Mma Ramotswe pulled in and brought the car to a halt, leaving the engine running. Turning to face their passenger, she said, “That is my house, Mma. That is where I live with my husband, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.”

The woman’s expression did not change. She now looked bored, shrugging her shoulders at this information. “So you live here now, Mma,” she said. “I’m not talking about now—I’m talking about then.”

Mma Ramotswe hesitated, but Mma Makutsi had already made up her mind. “Mma Ramotswe, I think we should go back to the office now,” she said. “We can drop this lady off near Riverwalk so that she can get a minibus home.” She turned to address the woman. Her tone was gruff. “Will that suit you, Mma?”

The woman shrugged. “If that’s what you want. But when will I see this Canadian lady?”

“Leave us your address,” said Mma Makutsi briskly. “We’ll be in touch.”

The woman became animated. “I am very keen to see her, Mma Ramotswe. I have been missing her so much, so much. My heart is very sore, you know.”

Mma Makutsi rolled her eyes. She had not intended this to be seen, but it was, and the woman turned on her angrily.

“You do not believe me, Mma—I can tell that. You think I am making this up, don’t you?”

Mma Makutsi turned round to face the back seat. Her spectacles flashed dangerously. Then came her reply, each word delivered with the gravity that comes from complete conviction. “I do not believe one word you’ve said, Mma—not one word.” Her judgement delivered with defiance, she turned back to Mma Ramotswe.

“I think you should drive on, Mma,” she said.

Mma Ramotswe did not like conflict. She was unfailingly polite to others, and she could not condone this rudeness on Mma Makutsi’s part.

“I’m sorry, Mma,” she said over her shoulder. “We have to be very careful, you see.”

The woman was staring ahead fixedly. “I did not hear any of this,” she said suddenly. “I cannot hear what you’re saying.”