Read Online The Handsome Man's Deluxe Cafe by Alexander McCall Smith - Free Book Online Page B

catching,” said Mma Makutsi with a smirk.
    Miss Rose put down the teapot and looked at Mma Ramotswe.“As long as tactlessness isn’t catching too,” she said. “That would not be a good thing, would it?”
    Mma Ramotswe forced herself to smile. “Well, here is the tea, then. I am sure that it will be very good. And then I think we shall have to get back to the office. Mma Makutsi and I have correspondence to catch up on—it is always such a chore, but we have to do it.”
    The maid returned with the sugar and the tea was served. Mma Ramotswe noticed that Mrs. took two spoonfuls and stirred them in vigorously. How did one remember that one took sugar, or were there some things that the body knew? Did those things—and perhaps things of the heart—survive the loss of memory, so that part of you, at least, was still there?
    Over tea they talked about other matters. A neighbour’s dog had bitten a child and Miss Rose spoke at length about that. Then there was some discussion about the water pipeline to the north and a sale of work that had taken place at Riverwalk. Nothing was said about loss of memory or the identity of Mrs. It was, thought Mma Ramotswe, one of those gatherings where there is a topic that must not be discussed, but which sits sullenly in the corner.
    Just as their conversation was winding down, Mr. Sengupta appeared in the doorway and came to join them.
    â€œI heard voices,” he said. “And I thought that I knew who one of them was.” He smiled at Mma Ramotswe, who returned his friendly gesture.
    Miss Rose explained that her brother often worked at home. “He has an office here in the house,” she said. “He is always working, working, working. Even in the middle of the night you see him in his office—in his pyjamas.”
    Mr. Sengupta laughed. “Sometimes I am asleep at my desk. It looks as if I’m working, but I am actually sleeping.”
    Miss Rose now stood up. “We should allow our guests to leave,” she said. “They will have many other things to do.”
    Mrs. stood up too. Mr. Sengupta glanced in her direction. “I hope these ladies will be able to help you,” he said. “They are the best detectives in the country, I believe.”
    â€œI’m sure they are,” said Mrs. “And I am appreciative of their efforts. If only I could get my memory back …”
    She crossed the room to stand next to Mr. Sengupta.
    â€œSo, ladies,” said Miss Rose. “We shall wait for your findings.”
    As Miss Rose said this, Mma Ramotswe noticed that Mrs. had half turned towards Mr. Sengupta and was peering at the left shoulder of the blazer he was wearing. Then she suddenly brushed at the shoulder, as if removing a tiny piece of fluff. He barely took any notice of this and continued to look at Mma Ramotswe in a slightly bemused way.
    As they made their way towards the door, Mma Ramotswe promised to be in touch when further lines of enquiry had been worked out.
    â€œI hope that you will discover something,” said Miss Rose. “Mrs. is very keen to find out who she is so that she can go back to her own home and her own people.”
    Mma Ramotswe nodded reassuringly. She had no idea, though, how they could possibly proceed in this case. But she wanted to try, because she had taken to Mrs., and could imagine how terrible it must be to find yourself cast adrift in the world, not knowing who you are or where you are, but aware that there must be people who are missing you and wanting you home.
    As they drove back to the office she did not take Mma Makutsi to task. There was no point in that, as there would only be an argument. So she said nothing until Mma Makutsi herself spoke.
    â€œSwaziland,” said Mma Makutsi. “The capital city is Mbabane, isn’t it?”
    â€œI believe it is,” said Mma Ramotswe. But she did not wish to discuss Swaziland, or its capital.