The sons-in-law were also each given a red Mercedes-Benz, with their initials on the driver's door. This required the Patel garage to be expanded as well, as there were now four Mercedes-Benz cars to be housed there; Mr Patel's, Mrs Patel's car (driven by a driver), and the two belonging to the sons-in law.
An elderly cousin had said to him at the wedding in Durban: 'Look, man, we Indians have got to be careful. You shouldn't go flashing your money around the place. The Africans don't like that, you know, and when they get the chance they'll take it all away from us. Look at what happened in Uganda. Listen to what some of the hotheads are saying in Zimbabwe. Imagine what the Zulus would do to us if they had half a chance. We've got to be discreet.'
Mr Patel had shaken his head. 'None of that applies in Botswana. There's no danger there, I'm telling you. They're stable people. You should see them; with all their diamonds. Diamonds bring stability to a place, believe me.'
The cousin appeared to ignore him. ' Africa 's like that, you see,' he continued. 'Everything's going fine one day, just fine, and then the next morning you wake up and discover your throat's been cut. Just watch out.'
Mr Patel had taken the warning to heart, to an extent, and had added to the height of the wall surrounding his house so that people could not look in the windows and see the luxury. And if they continued to drive around in their big cars, well, there were plenty of those in town and there was no reason why they should be singled out for special attention.
MMA RAMOTSWE was delighted when she received the telephone call from Mr Patel asking her whether she could possibly call on him, in his house, some evening in the near future. They agreed upon that very evening, and she went home to change into a more formal dress before presenting herself at the gates of the Patel mansion. Before she went out, she telephoned Mr J.L.B. Matekoni.
'You said I should get a rich client,' she said. 'And now I have. Mr Patel.'
Mr J.L.B. Matekoni drew in his breath. 'He is a very rich man,' he said. 'He has four Mercedes-Benzes. Four. Three of them are all right, but one has had bad problems with its transmission. There was a coupling problem, one of the worst I've seen, and I had to spend days trying to get a new casing…'
YOU COULD not just push open the gate at the Patel house; nor could you park outside and hoot your horn, as everybody did with other houses. At the Patel house you pressed a bell in the wall, and a high-pitched voice issued from a small speaker above your head.
'Yes. Patel place here. What do you want?' 'Mma Ramotswe,' she said. 'Private…' A crackling noise came from the speaker. 'Private? Private what?'
She was about to answer, when there was another crackling sound and the gate began to swing open. Mma Ramotswe had left her tiny white van round the corner, to keep up appearances, and so she entered the compound by foot. Inside, she found herself in a courtyard which had been transformed by shade netting into a grove of lush vegetation. At the far end of the courtyard was the entrance to the house itself, a large doorway flanked by tall white pillars and tubs of plants. Mr Patel appeared before the open door and waved to her with his walking stick.
She had seen Mr Patel before, of course, and knew that he had an artificial leg, but she had never seen him at really close quarters and had not expected him to be so small. Mma Ramotswe was not tall-being blessed with generous girth, rather than height-but Mr Patel still found himself looking up at her when he shook her hand and gestured for her to come inside.
'Have you been in my house before?' he asked, knowing, of course, that she had not. 'Have you been at one of my parties?'
This was a lie as well, she knew. Mr Patel never gave parties, and she wondered why he should pretend to do so.
'No,' she said simply. 'You have never asked me.'
'Oh dear,' he said, chuckling as he spoke. 'I have made a big mistake.'
He led her through an entrance hall, a long room with a shiny black and white marble floor. There was a lot of brass in this room-expensive, polished brass-and the overall effect was one of glitter.
'We shall go through to my study,' he said. 'That is my private room in which none of the family are ever allowed. They know not to disturb me there, even if the house is burning down.'
The study was another large room, dominated by a large desk on which there were three telephones and an elaborate pen and ink stand. Mma Ramotswe looked at the stand, which consisted of several glass shelves for the pens, the shelves being supported by miniature elephant tusks, carved in ivory.
'Sit down, please,' said Mr Patel, pointing to a white leather armchair. 'It takes me a little time to sit because I am missing one leg. There, you see. I am always on the lookout for a better leg. This one is Italian and cost me a lot of money, but I think there are better legs to be had. Maybe in America.'
Mma Ramotswe sank into the chair and looked at her host.
'I'll get straight to the point,' said Mr Patel. 'There's no point in beating about the bush and chasing all sorts of rabbits, is there? No, there isn't.'
He paused, waiting for Mma Ramotswe's confirmation. She nodded her head slightly.
'I am a family man, Mma Ramotswe,' he said. 'I have a happy family who all live in this house, except for my son, who is a gentleman dentist in Durban. You may have heard of him. People call him Pate these days.'
'I know of him,' said Mma Ramotswe. 'People speak highly of him, even here.'
Mr Patel beamed. 'Well, my goodness, that's a very pleasing thing to be told. But my other children are also very important to me. I make no distinction between my children. They are all the same. Equal-equal.'
'That's the best way to do it,' said Mma Ramotswe. 'If you favour one, then that leads to a great deal of bitterness.'
'You can say that again, oh yes,' said Mr Patel. 'Children notice when their parents give two sweets to one and one to another. They can count same as us.'
Mma Ramotswe nodded again, wondering where the conversation was leading.
'Now,' said Mr Patel. 'My big girls, the twins, are well married to good boys and are living here under this roof. That is all very excellent. And that leaves just one child, my little Nandira. She is sixteen and she is at Maru-a-PuIa. She is doing well at school, but…'
He paused, looking at Mma Ramotswe through narrowed eyes. 'You know about teenagers, don't you? You know how things are with teenagers in these modern days?'
Mma Ramotswe shrugged. 'They are often bad trouble for their parents. I have seen parents crying their eyes out over their teenagers.'
Mr Patel suddenly lifted his walking stick and hit his artificial leg for emphasis. The sound was surprisingly hollow and tinny.
'That's what is worrying me,' he said vehemently. 'That's what is happening. And I will not have that. Not in my family.' 'What?' asked Mma Ramotswe. 'Teenagers?' 'Boys,' said Mr Patel bitterly. 'My Nandira is seeing some boy in secret. She denies it, but I know that there is a boy. And this cannot be allowed, whatever these modern people are saying about the town. It cannot be allowed in this family-in this house.'
AS MR Patel spoke, the door to his study, which had been closed behind them when they had entered, opened and a woman came into the room. She was a local woman and she greeted Mma Ramotswe politely in Setswana before offering her a tray on which various glasses of fruit juice were set. Mma Ramotswe chose a glass of guava juice and thanked the servant. Mr Patel helped himself to orange juice and then impatiently waved the servant out of the room with his stick, waiting until she had gone before he continued to speak.
'I have spoken to her about this,' he said. 'I have made it very clear to her. I told her that I don't care what other children are doing-that is their parents' business, not mine. But I have made it very clear that she is not to go about the town with boys or see boys after school. That is final.'
He tapped his artificial leg lightly with his walking stick and then looked at Mma Ramotswe expectantly.
Mma Ramotswe cleared her throat. 'You want me to do something about this?' she said quietly. 'Is this why you have asked me here this evening?'
Mr Patel nodded. 'That is precisely why. I want you to find out who this boy is, and then I will speak to him.'
