The Double Comfort Safari Club Part 5

Mr. Polopetsi said that he was pleased to hear this, and Mma Ramotswe thought that he meant it, even if the implication of this news was that Mma Makutsi would stay at her post. She wished she could do more for this mild and inoffensive man, who was always so willing to take on new tasks and who never complained. A great wrong had been done him, she felt, in his imprisonment for the consequences of an error that was not of his making, and in the past she had entertained thoughts of clearing his name. But no longer; it was too long ago and it would be an impossible task. Now he should concentrate on forgetting that nightmare, which she thought was exactly what he was doing. But it would still be a help to give him some sc.r.a.p of status to hang on to ...

"I've been thinking, Rra." She had not-not strictly so-as the thought had just popped into her mind a few seconds ago. "I've been thinking about your position."

He looked at her with that long, hopeful stare that he often used-rather like the mute gaze of a dog that wants his master to feed him.

"Yes," she went on, now thinking quickly. "You know that this is a small business. We do not make much money, and the share we put in of the wage that Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni pays you is very small. You know that?"

He inclined his head slightly. "I know that, Mma. And I am very grateful."

It was typical of him, she thought. Others would resent this arrangement, but he accepted it.

"So we cannot really give you more money. We would like to, but we cannot."

"I know that, Mma. And you must not worry. My wife is helping in a shop now, and she is getting some money too. We are luckier than many. I am not complaining."

Mma Ramotswe nodded. "You do not complain, Rra. You are very good that way. But what I've been thinking about is this. We could give you a new t.i.tle. I thought that we might call you ..." She hesitated. She had thought of Operations Manager, but she knew that Mma Makutsi would object to that. So it would have to be Consultant. That was the word people used to describe the jobs of those who really had no fixed role, and sometimes nothing at all to do. "How about Consultant Detective?" she asked.

Mr. Polopetsi said nothing.

"It is a very good t.i.tle," Mma Ramotswe encouraged him.

He shook his head. "It is kind of you, Mma. But I am happy as I am. You do not have to find a name for me just to make me feel better."

"But ..."

"No, Mma. I do not need that. I am happy to do the work I do. Maybe one day things will change for me, but I do not fret too much about that. I am happy right now. I like fixing cars, you see, and I like doing some work for you too. So what do I lack? I have enough food now. My children are not hungry. They are learning well at school. This is a good country, our Botswana. So why do I need to be a consultant?"

She could not answer, and so she simply looked at him, and he looked back at her. Everything was perfectly understood.

Then he said, "While you were out, there was a telephone call for you. I took it. It was that lady who is your friend, that Mma Mateleke. She said, Could Mma Ramotswe meet me for tea tomorrow morning at ten o'clock? Riverwalk. That cafe she goes to Could Mma Ramotswe meet me for tea tomorrow morning at ten o'clock? Riverwalk. That cafe she goes to. I said that I would ask you and that I would phone her and let her know."

Mma Ramotswe wondered if her friend was in trouble. She had looked ill at ease in church on Sunday, and the thought had crossed her mind that something was troubling Mma Mateleke. Domestic disputes, perhaps? She remembered the story that Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had told her-about rescuing Mma Mateleke's car from the Lobatse Road. He had said something about strange behaviour from some man who drove past, but he had not said much more than that, and she had been cooking at the time rather than listening. Was something going on in the Mateleke household? She would find out, no doubt, at the Riverwalk Cafe tomorrow morning at ten o'clock.

She stopped. Why was it called Riverwalk? Where was the river? The Notwane was nowhere in sight. And the walk?

