Mma Ramotswe smiled. “Not even ninety-seven per cent off, Mma. No. I’m sure that the furniture is very good, it’s just that it’s not for me.”

Nor for Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, thought Mma Makutsi ruefully. But what was this about a Mercedes-Benz? Why did Mma Ramotswe think that she might buy a Mercedes-Benz? It was an impossible thought … and yet, it was true that Phuti was quite a rich man; perhaps she should get used to being the wife of a man who even if not very wealthy was nonetheless comfortably off by any standards. It was a strange thought. Phuti Radiphuti was so modest and unassuming, and yet he undoubtedly had the resources to live a showier life if he chose to do so.

“When Phuti and I get married,” said Mma Makutsi, “we will not act like rich people. We will be just the same as we always have been. That is the way we are.”

“And that is very good,” said Mma Ramotswe. It was not the Botswana way to be showy. Here it was quietness and discretion that people admired. A great person was a quiet person. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, for instance; he was a quiet man and a great man too, like many mechanics and men who worked well with their hands. And there were many such men in Africa—men whose lives had been ones of hardship and suffering, but who were great men nonetheless.

MMA RAMOTSWE locked the door of the office behind them and said goodbye to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. He was bent over the engine of a car, explaining something to the apprentices, who stood up and stared at the two women.

“We are going shopping,” said Mma Makutsi, taunting the young men. “That is what women like to do, you know. They much prefer shopping to going out with men. That is very well known.”

The younger apprentice let out a howl of protest. “That is a lie!” he shouted. “Boss, listen to how that woman lies! You cannot have a detective who lies, Mma Ramotswe. You need to fire that woman. Big glasses and all. Fire her.”

“Hush!” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “We have plenty of work to do. Let the ladies go shopping if it makes them feel better.”

“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe, as she let herself into the tiny white van. “It certainly makes us feel better.”