The miles wer~ draining away. They were down to<br >single figures when the traffic began to slow and<br >thicken ahead of her. A new section of road was being<br >constructed. She had driven with practised caution.<br >Now she stopped behind a Volvo wagon and eased her<br >hands from the wheel. The wiper on the back win-<br >dow of the Volvo had cleaned a swathe in the caked<br >dust. In spite of herself， she smiled. They had first<br >seen a wiper on a back window when they were in<br >Italy， she and Richard， on their way to Paestum. A<br >Lancia Flaminia. They had been to see the villas at<br >Ravello: eight years in June. They had laughed.<br > The new road was to be dual carriageway. Yellow<br >levellers trundled over the site on fat wheels. Behind<br >them， Constable trees wore their early green. A young<br >man in a tartan shirt and cap posed with a red flag.<br >The landscape shimmered， as if smoke were clearing.<br >Ahead of Kate， to her right， where the road would<br >bend on a new axis， stood a large oak; its branches<br >spiked the morning from a dozen angles. There was<br >no one near it. The young man with the flag turned<br >to the line of motorists and nodded.<br > The oak disintegrated. The thick tree shuddered<br >and burst open. Branches hung in the air for a sec-<br >ond， as if on the wing with the hundreds of birds<br >which jostled the sky， and then collapsed. The clap of<br >the charge followed the execution. The ground shook.<br ><br >"