Her immediate inclination had been to tell Mr J.L.B. Matekoni what Mma Potokwane had said, but then she found that she simply could not do this. Note Mokoti belonged to her past—to a painful part of that past—and she had never brought herself to speak to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni about this. She had told him, of course, that she had been married before, and that her husband had been a cruel man. But that was all that she had said, and he had sensed that this was something that she did not wish to discuss, and he had respected that. Nor had she discussed it to any great extent with Mma Makutsi, although they had touched upon it once or twice when the subject of men, or husbands in particular, had come up.

But no matter how firmly she had relegated Note to this wished-for oblivion, in real life he was a flesh and blood man who was now back in Gaborone and who would cross her path sooner or later. It happened in the mid-morning, just two days after her meeting with Mma Potokwane, when Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi were working in the office of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni was off fetching spare parts from the motor trades distributor with whom he dealt, and Mr Polopetsi was helping the younger apprentice to fix the suspension on a hearse. It was a very ordinary morning.

Mr Polopetsi made the announcement. Knocking on the door that led from the garage into the agency office, he looked cautiously in and said that there was somebody to see Mma Ramotswe.

“Who is it?” asked Mma Makutsi. They were busy and did not want to be disturbed, but one always had to be ready to receive a client.

“It is a man,” said Mr Polopetsi, and with this answer Mma Ramotswe knew that it was Note.

“Who is this man?” asked Mma Makutsi. “Has he given his name?”

Mr Polopetsi shook his head. “He would not give me his name,” he said. “He is a man wearing dark glasses, and a brown leather jacket. I did not like him.”

Mma Ramotswe rose to her feet. “I will come and see him,” she said quietly. “I think I know who this is.”

Mma Makutsi looked at her employer quizzically. “Could you not get him to come in here?”

“I will see him outside,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I think that he has private business with me.”