CHAPTER NINE

RULE 32

IT WAS VERY FORTUNATE that when Mma Ramotswe arrived at the Riverwalk Cafe the next morning she was able to get the table that she wanted. This was in the middle, but also on the edge. This was the best place to be, she thought, because it afforded a good view of the car park as well as of the small market that sprang up each morning to sell brightly coloured garments, necklaces, and a seemingly endless supply of carved wooden hippos. Mma Ramotswe had wondered who bought these carvings, as the stalls never seemed to do any business when she was there; the occasional visitor, perhaps, who felt the need for a hippo; the traveller buying a last-minute present for those left at home-unnecessary purchases, perhaps, but tokens of love that were never unnecessary, never pointless. She had bought a wooden hippo herself one day, only a small one, on impulse, when she had walked past a stall and seen the look of resignation on the stallholder's face. It had not been expensive, and she had not attempted to bargain as the seller expected her to do, but had paid the price asked without demur. The stallholder had cheered up, and Mma Ramotswe had remarked that perhaps business might improve. "There is always somebody to buy something," she said. Yes, she thought, including a somebody who bought a wooden hippo for which she had no real use just because she was soft-hearted. that when Mma Ramotswe arrived at the Riverwalk Cafe the next morning she was able to get the table that she wanted. This was in the middle, but also on the edge. This was the best place to be, she thought, because it afforded a good view of the car park as well as of the small market that sprang up each morning to sell brightly coloured garments, necklaces, and a seemingly endless supply of carved wooden hippos. Mma Ramotswe had wondered who bought these carvings, as the stalls never seemed to do any business when she was there; the occasional visitor, perhaps, who felt the need for a hippo; the traveller buying a last-minute present for those left at home-unnecessary purchases, perhaps, but tokens of love that were never unnecessary, never pointless. She had bought a wooden hippo herself one day, only a small one, on impulse, when she had walked past a stall and seen the look of resignation on the stallholder's face. It had not been expensive, and she had not attempted to bargain as the seller expected her to do, but had paid the price asked without demur. The stallholder had cheered up, and Mma Ramotswe had remarked that perhaps business might improve. "There is always somebody to buy something," she said. Yes, she thought, including a somebody who bought a wooden hippo for which she had no real use just because she was soft-hearted.

The hippo had lain in a drawer of her desk for several days. Each time she opened it, he had looked out at her through the tiny indentations that were his eyes, as if to reproach her for his waterless exile, and she had wondered what to do with him. She had shown it to Mma Makutsi one morning, and her a.s.sistant had looked at her in puzzlement.

"That is a hippo, Mma Ramotswe. You have a hippo."

It had been difficult to contradict. "Yes, it is a small hippo."

Mma Makutsi waited expectantly, but said nothing. Mma Ramotswe had hoped that an admiring remark would have been made; then she would have presented it to her. But no such remark was forthcoming.

"It's very skilfully carved," she said at last. "You can even see his eyes. See? Those little marks there-they are the hippo's eyes."

"They are made by machines," said Mma Makutsi.

"I do not think so, Mma. This is a work of art. There is a sculptor somewhere who makes these animals."

Mma Makutsi shook her head. It was a shake that she gave when she knew that she was on firm ground. "I do not think so, Mma. There is a machine with different b.u.t.tons. If you press one, then you get a hippo like that. And then there is another b.u.t.ton for an elephant, and a giraffe too. They are very clever, these machines."

Mma Ramotswe felt a growing irritation. Mma Makutsi could be very dogmatic, and had been known to defend an indefensible position long after she had been shown to be wrong. These were hand-carvings-they were not the product of some ridiculous machine. No machine could make these curves in wood; no machine could put the eyes in exactly the right place. It was impossible. "You've seen a picture of such a machine, Mma?" she asked.

"You do not need to see pictures of things to know about them," Mma Makutsi answered blandly.

It had been a pointless discussion, and she had replaced the hippo in the drawer. It was not her fault if Mma Makutsi could not appreciate art, and could not tell the difference between handmade and machine-made objects. Yet as she replaced the hippo, she sneaked a look under its belly. Made in China Made in China would have settled the argument in favour of Mma Makutsi, but there was no such label, and she was rea.s.sured. would have settled the argument in favour of Mma Makutsi, but there was no such label, and she was rea.s.sured.

