The woman swam to the shore and helped herself out, ignoring the man’s insincere apologies. The steward ran over to offer her a towel, and she took it, wrapped it around herself, and marched through the crowd into the clubhouse.

A few moments later, the man walked past us, a wide innocent smile on his face.

‘Kraut,’ he said in an American accent. ‘Can’t take jokes.’

We watched him trudge up to the clubhouse, and then Isabelle took a puff of her cigarette and said in a very still voice: ‘I was at the front in January. I must now get back. But it takes very long to obtain authorization to fly there.’

She was looking out at the sea instead of me, at the lights of the trawlers. Her brown skin, the sheen of her bathing suit, the lapping of the water behind her, the alcohol still warm in my throat . . . for a moment, I forgot about Slavin and Anna and Sasha and Pritchard, and felt like a human being. Then a ship hooted in the distance and I woke up. That life was an illusion, and I couldn’t afford to slip back into it.

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you,’ I said. ‘I’ve only just got here.’ She turned, and shot me a withering look. ‘I was not requesting your help,’ she said. ‘I make my own arrangements.’

I looked at my watch. It was quarter to eleven.

‘It was nice meeting you,’ I said, and her looks softened for a fraction of a moment.

Back at the table, I took Manning to one side and told him I needed to borrow his car.

‘Whatever for?’ he said. ‘Not that Slavin business again?’

‘Well, he’s not here, is he?’

‘But how am I supposed to—’

‘Sandy can give you a lift home,’ I said, lifting the keys from his jacket pocket.

I stood on the eighteenth brown and looked around. Nothing.

Nigerian golf courses didn’t have greens, Manning had explained to me. It was too hard to maintain grass in such a climate, so instead they had ‘browns’: they were made of a mix of sand and oil, which the caddies would sweep for you before your putt.

He was already ten minutes late. Had I just blown him? I had counted on his being senior enough to read his own messages without being challenged, but now I was having doubts. What if he was under such close supervision that his correspondence was read as a matter of course? I had no choice but to wait and find out.

Behind me were the banks of villas and embassies. I could see Slavin’s street, but there didn’t seem to be any sign of life in it. And then something moved in my peripheral vision, and I turned to catch it. It was just a shape in the darkness, but it hadn’t been there before.