Dodie Smith - The 101 Dalmatians

“Come in and meet my husband,” said the tall woman.

“But you were going out,” said Mrs. Dearly, looking at the chauffeur who was waiting at the open door of the large car. It was painted black and white, in stripes—rather noticeable.

“No hurry at all. I insist on your coming.”

The Nannies said they would get back and see about dinner, and take the dogs with them, but the tall woman said the dogs must come in too. “They are so beautiful. I want my husband to see them,” she said.

“What is your married name, Cruella?” asked Mrs. Dearly, as they walked through a green marble hall into a red marble drawing room.

“My name is still de Vil,” said Cruella. “I am the last of my family so I made my husband change his name to mine.”

Just then the absolutely simple white mink cloak slipped from her shoulders to the floor. Mr. Dearly picked it up.

“What a beautiful cloak,” he said. “But you’ll find it too warm for this evening.”

“I never find anything too warm,” said Cruella. “I wear furs all the year round. I sleep between ermine sheets.”

“How nice,” said Mrs. Dearly politely. “Do they wash well?”

Cruella did not seem to hear this. She went on, “I worship furs, I live for furs! That’s why I married a furrier.”

Then Mr. de Vil came in. He was a small, worried-looking man who didn’t seem to be anything besides a furrier. Cruella introduced him and then said, “Where are those two delightful dogs?”

Pongo and Missis were sitting under the grand piano, feeling hungry. The red marble walls had made them think of slabs of raw meat.

“They’re expecting puppies,” said Mrs. Dearly happily.

“Oh, are they? Good!” said Cruella. “Come here, dogs!”

Pongo and Misses came forward politely.

“Wouldn’t they make enchanting fur coats?” said Cruella to her husband. “For spring wear, over a black suit. We’ve never thought of making coats out of dogs’ skins.”

Pongo gave a sharp, menacing bark.

“It was only a joke, dear Pongo,” said Mrs. Dearly, patting him. Then she said to Cruella, “I sometimes think they understand every word we say.”

But she did not really think it. And it was true.

That is, it was true of Pongo. Missis did not understand quite so many human words as he did. But she understood Cruella’s joke and thought it a very bad one. As for Pongo, he was furious. What a thing to say in front of his wife when she was expecting her first puppies! He was glad to see Missis was not upset.

“You must dine with us—next Saturday,” said Cruella to Mrs. Dearly.

And as Mrs. Dearly could not think of a good excuse (she was very truthful) she accepted. Then she said they must not keep the de Vils any longer.

As they went through the hall, a most beautiful white Persian cat dashed past them and ran upstairs. Mrs. Dearly admired it.

“I don’t like her much,” said Cruella. “I’d drown her if she wasn’t so valuable.”

The cat turned on the stairs and made an angry spitting noise. It might have been at Pongo and Missis—but then again, it might not.

“I want you to hear my new motor horn,” said Cruella as they all went down the front-door steps. “It’s the loudest horn in England.”

She pushed past the chauffeur and sounded the horn herself, making it last a long time. Pongo and Missis were nearly deafened.

“Lovely, lovely dogs,” Cruella said to them as she got into the striped black-and white car. “You’d go so well with my car—and my black-and-white hair.”

Then the chauffeur spread a sable rug over the de Vils’ knees and drove the striped car away.

“That car looks like a moving Zebra Crossing,” said Mr. Dearly.

“Was your friend’s hair black-and-white when she was at school?”

“She was no friend of mine, I was scared of her,” said Mrs. Dearly. “Yes, her hair was just the same. She had one white plait and one black.”

Mr. Dearly thought how lucky he was to be married to Mrs. Dearly and not to Cruella de Vil. He felt sorry for her husband. Pongo and Missis felt sorry for her white cat.

The golden sunset had gone now, and the blue twilight had come. The park was nearly empty, and a park-keeper was calling, “All out, all out!” in a far away voice. There was a faint scent of hay from the sun-scorched lawns, and a weedy, watery smell from the lake. All the houses on the Outer Circle that had been turned into government offices were now closed for the night. No light shone in their windows. But the Dearlys could see welcoming lights in their own windows. And soon Pongo and Missis sniffed an exquisite smell of dinner. The Dearlys liked it too.

They all paused to look down through the iron railings at the kitchen. Although it was in the basement, this was not at all a dark kitchen. It had a door and two large windows opening onto one of the narrow paved yards which are so often found in front of old London houses. The correct name for these little basement yards is “the area.” A narrow flight of steps led up from the area to the street.

The Dearlys and the dogs thought how very nice their brightly lit kitchen looked. It had white walls, red linoleum, and a dresser on which was blue-spotted china. There was a new-fashioned electric stove for the cooking, and an old-fashioned kitchen fire to keep the Nannies happy. Nanny Cook was basting something in the oven, while Nanny Butler stacked plates on the lift which would take them up through the dining-room floor as if delivering the Demon King in a pantomime. Near the fire were two cushioned dog-baskets. And already two superb dinners, in shining bowls, were waiting for Pongo and Missis.

“I hope we haven’t tired Missis,” said Mr. Dearly as he opened the front door with his latch-key.

Missis would have liked to say she had never felt better in her life. As she could not speak, she tried to show how well she felt, and rushed down to the kitchen, lashing her tail. So did Pongo, looking forward to his dinner and a long, firelit snooze beside his dear Missis.

“I wish we had tails to wag,” said Mr. Dearly.

Cruella de Vil’s dinner party took place in a room with black marble walls, on a white marble table. The food was rather unusual.

The soup was dark purple. And what did it taste of? Pepper!

The fish was bright green. And what did it taste of? Pepper!

The meat was pale blue. And what did that taste of? Pepper!

Everything tasted of pepper, even the ice cream—which was black.

There were no other guests. After dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Dearly sat panting in the red marble drawing room, where an enormous fire was now burning. Mr. de Vil panted quite a bit too. Cruella, who was wearing a ruby satin dress with ropes of emeralds, got as close to the fire as she could.

“Make it blaze for me,” she said to Mr. de Vil.

Mr. de Vil made such a blaze that the Dearlys thought the chimney would catch fire.

“Lovely, lovely!” said Cruella, clapping her hands with delight. “Ah, but the flames never last long enough!” The minute they died down a little, she shivered and huddled herself in her absolutely simple white mink cloak.

Mr. and Mrs. Dearly left as early as they felt was polite, and walked along the Outer Circle, trying to get cool.

“What a strange name ‘de Vil’ is,” said Mr. Dearly. “If you put the two words together, they make ‘devil.’ Perhaps Cruella’s a lady-devil! Perhaps that’s why she likes things so hot!”