“What’s happening?” I ask, as Lwazi rushes me along to the boardroom.

“Ms Mhlongo insists she wants to hear from you, not me,” he says, sounding irritated. “And you don’t argue with a VIP like that – not if you want to do business with her. D’you think you’ll be able to do it? Tell her something about your design?”

“It would be easier if I’d had a chance to prepare.” I can’t help it, I still resent the way he left me out. “But you decided I shouldn’t speak.”

“Because I didn’t know you could,” he retorts, but then he flashes me a smile. “My bad. Don’t worry, I think she really loves your Strelitzia set. Just be yourself.”

I smile to hear him using Gogo’s words. “I always am.”

I’m tensed up, being introduced to someone like Banele Starr Mhlongo, and with everyone else’s eyes on me.

“Don’t be nervous,” Baba Mthethwa tells me.

“I don’t bite.” Ms Mhlongo has taken off her shades, and her dramatic make-up makes her eyes look huge and liquid. “I just want to hear about your design.”

I’m shaking, and I say “um” a few times, but I manage to tell her about how flowers inspire me. All the while I’m hoping my voice is loud enough.

“Real flowers are best, but when they fade and die … well, this is a way of … still having them when their season is over,” I finish.

“I like that.” Ms Mhlongo is like a gracious queen, smiling down on one of her subjects. “I also love flowers.”

“Phindi is working on a new design, inspired by our local Barberton daisies,” Lwazi says quickly, surprising me, because I didn’t think he knew. “If you’d be interested in that as well?”

Ms Mhlongo holds up a hand, laughing. “That can wait for if the Grammy nomination really happens. But for this other event – I’ve made my choice. Phindi’s Strelitzia set.”

I can hardly breathe, I’m so thrilled. “Ngiyabonga, thank you,” is all I can say, in a whisper.

“Excellent, excellent,” Baba Mthethwa says loudly, his smile big and wide.

I think Lwazi is also pleased, but I know it’s for the sake of the family business. He and his father would be equally pleased if the singer had chosen one of the other sets.

Nosicelo and Zwelakhe both congratulate me, and that’s nice of them, because I know they must be disappointed.

“So I’ll supervise the manufacture at our Gauteng studio,” Lwazi is telling Ms Mhlongo. “You can be sure we’ll use only the finest materials, and our best crafters.”

“Wonderful, darling. Thank you for letting me see your work, my dears,” she says to Nosicelo, Zwelakhe and me, and her eyes rest on me a moment longer before she turns to Baba Mthethwa. “Phindi must join us for dinner tonight, don’t you think? So we can toast to a rising young talent. And she’ll be some youthful company for Lwazi while the rest of us talk over old times.”

“Of course, our new star. Lwazi will fetch you this evening, Phindi.”

Baba Mthethwa would probably agree to anything Ms Mhlongo wanted, but Lwazi doesn’t look exactly charmed.

***

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