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After a few minutes, she became aware of the sound of an engine behind them, and moved aside to let the vehicle pass. The road was narrow and they stood on the grass verge as the open truck laboured up the hill towards them. The driver was an old peasant, with thick white hair over a heavily-lined tanned face. He grinned as he approached, revealing a practically toothless mouth, and slowed down.
He jerked his thumb at the back of the truck in an obvious invitation and Anne was about to shake her head, then looked at Kate. "I wouldn't mind," said Kate. "Even if it's only to the top of this hill."
They couldn't see over the side of the truck, but there was no sign of any animals, so Anne said "OK", and, to the old man's delighted surprise, Kate spoke to him in Italian, and he brought the vehicle to a wheezing halt.
"I hope it can get going again," whispered Anne as the driver climbed down laboriously and led them round to the back of the truck and released the backboard. It clattered down, revealing a wooden platform covered with empty grain sacks – and four farm labourers, squatting in a corner, playing cards.
They looked up disinterestedly, making no move to help the women aboard, but Kate leapt up lithely and turned to take the backpacks from Anne. Anne looked at her, dubiously. "Are you sure?" she said, memories of the boat flooding back. Kate laughed. "Oh, come on," she said. "I don't think we've anything to fear from this lot."
Anne shrugged away her reservations and, passing up the packs, jumped aboard, and the driver clattered the backboard into place again. The women flopped against the shaded side of the truck and Kate uncorked the wine bottle again.
One of the card-players spotted the bottle and grinned at Kate, with an unmistakeable jerk of his head. Kate smiled and extricated the other bottle from her pack and handed it across. She was rewarded with a chorus of grunts and smiles as the bottle was opened and passed round enthusiastically, the card game forgotten.
Anne leant her head against the juddering side of the truck, and closed her eyes. A shadow fell across her and she looked up. One of the farm hands, a huge man of about forty, with three day's growth of heavy black beard, was standing, holding the bottle towards her.
"It might be rude to refuse," Anne thought to herself, and smiled up at him, holding her hand out for the bottle. But he ignored her hand, and pushed the bottle towards her mouth. Uneasily, but not wanting to give offence, Anne opened her mouth round the neck of the bottle …
(Continued in Chapter 6)
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