The Double Comfort Safari Club - By Alexander McCall Smith Page 0,7
whom any husband might very readily assume was up to no good, with those shoes of his and the sunglasses that he affected, even on an overcast day and, as Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni had once observed, at night. No, there was nothing at all to justify any suspicions, and he should stop thinking this way. And yet … why had Mma Mateleke’s friend changed course so readily from Lobatse to Gaborone? No matter which way he looked at it, that did not make sense. He would talk to Mma Ramotswe; she knew about these things, and if there was an innocent explanation—which surely there must be—she could be expected to find it.
AS MR. J.L.B. MATEKONI was driving Mma Mateleke and her unresponsive car back to Gaborone, in the offices of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency Mma Makutsi, assistant detective and graduate summa cum laude of the Botswana Secretarial College, was busy making the mid-morning tea. As usual, she was preparing red bush tea for her employer and ordinary tea for herself, using a special teapot for each purpose. The two teapots were the same colour, an indeterminate brown, but there was a distinguishing feature: Mma Ramotswe’s teapot was considerably larger. Mma Makutsi, who had been used all her life to having very little, and accepted this with the quiet resignation that such people often possess, had never questioned this arrangement. Mma Ramotswe was, after all, the proprietor of the agency, and the owner of both pots. But she had recently asked herself whether it would not make more sense for the red bush tea, which was required in smaller quantities, to be brewed in the smaller teapot, while the ordinary tea might be made in the larger pot, since it was not only for her own consumption, but was also drunk by Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, by his unqualified assistant, Mr. Polopetsi, and by the two apprentices, Charlie and Fanwell. It was unusual for all of these to present themselves for tea at the same time, but it sometimes did happen. Then it was necessary for Mma Makutsi to brew another pot, while the resources of Mma Ramotswe’s commodious teapot were barely called upon.
She had been silent, but now she decided to broach the subject. At the Botswana Secretarial College, where she had obtained the hitherto unheard-of result of ninety-seven per cent in the final examinations, Mma Makutsi had been taught that it was always better to raise issues of office procedure rather than to brood over them. “There is nothing worse, ladies, than muttering about something,” said the lecturer. “If something is wrong, then raise it. Not only is that better for you—nursing a grudge makes you far less efficient in your work—but it is also much better for your boss. So spit it out, and always remember this: a problem shared is a problem solved.” Or had she said, A problem shared is a problem halved? It was difficult to remember these things when there were so many proverbs jostling to give advice. Locusts do not land only on the land that belongs to your neighbour. The person who lies by the fire knows how hot it is … And so on; all of these sayings were undoubtedly true, but might still quite easily be forgotten—until the moment you found yourself doing exactly the thing that the proverb warned you against.
Perhaps there was a saying warning you against questioning the size of another’s teapot; something like, A teapot is only as large as it needs to be, or Do not talk about the size of another’s teapot when … No, this was nonsense, Mma Makutsi decided, and there was no reason at all why she should not raise the matter with Mma Ramotswe, who was reasonable, after all, and full of proverbs too.
“I’ve been thinking,” she began.
Mma Ramotswe looked up from her desk. She smiled. “Thinking? We all have a lot to think about, I suppose.”
Mma Makutsi busied herself with the kettle. “Yes, Mma. You know how sometimes a good idea comes to you? You don’t necessarily think about it deliberately, but it just comes. And there you have your idea.”
“Yes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And what idea do you have, Mma Makutsi? I’m sure it will be a good one.” She was always polite—and encouraging too; a lesser employer might have said, Thinking? There is work to do, Mma! Or, even more discouragingly, I am the one to do the thinking round here, Mma!