They sat in silence for a moment, both imagining the scene of that meeting: Obed Ramotswe, with his battered old hat and his face that had such understanding and kindness etched into every line of it; Phuti Radiphuti, with his slightly ill-fitting suit and his artificial foot, but with his polite and gentle manner. It would, thought Mma Ramotswe, have been an embodiment, an affirmation, of everything that Botswana stood for: decency and the things that decency brought with it.

Mma Ramotswe brought the spell to an end. "There's something odd going on, Mma Makutsi," she said.

"Very odd, Mma Ramotswe. And in my opinion it is that man who is odd. He is lying, if you ask me."

Mma Ramotswe said that she, too, had the impression that Mr. Moeti was not being truthful, but what exactly was he lying about? Was he lying about his neighbour? Was he inventing the story of the fence, which would, of course, be a gross defamation of his neighbour's cattle? "I just can't work it out, Mma Makutsi," she said. "But one thing I think is very clear: that man was never frightened. He had been pretending to be frightened, but his fear was not real."

"You are right," said Mma Makutsi. "He was not a frightened man. A rude man, yes, but not a frightened one."

"And that Fort.i.tude Seleo?"

Mma Makutsi thought for a moment. "I would like to think he is an ordinary man who has the misfortune to have a farm next to Moeti's farm. That is what I'd like to think, Mma. But what I actually think is quite different."

Mma Ramotswe looked expectantly at her a.s.sistant. "Yes, Mma. What do you think?"

"I think that he's probably very rude too," said Mma Makutsi. "So put two cats in a box and what do they do, Mma? They fight."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

WAS PRUDENCE PRUDENT?.

PRUDENCE RAMKHWANE lived with her parents, Leonard and Mercy, in a large house behind the shopping centre at the beginning of the Lobatse road. It was not a good place to live, thought Mma Ramotswe, who did not like the clutter and noise of that particular conglomeration of shops, but there were those who did, she had to remind herself, and there must also be those who did not mind living close to such places. lived with her parents, Leonard and Mercy, in a large house behind the shopping centre at the beginning of the Lobatse road. It was not a good place to live, thought Mma Ramotswe, who did not like the clutter and noise of that particular conglomeration of shops, but there were those who did, she had to remind herself, and there must also be those who did not mind living close to such places.

As she parked her car outside the Ramkhwane gate, Mma Ramotswe found herself looking at the house with her detective's eye. This was a special way of looking at things that she had developed over the years, not without some a.s.sistance from the relevant chapter of Clovis Andersen's The Principles of Private Detection. The Principles of Private Detection. The author of that seminal work had sound advice in this regard. The author of that seminal work had sound advice in this regard. Always remember that things are where they are because somebody has put them there, Always remember that things are where they are because somebody has put them there, he wrote. he wrote. So if there is a kennel in a yard it is there because the owner of the yard put it there, and that means that he has a dog. If there is a boat in the yard, then you may conclude that he likes fishing. Things are always there for a reason. I learned this lesson myself from Mrs. Andersen, who always accuses me of moving things that she needs! So if there is a kennel in a yard it is there because the owner of the yard put it there, and that means that he has a dog. If there is a boat in the yard, then you may conclude that he likes fishing. Things are always there for a reason. I learned this lesson myself from Mrs. Andersen, who always accuses me of moving things that she needs!

It was a lovely, intimate glimpse into the home life of the great authority, and Mma Ramotswe had read the pa.s.sage aloud to Mma Makutsi, who had enjoyed it a great deal.

"How interesting to hear about his wife," Mma Makutsi said. "I would not have guessed that he was married, but there you are."

"She must be very proud of him," said Mma Ramotswe. "It must be strange to be married to such a famous man."

"I expect she's used to it," said Mma Makutsi. "And she probably talks to him like any wife, telling him to be careful and to watch what he does and so on."

Mma Ramotswe had smiled at this. "Is that how you think wives talk, Mma?" she asked. "If so, you should be careful when you and Phuti get married. Men don't like being told to watch what they do."

"But if we let them do what they wanted, then what would happen?" asked Mma Makutsi. "It would be chaos. Big chaos."

Mma Ramotswe had agreed that it would not be a good idea to allow men to do as they pleased, but she felt that there were tactful ways of achieving the desired result. "Rather than telling a man directly what to do," she said, "a wife should make the man think that he is doing what he he wants to do. There are ways of making this happen, Mma-tactful ways." wants to do. There are ways of making this happen, Mma-tactful ways."

There had then followed a certain amount of instruction on how to handle husbands, during which Mma Makutsi made the occasional note.

