Page 126 of The Extraordinary Florence Stoker

‘What bit?’ I said, basking in loving memories of my friend.

‘The bit that says you were paid fifty thousand pounds for the rights.’

‘What?’ I snatched it back, used the magnifier again. ‘Well, that’s a load of poppycock, isn’t it? I haven’t received a single penny. And did you see this? Some German at Universal Studios is telling all and sundry, including the Film Society, he’s bought the rights to Dracula. Look!’ I placed the cutting on the side table and skewered the relevant part with my finger. ‘The studio is going to make a blasted film – with sound as well – based on my husband’s book. The gall of these men. It’s infuriating!’

Tears began to well. I couldn’t cry. I wouldn’t. Here was everything I’d dreamed of, for Bram, for myself, for Dracula, only it was happening without my knowledge, without my permission, without me having any say in it whatsoever, let alone being paid. It was as if I didn’t exist. As if Bram, the man who wrote the damn story, didn’t either.

Once again, my rights were being dismissed by the Germans, this time in league with the Americans. And let’s not forget the British Film Society. Where was Mr Bang or Mr Thring when I needed them?

‘They’re not taking Dracula from me again, Vera,’ I vowed, rising and beginning to pace the room.

‘It’ll be alright, Mrs Stoker. You’ll sort ’em,’ Vera said, stepping out of my way.

I halted and stared at her through eyes awash with watery fury. I sniffed and straightened. I was still tall, and Vera was so very tiny. For some reason, my stature gave me a feeling of power, especially if I ignored the ache in my hips and my diminishing vision.

‘What can I do?’ Vera asked, rubbing her hands together.

‘The first thing you can do is call Mr Thring.’ I glanced towards the window. Daylight was retreating. ‘Make an appointment for me to see him tomorrow. Tell him I won’t take no for an answer.’

‘Yes, missus,’ said Vera. She turned to go.

‘And tell him that Nosferatu has escaped once more.’

Vera’s eyes widened, then she grinned and scurried off. I heard her lift the receiver in the hall.

The streetlights cast a faint glow. The people outside were nothing more than fleeting shadows, dodging the snow that fell more heavily by the second. A chorus of birds rose from a nearby church, some winging their way south. They could almost be bats, the shape of their wings distorted by the growing dusk and flurries. I could imagine the howl of a wolf, the plaintive cry of a babe.

I picked up the cutting and stared at it balefully. ‘You think you’re safe making such outrageous claims over there in Hollywood, do you, gentlemen? Well, you haven’t accounted for Mrs Dracula.’

Instead of placating or even dismissing my concerns, Mr Thring was, much to my surprise and glee, outraged. I’d arrived for my appointment on time and clearly and concisely presented my case and the evidence. Mr Thring had taken a minute or so to read the offending article, consider the ramifications, then leapt into action.

He marched about the office, arms waving, voice raised. Work in the outer room momentarily ceased and I glanced around to see his secretary, mouth agog, and a couple of the young men half-standing, peering over their dividers to see what all the commotion was about.

Gratified by his reaction, I waited until he returned to his chair. Immediately, he ordered his secretary to get Mr Montagu of the Film Society on the phone and began making notes. After a while, when he didn’t lift his head or offer an explanation, I wondered if he’d forgotten I was there.

A good hour passed. A few more phone calls were made, one of which he took outside his office, leaving me with the cup of very nice tea Miss Chandler brought me.

‘Do you know what’s going on?’ I asked her.

She gave me a wistful smile. ‘Mr Thring doesn’t like me to talk about Society business, Mrs Stoker but —’ she said hastily, just as I was about to remind her I was a member, ‘I do know he’s spoken to Mr Montagu and a representative of Universal Studios who’s based here in England.’

‘Oh.’

At times, Mr Thring’s voice carried. ‘I don’t care whether the performance was public or private. Universal do not own the rights to Nosferatu or Dracula. Mrs Stoker does. No person, or society, can retain a film that’s in infringement of copyright … You, sir, are in breach of the law.’

For the first time in our fraught history, I felt Mr Thring and the British Society of Authors truly had my best interests at heart. We were finally on the same side in this eternal war.

An urgent meeting was held between me, Mr Montagu, Mr Thring and the Society’s London lawyer. The upshot was that after pressure from lawyers, the gentleman behind the claim I’d sold the rights to Dracula to an American film studio admitted that they’d never been granted. This meant that the copy of Nosferatu the Film Society had purchased for screening was obtained illegally. Mr Montagu, the Film Society’s president, handed over the positive print in their possession a month later. It was given to the Society’s lawyer to dispose of. What happened to that specific copy, I never discovered, but not long after, much to my dismay, Nosferatu was screened in Europe and America.

While I could have taken legal action against Universal Studios, not only did I not want to risk alienating them, but an expensive lawsuit was well beyond my means.

Then another matter was brought to my attention that forced everything else aside and required a speedy resolution.

I learned that Mr Bang, my agent and a man I’d trusted to have my best interests at heart, had been very liberally feathering his own nest. Taking over twenty-five per cent commission on all my earnings – far more than originally negotiated – he’d been at it for years.

So, without a tremor of remorse, I fired him.

Mrs Dracula bites again.