Later that day she gave the hippo to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. "I have bought you a present," she said. "I spotted it at that market at Riverwalk."

He took the hippo in his hands and examined it carefully. "It is very beautiful," he said. "I am very happy with it. It will be a ... a treasure."

"You'll see that even the eyes are just right," said Mma Ramotswe. "Look at how they have made the eyes."

Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni peered at the hippo. "Very accurate," he said. "I wonder if they have a machine to help them do that, Mma? Do you think so?"

Now, sitting at her table in the Riverwalk Cafe, waiting for her meeting with Mma Mateleke, she let her gaze wander over the nearest stall. There were no carved hippos-fortunately-but clothes: shirts, dresses, and ap.r.o.ns. A breeze caught one of the shirts and filled it with air for a few moments, and she watched it moving, writhing, as if it were worn by a ghost, now a sedately dancing ghost, now the ghost of an agitated contortionist.

She was watching the shirt when Mma Mateleke arrived. She was late, she explained, because of a baby who had been unwilling to be born. "Sometimes," she said, "I think that there are some babies who know something about the world. They say, I don't think I want to go out there!" I don't think I want to go out there!"

Mma Ramotswe laughed. "Sometimes it is not easy to be born into this world."

"But would we prefer it to be otherwise?" asked Mma Mateleke, settling herself into her chair.

"No," said Mma Ramotswe. "We are very lucky to be alive."

For a moment Mma Mateleke, who had been smiling, hesitated, her smile fading.

Mma Ramotswe noticed. "You don't feel lucky to be alive just now?"

Mma Mateleke sighed. "It's better than not being alive, I suppose. But there are times when ... well, there are times when ..." She did not finish her sentence. The waitress had appeared and they gave their orders, Mma Mateleke having coffee and Mma Ramotswe red bush tea. The waitress scribbled down the order and went off. Mma Ramotswe looked at her friend.

"You're unhappy, Mma?"

Mma Mateleke did not answer immediately. She was seated directly opposite Mma Ramotswe, on the other side of the table, but her eyes were focused elsewhere, looking out into the distance, to the tops of the gum trees lining the road beyond the car park.

"I am happy sometimes, Mma. Then, at other times, I am not happy." She looked at Mma Ramotswe, as if searching for confirmation. "I think that is probably how it is for most people."

Mma Ramotswe nodded. "Yes," she agreed, "there are times when I am unhappy and times when I am happy. There are more happy times than unhappy ones, I think."

"Perhaps," said Mma Mateleke.

Mma Ramotswe waited for her to say something more, but the other woman was now looking down at the ground, and did not seem to be ready to add to what she had said. "I think that you are unhappy now," she said, adding, "even if at other times you are happy."

It was not a remark to take the discussion much further-Mma Ramotswe was aware of that-but it seemed to move something within Mma Mateleke. "Oh, Mma Ramotswe," she said, "I am very unhappy. I am very unhappy with my husband."

Mma Ramotswe reached out and laid a hand on her friend's arm. "So, Mma, that's what it is. It is the same thing that makes so many women unhappy." And it was; she knew that only too well in her profession. How many women had made their way into her office and started off the consultation with, It is my husband, Mma? It is my husband, Mma? How many? She had made no attempt to count them, although the answer could be obtained easily enough by looking through the file that Mma Makutsi kept ent.i.tled How many? She had made no attempt to count them, although the answer could be obtained easily enough by looking through the file that Mma Makutsi kept ent.i.tled Unfaithful Husbands Unfaithful Husbands. In this file her a.s.sistant entered the details of every consultation, every investigation, of such a matter. "It is a very thick file," Mma Makutsi had once observed. "This is a file that any man should be ashamed to see."

Mma Ramotswe spoke gently. "He is not behaving well?"

Mma Mateleke shut her eyes. She shook her head slowly. She bit her lip.

