Mma Soleti would understand that question – everybody in Botswana was familiar with it. In rural Botswana, everybody, no matter how long they had lived in a town, helped one another, would not let another go hungry and were polite in their dealings with their fellow villagers; yet there was one major failing shared by all – a human enough trait, of course, but a failing nonetheless – envy. People could be envious of the material success of others, and almost everybody knew of some case where something spiteful had been done purely out of envy. So if somebody suddenly had a lot to spend, it was envy that fired up curiosity as to where the money had come from.

‘You will be wondering where I got the money,’ said Mma Soleti. This was no accusation – her tone was matter-of-fact.

‘I must admit the thought crossed my mind, Mma,’ said Mma Ramotswe.

Mma Soleti twisted the lid off a jar of cold cream. ‘I had some money saved,’ she said. ‘A good amount, in fact, but not nearly enough to pay the rental deposit on this shop. Nor to pay the builder. No, I was able to borrow money, Mma – and at a very competitive rate of interest.’

‘That is good because you must have needed a lot,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Even this couch…’ She ran her hand over the surface. It looked expensive and it felt expensive too.

‘Two thousand pula,’ interjected Mma Soleti. ‘It came all the way from Johannesburg. It is the latest thing. Except it’s second-hand, of course.’

‘Many old things are very good,’ said Mma Ramotswe diplomatically. ‘Things are rather like people in that respect, Mma…’

Mma Soleti waited for Mma Ramotswe to finish, but her voice died away. Perhaps, thought the beautician, that is all she wanted to say; perhaps there was no conclusion to the observation.

From her supine position on the couch, Mma Ramotswe looked up at the ceiling. Two flies were engaged in a display of complicated footwork – an upside-down argument over upside-down territory. Or a dance of love perhaps. From the flies’ perspective, she thought, the ground was the sky, the thing you looked at when you craned your neck and looked up. And what were we to them? Great elephants lumbering around, strangely attached to that sky; our exposed flesh, moist with sweat in this heat, wide expanses of swamp for courageous flies to explore; our hair the jungle; our nostrils great caves emitting gales of heated air, places into which only a foolhardy insect would venture.

At length Mma Soleti spoke. ‘I think you’re right, Mma Ramotswe. Many people improve as they grow older. They become less foolish. They behave more thoughtfully towards others. There is a long list of these things.’