shook her head. ‘You’ve got some very fixed ideas, and you’re not very good at the art of compromise. Just as well Christmas is coming up.’

      Cassidy was mad now. ‘What’s that got to do with anything? Christmas is still three months away.’

      Belinda folded her arms across her chest, a smug expression on her face. ‘You’re going to be a Christmas bride.’

      ‘What?’

      The woman had clearly lost her cat-brained mind.

      ‘How on earth can I be a Christmas bride? It’s October tomorrow, and I don’t have a boyfriend. And there’s nobody I’m even remotely interested in.’

      Belinda tapped the side of her nose, giving her shoulders an annoying little shrug. ‘I only see the future. I don’t tell you how you’re going to get there.’ She leaned over and touched the inside of Cassidy’s palm. ‘I can see you as a Christmas bride, along with a very handsome groom—not from around these parts either. Lucky you.’

      Cassidy shook her head firmly. It had taken her months to get over her broken engagement to her Spanish fiancé—and it had not been an experience she wanted to repeat. ‘You’re absolutely wrong. There’s no way I’m going to be a Christmas bride. And particularly not with a groom from elsewhere. I’ve had it with foreign men. The next man I hook up with will be a true fellow Scot, through and through.’

      Belinda gave her the look. The look that said, You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.

      ‘That’s us, then.’

      Cassidy was aghast. Twenty quid for that? ‘That’s it?’

      Belinda nodded and waved her hand. ‘Send the next one in.’

      Cassidy hesitated for a second, steeling herself to argue with the woman. But then the fat orange cat brushed against her legs and leapt up onto the chair beside her, determined to shed its thousands of orange cat hairs over her velvet coat. She jumped up. At least she was over and done with. She could wait outside in the car. It was almost worth the twenty quid for that alone.

      She walked along the corridor, mumbling to herself, attempting to brush a big wad of clumped cat hair from her coat.

      ‘Are you done already? What did she tell you?’

      Cassidy rolled her eyes. ‘It’s not even worth repeating.’ She jerked her head down the corridor. ‘Go on, Tamsin. Go and find out when you’re getting your proposal.’

      Tamsin still had that determined look on her face. She stood up and straightened her pristine black mac—no orange cat hairs for her. ‘You mean if I’m getting my proposal.’ She swept down the corridor and banged the door closed behind her.

      Lucy raised her eyebrows. ‘Heaven help Belinda if she doesn’t tell Tam what she wants to hear.’ She turned back to Cassidy. ‘Come on, then, spill. What did she say?’

      Cassidy blew out a long, slow breath through pursed lips. She was annoyed at being called a ‘misery guts.’ And she was beyond irritated at being called insecure. ‘I’m apparently going to be a Christmas bride.’

      ‘What?’ Lucy’s and Lynn’s voices were in perfect tandem with their matching shocked expressions.

      ‘Just as well Tamsin didn’t hear that,’ Lucy muttered.

      ‘Oh, it gets worse. Apparently my groom is from foreign climes.’ She rolled her eyes again. ‘As if.’

      But Lucy’s and Lynn’s expressions had changed, smiles creeping across their faces as their eyes met.

      ‘Told you.’

      ‘No way.’

      Cassidy watched in bewilderment as they high-fived each other in the dingy sitting room.

      ‘What’s with you two? You know the whole thing’s ridiculous. As if I’m going to date another foreign doctor.’

      Lynn folded her arms across her chest. ‘Stranger things have happened.’ She had a weird look on her face. As if she knew something that Cassidy didn’t.

      Lucy adopted the same pose, shoulder to shoulder with Lynn. Almost as if they were ganging up on her.

      Her gaze narrowed. ‘I’m willing to place a bet that Belinda could be right.’

      Cassidy couldn’t