The Girl Who Fell From the Sky by Simon Mawer Page B

they were preparing to descend from the summit they heard voices below them on the hillside. Was it someone from the lodge? They crouched in the lee of their boulder and waited, whispering.
    The voices came nearer. Male voices. A burst of laughter. They were coming up from the north, directly towards them.
    ‘Let’s go,’ Marian whispered to Yvette, ‘we’ll outflank them.’ She led the way eastwards off the summit, keeping low, moving from cover to cover as they had been taught. They crept over tussocks of grass and round scattered boulders. And then they saw the group approaching, half a dozen men in battledress and cap comforters climbing the hillside rapidly, their boots clumping against the rocks.
    ‘Commandos,’ she whispered to Yvette. They had heard about commandos. Emile had told them. ‘They train round here as well,’ he’d said, ‘Lochailort.’ But he wouldn’t say how he knew, merely gave that smug, know-all’s smile. So the two women crouched behind a boulder as the six men climbed past. They were moving fast, almost as though they were in a race of some kind, and carrying weapons, Sten guns slung against their chests, and heavy packs on their backs.
    Abruptly Marian stood up. It was an unpremeditated move, nothing that she had discussed with Yvette. She just stood up there on the hillside in the wind and the sun. ‘Bang! Bang!’ she shouted. ‘You’re dead!’
    The men stumbled to a halt and grabbed at their weapons, looking round to see her standing there on a boulder, her hair blown out by the wind, looking for all the world like a Valkyrie, or something. ‘What the fuck?’ one of them exclaimed, and then looked embarrassed.
    ‘A woman,’ another said. ‘What the devil’s a
woman
doing here?’
    And the others laughed, one of them raising his hands above his head. ‘
Je me rends
,’ he cried. ‘
Je suis votre prisonnier
. Do what you will with me.’ There was more laughter, and more French spoken. The one who had raised his hands in mock surrender was the French boy called Benoît.
    The leader of the group came across. Yvette had appeared at Marian’s side and stood close as though for protection.
    ‘
Two
of you?’ the man shouted. He wore captain’s pips on his shoulders and his face was dark with rage. ‘Who the hell are you? What are you doing here? Don’t you know this is a restricted area? Where the bloody hell have you come from?’
    ‘We’re from Edinburgh,’ Marian said. ‘We’ve come for the weekend.’
    ‘For the weekend?
Here
? Do you have identification? Where are your papers?’
    ‘We left them down in the car. We didn’t expect to meet a policeman up here.’
    ‘I’m not a bloody policeman!’ The captain was struggling with the possibilities, trying to work out what to do. His face was red, from exertion perhaps, or anger, or the embarrassment of meeting women in a place like this. ‘Where in God’s name are you staying?’
    ‘At a hotel.’
    ‘A hotel? Round here?’ He shook his head in bewilderment. ‘This is most irregular. You shouldn’t be here at all. We’ll have to escort you down.’
    ‘Does that mean we’re under arrest?’
    ‘It means I’m keeping an eye on you until I can be sure of your story. As far as I know you could be spies.’
    ‘We’re not spies. Honestly.’
    ‘Of course you’ll say that. Spies would say that, wouldn’t they?’
    ‘I suppose they would. But actually we’re secretaries, at the Office for Inter Services Liaison in Edinburgh. You can check if you like.’
    ‘Inter Services Liaison? Never heard of it.’
    ‘It’s very important. It does liaison. Between the services.’
    ‘However important it is, you shouldn’t be here. You’d better come with me.’
    So they set off down the hill, the captain leading the way, the two women following, escorted by the men.
    ‘Will we be in trouble?’ Yvette asked in a whisper.
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
    Benoît walked beside them. He was looking at her