Mr. Polopetsi had his back to them, but when he turned round, holding his plate, he saw them, and waved with his free hand. Mouthing a greeting, he returned to his table, where a companion, a man in a loud checked jacket, was awaiting him.

“Have you seen him here before?” asked Mma Potokwane. “Is this a place he likes to come to?”

“Once or twice,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I’ve seen him eating with his wife here. She’s—”

But she did not have to explain. “I know who she is,” said Mma Potokwane. “I’ve seen her photograph in the papers. She’s going places, I think.”

“She’s already there,” said Mma Ramotswe.

Mma Potokwane was staring thoughtfully at Mr. Polopetsi on the other side of the verandah. “You know, Mma,” she began, “Mr. Polopetsi is such a…such a modest man, even perhaps a bit mousy.” She transferred her gaze to Mma Ramotswe. “Not that I want to be rude, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe reassured her that she would never imagine her friend being rude. “You’re right,” she said. “Mr. Polopetsi is a bit on the timid side—in fact, he’s very much on the timid side. He’s not one to chase the lions away, is he?” She could not help but imagine Mr. Polopetsi encountering a lion, and smiled. The lion would open its mouth to roar and Mr. Polopetsi would quiver with fear. And so would she, come to think of it; so perhaps one should not use that picture to diminish Mr. Polopetsi. Sometimes the most unlikely people could turn out to be brave; and again she brought Mr. Polopetsi to mind for a few moments, although this time he was in hot pursuit of the lion, rather like one of those tall, red-blanketed Masai warriors who killed lions as a rite of passage to manhood. How would Mr. Polopetsi look in a Masai blanket? How would he look carrying one of those long spears with which Masai warriors armed themselves? Somehow it was hard to envision it.

Mma Potokwane tackled her curry. It was just the right strength, she said. Those people over in India, how did they manage to eat those extremely hot curries? What did they do to their stomachs? Mma Ramotswe was not sure. She covered her curry with butter, which quickly melted and took some of the heat out of it.