This answer had failed to satisfy Mma Makutsi, and she had been tempted to say to her employer, “Mma Ramotswe, you must remember that you are not Seretse Khama!” But she had not done so, fortunately, because it would have sounded rude, and Mma Ramotswe meant well when she talked about Seretse Khama, even if she did not always get her facts right. The real problem, thought Mma Makutsi, is that Mma Ramotswe did not go to the Botswana Secretarial College. Had she done that, then she would have perhaps been a little bit more careful about some of the things she said. There was no substitute for formal training, Mma Makutsi thought; intuition and experience would get one so far, but you really needed a little bit more than that to round things off. And had Mma Ramotswe been fortunate enough to attend the Botswana Secretarial College, then what mark, Mma Makutsi wondered, would she have achieved in the final examinations? That was a fascinating question. She would have surely done very well, and might even have finished up with … well, with about seventy-five per cent. That was a distinguished result, even if it was some twenty-two per cent below what she herself had achieved. The problem with having got ninety-seven per cent is that it set the bar artificially high for others.

Mma Makutsi’s thoughts were interrupted by Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, who tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

“Do you want me to drive up the drive, Mma?”

Mma Makutsi thought for a moment. “It would be best, Rra. Remember that you have nothing to hide here. You are just calling on this man to see that everything is all right.”

“And you?” asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, as he guided the truck through his familiar gates. “What will they think about you?”

“I could be your niece,” said Mma Makutsi. “Many men of your age have nieces who ride with them in their trucks. Have you not seen that, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni?”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni gave her a strange look. He had never known quite how to take Mma Makutsi, and this sort of ambiguous remark was typical of the sort of thing she said. But he made no reply, and concentrated on positioning the truck next to one of the two cars which had been parked beside the house.

Together they walked round to the front door, where Mr J.L.B. Matekoni knocked loudly, calling out as he did so.

“The yard is not very tidy,” Mma Makutsi muttered, discreetly pointing to several up-turned paraffin tins that had been used for some purpose or other and had then just been left where they lay.

“They are busy people, I think,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “Maybe they do not have much time to look after the yard. You cannot blame them for that.”

“You can,” retorted Mma Makutsi, her voice rather louder now.