"But if you have to get back, Nettle-" Nettle appeared in the doorway.
She had taken her apron out of the pantry and put it on, and she held the old tin coffee pot in one hand. She wouldn't use the new digital Toshiba coffee-maker... and Polly had to admit that what came out of Nettle's tin pot was better.
"I've no place to go that's better than this," she said.
"Besides, the house is all locked up and Raider's on guard."
"I'm sure," Polly said, smiling. She knew Raider very well. He weighed all of twenty pounds and rolled over to have his belly scratched when anyone-mailman, meter-reader, door-to-door salesman-came to the house.
"I think she'll leave me alone anyway," Nettle said. "I warned her. I haven't seen her around or heard from her, so I guess it finally sank in on her that I meant business."
"Warned who? About what?" Polly asked, but Nettle had already left the doorway, and Polly was indeed penned in her seat by the electric gloves. By the time Nettle reappeared with the coffee tray, the Percodan had begun to fog her in and she had forgotten all about Nettle's odd remark... which was not surprising in any case, since Nettle made odd remarks quite often.
Nettle put cream and sugar in Polly's coffee and held it up so she could sip from the cup. They chatted about one thing and another, and of course the conversation turned to the new shop before very long.
Nettle told her about the purchase of the carnival glass lampshade again, but hardly in the breathless detail Polly would have expected, given the extraordinary nature of such an event in Nettle's life. But it kicked off something else in her mind: the note Mr. Gaunt had put in the cake container.
"I almost forgot-Mr. Gaunt asked me to stop by this afternoon.
He said he might have an item I'd be interested in."
"You're not going, are you? With your hands like they are?"
"I might. They feel better-I think the gloves really did work this time, at least a little. And I have to do something." She looked at Nettle a trifle pleadingly.
"Well... I suppose." A sudden idea struck Nettle. "You know, I could walk by there on the way home, and ask him if he could come to your house!"
"Oh no, Nettle-that's out of your way!"
"Only a block or two." Nettle cast an endearingly sly side-glance Polly's way. "Besides, he might have another piece of carnival glass.
I don't have enough money for another one, but he doesn't know that, and it doesn't cost anything to look, does it?"
"But to ask him to come here-"
"I'll explain how it is with you," Nettle said decisively, and began putting things back onto the tray.
"Why, businessmen often have home demonstrations-if they have something worth selling, that is."
Polly looked at her with amusement and love. "You know, you're different when you're here, Nettle."
Nettle looked at her, surprised. "I am?"
"Yes. "How?"
"In a good way. Never mind. Unless I have a relapse, I think I will want to go out this afternoon. But if you do happen to go by Needful Things-"
"I will." A look of ill-concealed eagerness shone in Nettle's eyes. Now that the idea had occurred to her, it took hold with all the force of a compulsion. Doing for Polly had been a tonic for her nerves, and no mistake.
-and if he does happen to be in, give him my home number and ask him to give me a call if the item he wanted me to see came in. Could you do that?"
"You betcha!" Nettle said. She rose with the coffee-tray and took it into the kitchen. She replaced her apron on its hook in the pantry and came back into the living room to remove the thermal gloves.
Her coat was already on. Polly thanked her again-and not just for the lasagna. Her hands still hurt badly, but the pain was manageable now.
And she could move her fingers again.
"You're more than welcome," Nettle said. "And you know what? You do look better. Your color's coming back. It scared me to look at you when I first came in. Can I do anything else for you before I go?"
"No, I don't think so." She reached out and clumsily grasped one of Nettle's hands in her own, which were still flushed and very warm from the gloves. "I'm awfully glad you came over, dear."
On the rare occasions when Nettle smiled, she did it with her whole face; it was like watching the sun break through the clouds on an overcast morning. "I love you, Polly."
Touched, Polly replied: "Why, I love you, too, Nettle."
Nettle left. It was the last time Polly ever saw her alive.
6
The lock on Nettle Cobb's front door was about as complex as the lid of a candy-box; the first skeleton key Hugh tried worked after a little jiggling and joggling. He opened the door.
A small dog, yellow with a white bib, sat on the hall floor. He uttered his single stern bark as morning sunlight fell around him and Hugh's large shadow fell on him.
"You must be Raider," Hugh said softly, reaching into his pocket.