None of these thoughts reached Mma Ramotswe, although she did briefly glance across the room to where Mma Makutsi was busying herself with the tea. But Mma Makutsi was turned away at the time and Mma Ramotswe did not see her expression, so she had no idea of the other woman’s feelings.

“Well,” began Mma Ramotswe cautiously, “how would we help Mr J.L.B. Matekoni to make a decision? How would we do it?”

“We don’t have to help him make any decision,” replied Mma Potokwane firmly. “He has already made the decision to marry you, has he not? What is an engagement? It is an agreement to marry. That decision is made, Mma. No, all we have to do is to arrange for him to carry it out. We need to get a date, and then we need to make sure that he gets to the right place on the date. And in my view that means that we should make all the plans and then pick him up on the day and take him there. That’s right, we’lltake him there.”

At this, Mma Makutsi spun round and stared at Mma Ramotswe open-mouthed. Surely Mma Ramotswe would see the danger in this? If you took a man to the church, he would simply run away. No man would be forced in this way, and certainly not a mature and intelligent man like Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. This was the stuff of disaster, and Mma Ramotswe should put a stop to these ridiculous fantasies at once. But instead-and here Mma Makutsi drew in her breath in astonishment-instead she was nodding her head in agreement!

“Good,” said Mma Potokwane enthusiastically. “I can see that you agree with me. So now all we have to do is to plan the wedding and get everything ready-in secret of course-and then on the day get him into a suit somehow…”

“And how would you do that?” interrupted Mma Ramotswe. “You know the sort of clothes that Mr J.L.B. Matekoni normally wears. Those overalls. That old hat with grease round the rim. Those suede veldschoens. How will we get him out of those and into suitable clothes for church?”

“Leave that side of it to me,” said Mma Potokwane confidently. “In fact, simply leave the whole thing to me. We can have the wedding out at the orphan farm. I will get my housemothers to cook all the food. I will make all the arrangements and all you will have to do is to get there at the time I will tell you. Then you will be married. I promise you.”

Mma Ramotswe looked doubtful and was about to open her mouth to say something when Mma Potokwane continued. “You needn’t worry, Mma Ramotswe. I am a very tactful person. I know how to do these things. You know that.”

Mma Makutsi’s eyes widened, but she knew that there was no stopping Mma Potokwane now, and that events would run their course whatever she tried to do. And what was there for her to do? She could attempt to persuade Mma Ramotswe to forbid Mma Potokwane from proceeding with her plan, but that would be unlikely to happen once Mma Ramotswe had agreed to it. She could warn Mr J.L.B. Matekoni that he was in danger of being pushed into his own wedding, but then that would seem appallingly disloyal to Mma Ramotswe, and if she did that she might be responsible for his doing something really foolish, such as calling off the engagement altogether. No, there was only one thing for Mma Makutsi to do, and that was to keep out of the whole affair, although she would allow herself one remark, perhaps, just as an aside, to register her disapproval of the whole scheme.

Mma Potokwane did not stay long, but every minute of the visit seemed to drag terribly. An icy atmosphere had developed, with Mma Makutsi sitting in almost complete silence, responding to Mma Potokwane’s remarks only in the briefest and most unhelpful of terms.

“You must be very busy,” the matron said to her, pointing to the papers on her desk. “I have heard that you are a very efficient secretary. Perhaps you will come out to the orphan farm one day and sort out my office! That would be a good thing to do. You could have a big bonfire of all the spare papers. The children would like that.”

“I am too busy,” said Mma Makutsi. “Perhaps you should employ a secretary. There is a very fine secretarial college, you know, the Botswana Secretarial College. They will provide you with a name. They will also tell you what the right salary will be.”

Mma Potokwane took a sip of her tea and looked at Mma Makutsi over the rim of the cup.

“Thank you, Mma,” she said. “That is a good suggestion. But of course we are an orphan farm and we do not have very much money for secretaries and the like. That is why kind people-people like Mr J.L.B. Matekoni-offer their services free.”

“He is a kind man,” agreed Mma Makutsi. “That is why people take advantage of him.”

Mma Potokwane put down her cup and turned to Mma Ramotswe. “You are very lucky to have an assistant who can give you good advice,” she said politely. “That must make your life easier.”

Mma Ramotswe, who had been quite aware of the developing tension, did her best to smooth over the situation.

“Most tasks in this life are better done by two people,” she said. “I am sure that you get a lot of support from the housemothers. I am sure that they have good advice to give too.”

Mma Potokwane rose to her feet to leave. “Yes, Mma,” she said, glancing at Mma Makutsi. “We must all help one another. That is very true.”

One of the apprentices was detailed to drive Mma Potokwane back to the orphan farm, leaving Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi alone in the office once again. Mma Makutsi, sitting at her desk, looked down at her shoes, as she often did in moments of crisis; her shoes, always her allies, but now so unhelpfully mute, as if to convey:don’t look at us, we said nothing. You were the one, Boss. (In her mind, her shoes always addressed her as Boss, as the apprentices addressed Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. This was right for shoes, which should know their place.)

“I’m sorry, Mma,” Mma Makutsi suddenly burst out. “I had to stand there making tea while that woman gave you that terrible, terrible advice. And I couldn’t say anything because I always feel too small to say anything when she’s around. She makes me feel as if I’m still six years old.”

Mma Ramotswe looked at her assistant with concern. “She is just trying to help. She’s bossy, of course, but that is because she is a matron. Every matron is bossy; if they weren’t then nothing would get done. Mma Potokwane’s job is to be bossy. But she is just trying to help.”

“But it won’t help,” wailed Mma Makutsi. “It won’t help at all. You can’t force Mr J.L.B. Matekoni to get married.”

“Nobody’s forcing him,” said Mma Ramotswe. “He asked me to marry him. I said yes. He has never once, not once, said that he does not want to get married. Have you ever heard him say that? No, well there you are.”

“But he will agree to a wedding one day,” said Mma Makutsi. “You can wait.”

“Can I, Mma?” said Mma Ramotswe quickly. “Can I wait forever? And why should I wait all this time and put up with all this uncertainty? My life is going past. Tick, tick. Like a clock that is running too fast. And all the time I remain an engaged lady. People are talking, believe me. They say: there’s that lady who’s engaged forever to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. That’s what they are saying.”

Mma Makutsi was silent, and Mma Ramotswe continued, “I don’t want to force Mr J.L.B. Matekoni to do anything he doesn’t want to do. But in this case I think that there is some sort of block-there is some sort of reason why he cannot make up his mind. I think it is in his nature. Dr Moffat said that when people had that illness-that depression thing-then they might not be able to make decisions. Even when they seem quite well. Maybe there is a little corner of that in Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. So all we are trying to do is help him.”

Mma Makutsi shook her head. “I don’t know, Mma. You may be right, but I am very worried. I do not think that you should let Mma Potokwane stick her nose into this business.”