Mma Ramotswe was silent. She reached for her teacup. It was cold. She looked at him. It was inconceivable that Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni could be anything but a mechanic; he was a truly great mechanic, a man who understood engines, who knew their every mood. She tried to picture him in the garb of some other profession—in a banker’s suit, for example, or in the white coat of a doctor, but neither of these seemed right, and she saw him again in his mechanic’s overalls, in his old suede boots so covered in grease, and that somehow rang true, that was just what he should wear.

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni broke the silence. “I’m not thinking of stopping being a mechanic, of course. Certainly not. I know that I must do that to put bread on our table.”

Mma Ramotswe’s relief showed, and this caused him to smile reassuringly. “It’s just that I would like to do a little bit of detective work. Not much. Just a little.”

That, she thought, was reasonable enough. She had no desire to fix engines, but there was no harm in his wanting to see her side of the business. “Just to find out what it’s like? Just to get it out of your system?” she asked, smiling. Most men, she thought, fantasised about doing something exciting, about being a soldier, or a secret agent, or even a great lover; that was how men were. That was normal.

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni frowned. “Please don’t laugh at me, Mma Ramotswe.”

She leaned forward and rested her hand on his forearm. “I would never laugh at you, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. I would never do that. And of course you can look after a case. How about this Mma Botumile matter? Would that do?”

“That is the one that I want to investigate,” he said. “That is the one.”

“Then you shall investigate,” she said.

Even as she spoke, she had her misgivings, unexpressed. The thought of Mma Botumile’s reputation disturbed her, and she was not sure whether she should put Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni in the path of a woman like that. But it was too late to do anything about it, and so she looked at her watch and rose to her feet. She would not think about it any more, or she would have difficulty in getting to sleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

MMA RAMOTSWE GOES TO MOCHUDI WITH MR POLOPETSI, IN THE TINY WHITE VAN