The Charleston

The Charleston

GEORGIA HILL

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014

Copyright © Georgia Hill 2014

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Georgia Hill asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

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and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Ebook Edition © September 2014

ISBN: 9780007562190

Version 2018-05-03

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

For Geoff because he keeps my heart dancing.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Say It With Sequins.The Charleston: A Dance Full of Laughter.

Also by Georgia Hill…

Coming Soon From Georgia Hill…

Georgia Hill

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

“I’ve danced the Charleston at many a party, although I hasten to add I’m far too young to remember the dance in its heyday. One can dance it on one’s own – but it’s far more fun with a partner. As are most things!” Dame Venetia Denning, actor.

Step One.

Meredith left the stage in a kind of quiet despair. There must be more to life than this, she thought, towelling the perspiration off her brow. Once again, she’d died. Once again, the jokes she’d thought so funny when hunched over the laptop had raised hardly a giggle from a live audience.

“Not so good tonight then, Merry?” Del, the owner of The Last Laugh Comedy Club, caught up with her in the grubby excuse for a dressing room. He gave her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m really sorry, Del. I thought the stuff about being a ginger would go down a storm with them.”

Del laughed. “You’re so not ginger. Post-Christmas it’s always a bit flat,” he offered as explanation. “People are partied out. And there aren’t enough students, and not enough booze in the ones who are here. This lot just want cheap mother-in-law gags.”

They stopped and listened as the crowd rallied out of its stupor to greet Fred Loss, their favourite and a stalwart of the club.

“At least he’ll get a laugh,” Meredith bit out.

“I don’t know what it is, Merry. I think you’re really funny, always have.” Del looked her up and down and raised his eyebrows. “Perhaps it’s your obvious assets.”

Merry put her hands over her not inconsiderable bosom. “What, flatten myself down?” She tugged at a lock of auburn hair despondently. “Shave my head? And I’ve tried every diet known to man – and woman.” She looked down at herself. “I’m just built to be curvy.”

Del blew out a breath. “It’s always tough on women in this business and even harder if you’re an attractive one. People say they don’t find beautiful women funny.” He shrugged apologetically. “As I said, I find you hilarious, but then I know you. Look Merry, I don’t know how to say this.” Del rubbed a hand over his face, embarrassed.

Meredith put up her hands in surrender. “Don’t worry Del, I’ll spare you the speech. I quit.”

“Well, it’s that…” Del began.

“I know. I know. If the comic isn’t funny, the audience goes home.”

“And stays home.” Del finished miserably.

“You’ve given me a chance in a lifetime. More than a chance. I can’t thank you enough.” Merry gave a tight smile.

The club owner grinned sheepishly. “Give my love to your aunt won’t you? Fancy a drink later?”

Merry shook her head. “No, I’m shattered. Going home. I’ll make sure I give your regards to Venetia.”

Merry watched as Del hurried out of the door of the tiny room, towards the bar, clearly relieved he hadn’t had to actually sack her. It had been his relationship with her aunt Venetia that had got her the job in the first place. Venetia had called in a favour from Del. She’d known him, when he’d been a die-hard Goth, back in their wild partying days. Venetia, now a respectable Dame and doyenne of stage and screen, was terrifyingly bossy. Few dared to say ‘no’ to her and live, or at least survive professionally.

“Well,” said an annoyingly persistent voice in Merry’s head, “I’ll have to ring her up and admit I’ve failed. Again.” She picked up her bag, hunted for her bottle of water and drank deeply. Once her thirst had been satisfied, she stuffed her things into her rucksack and swung it onto her shoulder. Giving a last affectionate glance around the cramped dressing room, she called goodbye to one or two people through the murk in the club and went out into the unwelcoming night.