She thought for a moment. He had said that he had ten people working here; this sounded rather as if he was the manager, which seemed a little bit unlikely.

“Are you the manager then?” she asked jokingly.

“Yes,” he said. “My father owns the store and I am the manager. He is mostly retired these days. He likes to spend his time with his cattle, you know, but he still comes here. He is in the office back there now.”

For a few moments Mma Makutsi said nothing. The knowledge that Phuti Radiphuti effectively owned a store should have made no difference to how she viewed him, but it did. He was no longer the inept dancer, the likeable, but rather vulnerable man with whom she danced at the dance academy. Here he was an important man, a man of wealth. The money did not matter. It did not matter.

The silence was broken by Phuti Radiphuti. “You must meet my father,” he said. “Come to the office and meet him.”

They walked to the back of the showroom, past the tables and chairs and into a large room with a blue carpet and a couple of cluttered desks. As they entered, an elderly man who had been sitting behind one of the desks looked up from behind a pile of invoices. Mma Makutsi moved forward to greet him, using the traditional and respectful greeting appropriate for an older man.

“This is my friend from the dancing class,” said Phuti Radiphuti. There was pride in his voice, and Mma Makutsi noticed it.

The old man looked up at Mma Makutsi and rose slowly to his feet. He grimaced as he did so, as if he was in pain.

“It is very good to see you, Mma,” said Mr Radiphuti. Then, turning to his son, he told him that he could see a customer in the showroom waiting for attention. He should not be kept waiting, he said.

With Phuti Radiphuti out of the room, the old man gestured for Mma Makutsi to sit down on a chair beside his desk.

“You have been very kind to dance with my son,” he said quietly. “He is a shy boy. He does not have many friends.”

“He is a good person,” said Mma Makutsi. “And his dancing is getting better. It was not so good to begin with, but now it is getting better.”

The old man nodded. “He speaks more clearly too, when he is with people he knows,” he said. “I am sure that you have helped him in that way too.”

Mma Makutsi smiled. “Yes, he is less shy now.” She looked down at her new shoes, wondering what this old man would make of them. Would he think her flashy to be wearing shoes with such large buckles?