"I have worked for this man for many years," she hissed. "Every day I have worked, worked, worked. I have made him good food and polished the floor. I have looked after him very well."

"I don't think so, Mma," said Mma Ramotswe calmly. "If you have been feeding him so well, then why is he thin? A man who is well looked-after becomes fatter. They are just like cattle. That is well-known."

The maid shifted her gaze from Mma Ramotswe to her employer. "Who is this woman?" she demanded. "Why is she coming into my kitchen and saying things like this? Please ask her to go back to the bar you found her in."

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni swallowed hard. "I have asked her to marry me," he blurted out. "She is going to be my wife."

At this, the maid seemed to crumple. "Aiee!" she cried. "Aiee! You cannot marry her! She will kill you! That is the worst thing you can do."

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni moved forward and placed a comforting hand on the maid's shoulder. 

"Do not worry, Florence," he said. "She is a good woman, and I shall make sure that you will get another job. I have a cousin who has that hotel near the bus station. He needs maids and if I ask him to give you a job he will do so."

This did not pacify the maid. "I do not want to work in a hotel, where everyone is treated like a slave," she said. "I am not a do-this, do-that maid. I am a high-class maid, suitable for private houses. Oh! Oh! I am finished now. You are finished too if you marry this fat woman. She will break your bed. You will surely die very quickly. This is the end for you."

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni glanced at Mma Ramotswe, signalling that they should leave the kitchen. It would be better, he thought, if the maid could recover in private. He had not imagined that the news would be well received, but he had certainly not envisaged her uttering such embarrassing and disturbing prophecies. The sooner he spoke to the cousin and arranged the transfer to the other job, the better.