"This will be very useful for when I am married," she told Mma Ramotswe, and then added, "And I think you should possibly write a book, Mma. It could be called How to Handle Husbands and Keep Them Under Control. How to Handle Husbands and Keep Them Under Control. Or something like that. It would be a very successful book, Mma, as there are many ladies who would rush to buy a book like that." Or something like that. It would be a very successful book, Mma, as there are many ladies who would rush to buy a book like that."

Now, standing in front of the Ramkhwane house, Mma Ramotswe looked about the yard to determine what it said about the Ramkhwane family. The yard was well swept, which was a good sign-indeed, the most important message that a householder could send out was that based on the neatness, or otherwise, of the yard. Then there was the car: that spoke to modesty-a modest person drives a modest car, a pushy person drives a pushy car. The Ramkhwane car was unostentatious, she was pleased to note: a medium-sized vehicle painted white-a traditional Botswana colour for a car and completely un.o.bjectionable for that. And at the back of the yard, a vegetable patch and a hen coop-both good signs of traditional Botswana values.

Good manners would have required that she call out from the gate and await an invitation before entering the yard. That was difficult to do, though, when the gate was some distance from the house as this one was, so she made her way towards the front door, a large, red-painted affair with an elaborate bra.s.s knocker fixed to its central panel.

A maid answered-a thin, rather lethargic woman in a faded print smock. Unhappy, thought Mma Ramotswe. There would be a hundred possible reasons for her unhappiness, but it was probably something to do with poverty and the bad behaviour of some man somewhere-just as was the case with the maid at Mr. Moeti's place.

"I have come to see Prudence, Mma," said Mma Ramotswe. "I think this is her house."

The woman gave a reply that sounded like a sigh. "Yes, Mma. This is her place."

The maid gestured to Mma Ramotswe that she should follow her. They went along a corridor and into a room at the side of the house. It was a spa.r.s.ely furnished bedroom with a large cot. Two babies under a year old were sleeping in the cot, one at each end, their small rounded stomachs exposed. In a chair by the window, reading a magazine, was a young woman in jeans and T-shirt. This was Prudence.

Prudence looked up in surprise.

"I have come to see you," said Mma Ramotswe. "My name is Precious Ramotswe. I know..." She glanced at the babies. Should she say, I know their father? I know their father? She decided to say, "I know Charlie." She decided to say, "I know Charlie."

Prudence looked away. She had not got up when Mma Ramotswe had entered, in spite of the difference in their ages. "Oh yes," she said flatly. "Charlie. How is he?"

"He is very well," said Mma Ramotswe.

There was a silence. Then Mma Ramotswe spoke again: "I think you must be cross with him."

Prudence looked up sharply. "Cross with Charlie? Why should I be cross with Charlie?"

Mma Ramotswe glanced at the twins. "The babies..."

Prudence stared at her. "What have they got to do with it?"

Mma Ramotswe was perplexed. "I thought...I heard that Charlie was the father. That is what I heard."

Prudence frowned. "Charlie? Oh no, Charlie is not the father. No, it is not him."

"Some other man then?"

Prudence flicked a page of her magazine. "Yes, some other man. He is a pilot. He flies up in Maun-those small planes that go to the safari camps. He is Kenyan. We're going to get married in a few months-at long last."

"Does Charlie know this?" asked Mma Ramotswe.

"About me getting married?"

"Yes. About the twins...and this other man, this Kenyan."

Prudence shrugged. "He doesn't think he's the father of the babies, does he?"

Mma Ramotswe explained that Charlie had drawn that conclusion, and that was why there had been a rather sudden termination of the relationship.

Prudence listened to her with interest, but without any great show of emotion. "Well, he's wrong," she said once Mma Ramotswe had finished. "I never told him he was the father. I told him I was pregnant-that's all." She looked at Mma Ramotswe to see if she had grasped the distinction. "Listen, Mma, the point is that I had more than one boyfriend then. I know you shouldn't, but it's difficult sometimes when there are all these men knocking on the door. What are you expected to do?"

Mma Ramotswe was about to say, You choose one and you stick to him, You choose one and you stick to him, but she judged it best not to engage. There would be no point in getting into an argument about faithfulness with Prudence; it was too late for her to change, she thought. And there were other people who should tackle her about that. but she judged it best not to engage. There would be no point in getting into an argument about faithfulness with Prudence; it was too late for her to change, she thought. And there were other people who should tackle her about that.

But she could not let the matter pa.s.s altogether. "But you told your parents that Charlie was the father?"

Prudence looked away sulkily. "I didn't say that, Mma. Not exactly. Maybe they thought it themselves-because I was seeing Charlie at the time."

"And they didn't know about the other man...or men?"

Prudence shrugged. "Maybe not."

Mma Ramotswe stared at her. She found it hard to imagine such callousness. She sighed. "I don't think you behaved very well, Mma," she said gently.

