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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.
    “It is very agreeable all that you tell me, Madame Legge. I only wish that it could