Truth Will Out by Pamela Oldfield

at the time but today she wondered if it had been a mistake. He didn’t really enjoy it the way she did and she sometimes felt a little guilty.
    He finished his drink but before he could decide to pour another she returned the bottle to the sideboard. ‘We must think positively,’ she told him briskly. ‘The police think the press might get hold of the story, if there is a story, and if so you’ll have to deal with them, Derek. I shall try to carry on as usual and . . .’ She recalled her earlier decision. ‘As soon as the police have finished their questioning, I shall announce the soirée and pin up the programme. We’ll give everyone a free glass of that cheap champagne we can’t sell – what a mistake that was! – by way of compensation for the disruption.’ Derek started to interrupt her but she ignored him. ‘Yes. That’s what we’ll do. You deal with the police and the press while I hold the fort. We must try to protect the guests from any more disappointments.’
    ‘Protect them? What d’you mean? Disappointments? They’re secretly loving it.’ He grinned. ‘Something interesting at last to write on the back of their saucy postcards.’
    ‘Really, Derek!’ Recovering from her fright, Alison threw a glance skyward as she hurried towards the door but stopped halfway to take the list of ‘entertainers’ from her pocket and read it aloud. ‘Mr Hurst, an amusing anecdote from his childhood . . . The Stevens sisters, a duet. You’ll have to play for them, Derek. They’ve brought the music . . . Young Miss Elroyd will recite a narrative poem, and her mother is going to play something from Gilbert and Sullivan . . . It’s quite a mixed bag. Should be long enough but if not—’
    ‘I know.’ He rolled his eyes humorously. ‘I’ll play and we’ll have a sing-song!’
    She laughed. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t revel in your moment of glory. You’ve always loved showing off at the piano. Mother was always praising you. She never praised me.’
    ‘I practised, that’s why. You never did.’
    ‘I hated piano lessons . . . Oh Lord! There’s the phone. Answer it, Derek, please and if it’s that chap Hemmings from the Gazette , be nice to him! Get him on our side whatever you do. Offer him a free night’s bed, breakfast and evening meal for two as long as he’s fair to us in his article – and as long as it’s not July or August.’
    An hour or so later, Alice and Biddy were standing on the Fairways lawn, trying to decide how croquet was meant to be played. They had carried out a box containing four long-handled mallets, four large balls – red, green, yellow and blue – some cast-iron hoops and what Alice referred to as a coloured stake. They had spread these out and were awaiting inspiration. Primmy had examined these items with interest but, finding them lifeless, had withdrawn to the shade of a tree and now watched the proceedings closely in the hope that some excitement would follow at some point.
    ‘It’s simple,’ said Alice. ‘You have to hit the ball through all the hoops and whoever does it first wins.’
    Biddy was leaning over the box in search of instructions. ‘It can’t be that easy,’ she argued. ‘There are rules and things but I’ve forgotten them . . . and how do we know where to put the hoops? I’ve seen it played but I was a child and it’s all a bit hazy now. I do know it’s not just a straight line of hoops and it’s not random, either.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I think there may be some things missing . . . And two players may not be enough. It might need people to play in pairs.’
    She straightened up from the box, one hand to her back. ‘There are no instructions. I suppose over the years they’ve got lost. I can’t recall when they were last used.’
    Alice laughed. ‘If that’s so then we can’t even start! Unless we make up our own rules. Croquet for two players.’
    Biddy began to protest but changed her mind. ‘I