Morality for Beautiful Girls [Audiobook] [Audio Cassette]

Forget the library - the body is in the mud hut. An African Marple created by a Scottish law lecturer. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

This is art that conceals art. I haven't read anything with such unalloyed pleasure for a long time. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Highly amusing, intelligent and heart-warming. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

McCall Smith is a natural born storyteller, filling his prose with rhythm and repetition…Charming, quirky and timeless. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

* In this third volume of highly original 'detective' stories with a unique setting and characters, the irrepressible, Precious Ramotswe faces supreme problems at home and at work. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

"The No 1 Ladies' Detective Agency" introduced the engaging and sassy owner of Botswana's only detective agency, Precious Ramotswe. This latest novel finds her expanding her business to take in the world of car repair and a beauty pageant. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

The one with the boy who might have been raised by lions Facing financial trouble, the No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency is obliged to move into the same premises as Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors. And on top of her domestic complications with her fiancé Mr J. L. B. Matekoni and his adopted children Motholeli and Puso, Mma Ramotswe faces several challenging cases. These include some unattractive behaviour among the contestants in a beauty pageant, and the perplexing discovery of a boy running wild, who smells of lion . . . 'Unalloyed pleasure' Sunday Telegraph 'Charming' Scotland on Sunday Discover the world of Alexander McCall Smith and his other books at alexandermccallsmith.co.uk [Facebook logo] --This text refers to the Paperback edition.

ALEXANDER McCALL SMITH has a double existence. He is a Professor of Medical Law, but also an author who has now written over fifty books on a wide range of subjects. These range from specialist titles such as 'Forensic Aspects of Sleep', (the only book on the subject) to 'The Criminal Law of Botswana' (also the only book on the subject) and from the widely translated 'The Perfect Hamburger' (a children's novel) to 'Portuguese Irregular Verbs' (a collection of stories about eccentric German professors). His collection of African stories, 'Children of Wax', received critical acclaim and has been the subject of an award-winning film. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Mma Ramotswe, the daughter of the late Obed Ramotswe of Mochudi, near Garborone, Botswana, Africa, was the announced fiancee of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, son of the late Pumphamilitse Matekoni, of Tlokweng, peasant farmer and latterly chief caretaker of the Railway Head Office. It was a fine match, everybody thought; she, the founder and owner of the No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency, Botswana's only Detective Agency, Botswana's only detective agency for the concerns of both ladies and others; he, the proprietor of Tlokweng Road Speedy Motors, and by general repute one of the finest mechanics in Botswana. It was always a good thing, people said , to have independent interests in a marriage. Traditional marriages, in which the man made all the decisions and controlled most of the household assets, were all very well for women who wanted to spend their time cooking and looking after children, but times had changed, and for educated women who wanted to make something of their lives, it was undoubtedly better for both spouses to have something to do.

There were many examples of such marriages. There was that of Mma Marketetse, for example, who had set up a small factory specialising in the making of khaki shorts for schoolboys. She had started with a cramped and ill-ventilated sewing room at the back of her house, but by employing her cousins to cut and sew for her she had built up one of Botswana's best businesses, exporting khaki shorts to Namibia in the face of stiff competition from large clothing factories in the Cape. She had married Mr Cedric Marketetse, who ran two bottle stores in Gaborone, the capital, and had recently opened a third in Francistown. There had been a faintly embarrassing article about them in the local paper, with the catchy headline: Shorts manufacturing lady buttons it up with drink merchant. They were both members of the Chamber of Commerce, and it was clear to all that Mr Marketetse was immensely proud of his wife's business success.

Of course a woman with a successful business had to be careful that a man who came courting her was not merely looking for a way of spending the rest of his days in comfort. There had been plenty of cases of that happening, and Mma Ramotswe had noticed that the consequences of such unions were almost inevitably dire. The man would either drink or gamble away the profit of his wife's enterprise, or he would try to run the business and destroy it in the process. Men were good at business, thought Mma Romotswe, but women were just as good. Women were thriftier by nature; they had to be, trying to run households on a tight budget and feed the ever-open mouths of children. Children ate so much, it seemed, and one could never cook enough pumpkin or porridge to fill their hungry bellies. And as for men, they never seemed happier than when eating large quantities of expensive meat. It was all rather discouraging. "That will be a good marriage" people said, when they heard of her engagement to Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. "He is a reliable man, and she is a very good woman. They will be very happy running their business and drinking tea together."

Mma Ramotswe was aware of this popular verdict on her engagement and shared the sentiment. After her disastrous marriage to Note Mokoti, the jazz trumpeter and incorrigible ladies' man, she had decided that she would never remarry, in spite of frequent offers. Indeed, she had initially turned down Mr J.L.B. Matekoni when he had first proposed, only to accept him some six months later. She had realised that the best test of a prospective husband involves no more than the asking of a very simple question, which every woman - or at least every woman who has had a good father - can pose and to which she will know the answer in her bones. She had asked herself this question in respect of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, and the answer had been unambiguous. "And what would my late Daddy have thought of him?" she said to herself. She posed the question after she had accepted Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, as one might ask oneself whether one had taken the right turning at a road junction. She remembered where she had been when she asked it. She was taking an evening walk near the dam, along one of those paths that led this way and that through the thorn bushes. She had suddenly stopped. And looked up at the sky, into that faint, washed out blue that would suddenly, at the approach of sunset, become streaked with copper-red. It was a quiet time of the day, and she was utterly alone. And so she spoke the question out loud, as if there were somebody there to hear it.

She looked up at the sky, half-expecting the answer to be there, but of course it was not, and she new it anyway, without the need to look. There was no doubt in her mind that Obed Ramotswe, who had seen every sort of man during the time he had worked in those distant mines, and who knew the foibles of all of them, would have approved of Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. And if that were the case, then she should have no fears about her future husband. He would be kind to her. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.