‘I was thinking of Charlie,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘He is very keen on Itumelang. I was thinking of how quickly Charlie would be snapped up if the girls heard that he was interested in marriage.’

‘Very quickly, I’d say,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘For all his faults, Charlie is a very good-looking young man. And he’s good fun to be with.’

‘Within reason,’ said Mma Makutsi.

Once Itumelang was settled, Mma Makutsi took her place at her desk and looked over the room towards Mma Ramotswe. They had business to discuss, and they launched straight into it. Mma Ramotswe, somewhat breathlessly, told Mma Makutsi about the events of the previous day and the unexpected breakthrough in the Molapo enquiry. She was shocked, just as Mma Ramotswe and Mma Potokwani had been, but saw how the whole thing now made sense.

‘That is a dreadful story,’ she said at the end of Mma Ramotswe’s account. ‘To think that such things happen.’

‘Everything happens,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Sooner or later, just about everything happens.’

‘And that boy not knowing the truth,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘There he is going through life not knowing who he really is.’

‘He thinks he knows,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘And surely that’s what counts. We need a story about ourselves, but does it really matter whether it is the true one or it has been made up? I wonder.’

‘You mean, as long as we believe it ourselves?’

She had not thought it through, but she imagined that this was so. ‘At the end of the day, Mma Makutsi, aren’t we all the same? Aren’t we simply people? Aren’t we all distant cousins from long, long ago?’

‘We all came from Africa,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘It doesn’t matter what the colour of our skin is; we’re all from Africa originally. I have read that, Mma Ramotswe. There was an article about it in the paper. East Africa. That’s where everyone comes from. Me, you, the King of Sweden.’

‘The King of Sweden?’

‘I choose him as an example,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘I’m not saying that he had an African grandmother, but a long, long time ago his people would have been from Africa, same as everybody.’

Mma Ramotswe grinned. ‘So there were these Swedens in Kenya – just ordinary farmers…’

‘Cattle,’ said Mma Makutsi. ‘They had many cattle, those people over there. They wore long red cloaks and looked after their cattle. I have seen photographs.’

‘And that Sweden family?’

‘They were there too. And the Arabs. And the Jews. Everyone. No enemies in those days.’

Mma Ramotswe looked doubtful. ‘I’m not so sure, Mma. I don’t think human nature has changed. We have always been unkind to one another.’

‘And good sometimes.’

‘Yes, and good sometimes.’