“I am Harry Moloso himself,” he said. He looked at Fanwell and winked. “And you're the young man who works with Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, aren't you? You've been round for spares recently I think.”

“I brought an old van round,” said Fanwell. “I brought it along with Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni.”

Harry Moloso nodded. “Of course you did. A funny old white van. Ancient. Belonged to some fat lady, you said—suspension was shot on one side.”

Mma Ramotswe did not look at Fanwell. “Traditionally built,” she whispered, just loud enough for the young man to hear.

Harry Moloso heard too. “Yes, they built them very well in those days.”

Mma Ramotswe said nothing. Yes, they built vans and people well in those days.

“This lady is wanting to buy it back, Rra,” said Fanwell.

Harry Moloso looked surprised. “Back? It was yours was it, Mma?”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. “It was my van, Rra. I'd like to try to have it fixed now. Fanwell here said that he could try.”

Harry Moloso looked at Fanwell. “Quite a job, I'd say, Mr. Big Mechanic.”

“Yes, Rra,” said Fanwell. “But I'd like to try.”

Harry Moloso turned to Mma Ramotswe. “I'm very sorry, Mma. You're too late. I sold that van almost immediately. Somebody came in.”

“Who bought it, Rra?” asked Fanwell quickly.

“No idea,” said Harry Moloso. “Never seen him. He said that he came from Machaneng. He paid cash. Not very much, of course. He said he might try to fix it up.”

Mma Ramotswe hardly dared speak. “And he … he …”

“Towed it away,” said Harry Moloso. He spoke gently, as if he realised that what he said was the end to a hope. “He was taking it all the way up there. Four hours of towing, I'd say. Rather him than me.”

Fanwell thanked him, and they returned to the blue van. “So,” the apprentice began, “that looks like the end of the road for the white van, Mma. I'm very sorry.”

Mma Ramotswe looked out of the window, away from Fanwell, across the bleak field of broken metal. “There is another road,” she said quietly. “There is a road that leads to Machaneng.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THERE ARE ALWAYS RED HERRINGS

MMA RAMOTSWE knew that she would worry about Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni no matter how hard she tried not to. Concern for those whom one loved was an inescapable feature of this life— and it was impossible to imagine a world without such concern. But she did wish that he would not come home from Lobatse so late; that he would put his foot down and refuse to work beyond, say, five o'clock, which would mean that he would be back by half past six, well in time for his dinner, and she would not have to sit there and imagine what might have happened to him on the road home. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni would not change, though, and if a friend needed him to work late, then he would always do it.