Awhile, Gaunt replied; awhile.
All four agreed later that the shop was many odd things!-but it had been a very unsuccessful interview. The man was as close-mouthed as Polly Chalmers, perhaps more. Babs then pointed out what they all knew (or thought they knew): that Polly had been the first person in town to actually enter the new shop, and that she had brought a cake.
Perhaps, Babs speculated, she knew Mr. Gaunt… from that Time Before, that time she had spent Away.
Cyndi Rose expressed interest in a Lalique vase, and asked Mr.
Gaunt (who was nearby but did not hover, all noted with approval) how much it was.
“How much do you think?” he asked, smiling.
She smiled back at him, rather coquettishly. “Oh,” she said. “Is that the way you do things, Mr. Gaunt?”
“That’s the way I do them,” he agreed.
“Well, you’re apt to lose more than you gain, dickering with Yankees,” Cyndi Rose said, while her friends looked on with the bright interest of spectators at a Wimbledon Championship match.
“That,” he said, “remains to be seen.” His voice was still friendly, but now it was mildly challenging, as well.
Cyndi Rose looked more closely at the vase this time. Steffie Bonsaint whispered something in her ear. Cyndi Rose nodded.
“Seventeen dollars,” she said. The vase actually looked as if it might be worth fifty, and she guessed that in a Boston antiques shop, it would be priced at one hundred and eighty.
Gaunt steepled his fingers under his chin in a gesture Brian Rusk would have recognized. “I think I’d have to have at least forty-five,” he said with some regret.
Cyndi Rose’s eyes brightened; there were possibilities here. She had originally seen the Lalique vase as something only mildly interesting, really not much more than another conversational crowbar to use on the mysterious Mr. Gaunt. Now she looked at it more closely and saw that it really was a nice piece of work, one which would look right at home in her living room. The border of flowers around the long neck of the vase was the exact color of her wallpaper. Until Gaunt had responded to her suggestion with a price which was only a finger’s length out of her reach, she hadn’t realized that she wanted the vase as badly as she now felt she did.
She consulted with her friends.
Gaunt watched them, smiling gently.
The bell over the door rang and two more ladies came in.
At Needful Things, the first full day of business had begun.
6
When the Ash Street Bridge Club left Needful Things ten minutes later, Cyndi Rose Martin carried a shopping bag by the handles.
Inside was the Lalique vase, wrapped in tissue paper. She had purchased it for thirty-one dollars plus tax, almost all of her pin money, but she was so delighted with it that she was almost purring.
Usually she felt doubtful and a little ashamed of herself after such an impulse buy, certain that she had been cozened a little if not cheated outright, but not today. This was one deal where she had come out on top. Mr. Gaunt had even asked her to come back, saying he had the twin of this vase, and it would be arriving in a shipment later in the week-perhaps even tomorrow! This one would look lovely on the little table in her living room, but if she had two, she could put one on each end of the mantel, and that would be smashing.
Her three friends also felt that she had done well, and although they were a little frustrated at having gotten so little of Mr.
Gaunt’s background, their opinion of him was, on the whole, quite high.
“He’s got the most beautiful green eyes,” Francie Pelletier said, a little dreamily.
“Were they green?” Cyndi Rose asked, a little startled. She herself had thought they were gray. “I didn’t notice.”
7
Late that afternoon, Rosalie Drake from You Sew and Sew stopped in Needful Things on her coffee break, accompanied by Polly’s housekeeper, Nettle Cobb. There were several women browsing in the store, and in the rear corner two boys from Castle County High were leafing through a cardboard carton of comic books and muttering excitedly to each other-it was amazing, they both agreed, how many of the items they needed to fill their respective collections were here. They only hoped the prices would not prove too high. It was impossible to tell without asking, because there were no price-stickers on the plastic bags which held the comics.
Rosalie and Nettle said hello to Mr. Gaunt, and Gaunt asked Rosalie to thank Polly again for the cake. His eyes followed Nettle, who had wandered away after the introductions and was looking rather wistfully at a small collection of carnival glass. He left Rosalie studying the picture of Elvis next to the splinter of PETRIFIED WOOD FROM THE HOLY LAND and walked over to Nettle.
“Do you like carnival glass, Ms. Cobb?” he asked softly.
She jumped a little-Nettle Cobb had the face and almost painfully shy manner of a woman made to jump at voices, no matter how soft and friendly, when they spoke from the general area of her elbow-and smiled at him nervously.
“It’s Missus Cobb, Mr. Gaunt, although my husband’s been passed on for some time now.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“No need to be. It’s been fourteen years. A long time. Yes, I have a little collection of carnival glass.” She seemed almost to quiver, as a mouse might quiver at the approach of a cat. “Not that I could afford anything so nice as these pieces. Lovely, they are.
Like things must look in heaven.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something,” he said. “I bought quite a lot of carnival glass when I got these, and they’re not as expensive as you might think. And the others are much nicer. Would you like to come by tomorrow and have a look at them?”
She jumped again and sidled away a step, as If he had suggested she might like to come by the next day so he could pinch her bottom a few times… perhaps until she cried.
“Oh, I don’t think… Thursday’s my busy day, you know… at Polly’s… we have to really turn the place out on Thursdays, you know…”
“Are you sure you can’t drop by?” he coaxed. “Polly told me that you made the cake she brought this morning-”
“Was it all right?”
Nettle asked nervously. Her eyes said she expected him to say, No, it was not all right, Nettle, it gave me cramps, it gave me the backdoor trots, in fact, and so I am going to hurt you, Nettle, I’m going to drag you into the back room and twist your nipples until you holler uncle.
“It was wonderful,” he said soothingly. “It made me think of cakes my mother used to make… and that was a very long time ago.”
This was the right note to strike with Nettle, who had loved her own mother dearly in spite of the beatings that lady had administered after her frequent nights out in the juke-joints and ginmills. She relaxed a little.
“Well, that’s fine, then,” she said. “I’m awfully glad it was good.
Of course, it was Polly’s idea. She’s just about the sweetest woman in the world.”
“Yes,” he said. “After meeting her, I can believe that.” He glanced at Rosalie Drake, but Rosalie was still browsing. He looked back at Nettle and said, “I just felt I owed you a little something-”
“Oh no!” Nettle said, alarmed all over again. “You don’t owe me a thing. Not a single solitary thing, Mr. Gaunt.”
“Please come by. I can see you have an eye for carnival glass… and I could give you back Polly’s cake-box.”
“Well… I suppose I could drop by on my break…” Nettle’s eyes said she could not believe what she was hearing from her own mouth.
“Wonderful,” he said, and left her quickly, before she could change her mind again. He walked over to the boys and asked them how they were doing. They hesitantly showed him several old issues of The Incredible Hulk and The X-Men. Five minutes later they went out with most of the comic books in their hands and expressions of stunned joy on their faces.