That Devil Woman

III - Coronation

Whenever Cruella returned home after school, she was not able to relax like her schoolmates. She could not unbutton her blouse, let her hair down, and kick her legs up. Instead, she was placing a tea tray on the coffee table and pouring from a decorative porcelain pot into a small teacup in front of her father.

Claude was an older man reclining on the couch in a maroon robe, watching the BBC on the small television in the corner. He claimed he always wore his blue beanie to keep his scalp warm, but Cruella knew he was balding. He had been ill for a few years now, and as much as he needed Cruella to care for him, he did not like to be honest with himself nor the rest of the world about his health. He took a sip of his tea before leaning towards the television.

"Well, would you look at that, Cruella! There she is!" He exclaimed, to which Cruella must have looked confused, "It's the Queen, of course! They've televised the coronation."

On the television, the new Queen of the United Kingdom descended from her throne, balancing the magnificent crown on her head. The train of her royal gown was lifted up by her assistants as she drifted with grace and elegance through the abbey. She was the utter image of dignity; Cruella was enthralled. She slowly sat beside her father, her eyes fixated on the regal sight on the television.

"Hurry up with the tea!" Claude abruptly shouted, "It's not that interesting." Immediately Cruella stood up and added a dash of milk to Claude's tea.

"I'm sorry, Father," Cruella apologised, "she's just so glamorous. At least, she's more glamorous than the commoners. Fancy that. A woman monarch."

"I'll tell you something, she won't be half the ruler Bertie was," Claude argued.

"Well, if I may be frank," Cruella started tentatively, "George was a has-been. His passing was tragic, but I expect Elizabeth will be the start of a new age." Claude took a sip of the cup of tea that Cruella had prepared. He smacked his lips and looked into the tea, disappointed.

"Is there sugar in this?" He inquired coldly.

"The doctor said you need to be off sugar. It's for your own good." Cruella knew how to respond for the past few days she had not put sugar in Claude's tea, and, invariably, he always remarked on it.

"I always have sugar in my tea," he scowled at her, "for goodness sake, your only job is to care for me and you can't even do it right."

"You know I'm trying the best I can," Cruella sighed.

"Well, you need to figure out how to get better."

"Very well, then," Cruella muttered as she attempted to take the teacup back.

"No," Claude took the cup back aggressively, "I'm still going to drink this. Just know for next time. You know, now that you're leaving school, it's probably about time you got a real job."

"But I'm still working very hard on fashion designing," Cruella began to explain, much to Claude's dismay.

"Oh, Cruella, let's not kid ourselves," Claude groaned, "the number of people who make that their career as a percentage is virtually zero. You're getting to the age when you're going to need to start making some adult choices. Getting a good income is one of them."

"But what if we can't make it work with caring for you?" Cruella pointed out.

"We'll figure it out," Claude replies, "besides, I'm not that ailed anyway. You just have to make everything dramatic. Well, you and those doctors." Cruella was hurt and annoyed that her father would neglect both his health and consequentially her attempts at helping him through it all. She knew that she was defeated, and, if she was being honest, she had long wondered what the career of an ordinary working woman was like.

"Very well. But so long as I can keep working on my fashion in the meantime," she negotiated.

"If you must," Claude begrudged.

"And on that note, I've been meaning to ask if I can borrow your car," Cruella asked. She did not have her license yet, but she knew her father would not mind, as they lived near the edge of the city, so the drive would mostly be through the countryside with few other cars. "I want to set up a workshop in the old castle out in Suffolk."

"Hell Hall? The one your mother used to rent out?" Claude responded in shock, "What if somebody wants to use it?"

"Father, nobody's rented it in years," Cruella reminded him, "the place is dilapidated and abandoned. Anyway, I need to be able to work on my fashion if I'm going to be at my job as well, as you wish."

"Very well. Just keep it upstairs and lock the doors when you leave, would you?"

"Lock the doors? You never normally lock the doors."

"Great, then you can start," Claude argued, "I don't want any bums off the street coming in and out as they please, understood?"

"Understood," Cruella excitedly confirmed, "thank you very much, Father. Now, if you're sure you're going to be okay, I'll get dressed into something nicer and make my way up there as soon as I get the chance."

"For the last time, I'm perfectly fine," Claude complained, "If you want to leave me so badly, then go right ahead."

Cruella thought about saying her goodbyes to her father, but he had clearly communicated that he was not interested and once again was focused on the television instead. She turned away and made her way to the bottom of the stairs. She turned around one more time and saw that coronation was now replaced with an image of Leonardo da Vinci's The Last Supper.

"Is it broken?" Cruella asked.

"No. It's the anointing ceremony. They're not showing us that part. It's sacred to the monarchy. Part of the private life of the Queen we will never get to see."