The business, of course, had to continue, even in the absence of Mma Makutsi. There were several outstanding matters needing attention, including the case of Mrs. Grant; Mma Makutsi had been doing the preliminary work on that, and the investigation would have to wait until she got back to the office. But now there was a new client, a Mr. Robert Kereleng, who had telephoned to make an appointment for that morning. She would have preferred to have had Mma Makutsi with her for this meeting, as she valued her assistant’s comments on new clients—provided, of course, that these comments were delivered after the client had gone.

At ten o’clock, shortly before Mr. Kereleng was due to arrive, she made herself a cup of red bush tea, using, out of deference to the absent Mma Makutsi, the smaller of the two teapots. Then she sat at her desk and waited until Mr. Polopetsi put his head round the door and announced that there was somebody to see her.

“I am free to help you,” he whispered. “There is nothing for me to do in the garage—or nothing urgent—and since she is not here …” He looked longingly at Mma Makutsi’s desk; he would have given anything to have occupied that desk, to be a full-blown assistant detective, but Mma Ramotswe had explained to him that there simply was not enough work and this was, after all, the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. “It is not that a man cannot be a detective, Rra,” she said. “It is not that. It is more a question of what the clients want. I think that they want to see lady detectives. That is just the way it is.”

But with Mma Makutsi away, there was no reason why Mr. Polopetsi should not sit there. And his perspective on things—which was often rather astute—would be welcome.

“Of course you can sit in, Rra. That seat over there. But first, show in this Mr. Kereleng.”

She tidied her desk, moving her cup to one side. That was another aspect of Mma Makutsi’s absence—who would make the tea when the client came in? She had used the smaller teapot, and had made only enough for one. She could not ask Mr. Polopetsi; he knew how to make tea, but his drop in status—from assistant hospital pharmacist to unqualified garage hand and occasional sub-assistant detective (as Mma Makutsi put it)—was bad enough without rubbing it all in by making him into a junior tea-maker too. So there would just have to be no tea.

Mr. Kereleng was ushered in, and Mma Ramotswe saw a man in his early thirties, well dressed, and with a pleasant, open expression. She felt comfortable with him immediately, even before he greeted her in the polite, formal fashion, and shook hands firmly and sincerely.

“You are very kind to see me, Mma Ramotswe,” he said.