Mma Ramotswe was silenced. There was no mistaking the passion, and urgency, in Mma Makutsi’s words. She would not say anything in those circumstances, but she wondered how Mma Makutsi would explain the new bed. Some explanation would be required—it must be—as Phuti could not but see the bed as he came into the office. It was all very strange.

The door opened, tentatively. Just like Mr. Polopetsi, Phuti Radiphuti was not one to barge into a room, and certainly not without the necessary Ko, Ko.

Phuti appeared, and greeted Mma Ramotswe politely before turning to smile at his fiancée.

“I was passing by,” he said. “I don’t want to disturb you. You ladies are always so busy.”

“But we always have time for you, Rra,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You have been up in Serowe?”

Phuti nodded. “We do business with a store up there. They sell our chairs and—” He broke off and turned to Mma Makutsi. “I see it has arrived, Grace. The new bed has been delivered here rather than to your house. Is that all right with Mma Ramotswe and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni? Maybe they don’t want our new bed cluttering up their place.”

“They don’t mind at all,” said Mma Makutsi hurriedly. “That is fine, Phuti.”

Phuti frowned. “I thought that they were going to deliver it to your house,” he said. “Sometimes these people can’t get things straight. A simple request like that and they get all mixed up.”

Mma Makutsi said nothing. Across her desk, Mma Ramotswe looked at her assistant. If Mma Makutsi remained silent now, then she would be deliberately misleading Phuti. It would be as bad as telling a direct lie; there could be no other way of looking at it.

The silence continued. Outside, on the branches of the acacia tree, a grey lourie, the go-away bird, fluttered its wings, and Phuti, distracted, looked out of the window. “That tree always has birds in it,” he said. “Whenever I come here there are birds.”

Mma Makutsi would have to speak now, thought Mma Ramotswe.

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “Birds.”

There was a further silence. Then Mma Ramotswe rose from her chair. “I shall make you some tea, Rra,” she said. “After that drive down from Serowe, you must be ready for tea.”

The moment to discuss the bed had passed. The seed of the lie, contained in the first tiny hesitation on Mma Makutsi’s part, had sprouted quickly, like a ground vine suddenly sending out its shoots after the first rain. So untruth grows, thought Mma Ramotswe; so easily, so easily. She looked at her assistant as she made her way towards the kettle, but Mma Makutsi looked away.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE WEDDING OF THE BABOONS