The Double Comfort Safari Club - By Alexander McCall Smith Page 0,37

a Motswana, and then disowned his tiny son, sending the woman away with a pittance. Hansi knew who he was, and knew his farm, but knew too that he was not welcome there. Yet he was, for some complex reason, proud of this farmer who denied him, and of his lineage, and spoke of his father with the same air of pride as Mma Ramotswe spoke of hers. She thought, though, If I could speak to that man and tell him how much his son loves him, and shake him until he acknowledged this love and how stupid he was to turn his heart against it. If I could speak to him … But some of us cannot see love, she said to herself, even when it is there, right before us, asking us to invite it in.

After her conversation with Hansi, Mma Ramotswe returned to the office. There she found Mr. Polopetsi sitting in Mma Makutsi’s chair. “Just trying it, Mma Ramotswe,” he said. “And it is important to have somebody here to answer the telephone.”

Mma Ramotswe smiled at the explanation. She understood: Mr. Polopetsi would never get promotion as long as Mma Makutsi was there; it was understandable, then, that he might wish to enjoy the thought of being in her position.

“The lady whose chair that is,” she said, “is a very determined lady. You know that, don’t you, Rra?”

Mr. Polopetsi nodded ruefully. “She is a very strong lady.”

“And I’m afraid that she is showing no signs of giving up her job,” Mma Ramotswe went on. “Which means …”

Mr. Polopetsi interrupted her. “I know, Mma. There is no chance for me.” He paused and looked up, hoping to read encouragement in Mma Ramotswe’s expression. “I just wondered whether poor Radiphuti’s accident will make any difference. I thought that maybe with him being crippled now, she would need to stay at home.”

“I don’t think that he would like you to say that he is crippled,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He has lost a leg—or a bit of a leg—but they will fix him up with something and he will be able to walk. Maybe more or less the same as before.”

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 scrap 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 title. 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