“You take off clothes now.’ Another statement. Eyeing his gun, I thought
it better not to disobey. In a few seconds I had stripped, putting all my
clothes on a nearby chair. It was cold. He grinned, or rather leered, at me,
and stepped closer.

“Legs apart, turn round, arms up, hands against wall.’ I did as I was
told, wondering what he was going to do if he suspected me of carrying
drugs. He came nearer and stood behind me, breathing heavily. Then he felt
under my arms, looked at the soles of my feet, and ran his hands up between
my legs. Despite the strange circumstances, I immediately began to feel
randy, though I didn’t like the man at all.

“You are English.’ A statement, not a question.

“Yes,’ I answered quickly, “what’s the matter, what have I done?’

“Come with me, we look for drugs.’ Protesting that I didn’t have any
drugs, I was led off into a back room which was obviously used as a resting
place at night, because it had a wash basin and a hard bed in it.

I reached through the curtained area behind the seats and found his
jumper. With great agility he managed to put it on without driving off the
road.

“That’s better, I don’t like having the heater on, it sends me to sleep.
Let’s see if there’s anything good on the radio.’ Loud rock music
forestalled further conversation.

The sun was fully up now, driving the mist from the fields and hedges as
we hurtled along. We stopped once for a cup of tea at a service area.
Several good-looking lorry drivers greeted Pete, glancing curiously at me. I
felt nervous and out of place. They all seemed at ease with each other, but
treated me as an outsider.