"So," said Mma Ramotswe. "He is being unkind?"

This brought a shaking of the head. "No, Mma. He is a generous man. He always gives me as much money as I ask for. It is not that."

Mma Ramotswe hesitated. An accusation of adultery was a serious matter, even if made in the context of a private consultation, which this effectively was. "He is ... He's involved with another woman?"

Mma Mateleke looked up. "You've heard that too, Mma?"

"No. I was asking you a question."

Mma Mateleke looked disappointed, or so Mma Ramotswe thought, although she quickly realised that she must have misread her friend's expression; a wife does not wish to hear news of her husband's unfaithfulness.

"I think he's having an affair," said Mma Mateleke. "I think there is another woman somewhere. Some younger woman. Some younger, glamorous woman."

"Do you know who she is?" asked Mma Ramotswe. Violet Sephotho? She had briefly entertained such a possibility in the cathedral, but no, surely not-that would be too much of a coincidence-but it would be somebody like like Violet Sephotho, no doubt. Gaborone was full of aspiring Violet Sephothos. Violet Sephotho, no doubt. Gaborone was full of aspiring Violet Sephothos.

Mma Mateleke shook her head. "No. I have not heard her name."

"What do you know about her? Do you know where she lives?"

Mma Mateleke shrugged. "I have not seen her. In fact, Mma, I have no actual proof. All I'm saying to you is that I think think that he's having an affair. You're the one who can find the proof for me." that he's having an affair. You're the one who can find the proof for me."

The waitress arrived and placed a tray down on the table. She was a young woman, barely into her twenties, and she seemed keen to please. Mma Mateleke seemed indifferent to her, but Mma Ramotswe thanked her, and told her that the tea smelled very good. The waitress smiled wordlessly and went back inside.

Mma Ramotswe warned her friend about jumping to conclusions. "It's a very common fear for us women," she said. "Most women worry that their husband's eye might start to wander. And his hands too, Mma. That's natural enough. But you shouldn't imagine that he's having an affair unless you have some reason to think that. Have you got any reasons?"

"Reasons? You're asking me for reasons? I'm telling you, Mma, any woman whose husband is carrying on just knows knows what's going on. You feel it. He sits there smiling and you think, what's going on. You feel it. He sits there smiling and you think, What has he got to smile about? What has he got to smile about? And then you suddenly find out that he has bought himself some of that aftershave stuff and is putting it on his face. You think, And then you suddenly find out that he has bought himself some of that aftershave stuff and is putting it on his face. You think, So why is he putting that stuff on now when he never used to put it on? Never? So why is he putting that stuff on now when he never used to put it on? Never? That is the sort of thing you think, Mma, and it all adds up. Then you say to yourself, That is the sort of thing you think, Mma, and it all adds up. Then you say to yourself, He is having an affair-I know it." He is having an affair-I know it."

Mma Ramotswe felt unhappy about the lack of proof, but that was as a detective. As a woman she knew exactly what Mma Mateleke was talking about, and she knew, too, that her fears were likely to be well founded. Men had affairs; that is what men did, and even if she had previously a.s.sumed that Herbert Mateleke was a settled, rather conservative man, she had to admit that even settled, conservative men had affairs. In fact, they were often the worst of all.

There was another thing that was worrying her. Herbert Mateleke might not be a close friend, but he was the husband of a friend, and that was worrying. Clovis Andersen had advice to give on this topic and, as usual, it was wise counsel. Do not act for friends if you can possibly avoid it Do not act for friends if you can possibly avoid it, he wrote in The Principles of Private Detection The Principles of Private Detection. And then he continued, And the reason for this? Experience has taught me that if you act for a friend you will take the friend's perspective on things. You will see things that the friend wants you to see because you are emotionally involved in the case. So here is Rule 32: Remember when to say no to a case. Better to lose a fee than to lose a friend And the reason for this? Experience has taught me that if you act for a friend you will take the friend's perspective on things. You will see things that the friend wants you to see because you are emotionally involved in the case. So here is Rule 32: Remember when to say no to a case. Better to lose a fee than to lose a friend.

