She had not intended to flatter him, and she had spoken out of conviction, but the warmth that her comments had produced would certainly be useful. Clerks and receptionists were, in her opinion, some of the most powerful people in the country, even if they bemoaned their lowly status and their lack of air-conditioning. A clerk could easily deny the very existence of a file if rubbed up the wrong way, and a receptionist could stop you seeing somebody important simply by saying there were no appointments. That had happened to Mma Ramotswe recently when she had sought a meeting with a senior municipal official who could help her in an enquiry. The receptionist, who was in an uncooperative mood for reasons that Mma Ramotswe could not fathom, but she felt might have something to do with the woman’s romantic life, had at first told her that the official in question had no free appointments that day. When asked if there was a slot available for the following day, the receptionist had said that day too was completely full. And the following week? Sorry, Mma, nothing available. It’s a very busy time. Next month? No, that was very busy too.

Mma Ramotswe had not argued, but had returned to the office to brief Mma Makutsi and suggest that she try the next day.

“You are very good at dealing with these awkward people,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“You’re kind to say that, Mma,” came Mma Makutsi’s reply. “I have no time for obstructive people.”

The result was that Mma Makutsi was given an appointment immediately—or at least immediately after she had delivered a stern lecture on the subject of managing appointments and suggesting that the receptionist should enroll forthwith in an office administration course at the Botswana Secretarial College. She—Mma Makutsi—could easily facilitate that and would write to the Mayor to follow up her suggestion. The receptionist knew when she was beaten, and surrendered without further resistance, finding an appointment that had fortuitously opened up that very morning—in ten minutes’ time, in fact.

There would be no such difficulties with this clerk, who was already voicing views as to where he might find the information she sought.

“Nobody really knows what we have in our archives,” he said. “Apart from me, of course. I know where everything is, Mma. I know it in here.” He tapped the side of his head.

“There are some people who need to write all these things down in notebooks,” he went on. “And then you know what happens, Mma Ramotswe? I will tell you. You know those ants? You know those bad ones? They love notebooks, Mma—it is their biggest treat. Notebooks are like ice cream to them!” He laughed at his witticism.

“You have to be careful of ants,” she said.