Now was not the time to worry about Mr. Polopetsi; now was the time to announce to Mma Makutsi and to Charlie that the search for Susan’s house was over. As she entered the office, they were both there—Mma Makutsi at her desk, and Charlie leaning against the filing cabinet, waiting for the kettle to boil.

Mma Makutsi looked up and greeted Mma Ramotswe with a broad smile. “So you’re back, Mma—none the worse for your terrible ordeal.”

“I don’t think it was quite that bad, Mma Makutsi,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But yes, I am now back.”

Charlie exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Mma Makutsi. “And there is interesting news,” said Charlie.

“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I have some very interesting news.”

Charlie looked nonplussed. “No, Mma, I did not mean that you had interesting news. I meant there is interesting news.”

“Very interesting,” said Mma Makutsi. “Something arrived in the post. Charlie collected it this afternoon.”

Charlie nodded towards Mma Ramotswe’s desk. “It is on your desk, Mma—it’s an invitation.”

Mma Ramotswe crossed the room. There were several letters on her desk—Mma Makutsi always opened every envelope, irrespective of whether it was addressed to Mma Ramotswe or herself. That, she said, was sound secretarial practice, as advocated by the Botswana Secretarial College. “If one person opens everything,” she said, “fewer things go missing. That has been scientifically proved.”

Mma Ramotswe picked up the topmost letter. She recognised the letterhead immediately—it was from the Gaborone Chamber of Commerce, on a committee of which she had briefly served the previous year. They still wrote to her from time to time, notifying her of talks or events that might interest her. So the invitation was from them…probably to one of their drinks parties, which she always politely declined as they went on for far too long and you always ended up hungry at the end.

“The President and Council of the Gaborone Chamber of Commerce,” she read out loud, “have great pleasure in inviting you and one guest to the presentation of the Woman of the Year Award to…” She hardly dared read on, but then there was the name, and she breathed a great sigh of relief. “…to Ms. Gloria Poeteng.”

Mma Ramotswe looked at Mma Makutsi, who was beaming with pleasure. “Well,” she said, “that is very good news.”

“It was a close-run thing,” said Mma Makutsi. “It could easily have gone the other way. I’d heard that Violet Sephotho was everywhere, telling everybody to cast their votes for her.”

“Well, it didn’t work,” said Charlie. “Nobody must have voted for her.”

Mma Ramotswe was not so sure. “Oh, I think she has her supporters. Perhaps this other lady, this Gloria Poeteng, asked more people to vote for her than Violet did. It could be as simple as that.”

“We must go, Mma. You and I should accept the invitation. We can represent the agency.”