Chapter 9

Joan Willforth’s caravan was small, but private. The curtains at the small windows were closed and she locked the door after the two women climbed in. There was a tiny table but no chairs and only the bed to sit on, so the pair did so. Matilda realised she hadn’t let go of the actress’ hand. When she tried to remove it, Joan held on to her.

“I need some female contact,” said Joan. “All day I have had to play a part of being close to a man. Yuck! Dirty old Gerald Johnstone, too. You probably know him from some dreadful films. His breath stinks and he is far too old for supposedly a young woman looking for a husband. Even one as dizzy as I am supposed to be. He shouldn’t have been cast in that part, though to be honest no man could kiss as well as you. Would you mind if I had another?”

As Matilda didn’t object, the two women exchanged another long, wet kiss, groping each other’s breasts as they did so.

“Mmmm,” sighed Joan. “You know, one day, the movie industry will wake up to the fact that most male actors prefer men, and most female actors definitely prefer women. I would love to star in a lesbian romp film. Something entitled ‘Women want women first.’ I’ve read a few scripts for movies like that but in this benighted day and age no one dare make them.” She sighed again. “But you aren’t here to talk about my sexual preferences or career ambitions.”

“No, but I am curious. Lady Carden runs a lot of lesbian get-togethers at the house. I would have thought she would have been aware of you and wanted you in there.”

“Your Lady Carden is far too old for me,” Joan wrinkled her nose. “On the other hand, you aren’t” She kissed Matilda again, and this time put her hand up Matilda’s skirt, lightly running her fingers over Matilda’s stocking tops and suspenders. “I could spend the night in bed with you my dear, very easily,” she grinned when they stopped kissing.

“Me too, but I have to find out where that missing girdle is. And if your sister is wearing it still, her too, of course.” Matilda pursed her lips. “I have to admit that another young woman has gone missing. A girl by the name of Jennifer Turner. She was working at the Harvest Hotel, where Sommers was supposedly staying. She was kidnapped and brought here bound and gagged, I believe, crammed into a milk churn of all things.”

“How?” Joan withdrew her hand from up Matilda’s skirt.

“The milk churn was on the back of a lorry driven by a man called Bob. He brought Sommers here from Resterford-On-Water, where the hotel is.”

Joan looked blank. “That’s odd. I was waiting for another take with Mr Bad-breath when I saw Bob’s lorry drive in. Sommers was in the passenger seat in her silly flat cap—she loves pretending to be working class when she is far from that—but there was no milk churn on the back. There was nothing on the lorry.”