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“When she rang off, she leaped up from her chair and did a little dance. It was an unusual dance, Rra—not one I have ever seen before—but you could tell that it was the dance of somebody who was very happy about something.”
    â€œAbout getting this … this whatever it was she got?”
    â€œA restaurant,” said Mma Ramotswe. “Mma Makutsi told me after she had finished her dance. She has bought a restaurant. She is going to continue to work in the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency, of course, but in her spare time she will be running a restaurant. It will be her extra business.”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Ow!” he said.
    Mma Ramotswe shrugged. “I don’t know what to think, Rra. I’m not sure if I should be thinking ‘ow’ as well, or whether I should be thinking something else altogether.”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni started to smile. “It will be a strange restaurant, Mma, if Mma Makutsi is running it.”
    Mma Ramotswe suppressed a grin. He was right, of course, but there were issues of loyalty here. For all her quirks, Mma Makutsi was her colleague and friend; more than that, she was a woman, and there were still those men who looked with condescension on the business aspirations of women. Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni was not like that, naturally, but Mma Ramotswe felt that she should not be too quick to call into doubt the business ambitions of another woman. Even to think “ow” might be going too far, and so she did not grin, but instead said, “I’m sure that Mma Makutsi knows what’s she’s doing, Rra. After all, if you get ninety-seven per cent, then you must have a good head on your shoulders.”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni picked up the warning. “Oh, I’m not doubting Mma Makutsi’s general abilities. She is a very clever lady, as we all know. It’s just that she’s a bit …” He struggled to find the word, and Mma Ramotswe immediately felt sorry for him. Yes, Mma Makutsi was a bit … a bit … She too found it difficult to describe exactly what she wanted to say. There were plenty of people who were a bit … whatever it was.
    â€œBossy?” she suggested. “Is that what you’re trying to say, Rra?”
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni frowned. He was not sure if that was exactly what he meant. Mma Potokwane was bossy—the wordwas exactly right for her, but she, of course, had no option but to be bossy. If you were the matron of an orphan farm, with all those children running around, then you
had
to be bossy. And presumably any advertisement for that job would have to specify the need for bossiness. If Mma Potokwane were to retire and a successor needed to be found, then the wording of the advertisement would have to spell things out quite clearly.
Wanted: an experienced lady for the job of Matron. Only very bossy ladies need apply.
    He smiled at the thought.
    â€œSomething funny, Rra?” asked Mma Ramotswe.
    He put out of his mind the picture that had been forming of a line of bossy ladies queuing up for an interview for Mma Potokwane’s job. There would be a great deal of pushing and shoving and using of elbows, until eventually the bossiest, pushiest lady reached the head of the queue and was straightaway appointed.
    He returned to the subject of Mma Makutsi’s restaurant. “No, it’s not exactly bossiness I’m talking about, Mma. It’s more a question of strictness. Yes, maybe that’s it.”
    Mma Ramotswe nodded. Strictness. That was it. Mma Makutsi could be
strict.
    Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni now found the words. “You will get into trouble if you don’t eat everything on your plate, you see. She will be watching through one of those kitchen hatches—you’ll just see her spectacles peering out—and she will notice if you do not finish off her food. Then she will come out