Read Online Tears Of The Giraffe by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Alexander McCall Smith
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He had just replaced the coolant unit on a customer’s van and this, he noticed, was the same price, down to the last pula. It was not expensive. Reaching into his pocket, he took out the wad of notes which he had drawn from the bank earlier that morning and paid the jeweller.
“One thing I must ask you,” Mr J.L.B. Matekoni said to the jeweller. “Is this diamond a Botswana diamond?”
The jeweller looked at him curiously.
“Why are you interested in that?” he asked. “A diamond is a diamond wherever it comes from.”
“I know that,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “But I would like to think that my wife will be wearing one of our own stones.”
The jeweller smiled. “In that case, yes, it is. All these stones are stones from our own mines.”
“Thank you,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “I am happy to hear that.”
THEY DROVE back from the jeweller’s shop, past the Anglican Cathedral and the Princess Marina Hospital. As they passed the Cathedral, Mma Ramotswe said: “I think that perhaps we should get married there. Perhaps we can get Bishop Makhulu himself to marry us.”
“I would like that,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “He is a good man, the Bishop.”
“Then a good man will be conducting the wedding of a good man,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You are a kind man, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.”
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni said nothing. It was not easy to respond to a compliment, particularly when one felt that the compliment was undeserved. He did not think that he was a particularly good man. There were many faults in his character, he thought, and if anyone was good, it was Mma Ramotswe. She was far better than he was. He was just a mechanic who tried his best; she was far more than that.
They turned down Zebra Drive and drove into the short drive in front of Mma Ramotswe’s house, bringing the car to a halt under the shade-netting at the side of her verandah. Rose, Mma Ramotswe’s maid, looked out of the kitchen window and waved to them. She had done the day’s laundry and it was hanging out on the line, white against the red-brown earth and blue sky.
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni took Mma Ramotswe’s hand, touching, for a moment, the glittering ring. He looked at her, and saw that there were tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should not be crying, but I cannot help it.”
“Why are you sad?” he asked. “You must not be sad.”
She wiped away a tear and then shook her head.
“I’m not sad,” she said. “ It’s just that nobody has ever given me anything like this ring before. When I married Note he gave me nothing. I had hoped that there would be a ring, but there was not. Now I have a ring.”
“I will try to make up for Note,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “I will try to be a good husband for you.”
Mma Ramotswe nodded. “You will be,” she said. “And I shall try to be a good wife for you.”
They sat for a moment, saying nothing, each with the thoughts that the moment demanded. Then Mr J.L.B. Matekoni got out, walked round the front of the car, and opened her door for her. They would go inside for bush tea and she would show Rose the ring and the diamond that had made her so happy and so sad at the same time.
CHAPTER SIX
A DRY PLACE
S ITTING IN her office at the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, Mma Ramotswe reflected on how easy it was to find oneself committed to a course of action simply because one lacked the courage to say no. She did not really want to take on the search for a solution to what happened to Mrs Curtin’s son; Clovis Andersen, the author of her professional bible,
The Principles of Private Detection,
would have described the enquiry as stale. “A stale enquiry,” he wrote, “is unrewarding to all concerned. The client is given false hopes because a detective is working on the case, and the agent himself feels committed to coming up with something because of the client’s expectations. This means that the agent will probably spend more time on the case
“One thing I must ask you,” Mr J.L.B. Matekoni said to the jeweller. “Is this diamond a Botswana diamond?”
The jeweller looked at him curiously.
“Why are you interested in that?” he asked. “A diamond is a diamond wherever it comes from.”
“I know that,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “But I would like to think that my wife will be wearing one of our own stones.”
The jeweller smiled. “In that case, yes, it is. All these stones are stones from our own mines.”
“Thank you,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “I am happy to hear that.”
THEY DROVE back from the jeweller’s shop, past the Anglican Cathedral and the Princess Marina Hospital. As they passed the Cathedral, Mma Ramotswe said: “I think that perhaps we should get married there. Perhaps we can get Bishop Makhulu himself to marry us.”
“I would like that,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “He is a good man, the Bishop.”
“Then a good man will be conducting the wedding of a good man,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You are a kind man, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.”
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni said nothing. It was not easy to respond to a compliment, particularly when one felt that the compliment was undeserved. He did not think that he was a particularly good man. There were many faults in his character, he thought, and if anyone was good, it was Mma Ramotswe. She was far better than he was. He was just a mechanic who tried his best; she was far more than that.
They turned down Zebra Drive and drove into the short drive in front of Mma Ramotswe’s house, bringing the car to a halt under the shade-netting at the side of her verandah. Rose, Mma Ramotswe’s maid, looked out of the kitchen window and waved to them. She had done the day’s laundry and it was hanging out on the line, white against the red-brown earth and blue sky.
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni took Mma Ramotswe’s hand, touching, for a moment, the glittering ring. He looked at her, and saw that there were tears in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should not be crying, but I cannot help it.”
“Why are you sad?” he asked. “You must not be sad.”
She wiped away a tear and then shook her head.
“I’m not sad,” she said. “ It’s just that nobody has ever given me anything like this ring before. When I married Note he gave me nothing. I had hoped that there would be a ring, but there was not. Now I have a ring.”
“I will try to make up for Note,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “I will try to be a good husband for you.”
Mma Ramotswe nodded. “You will be,” she said. “And I shall try to be a good wife for you.”
They sat for a moment, saying nothing, each with the thoughts that the moment demanded. Then Mr J.L.B. Matekoni got out, walked round the front of the car, and opened her door for her. They would go inside for bush tea and she would show Rose the ring and the diamond that had made her so happy and so sad at the same time.
CHAPTER SIX
A DRY PLACE
S ITTING IN her office at the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, Mma Ramotswe reflected on how easy it was to find oneself committed to a course of action simply because one lacked the courage to say no. She did not really want to take on the search for a solution to what happened to Mrs Curtin’s son; Clovis Andersen, the author of her professional bible,
The Principles of Private Detection,
would have described the enquiry as stale. “A stale enquiry,” he wrote, “is unrewarding to all concerned. The client is given false hopes because a detective is working on the case, and the agent himself feels committed to coming up with something because of the client’s expectations. This means that the agent will probably spend more time on the case
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