Александр Макколл Смит - The Handsome Man's De Luxe Café

‘It was a long meeting,’ he said. ‘But now… that smell, Mma! That is a very fine stew.’ He sniffed at the air. ‘It is enough to make me forget all about the meeting.’

‘I have had a long day too,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Some big things happened today – just as I told you they would.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni went to the fridge and took out a small bottle of beer. Mma Ramotswe did not drink, but she kept a supply of cold beers for her husband for this sort of occasion.

He sat down at the kitchen table, the opened bottle of beer before him. ‘So,’ he began, ‘this very important day of yours – I’m listening.’

She told him about the visit of Mr Sengupta and his sister.

‘I know that person,’ he interrupted. ‘He is a charitable man: the Lions Club and so on. And I seem to remember Mma Potokwani telling me that he gave her five or six boxes of notebooks and crayons for the children to use.’

‘I am not surprised to hear that,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘He has taken in this poor woman who has lost her memory. That is another example of his kindness, it seems.’

She retold the story of the Indian woman and her plight. Mr J. L. B. Matekoni listened intently, and shook his head in disbelief. ‘It seems very unlikely, Mma. Surely…’

‘Dr Moffat said it can happen,’ she said.

‘Oh, I’ve heard of it, of course,’ said Mr J. L. B. Matekoni, taking a sip of his beer. ‘But I’ve always thought it was one of those things that people talked about but nobody ever came across. Like tokoloshes and such things.’

He used the common word for malignant spirits – the sort of thing that people would talk about when they were frightening one another around the campfire. He knew, of course, that there were no such things as tokoloshes , but when one was alone at night, on a remote path perhaps, when the sounds of the bush about you were magnified by the darkness, and there were no lights nor moon for comfort, then it was only too easy to believe in the things that you did not believe in. Even the bravest among us would feel a little frightened in such circumstances, and Mr J. L. B. Matekoni knew that most of us are not quite as brave as we would like to be – although sometimes we can surprise ourselves in that regard.

Mma Ramotswe did not want to talk about tokoloshes . She finished her account of the Sengupta visit and then went on to tell him about Mma Makutsi’s telephone call.

‘I knew that there was something going on,’ she said. ‘After Mr Sengupta and his sister had left, she kept looking at her watch. When she went out to fetch some fat cakes for her lunch, she was keen that I should stay and take a message if there was a phone call. She said she was waiting to hear from her lawyer.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni raised an eyebrow. ‘Her lawyer? Is she in trouble?’

‘No, it was nothing like that. And there was no phone call while she was out. It came an hour or so later.’

‘And?’

Mma Ramotswe had been looking forward to breaking the news. ‘You won’t believe it, Rra.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni took another sip of his beer. ‘She’s going into parliament?’

‘No.’

‘She’s being sent into space?’

Mma Ramotswe laughed, and for a few moments imagined Mma Makutsi in a space suit, her large glasses perched on the outside of her helmet. ‘No, she is not going into space, although I am sure she would be good at doing what people who go into space do. Is there filing to be done up there? If there is, then she would do it very well.’

‘The papers would float about,’ said Mr J. L. B. Matekoni. ‘It is not easy to file when there is no gravity. Even Mma Makutsi would find it hard, I think.’

‘I have every faith in her,’ she said, adding, ‘now that she is a full partner.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. He had voiced reservations about the over-promotion of Mma Makutsi, but had not pressed his views on Mma Ramotswe – the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency was her business, not his. ‘Sometimes,’ he had said, choosing his words carefully, ‘sometimes you have to be cautious about promoting people. Once you promote them you can’t really demote them.’ He paused. ‘It is easier to go up a hill than to come down again.’

Mma Ramotswe had looked puzzled. ‘Are you sure of that, Rra? Isn’t it easier to come down a hill, because it’s downhill? Surely going uphill is more effort.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni gave this some thought. ‘What I meant to say is that once you cook meat, you can’t uncook it. That is what I really meant to say, Mma.’

‘And that is true, I think,’ said Mma Ramotswe.

‘Well,’ said Mr J. L. B. Matekoni. ‘There you are, then.’

It had not been the most satisfactory of discussions, but even taking his warning into account she had still felt that it was the right thing to do to offer Mma Makutsi a partnership. She remembered their discussion now, though, as she told him about Mma Makutsi’s phone call.

‘Anyway, Rra, this call of hers came through at last, and it was her lawyer, as she had said it would be. He is a lawyer with a very loud voice…’

‘That is the best sort of lawyer,’ said Mr J. L. B. Matekoni. ‘A lawyer who speaks so softly that nobody can hear him is no use.’

‘Well, his voice was loud enough for me to hear what he said to her. It came over clearly, even though he was talking at the other end of a telephone line.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni looked at her expectantly. ‘And, Mma?’

‘And he said: “You’ve got it, Mma.” And she shouted, “I’ve got it? Are you sure I’ve got it?” And he said, “One hundred per cent sure” —’

‘Not ninety-seven per cent?’ interrupted Mr J. L. B. Matekoni.

‘No, one hundred per cent sure. And all the time I couldn’t help listening – I don’t like to listen to other people’s conversations, but when one of them is in the room with you and the other has a very loud voice…’ She looked at Mr J. L. B. Matekoni for support, and he said, ‘Of course, Mma. You could not help overhearing – you need not feel guilty about that.’

Mma Ramotswe continued with her story. ‘When she rang off she leaped up from her chair and did a little dance. It was an unusual dance, Rra – not one I have ever seen before – but you could tell that it was the dance of somebody who was very happy about something.’

‘About getting this… this whatever it was she got?’

‘A restaurant,’ said Mma Ramotswe. ‘Mma Makutsi told me after she had finished her dance. She has bought a restaurant. She is going to continue to work in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, of course, but in her spare time she will be running a restaurant. It will be her extra business.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni’s eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘Ow!’ he said.

Mma Ramotswe shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to think, Rra. I’m not sure if I should be thinking “ow” as well, or whether I should be thinking something else altogether.’

Mr J. L. B. Matekoni started to smile. ‘It will be a strange restaurant, Mma, if Mma Makutsi is running it.’

Mma Ramotswe suppressed a grin. He was right, of course, but there were issues of loyalty here. For all her quirks, Mma Makutsi was her colleague and friend; more than that, she was a woman, and there were still those men who looked with condescension on the business aspirations of women. Mr J. L. B. Matekoni was not like that, naturally, but Mma Ramotswe felt that she should not be too quick to call into doubt the business ambitions of another woman. Even to think ‘ow’ might be going too far, and so she did not grin, but instead said, ‘I’m sure that Mma Makutsi knows what’s she’s doing, Rra. After all, if you get ninety-seven per cent, then you must have a good head on your shoulders.’