"If we could go back," said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, pouring tea into Mma Ramotswe's mug. "I have often thought that. If we could go back and know then what we know now…" He shook his head in wonderment. "My goodness! I would live my life differently!"

Mma Ramotswe sipped at her tea. She was sitting in the office of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, underneath Mr J.L.B. Matekoni's spares suppliers' calendar, passing the time of day with her friend, as she sometimes did when her own office was quiet. This was inevitable; sometimes people simply did not want to find things out. Nobody was missing, nobody was cheating on their wives, nobody was embezzling. At such times, a private detective may as well hang a closed sign on the office door and go off to plant melons. Not that she intended to plant melons; a quiet cup of tea followed by a shopping trip to the African Mall was as good a way of spending the afternoon as any. Then she might go to the Book Centre and see if any interesting magazines had arrived. She loved magazines. She loved their smell and their bright pictures. She loved interior design magazines which showed how people lived in faraway countries. They had so much in their houses, and such beautiful things too. Paintings, rich curtains, piles of velvet cushions which would have been wonderful for a fat person to sit upon, strange lights at odd angles…

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni warmed to his theme.

"I have made hundreds of mistakes in my lifetime," he said, frowning at the recollection. "Hundreds and hundreds."

She looked at him. She had thought that everything had gone rather well in his life. He had served his apprenticeship as a mechanic, saved up his money, and then bought his own garage. He had built a house, married a wife (who had unfortunately died), and become the local chairman of the Botswana Democratic Party. He knew several ministers (very slightly) and was invited to one of the annual garden parties at State House. Everything seemed rosy.

"I can't see what mistakes you've made," she said. "Unlike me."

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked surprised.

"I can't imagine you making any mistakes," she said. "You're too clever for that. You would look at all the possibilities and then choose the right one. Every time."

Mma Ramotswe snorted.

"I married Note," she said simply.

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni looked thoughtful.

"Yes," he said. "That was a bad mistake."

They were silent for a moment. Then he rose to his feet. He was a tall man, and he had to be careful not to bump his head when he stood erect. Now, with the calendar behind him and the fly paper dangling down from the ceiling above, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I would like you to marry me," he said. "That would not be a mistake."

Mma Ramotswe hid her surprise. She did not give a start, nor drop her mug of tea, nor open her mouth and make no sound. She smiled instead, and stared at her friend.

"You are a good kind man," she said. "You are like my Daddy… a bit. But I cannot get married again. Ever. I am happy as I am. I have got the agency, and the house. My life is full."

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni sat down. He looked crestfallen, and Mma Ramotswe reached out to touch him. He moved it away instinctively, as a burned man will move away from fire.

"I am very sorry," she said. "I should like you to know that if I were ever to marry anybody, which I shall not do, I would choose a man like you. I would even choose you. I am sure of this."

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni took her mug and poured her more tea. He was silent now-not out of anger, or resentment-but because it had cost him all his energy to make his declaration of love and he had no more words for the time being.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

ALICE BUSANG was nervous about consulting Mma Ramotswe, but was soon put at ease by the comfortable, overweight figure sitting behind the desk. It was rather like speaking to a doctor or a priest, she thought; in such consultations nothing that one could possibly say would shock.

"I am suspicious of my husband," she said. "I think that he is carrying on with ladies."

Mma Ramotswe nodded. All men carried on with ladies, in her experience. The only men who did not were ministers of religion and headmasters.

"Have you seen him doing this?" she asked.

Alice Busang shook her head. "I keep watching out but I never see him with other women. I think he is too cunning."

Mma Ramotswe wrote this down on a piece of paper.

"He goes to bars, does he?"

"Yes."

"That's where they meet them. They meet these women who hang about in bars waiting for other women's husbands. This city is full of women like that."

She looked at Alice, and there flowed between them a brief current of understanding. All women in Botswana were the victims of the fecklessness of men. There were virtually no men these days who would marry a woman and settle down to look after her children; men like that seemed to be a thing of the past.

"Do you want me to follow him?" she said. "Do you want me to find out whether he picks up other women?"

Alice Busang nodded. "Yes," she said. "I want proof. Just for myself. I want proof so that I can know what sort of man I married."

MMA RAMOTSWE was too busy to take on the Busang case until the following week. That Wednesday, she stationed herself in her small white van outside the office in the Diamond Sorting Building where Kremlin Busang worked. She had been given a photograph of him by Alice Busang and she glanced at this on her knee; this was a handsome man, with broad shoulders and a wide smile. He was a ladies' man by the look of him, and she wondered why Alice Busang had married him if she wanted a faithful husband. Hopefulness, of course; a naive hope that he would be unlike other men. Well, you only had to look at him to realise that this would not be so.

She followed him, her white van trailing his old blue car through the traffic to the Go Go Handsome Man's Bar down by the bus station. Then, while he strolled into the bar, she sat for a moment in her van and put a little more lipstick on her lips and a dab of cream on her cheeks. In a few minutes she would go in and begin work in earnest.

IT WAS not crowded inside the Go Go Handsome Man's Bar and there were only one or two other women there. Both of them she recognised as bad women. They stared at her, but she ignored them and took a seat at the bar, just two stools from Kremlin Busang.

She bought a beer and looked about her, as if taking in the surroundings of the bar for the first time.

"You've not been here before, my sister," said Kremlin Busang. "It's a good bar, this one."

She met his gaze. "I only come to bars on big occasions," she said. "Such as today."

Kremlin Busang smiled. "Your birthday?"

"Yes," she said. "Let me buy you a drink to celebrate."

She bought him a beer, and he moved over to the stool beside her. She saw that he was a good-looking man, exactly as his photograph had revealed him, and his clothes were well chosen. They drank their beers together, and then she ordered him another one. He began to tell her about his job.

"I sort diamonds," he said. "It's a difficult job, you know. You need good eyesight."

"I like diamonds," she said. "I like diamonds a lot."

"We are very lucky to have so many diamonds in this country," he said. "My word! Those diamonds!"

She moved her left leg slightly, and it touched his. He noticed this, as she saw him glance down, but he did not move his leg away.

"Are you married?" she asked him quietly.

He did not hesitate. "No. I've never been married. It's better to be single these days. Freedom, you know."