this way. Well, they can, of course, much quicker. But there's no right of way – never has been. And they're practically all foreigners – don't understand what you say, and just jabber back at you in Dutch or something.'
'Of these, one is German and the other Italian, I think – I saw the Italian girl on her way from the station yesterday.'
'Every kind of language they talk… Yes, Hattie? What did you say?' He drew back into the room.
Poirot turned to find Mrs Oliver and a well-developed girl of fourteen dressed in Guide uniform close behind him.
'This is Marlene,' said Mrs Oliver.
Marlene acknowledged the introduction with a pronounced snuffle. Poirot bowed politely.
'She's the Victim,' said Mrs Oliver.
Marlene giggled.
'I'm the horrible Corpse,' she said. 'But I'm not going to have any blood on me.' Her tone expressed disappointment.
'No?'
'No. Just strangled with a cord, that's all. I'd of liked to be stabbed – and have lashings of red paint.'
'Captain Warburton thought it might look too realistic,' said Mrs Oliver.
'In a murder I think you ought to have blood,' said Marlene sulkily. She looked at Poirot with hungry interest. 'Seen lots of murders, haven't you? So she says.'
'One or two,' said Poirot modestly.
He observed with alarm that Mrs Oliver was leaving them.
'Any sex maniacs?' asked Marlene with avidity.
'Certainly not.'
'I like sex maniacs,' said Marlene with relish. ' Reading about them, I mean.'
'You would probably not like meeting one.'
'Oh, I dunno. D'you know what? I believe we've got a sex maniac round here. My granddad saw a body in the woods once. He was scared and ran away, and when he come back it was gone. It was a woman's body. But of course he's batty, my granddad is, so no one listens to what he says.'
Poirot managed to escape and regaining the house by a circuitous route, took refuge in his bedroom. He felt in need of repose.
Chapter 6
Lunch was an early and quickly snatched affair of a cold buffet. At two-thirty a minor film star was to open the fete. The weather, after looking ominously like rain, began to improve. By three o'clock the fete was in full swing. People were paying the admission charge of half a crown in large numbers, and cars were lining one side of the long drive. Students from the Youth Hostel arrived in batches conversing loudly in foreign tongues. True to Mrs Masterton's forecast, Lady Stubbs had emerged from her bedroom just before half-past two, dressed in a cyclamen dress with an enormous coolie-shaped hat of black straw. She wore large quantities of diamonds.
Miss Brewis murmured sardonically:
'Thinks it's the Royal Enclosure at Ascot, evidently!'
But Poirot complimented her gravely.
'It is a beautiful creation that you have on, Madame.'
'It is nice, isn't it,' said Hattie happily. 'I wore it for Ascot.'
The minor film star was arriving and Hattie moved forward to greet her.
Poirot retreated into the background. He wandered around disconsolately – everything seemed to be proceeding in the normal fashion of fetes. There was a coconut shy, presided over by Sir George in his heartiest fahion, a skittle alley and a hoop-la. There were various 'stalls' displaying local produce of fruit, vegetables, jams and cakes – and others displaying 'fancy objects.' There were 'raffles' of cakes, of baskets of fruit; even, it seemed, of a pig; and a 'Lucky Dip' for children at twopence a go.
There was a good crowd of people by now and an Exhibition of Children's Dancing began. Poirot saw no sign of Mrs Oliver, but Lady Stubbs's cyclamen pink figure showed up amongst the crowd as she drifted rather vaguely about. The focus of attention, however, seemed to be Mrs Folliat. She was quite transformed in appearance – wearing a hydrangea-blue foulard frock and a smart grey hat, she appeared to preside over the proceedings, greeting new arrivals, and directing people to the various side shows.
Poirot lingered near her and listened to some of the conversations.
'Amy, my dear, how are you?'
'Oh, Pamela, how nice of you and Edward to come. Such a long way from Tiverton.'
'The weather's held for you. Remember the year before the war? Cloudburst came down about four o'clock. Ruined the whole show.'
'But it's been a wonderful summer this year. Dorothy! It's ages since I've seen you.'
'We felt we had to come and see Nasse in its glory. I see you've cut back the berberis on the bank.'
'Yes, it shows the hydrangeas better, don't you think?'
'How wonderful they are. What a blue! But, my dear, you've done wonders in the last year. Nasse is really beginning to look like itself again.'
Dorothy's husband boomed in a deep voice:
'Came over to see the commandant here during the war. Nearly broke my heart.'
Mrs Folliat turned to greet a humbler visitor.
'Mrs Knapper, I am pleased to see you. Is this Lucy? How she's grown!'
'She'll be leaving school next year. Pleased to see you looking so well, ma'am.'
'I'm very well, thank you. You must go and try your luck at hoop-la, Lucy. See you in the tea tent later, Mrs Knapper. I shall be helping with the teas.'
An elderly man, presumably Mr Knapper, said diffidently:
'Pleased to have you back at Nasse, ma'am. Seems like old times.'
Mrs Folliat's response was drowned as two women and a big beefy man rushed towards her.
'Amy, dear, such ages. This looks the greatest success! Do tell me what you've done about the rose garden. Muriel told me that you're restocking it with all the new floribundas.'
The beefy man chipped in.
'Where's Marylin Gale -?'
'Reggie's just dying to meet her. He saw her last picture.'
'That her in the big hat? My word, that's some get-up.'
'Don't be stupid, darling. That's Hattie Stubbs. You know, Amy, you really shouldn't let her go round quite so like a mannequin.'
'Amy?' Another friend claimed attention. 'This is Roger, Edward's boy. My dear, so nice to have you back at Nasse.'
Poirot moved slowly away and absent-mindedly invested a shilling on a ticket that might win him the pig.
He heard faintly still, the 'So good of you to come' refrain from behind him. He wondered whether Mrs Folliat realised how completely she had slipped into the role of hostess or whether it was entirely unconscious. She was, very definitely this afternoon, Mrs Folliat of Nasse House.
He was standing by the tent labelled 'Madame Zuleika will tell your fortune for 2s. 6d.' Teas had just begun to be served and there was no longer a queue for the fortune telling. Poirot bowed his head, entered the tent and paid over his half-crown willingly for the privilege of sinking into a chair and resting his aching feet.
Madame Zuleika was wearing flowing black robes, a gold tinsel scarf wound round her head and a veil across the lower half of her face which slightly ruffled her remarks. A gold bracelet hung with lucky charms tinkled as she took Poirot's hand and gave him a rapid reading, agreeably full of money to come, success with a dark beauty and a miraculous escape from an accident.
