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Nanny Butler had never been her Nanny.

      ‘You can’t be a butler without trousers,’ said Nanny Butler, firmly. ‘But I’ll get a frilly apron tomorrow. It will add a note of originality.’ It did.

      The Nannies said they no longer expected to be called Nanny, and were now prepared to be called by their surnames, in the correct way. But though you can call a cook ‘Cook’, the one thing you cannot call a butler is ‘Butler’, so in the end both Nannies were just called ‘Nanny, darling’, as they always had been.

      After the dogs and the Dearlys had been back from their honeymoons for several happy weeks, something even happier happened. Mrs Dearly took Pongo and Missis across the park to St John’s Wood, where they called on their good friend, the Splendid Veterinary Surgeon. She came back with the wonderful news that the Pongos were shortly to become parents. Puppies were due in a month.

      The Nannies gave Missis a big lunch to keep her strength up, and Pongo a big lunch in case he should feel neglected (as the fathers of expected puppies sometimes do), and then both dogs had a long afternoon nap on the best sofa. By the time Mr Dearly came home from business they were wide awake and asking for a walk.

      ‘Let us all go for a walk, to celebrate,’ said Mr Dearly, after hearing the good news. Nanny Cook said the dinner was well ahead and Nanny Butler said she could do with a bit of exercise, so off they all set along the Outer Circle.

      The Dearlys led the way, Mrs Dearly very pretty in the green going-away suit from her trousseau and Mr Dearly in his old tweed jacket which was known as his dog-walker. (Mr Dearly wasn’t exactly handsome but he had the kind of face you don’t get tired of.) Then came the Pongos, looking noble; they could both have become Champions if Mr Dearly had not felt that dog-shows would bore them – and him. They had splendid heads, fine shoulders, strong legs and straight tails. The spots on their bodies were jet black and mostly the size of a two-shilling piece; they had smaller spots on their heads, legs and tails. Their noses and eye-rims were black. Missis had a most winning expression. Pongo, though a dog born to command, had a twinkle in his eye. They walked side by side with great dignity, only putting the Dearlys on the leash to lead them over crossings. Nanny Cook (plump) in her white overall, and Nanny Butler (plumper) in a well-cut tail coat and trousers, plus dainty apron, completed the procession.

      It was a beautiful September evening, windless, very peaceful. The park and the old, cream-painted houses facing it basked in the golden light of sunset. There were many sounds but no noises. The cries of playing children and the whirr of London’s traffic seemed quieter than usual, as if softened by the evening’s gentleness. Birds were singing their last song of the day, and further along the Circle, at the house where a great composer lived, someone was playing the piano.

      ‘I shall always remember this happy walk,’ said Mr Dearly.

      At that moment, the peace was shattered by an extremely strident motor horn. A large car was coming towards them. It drew up at a big house just ahead of them and a tall woman came out on to the front-door steps. She was wearing a tight-fitting emerald satin dress, several ropes of rubies and an absolutely simple white mink cloak, which reached to the high heels of her ruby-red shoes. She had dark skin, black eyes with a tinge of red in them, and a very pointed nose. Her hair was parted severely down the middle and one half of it was black and the other white – rather unusual.

      ‘Why, that’s Cruella de Vil,’ said Mrs Dearly. ‘We were at school together. She was expelled for drinking ink.’

      ‘Isn’t she a bit showy?’ said Mr Dearly, and would have turned back. But the tall woman had seen Mrs Dearly and come down the steps to meet her. So Mrs Dearly had to introduce Mr Dearly.

      ‘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 Missis 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

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