Then she reached into the pocket of her skirt and took out a small envelope. Inside there was some money—not ten thousand pula by any means, but some money to help him.

“I do not hate you, Note Mokoti,” she repeated. “This is a gift from me. It is to help you. Please go now.”

Note looked at the envelope which was being held out to him. For a moment he hesitated, but then he reached forward and took it. He looked at her.

“Thank you,” he said, and then he turned and began to walk away. But he stopped after a few paces, and turned round to face her again. She thought that he was going to say something, and there were things that she wished he might have said; but he did not speak, but left her standing there outside the garage, with the afternoon sun on her face. She turned back, to see Mr J.L.B. Matekoni coming towards her slowly, wiping his hands on a piece of greasy rag; and Mr Polopetsi with his broom, quite still, all pretence of work abandoned. And she wanted to cry, but somehow there were no tears, for they had been shed many years ago, and now she was beyond tears for that part of her life and for that particular suffering. She might weep for her tiny white van, yes, and for its travails, but she could no longer weep for the man to whom she had now said a final farewell.

“THERE,” said Mma Ramotswe as she raised a cup of bush tea to her lips. “That has settled that. No more Note Mokoti. No more searching for our friend from Zambia. Everything is settled. Except for one thing.”

“And what is that thing, Mma?” asked Mma Makutsi.

“Charlie,” said Mma Ramotswe. “What are we going to do about Charlie?”

Mma Makutsi picked up her cup and looked at Mma Ramotswe over the rim. “What makes you think that has not yet been settled?” she asked.

“Well, he’s not here,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He hasn’t come back to work. Presumably he is still with that woman.”

Mma Makutsi put her cup down and examined her nails.

“Charlie will be back very soon,” she said. “Either tomorrow, or early next week. I dealt with that matter myself, as I thought you had enough on your plate at the moment.”

Mma Ramotswe frowned. Mma Makutsi’s methods were sometimes rather unconventional, and she wondered what measures she had resorted to in order to deal with Charlie.

“Don’t worry,” said Mma Makutsi, sensing her employer’s concern. “I handled it very tactfully. And I think he will be coming back just as soon as he leaves that flashy lady, which I think will be very soon.”