Mma Ramotswe made a gesture of disagreement. She knew that Mma Potokwane was astute, but, like all astute people, the matron was discreet about her talents. “Come and sit with me on the verandah,” she said. “I shall make some tea for us.”

Once her guest was seated, Mma Ramotswe made her way into the kitchen. She was still smiling to herself as she put on the kettle. Some people never surprised one, thought Mma Ramotswe. They always behave in exactly the way one expects them to behave. Mma Potokwane would talk about general matters for ten minutes or so, and then would come the request. Something would need fixing at the orphan farm. Was Mr J.L.B. Matekoni by any chance free—she was not expecting him to do anything immediately—just to take a look? She thought about this as the kettle boiled, and then she thought: And I’m just as predictable as Mma Potokwane. Mma Makutsi can no doubt anticipate exactly what I’m going to do or say even before I open my mouth. It was a sobering thought. Had she not said something about how I liked to quote Seretse Khama on everything? Do I really do that? Well, Seretse Khama, Mma Ramotswe told herself, said a lot of things in his time, and it’s only right that I should quote a great man like that.

Mma Makutsi, in fact, cropped up in the conversation after Mma Ramotswe had returned to the verandah with a freshly brewed pot of red bush tea.

“That secretary of yours,” said Mma Potokwane. “The one with the big glasses …”

“That is Mma Makutsi,” said Mma Ramotswe firmly. There had been a number of minor clashes between Mma Potokwane and Mma Makutsi—she knows her name, thought Mma Ramotswe; she knows it.

“Yes, of course, Mma Makutsi,” said Mma Potokwane. “That is the lady.” There was a pause before she continued, “And I hear that she is now engaged. That must be sad for you, Mma, as she will probably not want to work after she is married. So I thought that perhaps you would like to take on a girl who comes from the orphan farm but who has now finished her training at the Botswana Secretarial College. I can send her to you next week …”

Mma Ramotswe interrupted her. “But Mma Makutsi has no intention of giving up her job, Mma,” she said. “And she is an assistant detective, you know. She is not just any secretary.”

Mma Potokwane digested this information in silence. Then she nodded. “I see. So there is no job?”

“There is no job, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I’m sorry.”

Mma Potokwane took a sip of her tea. “Oh well, Mma,” she said. “I shall ask some other people. I am sure that this girl will find a job somewhere. She is very good. She is not one of those girls who think about boys all the time.”