MMA RAMOTSWE had her misgivings, and these were profound—but they were not expressed. She could have pointed out to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni yet again that medical opinion had been united, and unequivocal. Much as everybody wanted Motholeli to be cured of her disability, that was simply not going to happen. Dr. Moffat had spelled it out for them, gently, of course, but very clearly, confirming the diagnosis that had been reached in the Princess Marina Hospital. It might have been hard for Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni to accept—Mma Ramotswe understood that—but it would have been better for him to do that rather than to harbour hope that really should not be there at all.

Ever since his meeting with Dr. Mwata, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had seemed preoccupied. He had told Mma Ramotswe roughly what had transpired at the consultation, but he had not gone into any detail. In response to her questions as to what precise treatment the doctor had mentioned, he had merely pointed in the direction of the border and said that there was a clinic in Johannesburg where they tackled these things. “With success,” he added.

“And who will go with her?” asked Mma Ramotswe. It would be difficult for her to leave the business, but she doubted if Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had thought of that. He was a considerate man, and a kind one, but, like many men, his head was filled with details of gearboxes and driveshafts and the like.

He did not take long to answer. “I shall go,” he said simply. “I have made arrangements.”

“You will drive over there in your truck?”

He nodded gravely. “That is all planned. It is five hours to Johannesburg in a truck.” He looked at her almost reproachfully, as if he imagined that she was trying to sabotage the venture. “The doctor said that we would be away for about a week to begin with. We might have to go back.”

“If it doesn’t work?”

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni gazed out of the window; there was still that air of preoccupation. “Maybe. He didn’t put it that way.”

He pulled himself together. “Anyway,” he continued, “while I am away the garage will be looked after by Charlie. I have spoken to him about it. He is quite happy to be in charge.”

Mma Ramotswe caught her breath. “Charlie?”

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni sighed. “He will have to learn how to be in charge. When he finishes his apprenticeship, he could be in charge of a whole workshop himself. I have to give him some experience.”

Mma Ramotswe said nothing. She agreed that Charlie should be given experience—in theory, at least—but she could not imagine him being in charge of the garage.

She would be tactful. “Are you sure? Charlie hasn’t finished his apprenticeship yet…” And would never finish it, she thought.