Mma Soleti considered this for a moment, turning her head slightly as if to assess Mma Ramotswe from a different angle. “Really, Mma? But being traditionally built is a positive advantage, in my view. You see, if a lady is one of these modern …”

“Stick insects,” Mma Ramotswe supplied.

Mma Soleti burst out laughing. “Yes, that is what they are, Mma. Stick insects. It’s very difficult to do much with those ladies because … well, there’s so little of them. But with a traditionally built lady like yourself, it’s like painting a big wall—there’s much more room for the artist.” She paused. “And I do think of myself as an artist, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe found herself warming to this woman. Following her into the tin building, she saw that there was a plastic-covered couch, rather like those used by doctors to examine their patients, a desk, and a glass-fronted cupboard full of bottles and jars. Mma Soleti gestured for her to sit on the edge of the couch. “There is no need to lie down, Mma. Not at this stage. I shall be mostly concerned with the face in this consultation. We can deal with the rest of you some other time.”

Mma Ramotswe perched on the edge of the couch. It was of such a height that her feet barely touched the ground, and one of her shoes, her flat walking shoes that were such a contrast to Mma Makutsi’s more fashionable footwear, began to slip off. Mma Soleti paid no attention to this. She had picked up a large magnifying glass and had begun to peer closely at her new client’s face. It was a disconcerting experience; the beautician’s eyes, viewed from the other side of the glass, were large, like the eyes of a fish, Mma Ramotswe thought.

“Mmm,” said Mma Soleti, adding: “Aahh.”

“You have seen something?” asked Mma Ramotswe.

“Nothing,” said Mma Soleti, moving the focus of her gaze across to the other side of Mma Ramotswe’s face. “I have seen nothing that I didn’t think I’d see.”

Mma Ramotswe wondered what that meant, and was on the point of enquiring when Mma Soleti said, “Oh.”

“Is there anything wrong, Mma?”

“There is nothing wrong. This is a very good face, Mma. There can be no arguing about that. This is a good Botswana face.”

Mma Ramotswe was not sure what to make of that. She frowned, only to provoke an immediate warning from Mma Soleti. “Try not to frown, Mma. That makes lines on the face, and if you go on frowning, those lines will be there forever, even when you aren’t frowning inside.”

“I was just wondering about what it meant to say that I have a good Botswana face.”