The maid shifted her gaze from Mma Ramotswe to her employer. “Who is this woman?” she demanded. “Why is she coming into my kitchen and saying things like this? Please ask her to go back to the bar you found her in.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni swallowed hard. “I have asked her to marry me,” he blurted out. “She is going to be my wife.”

At this, the maid seemed to crumple. “Aiee!” she cried. “Aiee! You cannot marry her! She will kill you! That is the worst thing you can do.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni moved forward and placed a comforting hand on the maid’s shoulder.

“Do not worry, Florence,” he said. “She is a good woman, and I shall make sure that you will get another job. I have a cousin who has that hotel near the bus station. He needs maids and if I ask him to give you a job he will do so.”

This did not pacify the maid. “I do not want to work in a hotel, where everyone is treated like a slave,” she said. “I am not a do-this, do-that maid. I am a high-class maid, suitable for private houses. Oh! Oh! I am finished now. You are finished too if you marry this fat woman. She will break your bed. You will surely die very quickly. This is the end for you.”

Mr J.LB. Matekoni glanced at Mma Ramotswe, signalling that they should leave the kitchen. It would be better, he thought, if the maid could recover in private. He had not imagined that the news would be well received, but he had certainly not envisaged her uttering such embarrassing and disturbing prophecies. The sooner he spoke to the cousin and arranged the transfer to the other job, the better.

They went back to the sitting room, closing the door firmly behind them.

“Your maid is a difficult woman,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“She is not easy,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “But I think that we have no choice. She must go to that other job.”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. He was right. The maid would have to go, but so would they. They could not live in this house, she thought, even if it had a bigger yard. They would have to put in a tenant and move to Zebra Drive. Her own maid was infinitely better and would look after both of them extremely well. In no time at all, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni would begin to put on weight, and look more like the prosperous garage owner he was. She glanced about the room. Was there anything at all that they would need to move from this house to hers? The answer, she thought, was probably no. All that Mr J.L.B. Matekoni needed to bring was a suitcase containing his clothes and his bar of carbolic soap. That was all.

CHAPTER TWO

A CLIENT ARRIVES

IT WOULD have to be handled tactfully. Mma Ramotswe knew that Mr J.L.B. Matekoni would be happy to live in Zebra Drive—she was sure of that—but men had their pride and she would have to be careful about how she conveyed the decision. She could hardly say: “Your house is a terrible mess; there are engines and car parts everywhere.” Nor could she say: “I would not like to live that close to an old graveyard.” Rather, she would approach it by saying: “It’s a wonderful house, with lots of room. I don’t mind old engines at all, but I am sure you will agree that Zebra Drive is very convenient for the centre of town.” That would be the way to do it.