Mma Ramotswe’s gaze followed the direction in which Mma Makutsi was pointing. There, set aside from the other exclusive models, but still in the category of the exclusive, was a pair of fashionable blue shoes, with delicate high heels and toes which came to a point, like the nose of a supersonic aircraft. It was difficult to see the linings from where they were, but by standing on her tip-toes and craning her neck Mma Makutsi was able to report on their colour.

“Red linings,” she said with emotion. “Red linings, Mma Ramotswe!”

Mma Ramotswe stared at the shoes. They were certainly very smart, as objects, that is, but she doubted whether they were much use as shoes. She had not been to London or New York, and it was possible that people wore very fashionable shoes in those places, but she could not believe that many people there would be able to fit into such shoes, let alone walk any distance in them.

She glanced at Mma Makutsi, who was staring at the shoes in what seemed to be a state of near-rapture. She was aware of the fact that Mma Makutsi had an interest in shoes, and she had witnessed the pleasure that she had derived from her new pair of green shoes with sky-blue linings. She had entertained her doubts about the suitability of those particular shoes, but now, beside this pair that she was staring at in the window, those green shoes seemed practicality itself. She drew a breath. Mma Makutsi was a grown woman and could look after herself, but she felt, as her employer and as the person who had inducted her into the profession of private detection, that she had at least some degree of responsibility to ensure that Mma Makutsi did not make too many demonstrably bad decisions. And any decision to buy these shoes would be unambiguously bad—the sort of decision that one would not want a friend to make.

“They are very pretty shoes,” Mma Ramotswe said cautiously. “They are a very fine colour, that is certainly true, and …”

“And the toes!” interrupted Mma Makutsi. “Look at how pointed those toes are. Look at them.” And, as she herself looked, she let out a whistle of admiration.

“But nobody is that shape,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I have never met anybody with pointed feet. If your feet were pointed like that, then you would have only one toe.” She paused, uncertain as to how her comments were being received; it was difficult to tell. “Perhaps those are shoes for one-toed people. Perhaps they are specialist shoes.”

She laughed at her own comment, but Mma Makutsi did not.

“They are not for one-toed people, Mma,” she said disapprovingly. “They are very fine shoes.”

Mma Ramotswe was apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mma. I know that you do not like to joke about shoes.” She looked at her watch. “I think that we should move on now. There is much to do.”