The Woman Who Walked in Sunshine by Alexander McCall Smith Page A

day to an attentive audience, was Mma Gabane Gabane, mother of a senior government minister and rumoured, probably correctly, to be the formulator of virtually every policy of her son’s ministry. Then there was a lady unknown to Mma Ramotswe, but on the right of that lady was an old friend of Mma Potokwane’s—a woman from Molepolole who had for many years been a matron at the Princess Marina Hospital and who was always selling raffle tickets for the nurses’ benevolent fund.
    Mma Phumele caught Mma Ramotswe’s eye. “Come over here, Mma,” she called. “There is a seat here for you.”
    The other women looked up. “It’s Mma Ramotswe,” said Mma Gabane Gabane. “Are you here on detective business, Mma? Are you going to investigate us?”
    This was greeted with good-natured laughter.
    “I am on holiday,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I am not working at the moment.”
    “Then we shall be able to speak freely,” said Mma Gabane Gabane.
    Mma Ramotswe sat down and gave her order to the waitress who had been hovering round the circle.
    “Mma Gabane was just telling us about a very silly woman,” said Mma Phumele. “Tell Mma Ramotswe what you told us, Mma.”
    Mma Gabane Gabane seemed to be very pleased to be invited to repeat her story. “Well, Mma,” she began, “this woman comes from up north, from Francistown. She came down here to work with the diamond people, and she met this very nice man who works as an accountant there. He has a very good job and is very solid. He is like a big tree, Mma.”
    “As solid as a big tree,” said one of the other women. “You know the sort of man.”
    “And then,” continued Mma Gabane Gabane, “they buy a really comfortable house out towards the airport—you know those new houses out there. It was very convenient for their work—both are in the Debswana building, you know. There is no problem parking there. So they get in the car in the morning and drive round to the diamond building and park very easily. Then they are inside, working away all day, until five o’clock, when they come out and drive their car back to the house just down the road. That is their life.”
    “And a very good one too,” said Mma Phumele.
    Mma Ramotswe nodded. She saw nothing wrong in such a life, but she had a feeling that something was shortly to go wrong. People who live near their work and have easy parking arrangements…well, even if they have husbands who are as solid as a tree, things can go badly wrong. Sex, she thought. That is what is going to go wrong here.
    And she was right. “This woman,” Mma Gabane Gabane went on, “this foolish, foolish woman met a young man who worked in the same office. He wasn’t an accountant—nothing like that—he was a trainee, Mma Ramotswe, just a trainee. He was eighteen.”
    There was a sharp intake of breath from Mma Phumele, who looked at Mma Ramotswe to gauge her reaction. She would be every bit as shocked as the rest of them, she imagined. And Mma Ramotswe was shocked. “He was eighteen, Mma? Just eighteen?” she said.
    “Eighteen,” said Mma Gabane Gabane. “Eighteen years old, Mma. Can you believe it?”
    “I can,” said Mma Ramotswe, with a sigh. “I have seen things like that in the course of my work.”
    All eyes turned to her. “You have seen many such things?” asked Mma Potokwane’s friend. “Eighteen-year-old boys with…with ladies over thirty?”
    Mma Ramotswe lowered her eyes. She was not enjoying this conversation, but she had to say something. “There are many shocking things that happen,” she said. “I see them in my work.”
    One of the ladies exhaled loudly. “You must tell us about these things some time, Mma,” she said. “You must tell us about some of these shocking things.”
    “Yes,” said another. “We are very keen to disapprove.”
    Mma Gabane Gabane asserted her control once more. “They were carrying on, Mma Ramotswe, in one of the cupboards.” She paused, letting the full effect of this