Mma Ramotswe felt that enough had now been said. She was aware of how differently things might have turned out, but she did not think there was much to be gained by further dwelling on the whole matter. It was time, she felt, to put what had happened behind her and get on with her day. The bandage, which was anyway quite unnecessary in her view, had slipped, exposing what now seemed to be a quite unharmed ankle. She noticed that both Mma Makutsi and Fanwell had their eyes firmly fixed on the freshly exposed site, and that they seemed surprised, perhaps even disappointed, that there was no more spectacular injury to be seen.

“I think this bandage is not needed,” said Mma Ramotswe, bending down to remove it. “Hospitals feel they have to put a bandage on anybody who goes there—just in case. Sometimes you get a bandage even if you are just visiting somebody.”

It was a joke, but Fanwell did not see it as such. “I will be careful next time I visit somebody in the hospital. I would not want a bandage.”

“Well,” said Mma Ramotswe briskly, rising to her feet. “That is the end of all that.” She looked at her watch. “I think I shall meet Mma Potokwane for lunch at the President Hotel. She said that she would be in town today. I shall catch her there, and then I shall come into the office, Mma Makutsi, and tell you about some progress I have made in the case of the Canadian lady.”

“That is a very difficult case,” said Mma Makutsi. “There are now four more ladies who say their name is Rosie. I shall be interviewing two more of them tomorrow.”

“I think those interviews can be cancelled,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I shall explain why when I come to the office.”

Mma Makutsi looked doubtful. “Are you sure, Mma?”

“I am very sure,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I think that we have already met our Rosie.” She paused, and then added, “And I think that the house in which Mma Susan lived is closer than we think.”

—