Mma Sheba nodded. ‘I know the Radiphuti family – not very well, but a bit.’ She smiled at Mma Makutsi again. ‘You are a very lucky woman to have a husband like that. There were many ladies who could have been in your position.’

Mma Makutsi seemed taken aback by this remark, and it took her a few moments to react. When she spoke, her voice was strained. ‘What are you saying, Mma?’ she asked. ‘I am not sure if I understand.’

Again Mma Ramotswe tried to defuse the situation. ‘I don’t think that Mma Sheba is saying that Phuti had lots of girlfriends before you. I’m sure he had none.’

Now both Mma Sheba and Mma Makutsi glared at Mma Ramotswe.

‘I mean,’ said Mma Ramotswe in a flustered tone, ‘that he was not one of these men who spent a lot of time chasing girls – men like Charlie, for instance.’

‘But why did you say he had none?’ asked Mma Makutsi. ‘There is a big difference between chasing lots of girls and having no girlfriends at all.’

‘That is a very big difference,’ contributed Mma Sheba. ‘I certainly didn’t say that he had no girlfriends at all. I do not know whether he had any… or none. I just do not know.’

‘Then why did you say what you did say, Mma?’ snapped Mma Makutsi.

Mma Sheba looked anxiously at Mma Ramotswe. ‘But all that I meant was that he was a very good catch. And I meant, too, that there were many ladies who would have liked to catch him, had they even known him, which they didn’t, I think.’

Mma Ramotswe threw a warning glance at Mma Makutsi. ‘The important thing,’ she said, ‘is that we are all well. That is what counts.’

Mma Sheba, equally eager to prevent needless confrontation, quickly agreed with this sentiment.

‘And now, Mma Makutsi,’ said Mma Ramotswe, ‘I’m sure that Mma Sheba would like a cup of tea.’ She smiled at her visitor. ‘Am I right, Mma?’

Mma Sheba nodded. ‘That would be very good. It is never too late, or too early, for tea.’

‘My view too,’ agreed Mma Ramotswe. ‘Now, what would you like? We have redbush tea or we have ordinary tea. Both are available.’

‘Not everybody likes redbush,’ said Mma Makutsi, hovering behind Mma Sheba’s chair. ‘I myself prefer what Mma Ramotswe calls ordinary tea, but which can be far from ordinary – if made correctly.’

‘You choose,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘And you must not let others –’ and here she looked directly at Mma Makutsi – ‘interfere in your choice.’

‘Information is not interference,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘There is a difference, I think.’

‘I think I’ll try redbush,’ said Mma Sheba. ‘I have a friend who drinks it, and she swears by it.’