Mma Ramotswe sipped at her tea. Mma Mateleke had yet to ask her to investigate on her behalf, but she was sure that such a request was coming. And it was.

"I know that you are very busy, Mma Ramotswe," said Mma Mateleke, adding, "Everybody is busy these days. The whole of Botswana is busy."

Mma Ramotswe considered this last observation. Was the whole of Botswana busy? Certainly people seemed busy enough in Gaborone, but she was not so sure about the country areas. In fact, there were many people out in the country who did not appear very busy at all. These were the people who sat outside their houses and watched the cattle amble past, or those who stood under trees and spoke with friends, or who put a chair somewhere in the sun and then sat on it. And that, surely, was how life should be. What was the point of rushing around as if everything had to be done today when there was plenty of time ahead of you, years and years, if you were lucky?

"But even if you are busy," Mma Mateleke continued, "you might still find the time to do this favour I'm asking of you, my sister."

My sister-the two words were very powerful, and Mma Ramotswe knew it. This was an appeal to something that went beyond the normal incidence of friendship. This was an appeal to the African sense of mutual help, and the duty to give such help. You did not call somebody your sister unless you believed in all that-as Mma Ramotswe did. And Mma Mateleke, of course, knew that Mma Ramotswe believed.

"You can ask me," said Mma Ramotswe, "and I shall say yes." The words came out almost without having been thought about, but she knew that she was bound by them.

Mma Mateleke, who had been sitting with shoulders hunched in tension, now relaxed. "Please will you find this evidence that I need. Please will you find who is this woman he is having an affair with. Her name. Where she lives. What she looks like. It will not be hard for you."

Mma Ramotswe had to acknowledge that it would not. It was difficult to conceal an affair in Gaborone, as there were not all that many places to go, and where there were a thousand eyes and ears. If Herbert Mateleke was seeing somebody else, then she would find out quite quickly. There was something, though, that was still troubling her, and she now raised this with her friend. "May I ask you, Mma, what you intend to do with the information, once you have it? I always ask clients that-it is not just you."

This inquiry seemed to take Mma Mateleke by surprise; it was as if the answer were so obvious that the question need not have been asked. "It is so that I can divorce him," she said abruptly. "Why else would I want to know?"

Several other reasons crossed Mma Ramotswe's mind, but she did not reveal them. So that you might forgive him, she thought. So that you might plead with the other woman not to break up your marriage, and might succeed. So that you might reflect on why he feels it necessary to have an extramarital affair in the first place.

"Very well," said Mma Ramotswe. "I will look into this. I don't think that it will take long. And ..." She hesitated.

"And what, Mma?"

"And it may be that Herbert is innocent," she said. "After all, some men are, you know."

CHAPTER TEN

SOME PEOPLE JUST SIT IN THEIR CARS

MMA RAMOTSWE was in a thoughtful mood when she returned to the office. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni-and Mma Potokwane too, for that matter-had occasionally said that she had a soft heart and that "no" was not one of the words that her heart understood. She had laughed at the appraisal; in her view, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was every bit as soft-hearted as she was-he would never turn anybody away, and would fix even the most mechanically hopeless cars-and as for Mma Potokwane, well, everybody knew that she would do anything for those orphans she looked after, and if that was not a sign of a soft heart, then what was? So although she knew that she should have declined to help Mma Mateleke, she also knew that she could not refuse her friend. But she did not relish the task that lay ahead of her, as it would involve watching somebody she knew, and that was not a good idea. was in a thoughtful mood when she returned to the office. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni-and Mma Potokwane too, for that matter-had occasionally said that she had a soft heart and that "no" was not one of the words that her heart understood. She had laughed at the appraisal; in her view, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was every bit as soft-hearted as she was-he would never turn anybody away, and would fix even the most mechanically hopeless cars-and as for Mma Potokwane, well, everybody knew that she would do anything for those orphans she looked after, and if that was not a sign of a soft heart, then what was? So although she knew that she should have declined to help Mma Mateleke, she also knew that she could not refuse her friend. But she did not relish the task that lay ahead of her, as it would involve watching somebody she knew, and that was not a good idea.

