Had Madame Ariane known, Suzie wondered, that it was going to be today?

Florence, in the garden, was the first to be afraid. She heard engines, which could only mean one thing: no one but Germans had petrol and drove on the roads in the middle of the day. She was already running across the farmyard to alert Madame Ariane, when the dog Lascar, whom they had trained to watch the drive, came bounding through the gates, barking. The terriers joined in for the sake of it, not yet knowing why they were giving the alarm.

They roared in like thunder, the noise of the engines reverberating from the walls, a land-borne blitzkrieg. First came the motorcycles, bouncing ahead of the convoy, swooping into the courtyard in front of the big house, followed by a staff car and, more ponderously, the armoured trucks.

Micheline stepped out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on the skirt of her pinafore, saw the domed helmets above the handlebars and gave a wail of horror. Madame Ariane and the children were already at the door of the tower. She seized the two girls by their shoulders, pushing them ahead of her as she ran, and thrust them, stumbling, onto the path that led up the hill among the trees.

‘Run. Get away as far as you can.’ She stepped back and waved Micheline and Florence past her.

Florence, taking a last look from the curve in the path, saw Madame Ariane standing under the arch to face the invaders. The roaring of the motors had reached a crescendo, men shouting, dogs barking in descant. She ran after the others, following her mother’s back into the underwater green of the forest. The noise died away as they distanced themselves from home. Sabine and Suzie ran fast at first, fleeing up the slope ahead of Micheline and Florence. They halted when their sprint left them breathless and waited, panting, for the other two to catch them up.

‘Where are we going?’

‘A bit further yet.’ Florence took the lead and walked purposefully. The undergrowth swished back from her thighs, slapping against Suzie who was following closely on her heels. After about twenty minutes she left the path, bending low through the bracken. After ascending a slope she opened a space between two bushes and said, ‘In you go.’

They crept into the hole and crouched inside, listening to the beating of their hearts in their ears, a drumming that gradually dropped away to leave the busy silence of the woods.

Suzie examined the low, semi-circular chamber, stroking the rock walls with the palm of her hand, wiping the stone dust and cobwebs onto her pinafore.

‘Where are we?’ she asked.

‘About a kilometre from the road to Les Landes.’

‘No, what is this place?’

‘They built these hides centuries ago, they say, to conceal food from the soldiers who came to steal from the peasants. Now it’s just a woodman’s shelter. They won’t find us here.’