How to Raise an Elephant: No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency (21) (The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency, 21) - Softcover

McCall Smith, Alexander

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0593310950 ISBN 13: 9780593310953

Verlag: Anchor Books, 2021

Inhaltsangabe

In this latest installment in the cherished No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series, Mma Ramotswe must balance family obligations with the growing needs of one of Charlie’s pet projects.
 
Precious Ramotswe loves her dependable old van. Yes, it sometimes takes a bit longer to get going now, and it has developed some quirks over the years, but it has always gotten the job done. This time, though, the world—and Charlie—may be asking too much of it, for when he borrows the beloved vehicle, he returns it damaged. And, to make matters worse, the interior seems to have acquired an earthy smell that even Precious can’t identify.
 
But the olfactory issue is not the only mystery that needs solving. Mma Ramotswe is confronted by a distant relative, Blessing, who asks for help with an ailing cousin. The help requested is of a distinctly pecuniary nature, which makes both Mr. J.L.B. Matekoni and Mma Makutsi suspicious. And there is no peace at home, either, as the new neighbors are airing their marital grievances rather loudly. Still, Mma Ramotswe is confident that the solutions to all of these difficulties are there to be discovered—as long as she is led by kindness, grace, and logic and can rely on the counsel of her friends and loved ones.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

ALEXANDER McCALL SMITH is the author of the No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency novels and of a number of other series and stand-alone books. His works have been translated into more than forty languages and have been best sellers throughout the world. He lives in Scotland.

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CHAPTER ONE: NO DOUBLE BED
 
Precious Ramotswe, owner and only begetter of the No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency—established to deal with the problems of ladies, and others—looked across her office towards the desk occupied by Grace Makutsi, former secretary and distinguished graduate—with ninety-seven per cent in the final examinations—of the Botswana Secretarial College. The sun was streaming through the high window behind Mma Ramotswe’s desk, sending a narrow butter-yellow beam to illuminate small particles of floating dust, just perceptible, feather-light, moving up and down, sometimes sliding sideways in obedience to the invisible currents in the room. But for the most part the air was still—it being that sort of day, sluggish and non-committal. The sort of day on which something might happen, but was more likely not to.
 
It was not unusual for Mma Ramotswe to look up and see Mma Makutsi staring back at her; and the same thing might be said for Mma Makutsi, who would suddenly lift her gaze from the papers in front of her and notice Mma Ramotswe watching her thoughtfully. Neither minded this—indeed, both were used to it, and when either of them was out of the office for whatever reason, the other would find that she missed seeing her colleague there at her desk when she looked up. This was particularly true for Mma Makutsi, for whom Mma Ramotswe was a reassuring presence every bit as significant, every bit as reassuring, as the great rock dome of Kgale Hill on the outskirts of town, or the deep waters of the Limpopo River, just a few hours off to the east, or the sandhills of the Kalahari over to the west. These were all geographical facts, just as Mma Ramotswe herself seemed to be a geographical fact. She was simply there—as predictable and as constant as any of these things. And her voice was as familiar and as loved as the voice of the doves inhabiting the acacia tree behind Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors; indeed, she would not have been surprised had Mma Ramotswe suddenly started to coo, just as those doves did. Mma Makutsi could not imagine Botswana with­out those doves, and she could not imagine it without Mma Ramotswe; if she were not there, then it would be just any other country; with her it was something special—it was Mma Ramotswe’s place, a place bathed in the warmth of her presence as effectively as the sun blesses the land each morning with its warming rays.
 
Now Mma Ramotswe looked across the office and noticed that Mma Makutsi was looking back at her. There was something differ­ent about Mma Makutsi, she thought, and it took Mma Ramotswe a little while to work out what it was. It was not what she was wearing: she had on the green dress that for some reason she liked to wear on Fridays—Mma Makutsi was a creature of habit. No, it was something else, and when Mma Ramotswe realised what it was, she reproached herself for not noticing it at once. Mma Makutsi’s glasses, normally large and round, like outsize swimming goggles, had shrunk. They were still round, but the lenses were considerably smaller—tiny discs, by comparison, no bigger than the coins to be found in a pocket of small change. Any detective worth her salt would have spotted the change immediately, thought Mma Ramotswe. She had always prided herself on her powers of observation, but it was hardly very observant to miss a detail such as this. Of course, she had the excuse of the familiar: the eye is lulled into complacency when contemplating those things and people we see every day.
 
