Angela came breezing in to Rosalba's shop, her hair tied back in a scarf and a canvas bag swinging from her shoulder.

"Rosalba," she cried out, as she went through to the back kitchen and dumped the bag on the table.

Rosalba was standing at the stove, grumbling to herself.

"You're late," she said, without turning round. "The coffee was ready ten minutes ago."

"Sorry," said Angela, reaching up to a shelf for the glasses. "I saw a nice herb by the side of ...