“He never does any work for his mechanical exams,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He gets very bad results. It's his own fault.”
“He'll qualify one day,” said Mma Potokwane. “Even if he doesn't get… what is the figure again, Mma?”
“Ninety-seven per cent,” answered Mma Ramotswe.
They both laughed. Then Mma Potokwane made tea, which she served with several slices of fruit cake. They drank three cups of tea each, and then, after a final slice of fruit cake-a small one-Mma Ramotswe got into her new blue van and drove back into town.
In the office, Mma Makutsi greeted her with the look that said, You've missed something.
“Somebody has been in, Mma Makutsi?”
“Yes. That woman.”
Mma Ramotswe looked blank.
“That Sephotho woman.”
She had not expected that. “Violet?” Perhaps she had come in to threaten them; she would not put that past her.
“No, the other one. Lily Sephotho. The one with two husbands.”
Mma Ramotswe sat down at her desk. It was turning into an eventful day, what with her successful resolution of the Molofololo case and now the return of the woman with two husbands.
“And what did she report, Mma?”
Mma Makutsi was evidently enjoying herself. “She reported that she had done as we told her to. She had confessed to both husbands. And she said that both were very angry and threw her out. Our idea of choosing the one who was most forgiving was not a very good one. Neither was prepared to forgive.”
Mma Ramotswe spread her hands in a gesture of resignation. “That really is her own fault, Mma. I'm sorry to say it, but it's her own fault. So what now?”
Mma Makutsi's enjoyment increased. “Well, it gets better, Mma. She confessed to me that she hadn't really told us the whole truth. She hadn't told us that there was a third husband. She hadn't mentioned him because she was too embarrassed.”
“And this husband? What about him?”
“She says that she has learned her lesson, and she is keeping him. So she now has only one husband and everything has worked out well.”
“She is a very foolish woman,” said Mma Ramotswe. She stopped. Of course Lily Sephotho was foolish, but were we not all foolish, in one way or another, and did we not all deserve a second, or even a third chance?
Mma Ramotswe turned round. “Well, I hope now that she is happy. Happier than her daughter at least…”
Mma Makutsi shook her head. “No, she is not Violet's mother, Mma Ramotswe. I asked her about that, and she is an entirely different Sephotho. It is a coincidence that they both have names of flowers.”
Mma Ramotswe got to her feet. “Well, Mma Makutsi,” she said. “That settles all that. And everything else is settled, I think, which is how we really like it to be: settled. We are settled ladies, I think.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “So now we should get ready.”
“For what, Mma?”
“It is almost lunch time, and I would like to treat you to lunch at the President Hotel.”
“The President Hotel!”
“Why not, Mma? We have earned a big fee from Mr. Molofololo. We have sorted out at least one person called Sephotho, even if we have not sorted out the other one. And we are happy about all that, are we not?”
Mma Makutsi rose to her feet. She was wearing her new shoes, and she rather liked the idea of showing them off at the President Hotel. People appreciated shoes like that down there. “We are, Mma. Yes, we are happy.”
“So let us go, Mma Makutsi, before all the tables are taken.”
They drove down to the centre of the town, parking the blue van at the back of the hotel. Then, as they were climbing the stairs at the front, Mma Ramotswe looked out, over to the east, and drew Mma Makutsi's attention to the clouds that had just appeared. They were distant purple clouds, and they meant rain, the longed-for rain that would start the growing season, would wake the land again.
“Look,” she said.
Mma Makutsi looked. “Good,” she said.
There was nothing more to be said. It was good.
And at the table, in that silence as they contemplated the menu, Mma Makutsi's shoes suddenly addressed her. Well, this is nice, we must say!
Mma Ramotswe looked up from the menu. “Did you say something, Mma?”
Mma Makutsi, who had been concentrating on choosing her lunch, had not been listening; after all, talkative shoes could not expect a constantly attentive audience. So she said nothing, but noticed, when she looked up, that the rain clouds had moved across the sky with great speed, and now they were not far away, over Mochudi perhaps, or nearby, and the great veils of rain that dropped from those high clouds were now descending, like the traces of a giant brush across the canvas of the sky. And it was her turn to point and Mma Ramotswe's turn to look, and she said, “That is the smell of rain, Mma.”
Mma Ramotswe said, “Yes it is, Mma Makutsi. It is the smell of rain, the lovely smell of rain.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Alexander McCall Smith is the author of the international phenomenon The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, the Isabel Dalhousie series, the Portuguese Irregular Verbs series, and the 44 Scotland Street series. He is professor emeritus of medical law at the University of Edinburgh in Scotland and has served on many national and international bodies concerned with bioethics. He was born in what is now known as Zimbabwe and was a law professor at the University of Botswana. He lives in Scotland.