“Your glasses, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe.
 
Mma Makutsi leaned back in her chair. She was smiling. “I wondered when you were going to notice, Mma. Do you like them? They’re new.”
 
Mma Ramotswe knew from long experience that Mma Makutsi was sensitive to criticism. The only response one could safely give if asked one’s opinion on any aspect of her appearance was to say that it was perfect. Any reservation, even in the form of a momentary hesitation, could give rise to a display of hurt feelings that could quickly become a more than momentary sulk; not prolonged beyond the evening, of course—Mma Ramotswe had never known Mma Makutsi to keep a state of huff going for more than a few hours, but it was best to avoid such occasions altogether, she thought.
 
“They are very fine glasses,” she said. “They are clearly very fashionable.”
 
It was just the right thing to say. Mma Makutsi touched the spec­tacles gently, repositioning them slightly on the bridge of her nose. “I saw them in a magazine, Mma,” she said. “One of those very famous actresses was wearing them.”
 
“Which famous actress, Mma?”
 
Mma Makutsi shrugged. “Oh, I don’t remember the names of any of those people. But they are very famous, Mma. They go to par­ties and there are many photographers at those parties. Snap, snap, snap—so that we can all see what was happening at the party even if we never get an invitation.”
 
“So, this lady—whoever she was—was wearing your spectacles, Mma?”
 
“The exact same,” said Mma Makutsi. “And there was a list at the bottom of the page of what she was wearing, and how much it cost. They gave the name of the shop where you could order spectacles like that. It’s down in Cape Town; they do not sell these glasses in Botswana. You have to write off for them. These are Cape Town glasses—everyone is wearing them down there, they say.”
 
Mma Ramotswe wondered whether it was really a model who had been wearing them. “I think that lady might have been paid to wear them, Mma. I think that is possible, because otherwise they would not have published the details of where you could buy them.”
 
“It does not matter,” said Mma Makutsi. “She might have been a model—who knows?”
 
Mma Ramotswe thought about this. “If she was a model, Mma, do you think she was really short-sighted, or would she have been wearing them just for the photograph?”
 
Mma Makutsi hesitated. “It is possible, Mma, that she was short-sighted. I could not tell from the photograph.”
 
“You’re right, though, Mma,” said Mma Ramotswe. “It doesn’t matter whether or not she needed them. The point is: they look very good on you, Mma.”
 
“You’re not just saying that, Mma?”
 
Mma Ramotswe shook her head. “I am not just saying it, Mma Makutsi. I am sitting here thinking it as well. I am sitting here thinking: Those spectacles look very good on Mma Makutsi. They are a big improvement.”
 
As soon as she said this, Mma Ramotswe realised that she had said the wrong thing. She was about to rephrase her words, but it was too late.
 
“What was wrong with my old glasses, Mma? Why did they need improvement?”
 
“There was nothing wrong with them,” said Mma Ramotswe hurriedly. “They were very fine glasses. It’s just that these new ones are even finer.” She repeated, even more emphatically, “Even finer, Mma.”
 
Mma Makutsi seemed appeased. She looked at her watch, and Mma Ramotswe noticed that she was peering at it more closely than usual. Perhaps it was the light, as the sun had just gone behind a cloud and it was darker in the office than it had been a few minutes earlier.
 
“I think it is time for tea, Mma,” she said. “I shall make it.”
 
She got up from her...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Anchor Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2021
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593310950
• ISBN 13: 9780593310953
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 242
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: SC; https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/; ; CL MODESTO LAFUENTE 41; Madrid; Madrid; Spanien