‘The problem with vampires,’ said Waverly-Brown, ‘is that they can’t go out in the sun.’
His board of directors stared at him, without expression.
‘They cannot, therefore, use our private beaches or spend money at our resorts,’ he continued. ‘But in order to survive, each vampire must supposedly take a victim every night - and each victim becomes a vampire and must, in turn, claim nightly victims. Thereby the vampire numbers double each evening to give us an estimated figure of...’
‘8.3 million,’ jumped in Ruskin obligingly.
‘8.3 million,’ said Waverly-Brown. ‘Now; let us suppose that the vampire myth is true. That means we have a potential 8.3 million customers who are unable to flock to our beaches; unable to buy space in our private resorts; unable to spend money in our beach-front outlets. 8.3 million who represent lost revenue, gentlemen.’
The board members sat forward in their seats, suddenly interested.
‘And so, I present to you now a vision of the future. The Waverly-Brown Corporation Indoor Resort.’
As he spoke, he removed with a flourish a white cloth, which lay unnoticed on the table in front of him, revealing a model of the proposed resort, in all its glory. It brought forth a suitable chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’.
‘Genuine sand, salt water and waves. Sun lounger and parasol rental. Bars and beach shops. Water sport facilities. Accommodation. In short, everything our natural beaches can already offer - but at a considerably higher price!’
Ruskin led the appreciative ‘wows’ and initiated a brief round of applause; until the Southern District Regional Director dared to voice his doubts.
‘But supposing the myth is not true?’ he ventured tentatively.
‘Smythe, isn’t it? How’s that ravishing wife of yours? I swear she looks younger every time I see her!’
‘Thank you, Sir. But the vampires? They might not actually exist.’
Waverly-Brown beamed at him with pleasure. ‘Good point, Smythe. But that’s the very beauty of it all. If the myth is true, we are guaranteed - guaranteed, gentlemen! - the full share of those 8.3 million customers. We don’t have to compete with our rivals; we don’t have to cut prices and offer costly incentives.’
‘We can charge the earth and get away with it!’ pointed out Ruskin excitedly.
‘Exactly! What price would you pay, Smythe, for a deck-chair on the beach, if you had spent an eternity shut away from the sun? We are talking about desperate customers who have had an eternity to save up for their dream holiday.’
‘And if the myth is no more than that?’ repeated Smythe.
Waverly-Brown smiled greedily. ‘Then we are talking about countless thousands of mortals prepared to pay that little bit extra in the belief that they are mixing with good old Nosferatu! A chance of a bite in the neck and eternal life. A glimpse of Brad Pitt in a red-lined cloak. The sheer curiosity of seeing the Undead and wondering which guests they might be.’
‘But if they don’t believe any of the guests are the Undead, won’t they get bored with an artificial resort?’ persisted the Doubting Thomas.
‘By one simple measure of banning mirrors, garlic and crucifixes from the complex, everyone is kept guessing. No one will truly know if it’s a paradise for vampires or not! And meanwhile, we rake in the profits!’ declared Waverly-Brown in triumph.
‘Bravo!’ cheered Ruskin heartily, ‘Bravo, Sir!’
‘It will wipe out our competitors!’ marvelled Smythe, finally convinced. ‘Well done, Sir.’
* * * * * * * * * *The ever-youthful Daphne Smythe liked to move in high circles. Being the attractive wife of a regional director was nothing to brag about when ones golfing partner - albeit a frump - was wife of a managing director. Hugo Smythe had been a continual handicap in her steady social climb; yet she recognised in him a certain potential and faithfully remained the good woman behind his career. His greatest potential was his significantly large inheritance, which remained only to be spent. And as he told her now, over a cognac and Bloody Mary at the nineteenth hole, of Waverly-Brown’s brainchild, she finally saw an opportunity for investment.
‘An end to all your competitors, you say?’ she mused, twisting the Bloody Mary glass in her pale slender fingers.
‘Without a doubt,’ Smythe agreed. ‘People will flock to the Indoor Resort by the droves in the hope of catching a glimpse of Bela Lugosi and co. - and those who can’t afford to get in will hang around in our usual beach bars until way after dark, hoping to see the vampires coming and going! It’s the con of the century, Daphne.’
She studied the Bloody Mary as it settled in her stilled glass. ‘And supposing it isn’t a con? Let us suppose there really will be millions of vampires flocking to your resort to get fleeced.’
‘If it worries you, darling, we’ll keep well away from the place!’
‘I’m not joking, Hugo. You said it would spell the end for your competitors. But what if the opposition actually competed?’
‘Build resorts of their own, you mean?’
‘Not at all. I’m not talking about mere competition here, Hugo. I mean outright obliteration.’ She sipped at the Bloody Mary and swilled it round the glass afresh. ‘8.3 million clients who cannot venture out in daylight and can only enjoy the sun - false as it will be - at a resort where they know for certain they are getting ripped off.’
