“That is a good way to keep a man,” said Mrs Moffat. “But, going back to this other man, to Note Mokoti, so what if he’s back? You needn’t worry about that. Just be polite to him if you see him. You don’t have to engage further than that. Tell him you’re married …”

Mma Ramotswe had been looking at Mrs Moffat as she spoke, but when her friend said Tell him you’re married, she looked away sharply and Mrs Moffat hesitated. Her words appeared to have upset Mma Ramotswe for some reason and she wondered what it was. Could it be that Mma Ramotswe did not want Note to know this, that for some reason she retained feeling for this man and that she would not want him to know about her marriage to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni?

“You will tell him,” she said, “if he shows up, that is. You will tell him that you’re married?”

Mma Ramotswe was holding the hem of her dress between her fingers, worrying at it. She looked up and met Mrs Moffat’s gaze.

“I am still married to him,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am still married to that man. We did not get a divorce.”

In the ensuing moments of silence, a grey African dove moved delicately along a branch of the jacaranda tree, looking down, with quick movements, at the two women below. On a rock just outside the penumbra of shade cast by the tree, a small lizard, tinted blue along its flanks, lifted its head towards the late afternoon sun.

Mrs Moffat said nothing. She was not waiting for Mma Ramotswe to continue; it was just that she had nothing to say.

“So you see, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I am very unhappy. Very unhappy.”

Mrs Moffat nodded. “But why did you not get a divorce? He left you, didn’t he? You could have got a divorce.”

“I was very young,” said Mma Ramotswe. “That man frightened me. When he left I just put him out of my mind and tried to forget that we were ever married. I made myself not think about it.”

“But surely you remembered later?”

“No,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I should have done something about it, but I could not bring myself to face it. I just couldn’t. I’m sorry, Mma …”

“You don’t have to apologise to me!” exclaimed Mrs Moffat. “It’s just that this is a bit complicated, isn’t it? You’re not meant to get married again until you’re divorced.”

“I know that,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I have done a very silly thing, Mma.”