Prudence looked at her blankly. Perhaps she simply does not understand, thought Mma Ramotswe. Something was missing.

"Oh well, Mma," she said, "I think that I should be on my way. Charlie says h.e.l.lo, by the way."

"Tell him h.e.l.lo," said Prudence. "Tell him that I think of him a lot. Tell him to come and see me some time, but to phone first."

"I shall," said Mma Ramotswe.

"And if you'd like something to eat," Prudence went on, "I can get you something."

Mma Ramotswe raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Mma, but I am not hungry." She paused. One of the babies had stirred, but only to move an arm. "They are very fine babies, Mma. You must be proud of them."

"They eat a lot," said Prudence. "And I'm having another one, you know."

Mma Ramotswe looked at her watch. "I really must go, Mma. I have a lot of work to do." She did not, but she wanted to leave the house; she wanted to be away from this silly young woman with her casual ways and her utter indifference. How could anybody be so bored bored with life, she wondered, when all about one there were all these with life, she wondered, when all about one there were all these things things happening? happening?

The maid showed her out. As they approached the front door, Mma Ramotswe leaned over and whispered, "Mma, that girl, Prudence, doesn't seem to care very much about things, does she?"

There was a flicker across the maid's otherwise impa.s.sive face. "She is seeing two men. Two men, Mma! One is the man who is going to marry her, the other is another man altogether. I know these things; I see them."

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. "It is very bad."

"She is a bad girl," said the maid. "It is very unfair, Mma. She has all this-she has her good parents and she has their money, their food. And all the time she is bad. It is unfair, Mma."

Mma Ramotswe reached out and took the maid's hand. "Do not feel too sad about it, my sister," she said. "I know what you mean."

The maid looked down at the floor. "Sometimes I think that G.o.d has forgotten about me," she said.

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. "He hasn't, Mma," she whispered. "You must never think that. His love is always there, Mma, always there. And it doesn't matter who we are-if we are poor people or people who have been badly treated-we are every bit as important in G.o.d's eyes as anybody else. Every bit."

The maid listened, but said nothing.

"You heard me, did you, Mma?" asked Mma Ramotswe.

The other woman nodded. "I heard you, Mma."

Mma Ramotswe reached into the pocket of her skirt. Fifty pula-not a small sum. "This is a present, Mma," she said, pressing the banknote into the woman's hand. "No, you must take it. I want you to have it."

The maid tucked the note away. "I have a little boy," she said.

"Then tonight he will have a very good meal, I think," said Mma Ramotswe.

For the first time, the maid smiled.

SHE RETURNED DIRECTLY to the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. Parking her van under the tree, she went not into the office but into the garage, where Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni's legs, together with two other sets of legs, all clad in blue overalls, protruded from under a large green truck. She called out to her husband, who answered from below the vehicle. to the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency. Parking her van under the tree, she went not into the office but into the garage, where Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni's legs, together with two other sets of legs, all clad in blue overalls, protruded from under a large green truck. She called out to her husband, who answered from below the vehicle.

"This is a very tricky repair, Mma," he shouted out, his voice sounding distant under the truck. "I am doing my best, but it is very, very tricky."

"I do not want to disturb you, Rra," she shouted back. "I need to talk to Charlie."

"I am watching Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, Mma," Charlie called out.

"You can go, Charlie," said Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. "Fanwell and I can manage all right."

She watched as Charlie wiggled out from under the truck. He had, she noticed, a large fresh oil stain on the bib of his overalls. She tut-tutted. "You will have to put those in the wash, Charlie. Oil is a very difficult thing. Soak them first, then put them in the wash."

He looked down unconcernedly at the stain. "Oil is nothing, Mma. I do not mind." He looked at her inquisitively. "What do you want, Mma?"

She drew him aside. "I offered to help you, Charlie. Remember?"

He became nervous. His hands shook slightly; you would have to be looking for it, but she noticed it.

"Yes, Mma, you did."

"And I have done that," she went on. "I have been to see Prudence."

She saw his lip was now quivering.

"Yes, Mma?"

"Let me tell you this straightaway, Charlie. You are not the father of those twins. It is another man."

He stared at her wide-eyed. "I am not..."

"No," said Mma Ramotswe. "You see, that girl, Prudence, is very friendly with men. She should watch out."

Charlie started to smile. "I am not the father? Is this true?"

"She thinks it is," said Mma Ramotswe. "And what the mother thinks tends to be the most important thing, I think."

The news seemed to be sinking in slowly. "I do not have twins?"

"You do not."

Charlie shook his head in disbelief. "I am going to be different from now on, Mma Ramotswe. You'll see. I'm going to be different."

"In what way, Charlie?"

"In every way, Mma. I am going to be a different man. More careful. Just one girlfriend. That's all. A better mechanic too."