‘But they can’t do a thing about it.’
‘And what if they can? For example, supposing some bright spark invents a sun-block so superior to any currently available that vampires can safely walk in genuine sunlight? The sun-block to end all sun-blocks.’ She leaned forward in her seat, her striking green eyes gleaming as she looked into Hugo’s. ‘Or, more to the point, the sun-block to end all Indoor Resorts and the wicked exploitation of the Living Impaired.’
* * * * * * * * *When news seeped out of the Waverly-Brown Indoor Resort proposal, share prices in the Corporation rocketed. Daphne Smythe took advantage of the increase and sold Hugo’s entire holdings in the company, much to his dismay. He could not quite bring himself to share his wife’s firm conviction that there were actually 8.3 million vampires in existence - although she had calculated that this figure had since risen to 24.9 million, all waiting to purchase her Living Impaired skin care products.
Having sunk Hugo’s entire inheritance in the Smythe Ultimate Sun-Block Factory, she now proceeded to buy some rapidly devaluing shares in nation-wide beach resorts; reducing Hugo to a nervous wreck.
‘But what if there are no vampires?’ he whined miserably. ‘Those were the last of the wealthy grandparents, darling.’
‘Have faith,’ she assured him.
But in the face of their business venture, he felt that Faith was the last thing he needed
. * * * * * * * * * *‘Just what, exactly, is Smythe up to?’ Waverly-Brown enquired of Ruskin, a week after the board meeting.
‘You noticed his activity on the stock exchange, then, Sir?’
‘I did indeed. Smacks of a rat leaving a sinking ship.’
‘Only for another doomed vessel, I fear, Sir. He’s reinvesting it all in this crackpot idea of his wife’s.’
‘Lovely woman, by God; but no business sense whatsoever. No back-up plan, that’s her problem. Our resort works on the notion of no vampires, no problem. Her sun-block rests wholly on no vampires, no customers. Do you see, Ruskin?’
‘Uumm; yes I do see that point, Sir. But what if she doesn’t need a back-up plan? What if she really is going to corner the vampire market?’
‘Oh, what if, what if!’ Waverly-Brown scoffed impatiently. ‘Her whole operation is based on what if. Whereas we couldn’t give a damn either way.’
‘Perhaps we should, Sir.’
‘Give me one sane reason?’
‘Well over 8.3 million vampires who can now go to any natural beach they choose - and who may well boycott the beaches of the Waverly-Brown Corporation, in protest at the exploitation of the so-called Living Impaired.’
‘Good grief man! But it’s all utter nonsense! It must be. Mustn’t it?’
‘The problem is, Sir, we don’t actually know.’
Waverly-Brown whistled through his teeth.
‘Is it too late to pull out of the Indoor Resort?’
‘The sand is due to be delivered tomorrow, Sir.’
‘Damn.’
‘That might well prove to be a politically incorrect curse, Sir.’
‘Blast, then.’
‘We have only one option, as I see it, Sir.’
‘Which is?’
‘To buy up the rights of the Ultimate Sun-Block and either manufacture it ourselves - if circumstances prove that we should - or withhold it.’
Waverly-Brown was out of his chair in an instant.
‘Ruskin, you’re a genius! Go and make that air-head Daphne Smythe an offer she can’t refuse. Just keep bidding until she says yes.’
* * * * * * * * * *The private beaches of the Hoskins Foundation were particularly luxurious now that the crowds had left them. Daphne and Hugo basked in the relative peace and solitude; disturbed only by the occasional youths and couples, who apparently cared more for improving their beauty on a sun-lounger than going vampire-spotting at the more popular resort.
‘Do you know, Daphne; this would have been the last place I’d have chosen for retirement a few months ago. Too damned noisy and crowded.’ He glanced about him. ‘And not half so many attractive youngsters, either, as I remember.’
‘A few months ago, darling, retirement was the last thing on your mind.’
‘Ah - but I wasn’t a man of means then, was I? And I owe it all to you, my darling. Who would have thought that you could come up with a more convincing scam than Waverly-Brown himself?!’ he reached for her hand affectionately. ‘Unless, of course, it wasn’t a con!’ He laughed. ‘We shall never know.’
‘Oh, it was a con, all right,’ said Daphne airily, sipping at a Bloody Mary. ‘People so often confuse myth with reality.’
‘But isn’t it possible that these old legends are actually based on truth?’
She smiled. ‘Perhaps. A little. But the truth is, vampires are not affected by sunlight at all.’ She gazed at the residue of liquid in her glass and licked her tongue slowly around her pale lips. ‘We’ve always been able to bathe on any beach we choose, darling; for as many lifetimes as I can remember.’