66

THE Italian restaurant he had chosen was small but full of the delicious aromas of garlic and basil and home-cooked pasta. It was run by an Italian couple in their late fifties, Gina and Roberto, who greeted Ben warmly as he came in with Georgie a step or two behind.

‘Buona sera, Dottore Blackwood. Is this your new lady friend? And about time, too. We have been waiting for this for months. Leila Ingham was not pretty enough for you. This one magnifico!’

‘She’s my new registrar, actually,’ Ben said, clearly bursting the restaurateur’s bubble. ‘Georgie, this is Roberto and Gina Di Copella.’

‘Piacare di conoscerla,’ Georgie said with a friendly smile.

‘Parlate Italiano!’

Georgie rocked her hand back and forth in a gesture of modesty. ‘A little.’

Ben waited until they were seated and drinks ordered before he said, ‘I didn’t realise you were a bit of a linguist. That must come in handy at times.’

‘My parents paid for me to go on a siX-week holiday to Italy when I finished high schoo