Mma Ramotswe cut her short. “Oswald knows, and agrees.”

“Then why can’t he tell her?” retorted Carla, suddenly angry. “He did it. I only lied to protect him.”

Mma Ramotswe nodded her understanding. “Yes,” she said. “It’s his fault, but he is not a good man. He cannot give anything to that woman, or to anybody else for that matter. Such people cannot say sorry to another. But you can. You can meet this woman and tell her what happened. You can seek her forgiveness.”

Carla shook her head. “I don’t see why … After all these years …”

Mma Ramotswe stopped her. “Besides,” she said. “You are the mother of her grandchild. Is that not so? Would you deny her that little bit of comfort? She has no son now. But there is a …”

“Boy,” said Carla. “He is called Michael too. He is nine, almost ten.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. “You must bring the child to her, Mma,” she said. “You are a mother. You know what that means. You have no reason now not to do this. Oswald cannot do anything to you. He is no threat.”

Mma Ramotswe rose to her feet and walked over to the desk, where Carla sat, crumpled, uncertain.

“You know that you must do this,” she said.

She took the other woman’s hand and held it gently. It was sun-specked, from exposure to high places and heat, and hard work.

“You will do it, won’t you, Mma? She is ready to come out to Botswana. She will come in a day or two if I tell her. Can you get away from here? Just for a few days?”

“I have an assistant,” said Carla. “She can run the place.”

“And the boy? Michael? Will he not be happy to see his grandmother?”

Carla looked up at her.

“Yes, Mma Ramotswe,” she said. “You are right.”

SHE RETURNED to Gaborone the following day, arriving late at night. Her maid, Rose, had stayed in the house to look after the children, who were fast asleep when Mma Ramotswe arrived home. She crept into their rooms and listened to their soft breathing and smelled the sweet smell of children sleeping. Then exhausted from the drive, she tumbled into her bed, mentally still driving, her eyes moving behind heavy, closed lids.

She was in the office early the following morning, leaving the children in Rose’s care. Mma Makutsi had arrived even earlier than she had, and was sitting efficiently behind her desk, typing a report.

“Mr Letsenyane Badule,” she announced. “I am reporting on the end of the case.”

Mma Ramotswe raised an eyebrow. “I thought that you wanted me to sort that out.”