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‘Aioli is garlic, olive oil, and egg yolks. I often make it,’ she explained. ‘A Mediterranean diet is simple.’

‘It’s certainly very different from the stodge we eat at home,’ Atticus remarked, thinking of the thick stews and pies he’d grown up with.

‘In Holland, we eat a lot of dairy and bread, with cheese and meat,’ Britta explained and sipped her sangria. ‘Stamppot is popular too.’

‘Stamppot?’

‘It’s made with mashed potato, vegetables, and smoked sausage.’

‘Stamppot sounds delicious,’ Atticus smiled. ‘Your English is excellent. Did you learn it at school?’

‘Yes, English is taught as a second language, and we are exposed to English media, with music, TV, and movies.’ Britta’s voice was soft, and Atticus liked that there was a trace of an accent.

‘It makes me feel inadequate.’ Atticus shook his head. ‘I’ve never had any reason to learn languages, but I’m trying to learn a little Spanish.’

‘I speak some Spanish. It’s not too hard.’

Their appetisers arrived, and as they shared a dish of warm mussels in a white wine sauce, Atticus told Britta about his home and family.

‘I never wanted the farm to change,’ he said, ‘but I lost all interest after Clara died, and Mungo seemed to take over.’

‘Tell me about your wife.’

Atticus spoke of Clara, their happy marriage, and how he’d been in a rut for a long time after her death.

‘You loved each other very much,’ Britta smiled.

‘Yes… we did.’ Atticus suddenly felt guilty. He was discussing his marriage with a stranger and hoped that Clara would approve of his actions.

‘But your son – he has done something good?’ Britta asked. ‘The farm is successful with all the changes, and this is best for the family?’

‘Yes, I suppose it is, but I struggle with change.’

‘But you are here. You have changed your life, and embarked on a great adventure by coming to the sunshine in another country. Was this such a hard thing to do?’

‘No, when you put it like that, I suppose not, once I’d set my mind to it.’

‘So, your family are happy now, and all is well.’

‘Well, not all my family.’ Atticus sighed and pushed his empty plate to one side. ‘Mungo thinks I’m mad and have lost my marbles.’

‘Your marbles are missing?’ Britta looked puzzled. ‘Is this a game?’

‘No, sorry,’ Atticus laughed. ‘It’s a silly English expression that means I’ve lost my mind.’

‘Mungo is cross?’

‘Yes, he thinks I am behaving badly here.’

‘And are you?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’ Atticus shook his head. ‘I’m enjoying meeting new people and seeing different places. At the site, everyone is very friendly, and they ask me to their pitches for drinks and food.’

‘That is good, but how does Mungo know what you do here?’

‘Oh, he’s seen my Instagram account.’ Atticus reached out and poured more sangria into their glasses.

Britta thanked the server as the dishes were cleared. ‘I don’t have Instagram,’ she said, ‘but I know what it is. Please explain what you have done.’