Everyone is hyper the day of Banele Starr Mhlongo’s visit.

“You think she’ll come to the workshop?” Zwelakhe wonders.

“No, Lwazi said our presentations will be in the boardroom,” Nosicelo says.

Everyone calls it the ‘boardroom’, but it’s just this medium-sized room with a table and four chairs, along from the workshop.

I can tell Nosicelo and Zwelakhe are psyched up, and I’m tense myself, wondering how much chance my Strelitzia set has of being chosen by Ms Mhlongo. Suppose she’s one of those obsessive people who wants everything symmetrical – then I’ve got zero chance.

Zwelakhe has made notes for his presentation, but Nosicelo hasn’t.

“I want to be spontaneous,” she tells us.

I don’t know which way I’d choose, if I had to speak. I only know I’d be wound up so tight with nerves.

“They’re here,” Jacqui reports, hanging around the open workshop door, and the others rush to get a look.

After a moment, I follow them. Baba Mthethwa is smarter than usual, in a suit and a yellow silk tie, we see, as he gets out of his Lexus. Big gentleman, he goes round to open the passenger side door for his guest, and helps her out like she’s royalty. All we see is a turban, huge shades like insect eyes, and the swirl of a mulberry-coloured, superhero-style cape.

Then they enter the so-called boardroom, where Lwazi must be waiting for them, because his fly-ass car is already parked in front of his father’s.

We go back to work – some only pretending – and next thing, we smell a good coffee smell, the real thing, like a coffee shop.

“Yoh, they’re pulling out all the stops for the lady,” Zwelakhe says.

“Laying it on,” Bigfoot agrees, like the coffee smell has woken him up.

Lwazi arrives at the workshop, and he’s also dressed up. Black pants, crisp white shirt, no tie, but the most amazing waistcoat that you think is plain black, until you see the dark pewter pattern shimmering as he moves. Nice cufflinks too, but I could design even better, I think.

“Nosicelo and Zwelakhe, we’re ready for you,” he says.

As usual, his energy is electric, his face so alive, his eyes blazing with something I think of as his life force.

He doesn’t even look at me. I wonder if he even remembers who designed the third jewellery set they’re showing their big guest. Maybe I was wrong, and the thing he said about how he’ll remember my name isn’t true.

“Damn, I wish my work had been chosen,” Jacqui says when they’ve gone.

“I don’t mind,” Bigfoot says. “Baba says South Africa needs more of its own cutters – like for diamonds, you know? I think that’s where my future lies.”

“What about you, tortoise-girl?” Jacqui asks. “How can you bear to miss out on meeting such a big star and talking about your work?”

“Lwazi didn’t give me much choice, did he?” I say, trying to smile.

At that moment, Lwazi comes back into the workshop. He looks straight at me.

“Phindi,” he says. “Come with me.”

***

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