It was easy enough watching a stranger. One could sit in one's van and pretend to be reading, or even sleeping. Plenty of people did that: they sat in their cars, talking to friends or listening to the car radio, or even just sitting. n.o.body would have reason to be suspicious of that. But if one sat in one's van outside the house of somebody one knew, and then followed him as he turned out of the drive, one would obviously be noticed. She imagined the scene, as Herbert Mateleke asked her, "Mma Ramotswe, I saw you sitting outside my house yesterday afternoon. It was you, wasn't it? I'm sure it was. And then when I drove off down the road, you followed me. Perhaps you wanted me to show you the way, Mma ..." And she would not know what to say, but would mumble something about how small the town was, in spite of being so big, and how easy it was to b.u.mp into people one knew along the road, just as easy, in fact, as in one of those tiny villages ...

By the time she had reached the shared premises of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency and Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, she had decided that she could not possibly follow Herbert Mateleke, and that the only thing to do was to stick to the procedure that she used in so many of her cases. If she wanted to find out the answer to anything, then she simply had to ask somebody. It was that simple, it really was, and she had done this on numerous occasions, with conspicuously successful results. Sometimes the answer she received was direct; on other occasions it was not so direct, but was nonetheless unambiguous. She remembered how, in one investigation into pilfering in an office-disappearing petty cash and so on-she had simply called the staff to attend a meeting. Then, as they all stood before her, some twelve people, she had said, "Now then, everybody, the manager says that money has been stolen, and I wonder who's doing it?" And immediately all pairs of eyes had turned and looked at one member of staff, who had stared steadfastly at the ground. People know, she thought; they know things that they might be unwilling to say. n.o.body in that office would have been willing to denounce the offender openly, but we reveal so much through our eyes. Our eyes, she thought, show what is in the heart.

That experience, called to mind as she made her way into the office, pointed the way. Yes, she would go and speak to Herbert Mateleke and talk to him about somebody else having an affair, and his eyes would give her all the information she needed. After that, she might be in a position to ask him, rather more directly, whether she could help him in any way with any difficulties he was experiencing. But then there would be an additional problem: he might speak to her in confidence, and that would mean that she could not reveal what he said to Mma Mateleke, and she was now, in a way, her client, and ... and all that underlined the fact that she should not have said yes in the first place. She sighed; Clovis Andersen was useful, but he usually only came up with general propositions. There was nowhere in the book where you could go and get concrete advice about a situation such as this. Oh, to be able to speak to somebody like Clovis Andersen in person-but he was somewhere far away, and he would never have heard of Mma Ramotswe and the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, nor of Botswana, perhaps, and he might even be late by now. The back cover of The Principles of Private Detection The Principles of Private Detection, so well thumbed in the hands of Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi, said nothing about who the author was, other than to describe him as a "man of vast experience in the field," and to show a photograph of a man with greying hair and a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles. That was all; there was no mention of an office, or a place, or a family; and the photograph had no background to give any clue as to where he was-which was deliberate, perhaps. The great Clovis Andersen would not want people like her, she thought, pestering him with questions about how to deal with the husband of a friend who might be having an affair, or who might simply be trying to escape a nagging wife, as some husbands were known to do.

Mma Makutsi, now back from compa.s.sionate leave, would not have guessed that her employer had been entertaining these doubts. Mma Ramotswe did not believe in burdening others with her worries, and so she greeted her a.s.sistant with a cheery smile and a suggestion that she might think of putting on the kettle for late-morning tea. She had just had tea, of course, but that had been a business cup of tea, and that did not count.