She explained the difficulty to Fanwell. “So,” she said, “if I am to keep my van, then I must have it fixed by somebody else. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni would just get rid of it.”

“But he would see me,” the apprentice protested. “If I took your van into the garage, he would see it and know what I was doing.”

“Of course he would,” said Mma Ramotswe. “That's why I would like you to take a look at it at home. At your place.”

Fanwell frowned. “But I haven't got the tools I need there. I haven't got an inspection pit. There is nothing.”

“Just look at it,” pleaded Mma Ramotswe. “Could you not just look at it? You wouldn't need many tools for that. A few spanners maybe. Nothing more.”

Fanwell scratched his head. “I don't know, Mma. I don't know …”

“I could drive you home,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Then you could look at it and let me know what you think. Maybe it is just a small thing, which you could fix very easily. I will pay you, of course.”

Fanwell hesitated. He was notoriously impecunious and the prospect of a bit of pin money was very attractive. “Maybe,” he said. “Maybe I could look. I can't guarantee anything, though, Mma.”

“None of us can guarantee anything, Fanwell,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Not even that the sun will come up tomorrow.”

Fanwell smiled. “Would you like to bet on that one, Mma Ramotswe?” he asked. “Ten pula?”

WHEN THE TIME CAME to leave the office that evening, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was out on a call, and so there was no need for discretion.

“I am going to drive Fanwell back to his place,” Mma Ramotswe announced to Mma Makutsi. “I can drop you off first, Mma, and then go on to Old Naledi, where he lives.”

“And what about me?” asked Charlie, who had overheard the conversation from outside the door. “Why are you taking him and not me, Mma? What is wrong with me?”

“There is a lot wrong with you, Charlie,” interjected Mma Makutsi. “I have been making a big list these last few years, and it is now about three pages long.”

“I was talking to Mma Ramotswe,” Charlie called out. “I was talking to the lady who is the boss. It is best to talk to the man who is selling the cow and not to the cow itself.”

Mma Makutsi's eyes flashed in anger. “Are you calling me a cow, Charlie? Did I hear you right? Are you saying that I am a cow?” She turned to Mma Ramotswe in outrage. “Did you hear that, Mma? Did you hear what he said?”

Mma Ramotswe made a placatory gesture. “I do not think you two should fight. And you must not say things like that, Charlie. It is very rude to call another person a chicken.”

“A chicken? I did not call her a chicken. I called her a …”

“Well, there you are,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You've admitted it.”