Page 24 of The Cruise Club

In the serene surroundings, Dicky was in his own little world and with the heat of the sun burning through a gap as the ship progressed through the canal, he felt drowsy and soon fell asleep.

An hour passed, and Dicky slept on. His dream took him to famous stages where he was greeted with standing ovations from the fantasy crowd that applauded his act. He had a foolish grin on his face as he shook the hand of the King, whose consort told the comedian he was brilliant.

‘Thank you, your Highness…’ Dicky mumbled aloud, his smile widening as he kissed the hand of the Royal and dreamed of his name in the new year’s honours list.

‘Wakey, wakey!’ A voice pierced through his dream and jolted Dicky awake.

‘What the…’he muttered. Shielding sunlight with his hand, Dicky realised a tall figure stood over him.

Melody Moon was a vision in a shiny red swimsuit. Dicky shook his head and slowly regained consciousness, noting her matching sarong, knotted at the waist. Melody looked as though she’d just strutted off a catwalk.

‘Do you always talk in your sleep,’ she asked, one hand on her hip, ‘or are you losing your marbles?’

‘Oh, it’s you…’ Dicky groaned and, reaching for his cocktail, drained the glass. ‘Can’t you find another spot to parade your… assets?’

‘Been burning the midnight?’ Melody smirked, unfazed. ‘I could carry my shopping in the bags under your eyes.’

‘Why don’t you find a shaded corner to sit in?’ Dicky retorted. ‘You’re blinding me with all that cosmetic work. Sunlight and surgery don’t mix well.’

‘Maybe you should try it,’ Melody snapped, ‘it might smooth out the train tracks on your face.’

Dicky lay back and, picking up his Ray-Bans, feigned sleep. The sniping dialogue with Melody could go on all morning, but he wasn’t in the mood. It took too much brain power, and he needed his wits to concentrate on his act that evening. Peter had insisted that he work on something about the canal in a funny yet complimentary way.

He heard the flip flop of Melody’s sandals and, opening one eye, squinted at the retreating figure. There was no doubt Melody was talented. She was a knock-out performer, and in beach apparel she looked like a super-model.

Dicky knew that his competition was fierce.

‘Canals… Greeks… builders…’ he muttered, trying to brainstorm.

‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ came another voice behind him.

Startled, Dicky spun around. ‘Bloody hell, it’s like Piccadilly Circus out here today,’ he said. ‘Can’t a man get a bit of peace?’ Shielding his eyes, Dicky stared at the man before him.

Ruskin Reeve wore neat linen shorts, a short-sleeved shirt and a Panama hat.

‘So, you’re the comedian who’s pushed my books to one side in the shop?’ Ruskin drawled. ‘Hardly funny, but then again, neither is your act.’

More criticism…Dicky eased to his feet. ‘I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure?’ he said, determined to keep things cordial.

Ruskin ignored Dicky’s outstretched hand.

‘Going swimming?’ Dicky nodded towards the pool.

‘I swam for an hour earlier.’

‘You’re the writer?’ Dicky ploughed on.

‘Ruskin Reeve,bestsellingwriter,’ he emphasised.

‘And I’m Dicky Delaney, comedy so sharp you’ll need a safety net,’ he grinned.

Ruskin’s icy gaze swept over Dicky’s perma-tan, gleaming teeth and Elvis-like hair. ‘Move my books in the shop again,’ Ruskin warned, ‘and I’ll destroy you faster than one of the victims in my novels.’

Before Dicky had time to quip a reply, Ruskin turned and marched across the deck. Slumping on his recliner, Dicky picked up his glass. It was empty. So much for the camaraderie between crew and entertainment members they mentioned in theDiamond Star Daily News, he thought. If anyone else disliked him, he’d have to plan a mutiny!

Dicky sighed and ran a hand through his carefully styled hair, his grin momentarily slipping. But maybe he didn’t need their camaraderie? Perhaps he needed to shake things up! He signalled to a server for another drink. Mutiny wasn’t the right word, he decided. Charm and punchlines sharp enough to cut were more his style.

Dicky’s grin returned. Let Ruskin Reeve and everyone else underestimate him; he wasn’t here just to make people laugh. He would use the cruise for his own devices and, cunningly, turn the trip into his own personal payday.

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