He turned lamely towards the door. She watched him go, and for some reason her heart ached. She craved his attention sometimes. She wanted him to acknowledge her, maybe even notice her hair, or say something about her jeans, which her alter ego would have convinced her to wear, solely to impress him. But ReHlapi was so ignorant he would miss winning lottery numbers even if they were pasted on his plate of food.

He was about to grab the doorknob when he heard her say, “I think I’ll take Bambo on his request to take me out on a date to the theatre.”

With some automatic motion ReHlapi turned around at the mention of the name Bambo. He knew the man, they were almost the same age but ReHlapi did not like him. Not that he wanted him mugged by junkies, but Mr Bambo visited Mamarato most evenings and the thought of them spending time together in front of the television made ReHlapi lose his appetite.

He saw that Mamarato was looking at him differently; it was not how she usually regarded him. Her eyes were filled with some kind of deep want he was sure he knew, but was afraid to admit. ReHlapi’s love life did not contain enough events to write a top-selling memoir but he could tell when a woman spoke of one thing but meant the opposite. After holding her gaze he said, “Awu,” in a noncommittal voice.

The fingers of his right hand clenched and unclenched repeatedly. Mamarato noticed this, then said, “Do you think I should go?”

She was pressing for an answer.

His breathing hardened. The undertone in her question could change the nature of their relationship. His answer could decide whether he remained her employer, or become more than that. Images of her in a variety of beautiful body hugging outfits came to his mind. But the stand-out moment would have to be one afternoon when he walked in on her in the kitchen. She was wrapped in a towel so scant he could tell she was bare underneath, his mouth dried up. Her skin was smooth and still tender from fresh water. They suffered a moment of embarrassment. For days afterwards ReHlapi timed his coming into the kitchen, until Mamarato asked him who was going to prepare her dose of tea if he stayed away. The ritual resumed again.

‘Rural Jan,’ Mamarato thought and smiled when she was given tea the first time after the towel incident.

It was plain to see that the question about Mr Bambo made ReHlapi uncomfortable. He spoke humbly, “Only you hold the answer to that.”

Noticing the sudden anguish growing on his face Mamarato wondered whether it was necessary to worry this good man. She felt the inclination to stop her quizzing and save whatever was left of their working relationship. But to her astonishment, slowly; Rehlapi walked to the couch facing hers and slumped down. She could sense he had something important to tell her, and coupled with his beaten down look, she found herself battling fear. She had never seen him like this.

ReHlapi dodged Mamarato’s eyes, because her concerned look now troubled him, knowing she had not offended him in anyway. “All these years, I’ve been suffering with these feelings for you Mamarato,” he said, after summoning courage.

The mention of the word ‘feelings’, coming from this man who did not look like he could type a romantic message, relieved Mamarato of worry, and warmed her heart. She swallowed a smile. She was a smart woman who did social work for years and she could tell when the main story was yet to come. All the same, she couldn’t stop wondering whether ReHlapi’s feelings happened when her husband was still alive, but it did not matter much now.

“I figured,” she said calmly, hoping to encourage him to go on. “I’m old enough to know that no man can make tea for you every day for seven years and not love you.” She smiled, as if to comfort him.

He smiled back. She was right about the tea. He was even impressed that she was counting.

His smile vanished. “There is something you don’t know,” he said, gloomily.

Tell us: What do you think ReHlapi will tell Mamarato?