women?'
Alice Busang nodded. 'Yes,' she said. 'I want proof. Just for myself. I want proof so that I can know what sort of man I married.'
MMA RAMOTSWE was too busy to take on the Busang case until the following week. That Wednesday, she stationed herself in her small white van outside the office in the Diamond Sorting Building where Kremlin Busang worked. She had been given a photograph of him by Alice Busang and she glanced at this on her knee; this was a handsome man, with broad shoulders and a wide smile. He was a ladies' man by the look of him, and she wondered why Alice Busang had married him if she wanted a faithful husband. Hopefulness, of course; a naive hope that he would be unlike other men. Well, you only had to look at him to realise that this would not be so.
She followed him, her white van trailing his old blue car through the traffic to the Go Go Handsome Man's Bar down by the bus station. Then, while he strolled into the bar, she sat for a moment in her van and put a little more lipstick on her lips and a dab of cream on her cheeks. In a few minutes she would go in and begin work in earnest.
IT WAS not crowded inside the Go Go Handsome Man's Bar and there were only one or two other women there. Both of them she recognised as bad women. They stared at her, but she ignored them and took a seat at the bar, just two stools from Kremlin Busang.
She bought a beer and looked about her, as if taking in the surroundings of the bar for the first time.
'You've not been here before, my sister,' said Kremlin Busang. 'It's a good bar, this one.'
She met his gaze. 'I only come to bars on big occasions,' she said. 'Such as today.'
Kremlin Busang smiled. 'Your birthday?'
'Yes,' she said. 'Let me buy you a drink to celebrate.'
She bought him a beer, and he moved over to the stool beside her. She saw that he was a good-looking man, exactly as his photograph had revealed him, and his clothes were well chosen. They drank their beers together, and then she ordered him another one. He began to tell her about his job.
'I sort diamonds,' he said. 'It's a difficult job, you know. You need good eyesight.'
'I like diamonds,' she said. 'I like diamonds a lot.'
'We are very lucky to have so many diamonds in this country,' he said. 'My word! Those diamonds!'
She moved her left leg slightly, and it touched his. He noticed this, as she saw him glance down, but he did not move his leg away.
'Are you married?' she asked him quietly.
He did not hesitate. 'No. I've never been married. It's better to be single these days. Freedom, you know.'
She nodded. 'I like to be free too,' she said. 'Then you can decide how to spend your own time.'
'Exactly,' he said. 'Dead right.'
She drained her glass.
'I must go,' she said, and then, after a short pause: 'Maybe you'd like to come back for a drink at my place. I've got some beer there.'
He smiled. 'Yes. That's a good idea. I had nothing to do either.'
He followed her home in his car and together they went into her house and turned on some music. She poured him a beer, and he drank half of it in one gulp. Then he put his arm around her waist, and told her that he liked good, fat women. All this business about being thin was nonsense and was quite wrong for Africa.
'Fat women like you are what men really want,' he said.
She giggled. He was charming, she had to admit it, but this was work and she must be quite professional. She must remember that she needed evidence, and that might be more difficult to get.
'Come and sit by me,' she said. 'You must be tired after standing up all day, sorting diamonds.'
SHE HAD her excuses ready, and he accepted them without protest. She had to be at work early the next morning and he could not stay. But it would be a pity to end such a good evening and have no memento of it.
'I want to take a photograph of us, just for me to keep. So that I can look at it and remember tonight.'
He smiled at her and pinched her gently.
'Good idea.'
So she set up her camera, with its delayed switch, and leapt back on the sofa to join him. He pinched her again and put his arm around her and kissed her passionately as the flash went off.
'We can publish that in the newspapers if you like,' he said. 'Mr Handsome with his friend Miss Fatty.'
She laughed. 'You're a ladies' man all right, Kremlin. You're a real ladies' man. I knew it first time I saw you.'
'Well somebody has to look after the ladies,' he said.
ALICE BUSANG returned to the office that Friday and found Mma Ramotswe waiting for her.
'I'm afraid that I can tell you that your husband is unfaithful,' she said. 'I've got proof.'
Alice closed her eyes. She had expected this, but she had not wanted it. She would kill him, she thought; but no, I still love him. I hate him. No, I love him.
Mma Ramotswe handed her the photograph. 'There's your proof,' she said.
Alice Busang stared at the picture. Surely not! Yes, it was her! It was the detective lady.
'You…' she stuttered. 'You were with my husband?'
'He was with me,' said Mma Ramotswe. 'You wanted proof, didn't you? I got the best proof you could hope for.'
Alice Busang dropped the photograph.
'But you… you went with my husband. You…'
Mma Ramotswe frowned. 'You asked me to trap him, didn't you?'
Alice Busang's eyes narrowed. 'You bitch!' she screamed. 'You fat bitch! You took my Kremlin! You husband- stealer! Thief!'
Mma Ramotswe looked at her client with dismay. This would be a case, she thought, where she might have to waive the fee.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALICE BUSANG was ushered out of the agency still shouting her insults at Mma Ramotswe.
'You fat tart! You think you're a detective! You're just man hungry, like all those bar girls! Don't be taken in everyone! This woman isn't a detective. No. 1 Husband Stealing Agency, that's what this is!'
When the row had died away, Mma Ramotswe and Mma Makutsi looked at one another. What could one do but laugh? That woman had known all along what her husband was up to, but had insisted on proof. And when she got the proof, she blamed the messenger.
'Look after the office while I go off to the garage,' said Mma Ramotswe. 'I just have to tell Mr J.L.B. Matekoni about this.'
He was in his glass-fronted office cubicle, tinkering with a distributor cap.
'Sand gets everywhere these days,' he said. 'Look at this.'
He extracted a fragment of silica from a metal duct and showed it triumphantly to his visitor.
'This little thing stopped a large truck in its tracks,' he said. 'This tiny piece of sand.'
'For want of a nail, the shoe was lost,' said Mma Ramotswe, remembering a distant afternoon in the Mochudi Government School when the teacher had quoted this to them. ''For want of a shoe, the…' She stopped. It refused to come back.
