“Hush,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “There is somebody coming.”

The door was opened by a woman somewhere in her mid-forties, who was wearing a colourful red blouse and a full length green skirt. She looked them up and down, and then gestured for them to come in.

“There aren’t many people here,” she said before they had the chance to utter a greeting. “But I’ll get you something if you go and sit in the back. I’ve got some rum, or you can just have a beer. What will it be?”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni half-turned to Mma Makutsi in surprise. He had not expected such a businesslike welcome, and it was rather strange, was it not, to offer somebody a drink like that before anything else had been said? How did this woman, whoever she was, know who he was? Perhaps she was the tenant’s wife: he had dealt only with the tenant himself and had not seen anybody else.

If Mr J.L.B. Matekoni was at a loss to speak, then the same was not true of Mma Makutsi. She smiled at the woman and immediately accepted the offer of a beer for Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. She would have something soft, she said—as long as it was cold. The woman nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Mr J.L.B. Matekoni and Mma Makutsi to make their way into the room which used to be Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s dining room.

It had been his favourite room when he had lived in the house, as it had a good view of the back yard with its pawpaw trees, and beyond that of a small hill in the distance. Now, as they entered, there was no view, as curtains had been drawn across the window and the only light was provided by two red-shaded lamps that had been placed on a low table in front of the curtains. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked about him in astonishment. He knew that people had different tastes, but it seemed extraordinary that somebody would wish to plunge a room into darkness—and waste electricity—when there was perfectly good natural light available outside for nothing.

He turned to Mma Makutsi. Perhaps she had seen this sort of thing before and would be unsurprised. He looked at her for an explanation, but she was just smiling at him in a curious way.

“What have they done to my dining room?” he whispered. “This is very strange.”

Mma Makutsi continued to smile. “It is very interesting,” she said, her voice lowered. “Of course you know that …”

She did not finish what she was saying; the woman in the red blouse had returned with a tray bearing a beer and a glass of cola. She placed the tray on the table and pointed to a large leather-covered sofa at one side of the room.