Mistletoe Mystery by Sally Quilford Page B

laughed, her dark mood
instantly disappearing. No matter who or what Matt was, she could not help
feeling good when she was with him. “Now let me go and help out in the kitchen,
or I’ll have your motive as sexual harassment of the innocent young games
mistress.”
    “I thought you said we couldn’t change the script.”
    “I said you couldn’t change the script. I have writer’s
privileges.” Philly pulled away from his arms and headed towards the kitchen.
    “Philly…” Matt’s voice sounded more serious.
    “What is it?”
    “You know I wouldn’t, don’t you?”
    “Wouldn’t what?”
    “Sexually harass you.  I mean, if you gave me any sign
you weren’t interested in me, I wouldn’t force my attentions on you.”
    Things had suddenly become very serious again. Not least
because no matter how hard Philly had tried, she clearly had not managed to
appear reserved in Matt’s company. Her longing for him must be all too
apparent. “I didn’t mean to suggest that, Matt, I’m sorry. It was just a joke.”
    “As long as you know that for sure.”
    Rachel Jenson and her cameraman, Joe, arrived just before
dinner. They set up the camera in the dining room. It was placed behind those
who had stated they did not wish to be featured on television, so that it only
filmed the back of their heads. It meant that some of the original seating
arrangements had to be changed at the last minute.
    “It won’t record sound,” Rachel explained to everyone. “It
will only record images, then I’ll talk over it for the television report. So
feel free to talk as you normally would. None of your deep dark secrets will be
revealed to the public.”
    “Rachel,” said Matt, “I saved you and Joe some characters to
play. If you want to.”
    “Ooh yes please,” said Rachel.
    Joe decided he would rather just be himself. Because he had
to look after all the equipment he could not really devote his time to thinking
up a back story and a motive.
    “Remember that the bedrooms are out of bounds, even to
filming,” said Philly. “It’s only fair on the guests.”
    “Of course,” Rachel smiled. “We’re not filming Big Brother
here.”
    “That’s a relief,” said Frank Bennett, who was one of those
who chose to sit with his back to the cameras. “If I have to dress up and play
silly games, I’m going home. It’s bad enough having to cook when I’m on
holiday.”
    “I have to, every time we take the caravan in Morecombe,”
said Mrs. Bennett.
    “Now, shall we all get into character whilst we eat our
soup?” suggested Matt. Philly was grateful that he prevented yet another
bickering session between the Bennetts. They were a direct contrast to the calm
and obviously devoted Cunninghams. “Why don’t you start, Mrs. Bennett?”
    “Ooh, I don’t really know how to.”
    “Start by telling us what role you’re playing. Maybe the
rest will come later.”
    “Oh yes.” Mrs. Bennett picked up her card. “It says here
that I’m the school nurse or doctor. Oh dear, I hate the sight of blood.” That
caused a few raised eyebrows, especially as Mrs. Bennett had already told
nearly everyone that she was addicted to rather vicious American murder
mysteries. “Very well, I’m the school nurse. Just call me Matron. I came to
work at the school in nineteen fifty-eight after doing a stint in Vietnam.”
    “I don’t think the Vietnam had started then,” said her
husband. “And it was an American war.”
    “I’m sure she means Korea,” said Matt, kindly.
    “Yes!” Mrs. Bennett beamed at him. “It was Korea. I worked
with the MASH four oh seven seven.”
    “They were also Americans,” said Mr. Bennett.
    “There was a lot of crossover,” said Matt. “The English and
Americans have always come together in times of war.”
    “Exactly,” said Mrs. Bennett. She giggled. “I had my heart
broken after a torrid romance with Hawkeye Pierce.”
    “Oh, I wish I’d been the school nurse now,” said