Morality for Beautiful Girls (19 page)

“But it is very good,” said Patricia. “You are very lucky, Mma, to be pretty and clever too.”

Mma Makutsi was at a loss for words. She had not been called pretty before, or not by a stranger. Her aunts had said that she should try to make something of what looks she had, and her mother had made a similar remark; but nobody had called her pretty, except this young woman, still in her late teens, who was herself so obviously pretty.

“You are very kind,” she said.

“She is a kind girl,” said the mother. “She has always been a kind girl.”

Mma Makutsi smiled. “Good,” she said. “And do you know something? I think that she has a very good chance of winning that competition. In fact, I am sure that she is going to win. I am sure of it.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE FIRST STEP

M
MA RAMOTSWE returned to Gaborone on the morning of her conversation with the cook. There had been further conversations—prolonged in one case—with other members of the household. She had talked to the new wife, who had listened gravely, and had hung her head. She had spoken to the old woman, who had been proud at first, and unbending, but who had eventually acknowledged the truth of what Mma Ramotswe had told her and had agreed with her in the end. And then she had confronted the brother, who had stared at her open-mouthed, but who had taken his cue from his mother, who had intruded into the conversation and told him sharply where his duty lay. At the end of it Mma Ramotswe felt raw; she had taken such risks, but her intuition had proved her correct and her strategy had paid off. There was only one more person to speak to now, and that person was back in Gaborone and he, she feared, might not be so easy.

The drive back was a pleasant one. The previous day’s rains had already had an effect and there was a tinge of green across the land. In one or two places, there were puddles of water in which the sky was reflected in patches of silver blue. And the dust had been laid, which was perhaps most refreshing of all; that omnipresent, fine dust that towards the end of the dry season would get everywhere, clogging everything up and making one’s clothes stiff and uncomfortable.

She drove straight back to Zebra Drive, where the children greeted her excitedly, the boy rushing round the tiny white van with whoops of delight and the girl propelling her wheelchair out onto the drive to meet her. And in the kitchen window, staring out at her, the face of Rose, her maid, who had looked after the children over her brief absence.

Rose made tea while Mma Ramotswe heard the children tell her of what had happened at school. There had been a competition and a classmate had won a prize of a fifty pula book token. One of the teachers had broken his arm and had appeared with the injured limb in a sling. A girl in one of the junior classes had eaten a whole tube of toothpaste and had been sick, which was only to be expected, was it not?

But there was other news. Mma Makutsi had telephoned from the office and had asked Mma Ramotswe to call back the moment she arrived home, which she had thought would be the following day.

“She sounded very excited,” said Rose. “She said there was something important she wanted to talk to you about.”

A steaming cup of bush tea before her, Mma Ramotswe dialled the number of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, the number shared by the two offices. The telephone rang for some time before she heard the familiar voice of Mma Makutsi.

“The No. 1 Tlokweng Road …” she began. “No. The No. 1 Speedy Ladies’ …”

“It’s just me, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And I know what you mean.”

“I am always getting the two mixed up,” said Mma Makutsi, laughing. “That’s what comes of trying to run two businesses at the same time.”

“I am sure that you have been running both very well,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“Well, yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “In fact, I telephoned you to tell you that I have just collected a very large fee. Two thousand pula for one case. The client was very happy.”

“You have done very well,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I shall come in later and see just how well you have done. But first I would like you to arrange an appointment for me. Telephone that Government Man and tell him that he must come and see me at four o’clock.”

“And if he’s busy?”

“Tell him that he cannot be busy. Tell him that this matter is too important to wait.”

She finished her tea and then ate a large meat sandwich which Rose had prepared for her. Mma Ramotswe had got out of the habit of a cooked lunch, except at weekends, and was happy with a snack or a glass of milk. She had a taste for sugar, however, and this meant that a doughnut or a cake might follow the sandwich. She was a traditionally built lady, after all, and she did not have to worry about dress size, unlike those poor, neurotic people who were always looking in mirrors and thinking that they were too big. What was too big, anyway? Who was to tell another person what size they should be? It was a form of dictatorship, by the thin, and she was not having any of it. If these thin people became any more insistent, then the more generously sized people would just have to sit on them. Yes, that would teach them! Hah!

It was shortly before three when she arrived at the office. The apprentices were busy with a car, but greeted her warmly and with none of the sullen resentment which had so annoyed her in the past.

“You’re very busy,” she said. “That is a very nice car that you’re fixing there.”

The older apprentice wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “It is a wonderful car. It belongs to a lady. Do you know that all the ladies are bringing their cars here now? We are so busy that we will need to take on apprentices ourselves! That will be a fine thing! We shall have desks and an office and there will be apprentices running round doing what we tell them to do.”

“You are a very amusing young man,” said Mma Ramotswe, smiling. “But do not get too big for your boots. Remember that you are just an apprentice and that the lady in there with the glasses is the boss now.”

The apprentice laughed. “She is a good boss. We like her.” He paused for a moment, looking intently at Mma Ramotswe. “But what about Mr J.L.B. Matekoni? Is he getting better?”

“It is too early to say,” Mma Ramotswe replied. “Dr Moffat said that these pills could take two weeks. We have a few days to wait before we can tell.”

“He is being well looked after?”

Mma Ramotswe nodded. The fact that the apprentice had asked that question was a good sign. It suggested that he was beginning to take an interest in the welfare of others. Perhaps he was growing up. Perhaps it was something to do with Mma Makutsi, who might have been teaching them a bit about morality as well as a bit about hard work.

She entered the office, to find Mma Makutsi on the telephone. She finished the conversation quickly and rose to greet her employer.

“Here it is,” said Mma Makutsi, handing a piece of paper to Mma Ramotswe.

