One of the pleasures of having Mr Polopetsi in the garage was that he would often come through to the office to have his tea break with Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni was frequently too busy to take a tea break, and the apprentices liked to have their tea sitting on upturned oil drums and watching girls walk past along the road outside. But Mr Polopetsi would come through with his mug and ask Mma Makutsi if there might be enough tea for him. He would always receive the answer that there certainly would be and that he should take a seat on the client’s chair and they would fill his mug for him. And Mr Polopetsi would always say the same thing in reply, as if it were a mantra: “You are very kind, Mma Makutsi. There are not many ladies as kind as you and Mma Ramotswe. That’s the truth.” He did not seem to notice that he said the same thing every time, and the ladies never pointed out to him that they had heard the remark before. “We say the same things all the time, you know,” Mma Ramotswe had once observed to Mma Makutsi, and Mma Makutsi had replied, “You’re right about that, Mma Ramotswe”—which is something that she always said.

Mr Polopetsi came into the office that morning wiping his brow from the heat. “I think that it’s tea-time,” he said, placing his mug on the top of the metal filing cabinet. “It’s very hot through there. Do you know why drinking a hot liquid like tea can cool you down, Mma Ramotswe?”

Mma Ramotswe had, in fact, thought about this but had reached no conclusion. All she knew was that a cup of bush tea always refreshed her in a way in which a glass of cold water would not. “You tell me, Rra,” she said. “And Mma Makutsi will turn on the kettle at the same time.”

“It’s because hot liquids make you sweat,” explained Mr Polopetsi. “Then as the sweat dries off the skin it gives a feeling of coolness. That is how it works.”

Mma Makutsi flicked the switch of the kettle. “Very unlikely,” she said curtly.

Mr Polopetsi turned to her indignantly. “But it’s true,” he said. “I learned that on my pharmacy course at the hospital. Dr Moffat gave us lectures on how the body works.”

This did not impress Mma Makutsi. “I don’t sweat when I drink tea,” she said. “But it still cools me off.”

“Well, you don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to,” he said. “I just thought that I would tell you—that’s all.”

“I believe you, Rra,” said Mma Ramotswe soothingly. “I’m sure that you’re right.” She glanced at Mma Makutsi. There was definitely something worrying her assistant; it was unlike her to snap at Mr Polopetsi, whom she liked. She had decided that it was something to do with that conversation which she had had with Phuti Radiphuti—the conversation in which she had confessed to feminism. Had he taken that to heart? She very much hoped he had not; Mma Ramotswe was appalled at the thought of something going wrong with Mma Makutsi’s engagement. After all those years of waiting and hoping, Mma Makutsi had eventually found a man, only to ruin everything by frightening him off. Oh, careless, careless Mma Makutsi! thought Mma Ramotswe. And foolish, foolish man to take a casual remark so seriously!