She replaced the receiver after her conversation with Mr. Molofololo and exchanged glances with Mma Makutsi.

“More interviews, I'm afraid, Mma,” she said.

Mma Makutsi shrugged. “We will know a lot about football at the end of it all, Mma. We will be able to talk to men about it.”

Mma Ramotswe chuckled. “I believe that there are some ladies who learn about football in order to do just that. They know that that is what men like to talk about. It helps them find men.”

“Violet Sephotho,” said Mma Makutsi.

Mma Ramotswe kept a tactful silence.

“Yes, Violet Sephotho is the sort who would do that,” Mma Makutsi went on. “Football, furniture—she'll do anything to get her hands on a man.”

“Are you still worried?” asked Mma Ramotswe.

“Of course I'm worried, Mma. Phuti is a good man, and I trust him. But even a good man can sometimes be … not so good.”

Mma Ramotswe had to agree. She had come across so many different types of people in her job, and she knew that even those who were strong could find times when they were weak. It was not really their fault, because we were all human and being human made us weak. But it happened.

“Have you heard anything else?”

Mma Makutsi did not reply immediately, and Mma Ramotswe knew from her silence that there had been something else.

“I have heard something,” Mma Makutsi said eventually. “I met one of the ladies who works in Phuti's shop. It was in the supermarket. She told me that over the last few days, Violet has sold even more beds. Apparently Phuti is so pleased that he has been talking about promoting her to …” She paused. It clearly cost some effort just to say it. “Assistant manager.”

Mma Ramotswe was shocked. “Of the whole store?”

Mma Makutsi shook her head. “No, not the whole store. But of that floor. Assistant floor manager.”

Mma Ramotswe whistled. “That is very bad, Mma. But how has she been selling all these beds? Is she really such a great saleslady?”

“It is a mystery,” said Mma Makutsi. “Maybe she is persuasive. I don't know. But one thing she did tell me, Mma—that other woman—she said that all the customers, except for one, were men.”

Mma Ramotswe had been sitting back in her chair during this conversation; now she sat bolt upright.

“Men, Mma?”

“Men.”

Mma Ramotswe rose to her feet. She did not go anywhere— she simply rose to her feet, and Mma Makutsi knew this for the signal that it was. Mma Ramotswe had experienced a moment of insight.

“Mma Makutsi,” she said, her voice quiet, but tense with excitement. “Please go and see if Charlie is free. Even if he isn't free, ask him to come in here and talk to me.”

Mma Makutsi headed for the door. “What do you want to ask him to do, Mma?”

“He needs to buy a bed,” said Mma Ramotswe.

CHARLIE CAME IN BEAMING. There had been an increasing jauntiness about him recently, noticed by both Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi, but commented upon by only one of them.