Then there was a conversation with the Reverend Trevor Mwamba from the Anglican Cathedral. He, too, confessed that he would not like to do a parachute jump, and he felt that the same could be said for the Bishop. For a moment Mma Ramotswe entertained a mental picture of the Bishop jumping from an aeroplane, dressed in his episcopal robes and clutching his mitre as he fell.

“It is nothing, you know,” said Charlie, who had come up to join them, a glass of beer in his hand, and clearly enjoying his fame. “I wasn’t at all frightened. I just jumped and then bump! the chute opened above me and I came down. That’s all there is to it. I will do it again tomorrow if Mma Potokwane asks me. In fact, I think I might offer to join the Botswana Defence Force. I could look after their aeroplane engines and then do some jumping in my spare time.”

Mma Ramotswe saw that this made Mr J.L.B. Matekoni look anxious, but the conversation moved on to another topic and no more was said of the looking-after of aeroplane engines.

The event had now turned into something of a party. Some of the older children, who had been helping with the tea cups and with arranging chairs under the trees, now formed up as a choir and sang several songs while one of them, a talented marimba player, provided an accompaniment. Then, after the singing, Mma Potokwane came over to Mma Ramotswe’s side and invited her to join her for a moment in the office. The same invitation was extended to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, and it was explained that a very special cake had been prepared for him but that it could not be produced in public as there was not enough for everybody.

They went into the office. The Reverend Trevor Mwamba was already there, a plate of cake before him. He stood up and smiled at Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.

“Now,” said Mma Potokwane, putting a large slice of the special cake on Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s plate. “Here is the special cake I have made.”

“You are very kind to us, Mma,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “This looks like a very rich cake. Very rich.” He paused, the cake half way to his mouth. He looked at Mma Potokwane. Then he looked at the Reverend Trevor Mwamba. Finally he looked at Mma Ramotswe. Nobody spoke.

Mma Potokwane broke the silence. “Mr J.L.B. Matekoni,” she said. “We all know how proud you are of Mma Ramotswe. We all know how proud you are to be her fiancé and how you wish to be her husband. I am right, am I not, in saying that you wish to be her husband?”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni nodded. “I do. Of course I do.”