The Double Comfort Safari Club - By Alexander McCall Smith Page 0,60

were several framed prints on the wall. There was a picture of the Eiffel Tower and one of New York.

“That is Paris,” said Violet. “And that is New York. You have heard of these places?”

“I have heard of them,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“And you, Grace?” asked Violet.

“I have heard of them too,” said Mma Makutsi through tightened lips.

“And then there is Johannesburg,” said Violet airily. “That is such an exciting city, and it’s not so far away. I will be going there next weekend, I think. Four hours by car.”

“It is very easy to get to Johannesburg,” said Mma Ramotswe pleasantly. “My father used to work in the mines there in the days when all the men went off to South Africa for work. Things are so different now.”

“Oh yes,” said Violet. “There are many different things today. I am always finding different things.” She looked at her visitors and smiled. Mma Ramotswe noticed that she had applied thick purple eyeliner in copious quantities.

Violet looked at her watch. “I’m sorry, Bomma, that I cannot give you tea or anything. But I am going out tonight. There is a big dance at the Grand Palm. I am going there. By invitation.” She paused. “And maybe you will tell me why you have come to see me?”

There was something in her tone that suggested she was on edge. She knows there is something wrong, thought Mma Ramotswe. And for a minute she felt sympathy for this ruthless, ambitious woman. She knew.

“I am a messenger today,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I sometimes do that sort of thing.”

“Not enough detective work?” asked Violet, her confidence momentarily returning.

“I do things for friends,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I am a friend of a certain lawyer. He is called Joe Bosilong.”

Violet was quite still. One of her heavily purpled eyelids moved slightly; the smallest tic. “I know him,” she said. “He is my lawyer.”

“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He has sent me with an amendment to the deed he drew up for you recently. There is a mistake in it. It will have to be signed again by that kind man who is giving you this house, Mr. Kereleng.”

Violet said nothing.

Then Mma Makutsi spoke. “Unless he won’t sign, of course.”

Violet spun round to face her. “You said something, Mma?” she said, her voice rising to a high pitch.

“I said that maybe Mr. Kereleng won’t sign. And if that happens, then I’m afraid that he will be taking this house back.”

“Mma Makutsi—,” Mma Ramotswe began. But she could not continue. Violet Sephotho, screaming, had launched herself into an attack on Mma Makutsi. It happened so quickly that Mma Ramotswe had little time to think about her reaction. Moving forward, she caught hold of Violet’s flailing arms and brought them to her sides. It was the first time in her entire career as a detective that she had used force. It shocked her.

“Get out of my house, Grace Makutsi!” screamed the now physically restrained Violet. “You get out! You, voetsek, voetsek!”

Mma Makutsi was calm. “You have too much purple on your eyelids,” she said. “Purple Sephotho!” And then, as she and Mma Ramotswe retreated from the room, Mma Makutsi threw her parting shot over her shoulder, “Fifty per cent!”

Outside, Mma Ramotswe found her breath coming in short bursts. “Are you all right, Mma?” asked Mma Makutsi.

“I am very upset,” said Mma Ramotswe, stopping to get her breath back. “That was a very nasty scene.”

“She is a nasty woman,” said Mma Makutsi. “That purple eyeliner, I …”

“Do not talk about that, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe.

“She is a horrible …”

“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe simply. She felt herself shaking. “She is unhappy, and she brings unhappiness to others. That is very sad. I am sorry for her.”

Mma Makutsi looked up at the sky. How could Mma Ramotswe even begin to have sympathy for that terrible woman? How could she? And then, suddenly, she remembered how. It was because this woman, this traditionally built woman, this understanding, tolerant employer, this detective, was composed of kindness, just of kindness.

“I’m sorry,” said Mma Makutsi. “I did not behave very well in there.”

Mma Ramotswe took her hand. “You were a bit excited, maybe. But you didn’t do too badly. When she attacked you, you did nothing, which was the right thing to do.” Suddenly she laughed. “That eyeliner!” she said. “What a colour!”

“I can’t wait to tell Phuti about this,” said Mma Makutsi.

There was a silence, which Mma Ramotswe tried to fill. “I’m sure that you will see him soon,”