“Then you must still have it,” said Mma Makutsi quickly. “Efficiency isn’t the only thing, Mma.”

Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “No, what you said, Mma, is quite right. There is no point in filling a big teapot with red bush tea if I am the only one who drinks it. I do not want to be selfish.”

You are never selfish, thought Mma Makutsi, ruefully. Never. I am the selfish one. “But I did not mean to take it from you,” she said. And she tried to explain: this was no act of petty office self-aggrandisement; it was not that. Nor was it the act of a bored bureaucrat, of one of those who sought to bring about change in the well-ordered ways of others simply because they had to find something to do. It was not that, either. “I am not one of those people who change everything just to make it more efficient.”

“I know you aren’t,” said Mma Ramotswe. “But you are still right.”

Mma Makutsi, in her misery, looked down at her shoes, as she often did at such moments. She was wearing her everyday footwear-a pair of brown shoes with rather frayed edges, shoes that had the look of experience. They looked back at her with that slight air of superiority that her shoes tended to effect. Don’t look at us, Boss, the shoes said. It was your big idea, not ours. We don’t go around trying to change things, do we? We do not.

AS IT HAPPENED, there were few takers for tea that morning, as the mechanics were busier than usual and unable to take the time off. An hour or so later, though, Charlie came in to report that he was going out to fetch a spare part for Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni, and would be happy to see if there was any mail in the mailbox near the Riverside filling station. His offer was accepted, and he returned twenty minutes later with a bundle of letters, which he placed on Mma Ramotswe’s desk.