inference, thought Mma Ramotswe, was that if she, like Mma Makutsi, had been to the Botswana Secretarial College then she would have understood these things and not misused the word preliminary and been altogether more decisive and concise.
Mma Ramotswe said nothing. Mma Makutsi had firm views on the wording of letters.
“I would say something like this,” Mma Makutsi continued. “I would say: I am sorry to say that we have come to a firm conclusion about your husband.”
“But I am not sorry, Mma Makutsi.”
“Yet you haven’t found out what the client wants you to find out,” countered Mma Makutsi. “So she will hope that you are feeling sorry.”
“Just continue,” said Mma Ramotswe. “These small things about which word to use are not always that important.”
“We have had one of our detectives observe your husband over time…”
Mma Makutsi stared again at Mma Ramotswe. “Detective?” she said. “Charlie is not a qualified detective, Mma. It is wrong to mislead the client like that.”
“Oh, really, Mma Makutsi. Does it matter what we call Charlie?”
“It does matter, Mma,” said Mma Makutsi, her voice now full of reproach. “All over the place, people are falsely claiming to be something they aren’t. All over the place there are people telling lies about this, that and the next thing. It is very important to be accurate.”
This was not a battle that Mma Ramotswe chose to fight. “Very well, Mma. Change that. Say assistant, if you think that better.”
“It’s more accurate,” said Mma Makutsi.
Mma Ramotswe waited while Mma Makutsi scribbled her correction on the page, uttering the words as she wrote. “This assistant has now filed his report.”
Mma Makutsi stopped again. “I do not wish to be obstructive, Mma.”
“No, of course not, Mma Makutsi.”
“It’s just that I do the filing. All the filing—that’s me, not this…this mysterious assistant we mention.” Mma Ramotswe sighed. “Filing a report just means putting a report in. It doesn’t mean actually filing it in the filing cabinet.”
“Submitting would be better, Mma.”
There were some battles simply not worth fighting, thought Mma Ramotswe. And then there were battles that should not be battles anyway; this, she thought, was one of those.
“Submitting, then, Mma Makutsi.”
“Good,” said Mma Makutsi. “Now then. Let’s see.” She returned to the letter. “The report indicates…That’s very good wording, Mma. It is very professional. The report indicates that your husband is not seeing a lover but is seeing another woman—” She broke off. “No, Mma, you cannot say that. That will give quite the wrong impression.”
“Read on, Mma Makutsi.”
“Seeing another woman who is a teacher. Oh, I see, Mma. I see what you’re saying. We could investigate further, but we think that any man who is studying for a mathematics examination is unlikely to be having an affair at the same time. For this reason, we do not recommend further surveillance.”
Mma Makutsi put down the letter. “That is a very good letter, Mma.”
Mma Ramotswe reached out to recover the piece of paper. “I’m glad you approve of it, Mma,” she said.
“But why is he studying mathematics?” asked Mma Makutsi.
“People do, Mma. They are always studying things. You can never tell what people will get up to.” People took up entirely innocent pursuits, she pointed out. She remembered a similar case, where a husband suspected of conducting an affair was in fact receiving instruction in the Roman Catholic faith. She now reminded Mma Makutsi of that case. “Remember that man who lived near the hospital, Mma? He was not having an affair at all but was thinking of becoming a Roman Catholic.”
Mma Makutsi remembered the case. “People are always joining churches,” she said. “This church, that church. They like the singing in one place and they go there. Then they hear there is better singing in another place, and off they go to that one. Or there is a better preacher—one with a louder voice—and they say, ‘He is the one now.’ And off they go to listen to him. That’s how it works, Mma.”
Mma Makutsi could see the wisdom of all that. Phuti had a cousin who was a good example of that, having been, in the space of a single year, a Baptist as well as an Anglican, and had now joined a small congregation of people who believed not that the end was coming—as some people did—but that it had actually come, and we had simply failed to notice it. But this situation had a particular smell to it, she thought. It was the smell, and that