Mma Ramotswe fanned herself with an old copy of the Botswana Daily News. She imagined herself lying in the vegetable tray, perhaps, while Mr J. L. B. Matekoni leaned against the icebox. It would be a refreshing alternative to the heat.

‘I know I’m going to have to work today,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know how I shall manage it. And you in your garage…’ She had given him a large electric fan, and that helped a bit, but the roof of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors was made of tin and there was no insulation from the sun’s rays. People talked about frying eggs on roofs like that. They were right – you could do it – but she thought that today the eggs would burn.

‘I’ll cope,’ said Mr J. L. B. Matekoni. ‘And the rains will definitely come. It’ll cool down.’

By nine o’clock the first clouds had appeared in the sky. At first there was a darkening band of grey on the horizon, which became rapidly larger, filling the lower half of the sky and developing into great rounded masses, stacked high and angry. Grey became purple, and purple shaded into black, to be obscured suddenly by white veils of rain descending, fold upon fold, like great muslin curtains. There was thunder and distant forks of lightning joining sky to earth, the patter of the first drops, and then the steady roar of the downpour. There came the smell of laid dust, and then of lightning – the smell of electricity, if electricity had a smell. And finally the smell of rain, that watery scent that so lifted the heart of anybody who lived in a dry land.

All work stopped at the garage and in the agency. As the rain pelted down, thunderous on the tin roof of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, Mr J. L. B. Matekoni, along with Charlie and Fanwell, joined Mma Ramotswe in her office. She made tea earlier than usual, in case the storm led to a power cut that would prevent the kettle from being boiled.

Charlie was excited by the rain. ‘You’ll get more work coming in, boss,’ he said. ‘All those cars with water in the wrong place and refusing to start. Nice busy time for us!’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni shook his head. ‘The misfortunes of others are no cause for satisfaction, Charlie,’ he said. ‘You should never take pleasure in the mechanical problems of other people. I’ve told you that before.’

‘Come on, boss,’ said Charlie. ‘If it weren’t for people wrecking their cars, there wouldn’t be enough work for us. Everybody knows that.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni stared at him in reproach, but Charlie, unrepentant, continued. ‘Especially women, boss. If it weren’t for all those women breaking their engines, then we wouldn’t have much to do. We’d go hungry, boss – we really would.’