That Devil Woman

XI - Unwanted Guest

Glasses were clinking, men were cheering, women were laughing; a celebratory way to bring in the new year. The weather outside was cold and dreary, but it was warm and comfortable inside. The boutique was closed to all except the business's most exclusive elite and the space was decorated with silver balloons and streamers. The boutique's guests included several photographers from major journalist organisations, whom Maureen hired to use the event in her marketing. Maureen dressed for the occasion; she wore a heavily-structured periwinkle-satin sleeveless evening gown with white elbow-length gloves and her hair in a neat updo. She held a glass of champagne in her hand as she spoke with a formally dressed businessman.

"Mrs. Elliott," he said, "I must say I am very impressed with how your profit margins have increased. I would've never expected your small boutique to become the business it is today." Maureen agreed graciously. "I have an offer for you; I operate a large shopping centre in Plymouth, and we've just had a long-term business close down. How would you feel about expanding the Elliott brand across the nation?"

"It would be my honour," Maureen answered proudly. "After all, it would be a terrible mistake to turn down an opportunity to expand your business." Mrs. Elliott's husband, Percival Elliott, approached his wife after overhearing the news she had received. He was a short, stout man whom many accused of only marrying Maureen for her money. He picked up a spoon from the plate of a nearby waitress and tapped it against his glass.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast to my extraordinary wife, Maureen, who has been endlessly dedicated to both the world of fashion and the world of business. To Maureen!"

Many in attendance shouted, "To Maureen!" jovially. Others hesitantly shouted, "To Mrs. Elliott!", unsure of whether it was appropriate to also call her by her first name. Maureen turned to her husband and smiled.

"To me," she replied with smug pride.

They clinked their glasses as the photographers took the opportunity to take a picture of the fabulously wealthy, happy couple. They were so distracted with the Elliotts, in fact, that they failed to notice two uninvited men enter the boutique and stand either side of the door. They both wore feathered black and white masks to conceal their identity. One was taller than the other, and both wore brown tartan and matching baker-boy caps.

As thunder struck, all in attendance heard a car violently screech to a halt outside the venue. Those by the windows peered outside to see the reckless driver. What emerged appeared to be a white cloaked figure who made their way towards the door. She stepped inside the building as the guests stepped away from the intimidating person. Maureen's attention also turned to the unwelcome yet fashionably late guest, and her face morphed into a distasteful scowl. The person beneath the cloak chuckled softly at Maureen's displeasure. She lifts her face up to the light and swishes the cloak open in a dramatic reveal.

"I'm back!" Cruella exclaimed with a devilish grin.

Beneath her white fur cloak was a floor-length black gown adorned with sequins that sparkled brilliantly under the boutique's bright lights. The gown had long bell sleeves with feathers stitched to the ends, brushing against the golden rings that decorated her fingers. She particularly caught the attention of the photographers, who were unsure as to whether they should take a picture.

Their minds were made up, however, when Cruella removed the hood of the cloak. Her hair was wild, unique, and loud. Half of her hair retained its white hue, whilst the other had been dyed a deep, raven black. The contrast was fetching. It was styled to stand high on her head with strands of hair pointing out in all directions. Not only was she glamorous, but she was unconventional; and that is what caused the photographers to start rapidly taking her picture. She laughed, clearly enjoying the attention. In fact, everybody at the party was in awe of her affronting glamour.