Piper’s DilemmaMr Rashid arrived behind the counter after the paperboys left. He’d combed his hair in an amusing centre parting which appealed to the older ladies. Mrs Miller chuckled as she paid for her haemorrhoid cream. Her crabbed fingers reached up to the counter and she sat forward in her wheelchair. “Ooh, you look just like an Indian Humphrey Bogart,” she crooned. Her change slipped into her purse and she held Mr Rashid’s fingers a little too long as he passed her the box of cream. “No, Omar Sharif,” she gushed. “That’s who you are. Ooh, I just loved him in Lawrence of Arabia.”
Mr Rashid’s head bobbled on his neck and he beamed. Kit watched in amusement as he preened himself beneath the glare of an octogenarian’s misplaced and short-sighted adoration. “I am also liking Omar Sharif,
