Mma Ramotswe hoped that she would remember the house where Note’s people lived. It was late now for village people, and there was a chance that there would be no light on in the house and she would have to turn round and go back home. It was also possible that Note would not be there—that he would be staying somewhere in the town. As she thought of these possibilities it occurred to her that the whole idea of coming out here was ridiculous. Here she was coming in search of a man who had ruined years of her life, planning to give him hard-earned money so that he could pursue some absurd plan, and all of this being done out of fear. She was a strong woman, a resourceful woman who had built up a business from scratch, and who had shown on numerous occasions in her professional life that she was prepared to take men on head to head. But not this man. This man was different; he made her feel inadequate, and had always done so. It was a curious experience, to feel so young again, and as uncertain and in awe as she had been so long ago.

She reached the first of the houses, a brown block caught in the tiny white van’s wavering headlights. If her memory served her correctly, the Mokoti place was three houses down; and there it was, just as she remembered it—a whitewashed building of four rooms joined together, with a lean-to shed to one side and an old granary at the edge of the front yard. And there was a light on in the front room.

She stopped the van. There was time to go back if she wished, to turn round and drive home. There was time to tear up the cheque which she had written out—the cash cheque, payable to bearer, for ten thousand pula. There was time to stand up to Note and to dare him to go to the police, after which she could go and make a clean breast of things to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, who would surely understand. He was a kind man and he knew that people sometimes forgot to do important things, such as getting a divorce before they remarried.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew what she should do now, but something deep within her, that part of her which had survived from all those years ago, that part which just could not stand up to Note, which drew her to him like a light draws in a moth—that part propelled her to the gate and to the door beyond the gate.