Mma Ramotswe was about to warn him about trusting feelings, but then she remembered two things. The first was that Clovis Andersen said that there were circumstances in which feelings were a useful pointer to certain information that could not be obtained through proper investigation, and the second, perhaps more persuasive, thing was that she herself trusted her feelings all the time. So instead of challenging Charlie’s hunch, she simply said, “Well, we’ll see,” which was incontrovertibly true, whichever way one looked at things.

They set off in the white van, with Charlie driving in an exaggeratedly careful manner, slowing down at intersections to allow for thorough assessment of any approaching vehicles, frequently looking into the driver’s mirror to check for overtaking cars, and every so often glancing at Mma Ramotswe beside him to satisfy himself that she had noticed his caution.

Mma Ramotswe suppressed a smile. “There’s such a thing as being overcautious, Charlie,” she said after a while. “A driver who goes too slowly can cause as many accidents as a driver who goes too fast, you know.”

“I’m doing my best, Mma,” he muttered.

“So you are, Charlie,” she said, reaching out to touch him lightly on the shoulder. “You’re a very thoughtful person, Rra.”

Charlie beamed with delight. “You know, Mma Ramotswe, I’m not sure that I’ve said thank you to you—or said thank you enough. You are my mother, Mma. You are the lady who has saved everything for me. I will be your number one, big-time fan for my whole life, Mma—right up to the time that you become late.”

“That is very reassuring, Charlie. I hope that I do not become late too soon.”

He gasped. “Oh, I would not want that, Mma. I hope that you live to just over one hundred years. Maybe one hundred and one—something like that.”