Mma Ramotswe half rose to her feet to look out of the window but stopped herself and sat down again. It was not her business to criticise Mma Makutsi for buying a bed, or anything for that matter. There had been that business with her new blue shoes not all that long ago, when Mma Makutsi had purchased a totally unsuitable pair of new shoes against the specific advice of Mma Ramotswe, and where had that led? To disaster. We must remember, Mma, she had said to her assistant as they stood before that tempting shop window, we must remember that those of us with traditionally built feet need to buy traditionally built shoes. It had been good advice; for Mma Makutsi, although by no means as traditionally built as Mma Ramotswe herself, was nonetheless heading in that direction and would, when older, be of convincingly traditional build. But leaving that to one side, her feet were every bit size eight and these shoes, intended as they had been for some region of Italy where feet were small and slender, were, at the most, size six and a half. Mma Ramotswe’s advice on that occasion had been ignored, with the result that there had been a full day in which Mma Makutsi had suffered from considerable discomfort and disability. Indeed, those shoes had turned her head, thought Mma Ramotswe; to the extent that she had even resigned her job—on a temporary basis, as it turned out.

No, Mma Ramotswe would not interfere with any purchase that Mma Makutsi made. And as she merely sat down and said, “A bed. Well, that will be very useful, Mma,” the thought crossed her mind that perhaps the bed would be too small, just as the shoes had been. But she was not sure whether it was fashionable to have a bed that was too short and narrow; anything was possible in fashion, of course, as fashion and comfort, thought Mma Ramotswe, were inevitably mutually exclusive.

Mma Makutsi now affected nonchalance. “Yes, Mma. It will. I thought that I would get a new one, to replace the one that I…that I left out in the rain. Charlie was right: they were selling them very cheaply and I bought it…” Her words tailed off at the end, as if she was suddenly choking with emotion at the thought of what she had done. Half her savings. Half.

Mma Ramotswe sensed Mma Makutsi’s discomfort, and understood the reason. “Don’t worry about it, Mma. There are times when we have to buy very expensive things. It is always worthwhile. Always.” It was not, but out of kindness she said that it was.

“Yes,” said Charlie. “Get the well-known things. Go for the label every time.”