In the Company of Cheerful Ladies by Alexander McCall Smith

observed, seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, but this one, this woman of whom they had had only the briefest glimpse, seemed to be content to amble along.
    “She’s in no hurry,” said Mma Ramotswe. “They must be talking.”
    “I can just imagine it,” said Mma Makutsi grimly. “He’ll be telling her some tale about us, Mma. She’ll be laughing and urging
    him on.”
    When they reached the old Game Stores, the silver car suddenly
    turned into the Village and made its way down Odi Drive. The tiny white van, holding back in case the apprentice should turn and see them, proceeded at a safe distance, following the
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    quarry past the school and the new flats until they reached the University gate. Now came a surprise: instead of turning left, which would have led them into town, the silver car went to the right, towards the prison and the old Gaborone Club.
    “This is very odd,” said Mma Makutsi. “I would have thought that they would be going somewhere like the Sun Hotel. What is there for them along here?”
    “Maybe she lives along this way,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But we shall see soon enough.”
    Mma Ramotswe turned to Mma Makutsi and smiled conspiratorially.
    The two women were enjoying themselves. There was no real reason for them to follow the apprentice and this woman. Indeed, had they stopped to consider what they were doing, they would have had to admit that it was surely no more than idle curiosity—nosiness, indeed, that motivated them. And it was interesting, in a gossipy sort of way. If Charlie was seeing an older woman, then it would be fascinating to see what sort of woman she would be. Not that there was much doubt about that, thought Mma Ramotswe.
    “What would Mr J.L.B. Matekoni think of us?” ventured Mma Makutsi, giggling. “Would he approve?”
    Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “He would say that we were two nosy women,” she said. “And I think he would be more interested
    in the Mercedes-Benz than the people in it. That is what mechanics are like. They think …”
    She did not complete her sentence. The silver car was now near the old Botswana Defence Force Club and was slowing down. Then an indicator light started to flash and the car turned into a driveway—into the driveway of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni’s house.
    When she saw the car turn, Mma Ramotswe swerved the tiny white van so violently that Mma Makutsi shouted out in alarm. A cyclist, who had been coming in the opposite direction, swerved too, wobbling off the road to avoid the van. Mma Ramotswe drew to a halt and climbed out.
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    “Rra, oh Rra,” she shouted, as she ran towards the fallen man. “I’m so sorry, Rra.”
    The man picked himself up off the ground and then dusted his trousers. He used careful, deliberate gestures, as might be used by one who is dressed in expensive clothes; but his were worn, and crumpled. Then he looked up, and Mma Ramotswe saw that there were tears in his eyes.
    “Oh, Rra,” she said. “I’ve hurt you. I’m so sorry. I will take you straight to a doctor.”
    The man shook his head, and then wiped at his eyes with the back of a hand.
    “I am not hurt,” he said. “I am shaken, but I am not hurt.”
    “I was looking at something else,” said Mma Ramotswe, reaching out to take the man’s hand. “It was very silly of me. I took my eyes off the road, and then suddenly I saw you.”
    The man said nothing. Turning to his bicycle, he picked it up. The front wheel, which must have been caught in a rut in the ground, was now slightly twisted, and the handlebars were at a strange angle. He looked mutely at the bicycle, before trying, unsuccessfully, to straighten the handlebars.
    Mma Ramotswe turned and beckoned to Mma Makutsi to come out of the van. She had been holding back, out of a mixture of tact and embarrassment, but now she appeared and made a sympathetic remark to the man.
    “I will take you to where you are going,” said Mma Ramotswe.
    “We can put the bike in the back of the van and then I shall take that to your place,