The Double Comfort Safari Club - By Alexander McCall Smith Page 0,79

Polopetsi come in with his mug ready for filling, but also Charlie and Fanwell, and, last of all, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni. He did not linger, but poured himself a large cup and then returned to the garage, where there was a tricky repair being made to an important car. And as well as the entire staff, there was a visitor who wanted tea that morning: Mma Potokwane. She arrived just as Charlie and Fanwell were draining the last drops from their mugs, and caused their rapid departure. Even Charlie, who held few people in awe, was wary of Mma Potokwane, who seemed to remind him of all that was most powerful and daunting in Botswana womanhood.

It was not that Mma Potokwane had ever said very much to Charlie. It was true that she had once asked him what his long-term plans were, and asked the question in such a way as to imply that she at least could tell at a glance that he had none. It was true that she had once said to Mma Ramotswe—in his hearing—that he reminded her of a young man at the orphan farm who had turned out very badly and was now living in a cardboard box outside Lobatse. These comments were hardly confidence-building, and Charlie resented them. Yet it was not so much what she said that he objected to—it was the look that Mma Potokwane gave him. Normally Charlie could face down any look from a woman; after all, he had received many such looks from former girlfriends—looks of pure, distilled reproach—and knew how to deal with them. One simply looked the other way. But with Mma Potokwane it was different; her look, as Fanwell had once suggested, could stop the Mafikeng train in its tracks, and probably had.

If Mma Potokwane had a difficult relationship with Charlie, the same could be said of her dealings with Mma Makutsi. Mma Ramotswe was aware of this, and had attempted to reassure her assistant that the matron surely had no real objection to her; it was just the way that she looked, a question of manner, really. “It is difficult running an orphan farm,” she said. “All those children. All those house mothers, all wanting this, that, and the next thing. And you know that Mma Potokwane would do anything for her people—anything.”

That was certainly true. Mma Potokwane would stop at nothing to secure some benefit for the children in her care. She would cajole and wheedle until people gave the children what they needed, and when it came to dealings with officialdom, she would give no quarter. She always won, and the children benefited.

That morning when Mma Potokwane called out a cheerful Ko! Ko! and came into the room, Mma Makutsi exchanged a concerned glance with Mma Ramotswe, quickly thinking of reasons why she might have to leave the office on unspecified, but urgent, business. Her concern, though, was misplaced: it soon became apparent that Mma Potokwane had come on an errand of sympathy, and that sympathy was directed at Mma Makutsi herself.

“Mma Makutsi,” she began, “I have heard of Mr. Radiphuti’s accident. I am very sorry, Mma. And I am so sad for you, Mma, so sad.”

Mma Makutsi looked up. Only two people so far had said anything like this to her—Mma Ramotswe herself and the woman she had met on the bench outside the hospital. But here was a third.

“That is very kind of you, Mma. Thank you.”

“I am always telling the drivers who deliver things to our place to watch out when they reverse. They do not listen, do they?”

Mma Makutsi nodded. “I think that is probably true. They are busy. They forget.”

“Yes,” said Mma Potokwane. “They probably think: This is just another woman talking to me. And now your poor Phuti has had this terrible injury. I am so sorry, Mma.”

“Thank you, Mma.”

Mma Potokwane sat down. “He is a lucky man to have you, Mma. When he comes out of hospital you can nurse him back to health. He will soon be up and about.”

Mma Ramotswe now got up from her desk to pour tea for their visitor. “Actually, he is already out, Mma. He has made very good progress.”

Mma Potokwane clapped her hands together. “That is very good news! So you are already looking after him. Give him plenty of meat, Mma. Breakfast, lunch, supper—good Botswana beef. That will make him strong. And vegetables. Also at breakfast, lunch and supper. Vegetables. Vitamin C.” She paused. “You’ve got somebody