Chapter Fifty-Four #2
‘I must say, that’s a very interesting adaptation, Mr Deane,’ said Mr Bang, finally. ‘Very good. What do you think, Mrs Stoker?’ Mr Bang pulled out a huge handkerchief and blew his nose. Such an ordinary gesture.
As Mr Deane helped himself to a piece of cake, I took my time refilling my teacup, offering to pour for the men. Mr Bang declined but Mr Deane helpfully held up his empty one. His hands were no longer quivering.
‘Yes, what do you think, Mrs Stoker?’ he asked, swallowing the last morsel of cake and brushing crumbs from his jacket.
‘I should add, though I’ve removed all the Transylvanian scenes, I’m considering opening the play with the count climbing down the castle walls.
A prologue, if you will. It’s such a powerful scene in the novel, when Jonathan Harker sees the count doing that, the batwing-like cape.
It’s the first time the reader has confirmation of what Harker’s dealing with. ’
‘I doubt you’d be able to stage that convincingly,’ said Mr Bang. ‘Not without compromising your drawing room opening.’
Rather than being offended, Mr Deane nodded.
‘That was my concern, too. But maybe, with Mrs Stoker’s approval, we could use the image on the posters and other advertising?
Alert people to the gothic nature of the play.
That it’s based entirely on Mr Stoker’s work. ’ He regarded me with hope-filled eyes.
‘I think,’ I began slowly, then paused to have a sip of tea.
It was lukewarm. Though I’d already made up my mind, I wanted to delay gratification.
Perverse of me, I know. But Count Dracula had escaped my control before, and I was in no hurry for him to do so again.
I had to assert my authority over this, my imprint too.
For all his fine ideas, Mr Deane still needed my permission to proceed.
‘Opening scenes and posters aside, before I make any decision, there are a few things I must insist upon if I’m to allow this adaptation to go ahead. ’
Mr Bang stifled a moan. A frown flashed across Mr Deane’s face before he schooled it. With studied nonchalance, he leaned back against the cushion and waved his arm dramatically. ‘Please,’ he added, as if he were the host and I his guest.
‘It’s about Count Dracula,’ I began. ‘I’ve always felt that portraying him as more beast than human somehow lessened his …
evil.’ I raised a hand to prevent Mr Deane’s protests.
‘I know Bram describes the vampire in no uncertain terms as having hair on his palms and shocking halitosis. He’s able to alter his shape, transforming into —’ I searched my memory, ‘wolves, mist, rats and other creatures. He pursues his own desires at any cost and murders ruthlessly. Why, in their film, the Germans linked the vampire with rats, or so I’m told.
’ If Mr Deane was to truly base a play on Bram’s book, then his Dracula – our Dracula, I reminded myself – must bear no resemblance to the film one.
‘I would insist that for the stage, Count Dracula be portrayed as a gentleman.’
Mr Bang made a noise of – what? Disapproval? Surprise? Mr Deane sat upright, his eyes never leaving my face.
I repressed a small smile. ‘I want him to be someone fit to mingle with lawyers, doctors, lords and ladies. Enter their drawing room world without causing a murmur.’
‘How … how might he do that?’ asked Mr Deane.
‘He could wear a dinner suit for one.’ An image of Bram looking resplendent in his top hat and tails as he escorted people around the Lyceum or presided over a Beefsteak dinner came to mind, followed by a memory of Oscar. ‘Maybe a cape as well.’
Mr Deane reached into his satchel and drew out another journal and pen. He began making notes. It was hard to hide my pleasure. I was being taken seriously. About Dracula. Oh, the irony.
‘I would like him to have excellent manners, be beguiling in a way that the novel’s Dracula isn’t. Be both fearsome and yet utterly irresistible. Noble. He is, after all, a count.’
Mr Deane finished what he was writing, then rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, twirling the pen. His eyes narrowed.
Mr Bang’s head dropped into his hands.
‘What do you think, Mr Deane?’ I asked. Young enough to be my son, I fought not to overlay my memories of Oscar on him.
‘You see Dracula as … domesticated.’
I laughed. ‘I do. And yet not so domesticated he can be tamed. That would defy his purpose, would it not? But the suggestion he could be should … linger as a possibility in the audience’s mind.’
First putting his pen and notebook aside, Mr Deane slid forward and, with great reverence, took the teacup out of my hand, placed it on the side table then folded his long fingers around mine.
‘I think you’re a genius, Mrs Stoker. A bona fide genius.’
We shared a long smile.
‘Do we have a deal?’ asked Mr Deane softly.
I hesitated, pretended to consider his proposition. He squeezed my fingers.
‘We do.’ The smile deepened.
‘Good. We’re agreed then,’ said Mr Bang, his voice cutting through the moment. ‘Time to discuss percentages.’
And so the conversation turned to money.
Over the following weeks, contracts were negotiated and signed. Bram’s vampire would live again.