Mma Ramotswe frowned. ‘But do they all make wills?’ she asked.

The official hesitated. ‘There are many people who do not make wills. They are very foolish people, Mma.’

Mma Ramotswe was aware of the fact that the woman was staring at her in a way that was almost accusatory. She had no will herself; nor did Mr J. L. B. Matekoni. Most people, she thought, had no will. But did it really matter? Everything she had, such as it was, would go to Mr J. L. B. Matekoni, and everything he had would go to her – or so she assumed. And then she thought of the children. Motholeli and Puso were not related to her – as foster children they presumably had no legal claim, and yet surely they had every other sort of claim. Of course they did.

‘I shall make a will,’ she muttered.

The woman behind the desk looked pleased. ‘That is a very good idea, Mma.’ And then added hurriedly, ‘Not that I am hoping that you will become late for a long time yet. But it is a very good idea and we always recommend it.’

Mma Ramotswe’s positive attitude to wills seemed to clear the obstructions that she felt officials could naturally, almost instinctively, place before those who wanted help or information.

‘Of course there are not many people called Molapo who become late and have wills,’ the woman said. ‘I shall be able to find it very quickly if you give me the year when this late person became late.’

‘He has been late for less than a year,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘And, as I said, he is called Molapo. Edgar Molapo, although he might have had another Setswana first name – I do not know, Mma.’

The official thought this would not be a problem. ‘And you are sure that the late Rra Molapo made a will?’

‘I am sure of that, Mma. There is a lawyer, Mma Sheba, who has consulted me about some problem in the estate. She is handling all this.’

Mma Ramotswe might easily have missed the official’s reaction to this had she not been looking directly at her when she spoke. As it was, she saw the tensing of muscles around the jaw and lips; sudden and transient, but enough to tell her that this woman did not like Mma Sheba.

‘You must know her, Mma,’ said Mma Ramotswe, keeping her voice even but watching closely.

The signs of animosity were still there, but the other woman was more guarded now, and that, thought Mma Ramotswe, may be because she thinks that I am an ally of Mma Sheba and she must be careful.

‘Yes, I know her, Mma.’ She rose from her chair. ‘I shall get you that will now.’