INSIDE THE OFFICE, Mma Ramotswe heard nothing of this exchange; all she heard was the mumble of the men talking amongst themselves, about, she imagined, the sort of thing that men liked to talk about—spare parts, hydraulic systems, suspension. She looked at her watch, which she always kept ten minutes fast for the reassurance of knowing that one always had ten minutes in hand. The appointment with the client—the one who had written the letter asking her to find her family—was in half an hour’s time. If Mma Makutsi were to be late this morning, they would not have time to deal with the mail that she would pick up from the post box on her way in to the office. This would not matter a great deal, as they would have plenty of time to deal with it later. But Mma Ramotswe liked to have her letters written early so that she could concentrate on her clients without thinking of tasks that lay ahead.

When she arrived several minutes later, Mma Makutsi had four or five letters in her hand. She placed these, almost reverentially, on her employer’s desk before she hung up her scarf and the over-the-shoulder handbag she had recently taken to carrying. Mma Ramotswe did not see the point of either of these accessories, but was too polite to mention it to her assistant. To begin with, the scarf was the wrong colour for Mma Makutsi—or was it the wrong design? Mma Makutsi had problematic skin—slightly blotchy—and the difficulty with this scarf was that it was spotted. Those with spots, thought Mma Ramotswe, should not wear spots; that, surely, was fairly obvious. But how did one convey this fashion truth to one who appeared to enjoy wearing spotted items, like this ill-chosen scarf ? There were some who believed that one should be direct in such cases and say exactly what one was thinking. So one might say, “A traditionally built person, like you, should not wear stripes that run across the way. Your stripes should go up and down.” That, at least, was direct, and unambiguous, but it could give offence, especially in these days when fewer people wished to be considered traditionally built. Mma Ramotswe had never been able to understand that, and considered it one of the very worst features of modern society that people should be ashamed to be of traditional build, cultivating instead a look that was bony and positively uncomfortable. Everybody knows, she thought, that we have a skeleton underneath our skin; there’s no reason to show it.

“We’ll have to hurry, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe, pointing at her watch. “That lady is coming to see us in half an hour.”

“Forty minutes,” said Mma Makutsi. “Half an hour plus ten minutes. Your watch, Mma—”

“No, I’ve already taken ten minutes off what my watch says. It’s half an hour, Mma.”