Mma Ramotswe looked at the cheque. Two thousand pula, it seemed, awaited the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency at the Standard Bank. And at the bottom of the cheque was the well-known name that made Mma Ramotswe draw in her breath.

“The beauty contest man … ?”

“That’s him,” said Mma Makutsi. “He was the client.”

Mma Ramotswe tucked the cheque safely away in her bodice. Modern business methods were all very well, she thought, but when it came to the safeguarding of money there were some places which had yet to be bettered.

“You must have worked very quickly,” said Mma Ramotswe. “What was the problem? Wife difficulties?”

“No,” said Mma Makutsi. “It was all about beautiful girls and the finding of a beautiful girl who could be trusted.”

“Very intriguing,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And you obviously found one.”

“Yes,” said Mma Makutsi. “I found the right one to win his competition.”

Mma Ramotswe was puzzled, but there was not enough time to go into it as she had to prepare herself for her four o’clock appointment. Over the next hour, she dealt with the mail, helped Mma Makutsi file papers relating to the garage, and drank a quick cup of bush tea. By the time that the large black car drew up outside the office and disgorged the Government Man, the office was tidy and organised and Mma Makutsi, seated primly behind her desk, was pretending to type a letter.

“SO!” SAID the Government Man, leaning back in the chair and folding his hands across his stomach. “You didn’t stay very long up there. I take it that you managed to catch that poisoner. I very much hope that you did!”

Mma Ramotswe glanced at Mma Makutsi. They were used to male arrogance, but this far surpassed the normal such display.

“I spent exactly as much time up there as I needed to, Rra,” she said calmly. “Then I came back to discuss the case with you.”

The Government Man’s lip curled. “I want an answer, Mma. I have not come to conduct a long conversation.”

The typewriter clicked sharply in the background. “In that case,” said Mma Ramotswe, “you can go back to your office. You either want to hear what I have to say, or you don’t.”

The Government Man was silent. Then he spoke, his voice lowered. “You are a very insolent woman. Perhaps you do not have a husband who can teach you how to speak to men with respect.”

The noise from the typewriter rose markedly.

“And perhaps you need a wife who can teach you how to speak to women with respect,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But do not let me hold you up. The door is there, Rra. It is open. You can go now.”

The Government Man did not move.

“Did you hear what I said, Rra? Am I going to have to throw you out? I have got two young men out there who are very strong from all that work with engines. Then there is Mma Makutsi, whom you didn’t even greet by the way, and there is me. That makes four people. Your driver is an old man. You are outnumbered, Rra.”

Still the Government Man did not move. His eyes now were fixed on the floor.

“Well, Rra?” Mma Ramotswe drummed her fingers on the table.

The Government Man looked up.

“I am sorry, Mma. I have been rude.”

“Thank you,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Now, after you have greeted Mma Makutsi properly, in the traditional way, please, then we shall begin.”

“I AM going to tell you a story,” said Mma Ramotswe to the Government Man. “This story begins when there was a family with three sons. The father was very pleased that his firstborn was a son and he gave him everything that he wanted. The mother of this boy was also pleased that she had borne a boy for her husband, and she also made a fuss of this boy. Then another boy was born, and it was very sad for them when they realised that this boy had something wrong with his head. The mother heard what people were saying behind her back, that the reason why the boy was like that was that she had been with another man while she was pregnant. This was not true, of course, but all those wicked words cut and cut at her and she was ashamed to be seen out. But that boy was happy; he liked to be with cattle and to count them, although he could not count very well.

“The firstborn was very clever and did well. He went to Gaborone and he became well-known in politics. But as he became more powerful and well-known, he became more and more arrogant.

“But another son had been born. The firstborn was very happy with this, and he loved that younger boy. But underneath the love, there was fear that this new boy would take away the love that he himself had in the family and that the father would prefer him. Everything that the father did was seen as a sign that he preferred this youngest son, which was not true, of course, because the old man loved all his sons.

“When the youngest son took a wife, the firstborn was very angry. He did not tell anybody that he was angry, but that anger was bubbling away inside him. He was too proud to talk to anybody about it, because he had become so important and so big. He thought that this new wife would take his brother away from him, and then he would be left with nothing. He thought that she would try to take away their farm and all their cattle. He did not bother to ask himself whether this was true.

“He began to believe that she was planning to kill his brother, the brother whom he loved so much. He could not sleep for thinking of this, because there was so much hate growing up within him. So at last he went to see a certain lady—and I am that lady—and asked her to go and find proof that this was what was happening. He thought in this way that she might help him to get rid of the brother’s wife.

“The lady did not know then what lay behind all this, and so she went up to stay with this unhappy family on their farm. She spoke to them all and she found out that nobody was trying to kill anybody and that all this talk about poison had come up only because there was an unhappy cook who got his herbs mixed up. This man had been made unhappy by the brother because he had been forced to do things that he did not want to do. So the lady from Gaborone spoke to all the members of the family, one by one. Then she came back to Gaborone and spoke to the brother. He was very rude to her, because he had developed habits of rudeness and because he always got his own way. But she realised that under the skin of a bully there is always a person who is frightened and unhappy. And this lady thought that she would speak to that frightened and unhappy person.

“She knew, of course, that he would be unable to speak to his own family himself, and so she had done so for him. She told the family how he felt, and how his love for his brother had made him act jealously. The wife of his brother understood and she promised that she would do everything in her power to make him feel that she had not taken his beloved brother away from him. Then the mother understood too; she realised that she and her husband had made him feel anxious about losing his share of the farm and that they would attend to that. They said that they would make sure that everything was divided equally and that he need have no fear for what would happen in the future.