This submissive tone seemed to appeal to Violet. She looked at Mma Makutsi thoughtfully. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said slowly. “But I can’t work miracles. The problem is that…Well, the problem, Mma, is one of presentation. These days it is very important that firms have a smart image. It’s all about impact, you know. And that means that senior staff must be well presented, must be…of good appearance. That’s the way it is in business these days. That’s just the way it is.” She shuffled a few papers on her desk. “There are a few high-level vacancies at the moment. A personal assistant post to a chief executive. A secretary to the general manager of a bank. That sort of thing. But I’m not sure if you’re quite right for that sort of job, Mma. Maybe something in a Ministry somewhere. Or…” She paused. “Have you thought of leaving Gaborone? Of taking something down in Lobatse or Francistown or somewhere like that? Lots of people like those places, you know. There’s not so much going on, of course, but it’s a peaceful life out of town.”

Mma Makutsi watched Violet as she spoke. The face revealed so much; that she had been taught by Mma Ramotswe, who had pointed out that the real meaning of what anybody said was written large in the muscles of the face. And Violet’s face said it all; this was a calculated put-down, an intentional humiliation, possibly inspired by jealousy (Violet knew about Phuti Radiphuti and knew that he was well off), possibly inspired by anger over their vastly differing performances at the Botswana Secretarial College, but more probably inspired by pure malice, which was something which often just occurred in people for no apparent reason and with which there was no reasoning.

She rose to her feet. “I don’t think you have anything suitable for me,” she said.

Violet became flustered. “I didn’t say that, Mma.”

“I think you did, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi. “I think you said it very clearly. Sometimes people don’t have to open their mouths to say anything, but they say it nonetheless.”