The Good Husband of Zebra Drive by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

Ramotswe sitting at her desk, her head sunk in her hands, while Mma Makutsi was putting the contents of a drawer into a large plastic bag. Mma Makutsi looked up as the men entered the room.
    â€œI have not made tea yet,” she said. “You will need to put the kettle on yourselves.”
    Mr. Polopetsi glanced at Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni; he stood in some awe of Mma Makutsi, and he was wary of her moods. “She is a changeable person,” he had explained to his wife. “She is very clever, but she is changeable. One moment it’s this; the next moment, it’s that. You have to be very careful.”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni glanced at Mma Ramotswe, but she, looking up, merely nodded in the direction of the kettle.
    Mma Makutsi continued to busy herself with her task of emptying the drawer. “The reason why I did not put on the kettle is that I have resigned.”
    Mr. Polopetsi gave a start. “From making tea?”
    â€œFrom everything,” snapped Mma Makutsi. “So I suspect that you will be doing more investigating, Rra, now that I am going. I hope that Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni will be able to release you from your duties in the garage.”
    The effect on Mr. Polopetsi of this remark was immediate. If he had wished to conceal his eagerness to occupy Mma Makutsi’s position, then this wish was overcome by his sheer and evident pleasure at the thought of doing more investigative work. And Mma Makutsi, sensing this, decided to take the matter further. “In fact,” she went on, slamming the drawer shut, “why don’t you take over my desk right now? Here, try this chair. You can put it up a bit by turning this bit here. See. That is for short people like you, Rra.”
    Mr. Polopetsi put his mug down on Mma Makutsi’s desk and moved over to examine the chair. “That will be fine,” he said. “I can adjust it. It looks as if it needs a bit of oil, but we have plenty of that in the garage, don’t we, Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni?”
    It was meant to be a joke, and Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni smiled weakly, and dutifully. He glanced again at Mma Ramotswe, who was now glaring at her assistant on the other side of the room. It seemed to Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni that the most tactful thing to do would be to leave the office, and he turned to Mr. Polopetsi. “I think that we should have tea a bit later, Rra,” he said. “The ladies are busy.”
    â€œBut Mma Makutsi…,” Mr. Polopetsi began, but was silenced by a stare from Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, who had already started to move towards the door. Picking up his mug, Mr. Polopetsi followed him out of the door and back into the garage.
    Mma Ramotswe waited until the door had been closed before she addressed Mma Makutsi. “I am very sorry,” she said. “I am very sorry if I have offended you, Mma Makutsi. You know that I have a lot of respect for you. You know that, don’t you? I would never deliberately be rude to you. I really would not.”
    Mma Makutsi, who had risen to her feet as the two men left, was reaching down for her bag. She straightened up and hesitated for a few moments before she spoke. It seemed as if she was looking for exactly the right words. “I am aware of that, Mma,” she said slowly. “I know that. And I am the one who has been rude. But I have made up my mind. I have decided that I am fed up with being number two. I have always been number two, all through my life. I have always been the junior one. Now I am going to be my own boss.” She paused. “It’s not that you are a bad boss. You are a very good one. You are kind. You do not tell me what to do all the time. But I want to be able to speak as I wish. I have never been able to do that—ever. All my life, up in Bobonong, down here, I have been the one who has to watch my tongue and be careful. Now I do not want that any more. Can you understand that, Mma?”
    Mma Ramotswe did. “I can see