Mma Ramotswe considered the offer. She still had to sort out the Mma Sebina matter, and it would be useful to delegate something to Mma Makutsi. It would also keep her assistant happy, which was a major consideration, since she would be in a position to leave once she married Phuti Radiphuti, and Mma Ramotswe did not want that—Mma Makutsi’s departure, that is. She was completely in favour of the marriage, of course, as Phuti Radiphuti was a very good man and…well, he was good for Mma Makutsi. Or so she thought; but Mma Makutsi herself had suddenly become agitated. She had seen something out of the window; Charlie, perhaps, was up to something. But it was not that. Phuti Radiphuti himself had arrived; as often happens, Mma Ramotswe thought, when we bring people to mind. We bring them to mind and then they turn up in the flesh, or telephone, or do something to remind us that we should be careful of what we think of in this life.

“PHUTI!” exclaimed Mma Makutsi, when she saw her fiancé’s car, with its distinctive red stripe along the side, drawing up in front of the garage.

“Oh yes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He is back. That’s nice for you, Mma. You can ask him about driving you.”

As she spoke, it occurred to her that Phuti’s car was not very well suited to detective work, as it was impossible to miss a white car which had a curious red stripe on its side. She had assumed that this was the livery of the Double Comfort Furniture Shop, but had been told that it was not, that Phuti himself had painted it as a decoration. But whatever the origin of the stripe, it was a very noticeable feature and people being followed by a car with a red stripe would probably notice the fact. And Clovis Andersen, she thought, author of The Principles of Private Detection, would undoubtedly agree.

This line of thought, though, was interrupted by Mma Makutsi, who was clearly agitated by the unexpected arrival. “He’ll see the bed,” she hissed. “He’ll see it!”

“But he has to,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Just tell him. Tell him what happened.”

“Tell him?”

Mma Ramotswe was calm. “Yes, or I will, if you like. I promised you that I would tell him about the other bed. I’m still happy to do that. It will not be hard for me.”

“No,” said Mma Makutsi, her voice full of alarm. “We cannot do that, Mma. We cannot give Phuti a shock.”

“Nonsense,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It will not be a shock. Look, here he comes. I’ll tell him.”

“No,” implored Mma Makutsi. “Please, Mma. Leave it. Leave it.”