Mma Ramotswe lowered herself into the armchair. It felt much as any other armchair, if perhaps a little bit harder, but she was aware of the historical significance of the moment. She was sitting in an armchair that had once supported the greatest man in Botswana’s history, a man who had set an example to all of Africa, and to the world, in much the same way as Mr Mandela had done. And here was she, an ordinary woman from Mochudi, of no particular distinction – at least in her mind, even if she was the first lady private detective in Botswana – seated in the great man’s chair.

Mma Molapo returned with two cups of tea. ‘Is everything going all right with the execution?’ she asked.

Mma Ramotswe was puzzled. ‘Execution, Mma? Who is being executed? I do not know of anybody who is going to be executed.’

‘The will,’ said Mma Molapo. ‘Lawyers make a big fuss over the execution of the will.’

Mma Ramotswe laughed. ‘That is executry, I think, Mma. They call it executry.’

Mma Molapo waved a hand airily. ‘I often get words mixed up. I’m hopeless that way, Mma.’

Mma Ramotswe found herself warming to the other woman. She knew that it was too early to reach any conclusion, but she found it difficult to think of this well-mannered and modest woman being a liar.

‘Mma Sheba is taking a long time,’ said Mma Molapo as she sipped her tea. ‘Are there any difficulties, Mma? Is that why she sent you?’

Mma Ramotswe detected a note of anxiety in Mma Molapo’s voice, but thought that anybody would be anxious when discussing the timescale against which lawyers conducted their business. ‘I don’t think there is any particular problem,’ she said. ‘These things are slow. They have to check and double-check everything. She sent me to find out that everything was all right at this end.’ That, she thought, is true; I have not told any lies.

Mma Molapo sighed. ‘I know about lawyers. They are like tortoises. Some people say that they are the tortoise’s cousins. And I also know that I shouldn’t be impatient; it’s just that my nephew would like to get everything sorted out. You know how young men are.’

Mma Ramotswe saw her opportunity. ‘Is your nephew here? Could I meet him, do you think?’

‘Certainly you can, Mma. He is outside, working in the shed. I shall go and fetch him.’