“He will be very pleased,” she said. “He loves your fruit cake. I wish I could make it as well as you do, Mma.”

Mma Potokwane clearly appreciated the compliment. “You could learn, Mma. Maybe one day I shall teach you.” She passed the tin through the open window. “Well, there you are, Mma. And perhaps, after he’s eaten the cake, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni might like to bring the tin back to me. It’s an old tin, but at least I could refill it for him if he brought it out.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled. That would be the way in which Mma Potokwane ensnared him; it was so obvious. “Yes, of course,” she said. “And he could take a look at things while he’s out there…”

Mma Potokwane lost no time in seizing the opportunity. “That’s very kind of you, Mma. As a matter of fact, there are some things that could do with a bit of attention. There is a washing machine that we bought second-hand but paid good money for—two hundred pula, in fact. It seems to have given up now, but I’m sure it’s just a little thing. And then there’s the tractor, the small one. One of the men has done something to it and it will only go backwards now. I’m sure that Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni would be able to sort that out in no time at all…”

“I’m sure he would,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I shall tell him.”

Mma Potokwane gave a cheerful wave and began to drive off. There was a terrible grinding of gears as she did so; a noise like that which would be produced if a knife or a fork were to be put into a mincing machine. Mma Potokwane, though, seemed unconcerned. She waved again from the car and crashed the gears once more before moving off down the road in the direction of Tlokweng and the waiting orphans.