His attempt at being friendly fizzled out as the shopkeeper stood, pale-faced, unimpressed. Richard squirmed and looked away from the man’s scowl. The man sighed heavily, took out a stub of a pencil from behind his ear, and wrote something on the top copy of the papers. Returning the pencil back to its home, he stood and waited, mouth partly open, tongue pressing against his teeth.
There followed an awkward pause. As his dad appeared stumped for anything to say, Richard stepped up, declaring in a loud, confident voice, “We’re looking for Little Lowland.”
Frowning, the shopkeeper gave him a withering glance. “Where?”
“Little …” Richard looked away, scanning the shop. Small, packed to the rafters with all sorts of produce, the place was a ramshackle collection of everything that the villa
