“So what can we do, Mma?” he went on. “You are a clever lady. Maybe you can do something.”

Mma Ramotswe looked up at the sky through the branches of the acacia tree. The sun was lower now, which always seemed to make the sky seem emptier. It was a time of day that made her feel a bit sad; a time of thinness and soft light.

“It is a very strange thing,” she said. “But it seems to me that there is no reason that I know of why one person should not act as the messenger for another person in a matter like this. Have you seen those love messages that Zulu women used to make in beads and send to others? Those messages might contain a proposal of marriage. So why should we not use a messenger in a case like this? I see no reason.”

Mr Radiphuti’s gnarled fingers worked more anxiously on the brim of his hat. “Do you mean that I should ask her, Mma? Is that what you want me to do? Do you think …”

She raised a hand to stop him. “No, Rra. Do not worry. A woman is the best messenger in a case like this. But I must first ask you: Are you sure that your son wishes to marry this lady? Are you one hundred per cent sure?”

“I am,” he said. “He told me that. And, what is more, he knows that I was coming to talk to you about it.”

Mma Ramotswe listened carefully to his reply. Then, telling him to wait where he was, she made her way back into the office, where her assistant was sorting a pile of papers on her desk. Mma Makutsi looked up as Mma Ramotswe entered the room.

“What did he want?” she asked casually. “Is it a client?”

Mma Ramotswe said nothing, but stood there, smiling.

“Is it something funny?” asked Mma Makutsi. “You look as if you have heard something amusing.”

“No,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It is not funny. It is very important.”

Mma Makutsi put down a piece of paper and looked quizzically at her employer. There were times when Mma Ramotswe was opaque in her manner, when she seemed to want Mma Makutsi to work something out for herself, and this seemed to be one of those occasions.

“I cannot guess, Mma,” she said. “I just cannot guess. You are going to have to tell me what it is.”

Mma Ramotswe took a deep breath. “Would you like to get married some day, Mma?” she asked.

Mma Makutsi looked down at her shoes. “Yes,” she said. “I would like to get married one day. But I do not know if that will happen.”

“There is a man who wishes to marry you,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I understand that he is a good man. But he is too shy to ask you himself because he is very worried about his stammer …”