The Handsome Man's Deluxe Cafe Read Online Free

the office—although recently Mma Makutsi had shifted them so that they were atleast half facing her desk as well. Mma Ramotswe had not approved of this, as she found it awkward talking to people side-on, and had returned them to their original position, facing her directly. But now, as the man and the woman sat down, she realised that there would be further chair issues: one could not have clients sitting with their backs to a co-director.
    Mma Makutsi was hovering behind them, and now offered the visitors tea. This offer was gratefully accepted by Miss Rose, who spoke for the first time. “I am very fond of tea,” she said. “I drink it all the time.”
    â€œIt is very good for the digestion,” said Mr. Sengupta.
    â€œAnd for many other organs,” said Miss Rose. “It clears the head and the nasal passages.”
    â€œYes,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Tea does all of those things. And more, I believe. And yet people still drink coffee …”
    Mr. Sengupta started to shake his head. First it went from side to side, over one shoulder and then over the other, but then it started to move backwards and forwards. The signals confused Mma Ramotswe; she knew the Indian habit of moving the head from side to side meant the opposite of what it meant elsewhere and signified approval rather than disagreement, but she was not sure what a combination of movements meant. Perhaps there was something wrong with Mr. Sengupta; perhaps his head was loose.
    â€œI am in complete agreement with you, Mma,” he said. “There is too much coffee being drunk. It is a serious situation.” He paused. “But that is not the problem that I wanted to talk to you about. I am happy to talk about coffee some other time, but there is another thing that is preying on my mind.”
    â€œThen please tell me, Rra.”
    â€œI shall. But firstly, may I tell you about myself, Mma Ramotswe?”
    â€œAnd me too,” said Miss Rose.
    â€œYes, yes, I’ll tell them about you, Rosie. But I shall be first because I am the one who is speaking, you see.”
    â€œ DO YOU KNOW INDIA , Mma?”
    In the background, the kettle, supervised by Mma Makutsi, began to make sounds of readiness—a faint whistling, like the first stirrings of the wind.
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t, Rra. There are many places in this world that I would like to see one day, and India is certainly one of them. It is high on my list.” As she spoke, Mma Ramotswe reflected on the fact that she had never really been anywhere much, apart from a couple of trips over the border into South Africa, and on another occasion north to Bulawayo. That made a total of two foreign countries, but she did not think of Botswana’s neighbours as being really very foreign. And as for the list, it was hardly an active one, as she suspected that she would never be able to get away, even if she could afford the fare, and somebody would have to take care of Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni and the children. And if Mma Makutsi were left in charge of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency there was always a risk that she would do something that would require sorting out later, co-director or not. Then there was another thing: even if India was on her list, there were other places that were higher up. There was Muncie, Indiana, to which Clovis Andersen, author of her
vade mecum, The Principles of Private Detection
, had given her an open invitation before he left Botswana; and then there was London, which she would like to visit in order to see Prince Charles if at all possible, although she was realistic about that and realised that he could well be busy when she was there and unable to fit her in to talk about the things that she had read he liked to talk about. She would like it if they could exchange notes on gardening, and she could tell him about her success with runner beans and her mopipi tree, and the difficulties of growing things