As on her previous visit, she pushed past the aunt and started to make her way into the house when Mma Makutsi appeared. ‘You can get on with your rest now, Auntie,’ she said respectfully. ‘We shall go to the kitchen.’

The aunt sniffed and retreated, leaving the two women by themselves.

‘Your house is looking so good,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘It’s many years since we painted Zebra Drive. Mr J. L. B. Matekoni has been promising to do it for a long time, but he has not started yet.’

‘He is very busy, Mma. You will need to get our painter. He works very quickly and very well.’

Mma Ramotswe thought of their last painter. ‘They are always going off to funerals, Mma. Don’t you find that?’

Mma Makutsi smiled. ‘He was off this week, but he came back.’

‘I think that it is not really funerals they are going to,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘They go off to paint other houses. They have more than one job at a time.’

‘Like us,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘We do that. We have more than one case going at any time, do we not?’

It was true, and it reminded Mma Ramotswe of the reason for her visit. ‘I need to talk to you, Mma,’ she said. ‘We have some very difficult cases at the moment.’

They went into the kitchen. The baby, Mma Makutsi explained, was sleeping but he would wake up before long and make his presence known. ‘He has a very loud voice,’ she said. ‘And he sounds just like Phuti.’

Mma Ramotswe was puzzled by this remark, but said nothing. How could a baby sound like his father? Babies said nothing, they cried, and Phuti… The awful thought occurred to her: did the baby have a stammer, as Phuti had? Could one stutter as one cried? It was an absurd idea, and she stopped herself from thinking it, as she had stopped herself envisaging the baby making great strides around the nursery…

Mma Makutsi made tea. Mma Ramotswe saw that she had a special supply of redbush tea specially for her, and was touched; that one woman should keep something in the house for the visit of another woman was a nice example of what friendship might be.

‘Now, Mma,’ said Mma Makutsi as she sipped at her own cup of Tanganda Tea. ‘What is all this?’

Mma Ramotswe began with the Molapo case. Mma Makutsi had been there for the visit of Mma Sheba, of course, but Mma Ramotswe brought her up to date with what had happened since, including the visit to the farm and the encounter with Liso.

‘I didn’t like the look of him to begin with,’ she said. ‘He was wearing one of those ridiculous hats that young men wear. I know it means nothing, but it put me against him.’

‘It is a sign,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘A hat can be a sign.’