The Limpopo Academy of Private Detection: No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (13) by Alexander McCall Smith

somewhat awkwardly. Noticing this, Mma Ramotswe said, “It is a very beautiful hat, Rra. Very beautiful.”
    He looked up and bashfully returned her smile. “You think so? I had it with me up north, in the Delta, and I must say there were days when I was very happy I bought it.”
    “It can get very hot up there,” said Mma Makutsi.
    Mma Ramotswe thought it time for introductions. “This is my assistant, Mma Makutsi.”
    “Associate detective,” said Mma Makutsi.
    “Yes. Associate detective. And my own name is Precious Ramotswe.I am the owner of this agency.” She paused. “And what is your name, Rra?”
    The visitor, who had been about to sit down, straightened up and offered his hand. “My name is Andersen.”
    “You are very welcome, Rra Andersen.”
    The visitor seemed to relax. Reaching into one of the copious pockets in his khaki safari shirt, he extracted a card and passed it over to Mma Ramotswe. “This is my card, Mma. You will see it states my profession.”
    Mma Ramotswe took the card and began to examine it. She stopped, her eyes wide in astonishment. “You are …,” she stuttered. “You are Clovis Andersen?”
    “Yes, that is my name. I am Clovis Andersen.”
    There was complete silence. Mma Ramotswe looked across the room at Mma Makutsi, who was sitting bolt upright, the lenses of her glasses flashing signals of amazement.
    Mma Ramotswe could barely speak. Her voice, when it came, was faltering. “Clovis Andersen? Who wrote the … the …”
    Now it was the visitor’s turn to be surprised. “My book? You know my book?
The Principles of Private Detection
?”
    Mma Makutsi could not contain herself. “We know that book very well, Rra!” she exclaimed. “It is here on my desk. Right here. Look.”
    She picked up the now battered copy of the book and waved it in the air exultantly. A slip of paper marking a place fell out of the pages and fluttered down to the ground. Clovis Andersen watched it fall. “This is an extraordinary coincidence,” he said. “I had no idea that the book was read in Africa.”
    “But we are always reading it,” shouted Mma Makutsi. “Mma Ramotswe was the first, and then I read it, and then she read it again. It is always in use. Every day.”
    Clovis Andersen looked down at the floor. “Well, I must say I’mvery pleased by that. And I hope you find it useful. You never know when you write a book—often you don’t hear from the folks who have read it, and then …” He shrugged. “Then you think: ‘Well, I guess nobody’s read it after all.’ ”
    Mma Ramotswe shook her head vigorously. “But of course people have read your book, Rra,” she said. “All over the world. That book is read all over the world. There are many detectives who have read it—I’m sure of that.”
    “You’re very kind,” muttered Clovis Andersen.
    Mma Makutsi now made another intervention. “God brought you here,” she said.
    He turned round in his chair to look at her. “I beg your pardon, Mma?”
    “God brought you here,” she repeated. “You have been brought to see us by God himself. That is very clear.”
    Clovis Andersen looked nonplussed. “Well, actually, I was driving past and I saw your sign. I have a rental car, you see, and when I saw the sign I thought that as a matter of professional courtesy I might call in and introduce myself—since we are all in the same profession.”
    “That is a very good thought,” said Mma Ramotswe. “And we are very glad that you did.” She looked over the room towards Mma Makutsi. “I think you should put on the kettle, Mma. Mr. Andersen is thirsty and would like some tea, I think.”
    Mma Makutsi rose to her feet and picked up the kettle. She would not raise the subject now, since they had a visitor, and such an important visitor too, but it occurred to her that she was always the one to make the tea. That had been her lot, in a sense—to make the tea for other people; but why should it always be the case? She