Free Dead Man's Folly by Agatha Christie

show.”
    â€œBut it’s been a wonderful summer this year. Dorothy! It’s ages since I’ve seen you.”
    â€œWe felt we had to come and see Nasse in its glory. I see you’ve cut back the berberis on the bank.”
    â€œYes, it shows the hydrangeas better, don’t you think?”
    â€œHow 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:
    â€œCame over to see the commandant here during the war. Nearly broke my heart.”
    Mrs. Folliat turned to greet a humbler visitor.
    â€œMrs. Knapper, I am pleased to see you. Is this Lucy? How she’s grown!”
    â€œShe’ll be leaving school next year. Pleased to see you looking so well, ma’am.”
    â€œI’m very well, thank you. You must go and try your luck at hoopla, 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:
    â€œPleased 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.
    â€œAmy, 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.
    â€œWhere’s Marylin Gale—?”
    â€œReggie’s just dying to meet her. He saw her last picture.”
    â€œThat her in the big hat? My word, that’s some getup.”
    â€œDon’t be stupid, darling. That’s Hattie Stubbs. You know, Amy, you really shouldn’t let her go round quite so like a mannequin.”
    â€œAmy?” 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 absentmindedly 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 realized 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 2 s. 6 d. ” 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 muffled 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.
    â€œIt is very agreeable all that you tell me, Madame Legge. I only wish that it could come true.”
    â€œOh!” said Sally. “So you know me, do you?”
    â€œI had advance information—Mrs. Oliver told me that you were originally to be the ‘victim,’ but that you had been snatched from her for the Occult.”
    â€œI wish I was being the ‘body,’” said Sally. “Much more peaceful. All Jim Warburton’s fault. Is it four o’clock yet? I want my tea. I’m off duty from four to half past.”
    â€œTen minutes to go, still,” said Poirot, consulting his large old-fashioned watch. “Shall I bring you a cup of tea here?”
    â€œNo, no. I want the break. This tent is stifling. Are there a lot of people waiting still?”
    â€œNo. I think they are lining up for tea.”
    â€œGood.”
    Poirot emerged