‘It is the only thing one can think,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘People don’t leave legacies to their lawyers unless they are very friendly, Mma. I think we can assume that they were lovers.’

‘And so?’

Mma Makutsi gently brushed away a fly that had settled on her baby’s brow. ‘The original Liso, the real Liso, can’t be traced, for whatever reason. Or she did not bother to trace him. So she has substituted her own son. Every mother would like her son to inherit a farm. That hardly needs any discussion.’

‘No.’

Mma Makutsi looked at Mma Ramotswe. ‘We need to confirm that the boy who claims to be Liso is, in fact, the aunt’s son. How should we do that, Mma?’

Mma Ramotswe noticed the use of the word we. Mma Makutsi was back. ‘We go and see her, I suppose. We confront her with the truth and see how she reacts. People reveal themselves, Mma.’

‘They do, Mma Ramotswe. You have always said that, and I have always thought you were right. You are right most of the time.’

‘Thank you, Mma Makutsi – that is very kind of you. But sometimes I am wrong.’

‘This is not one of those times, Mma. This is a very simple case, and you have solved it without any difficulty. This is what Mr Andersen would call an open-and-shut case, I believe.’

Mma Ramotswe now spoke hesitantly. ‘When shall we go, Mma?’

Mma Makutsi seemed to take some time to prepare her answer. ‘I have reached a decision,’ she said eventually. ‘I am coming back to work tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh, Mma —’

Mma Makutsi raised a hand. ‘No, Mma. It is the right decision. Perhaps I can bring Itumelang in for the first few days. We shall stay just a few hours for the first little while, and then we can work out a regime. I have my young woman here who is helping with the cooking and with the baby. She used to work for Phuti’s parents before they became late. She looked after Phuti when he was a boy, you know.’

Mma Ramotswe could not stop herself imagining Phuti as a boy: she saw an ungainly little boy with spindly legs and a perplexed expression on his face. Beside him there appeared another child, a little girl with ribbons tied into her hair and childish, round glasses. It was the young Mma Makutsi. So that was what she looked like.