“There is only one interesting letter there,” he said. “It is from a place in the United States. I can tell from the stamp. Wow! One, two, three!”

Mma Makutsi looked at him with irritation. “It is none of your business,” she said. “Our letters are none of your business, Charlie. You are just a mechanic-not a detective.” Her irritation suddenly changed to pleasure as she contemplated her next observation. “Actually, you are just an apprentice, not a proper mechanic yet.”

It was a telling blow. Charlie and Fanwell had not made great progress with their apprenticeships, largely because of their failure to apply themselves to the regular examinations that the Apprenticeship Board required. Fanwell, at least, had an excuse for this, as he was chronically dyslexic and, although intelligent, had difficulty understanding examination questions. Charlie, who was both intelligent and a quick reader, could claim only fecklessness as an excuse, if it were an excuse, which of course it was not.

“It is addressed to Mma Ramotswe,” he snapped. “Not to you.”

Mma Ramotswe made a calming gesture; she did not like the arguments that seemed to flare up between these two, nor any arguments, for that matter. “I do not mind,” she muttered as she extracted the white airmail letter from the pile of manila envelopes.

Charlie threw a triumphant glance towards Mma Makutsi. “You must be very proud, Mma,” he said. “You must be proud that there are people there who know about you and are writing to you. Nobody in America knows about her over there. She is an unknown lady, Mma; you are very well known.”

“Ssh, Charlie,” said Mma Ramotswe. “I am sure that there are many people there who know about Mma Makutsi. Or they will in future, I am certain of it.”

She slit open the letter and began to read it. They watched her, and at the end she said, “Oh dear, I am very sorry. This is very sad, but also it is very good news for one man.”