“Oh, I wasn’t talking about real dogs,” Mr. Polopetsi said quickly. “I was talking about how it’s best to go directly to the top. That’s what some people think, Mma. I don’t, but they do.”

“That may be true, Rra,” said Mma Makutsi, picking up her handbag, “but we haven’t got time to talk about all that now. Just look after the phone, that’s all. Please don’t start any new cases. Thank you.”

She left the office and walked down to the place where the minibuses stopped. One of them, she knew, went past the bank and after she had done her business there—withdrawing the sum required—she could go on to the shop where Charlie claimed he had seen the bed. It pained her to think that she would have to withdraw almost half of her savings in order to make the purchase, but there was a lot at stake. She could not face Phuti and tell him that her carelessness had ruined the bed he had bought. Nor could she allow Mma Ramotswe to tell him on her behalf: the effect, she thought, would be much the same. Indeed, it might be worse, as Phuti might think the less of her for not having the courage to tell him herself. No, the simplest thing was surely to buy another bed and store it safely at the agency or in the garage until Phuti could transport it to his house. For the time being she would continue to sleep on her own old and somewhat uncomfortable mattress, until such time as, sanctified by custom and by the marriage laws of the Republic of Botswana, they sank into connubial bliss in a luxurious and commodious bed, under the protection of a large, heart-shaped headboard in red velvet.

THAT WAS WHAT Mma Makutsi had done. The next morning, shortly after nine, while Mma Ramotswe was dictating a letter, Charlie knocked on the door and announced that a delivery van had arrived.

“It’s for you,” he said, looking at Mma Makutsi and pointing a greasy finger in her direction. “It’s a you-know-what!”

Mma Makutsi, flustered, looked down at her dictation notebook. Her pencil dropped to the floor.

“That sounds very exciting, Mma Makutsi,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Perhaps somebody has sent you a present.”

“No,” said Charlie, shaking his head. “It’s a new bed. Just like the other one. She bought it. It’s not a present.”