J. J. beamed. ‘Is that so? Well, tell your editor that he is a fine person with wonderful taste.’ He laughed suddenly, and looked around the room for approval - some of the hangers-on joined in the laughter. He held up a hand and the laughter stopped. He turned to me. ‘And who are you?’ he asked.

‘Robert Kane,’ I said, stepping forward. ‘The Times of London. I’m also writing a piece on Lagos nightlife.’

‘The Times!’ he exclaimed. ‘I know it well.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Certainly - I used to take it when I lived in London. Last year you ran an excellent article about my cousin. He has been imprisoned by the government on bogus and trumped-up charges for the last eighteen months, and he is rotting in a cell in Kaduna at this very moment.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said.

‘But how is London these days? I often think fondly of the nightclubs I used to visit there. I am trying to recreate a certain aspect of them here in Lagos. The Flamingo, the Marquee, Ronnie Scott’s . . .’

‘Ronnie Scott’s? I was there last night! I saw a very good American group.’ I struggled to remember the name, but my mind had gone blank.

‘Dexter Gordon? Ben Webster? What instruments? I saw all the big names when I lived there. But now these Americans, they try to take over our country with this new soul sound. It is not real music. Our audience here’ - he gestured dismis sively in the direction of the dance floor - ‘wants us to play James Brown, James Brown, all night. That does not interest me - to be James Brown in my own place. I studied for three years at the London College of Music. It was an excellent grounding in the kind of thing I am trying to achieve here.’

‘I’ve heard they have a very good course,’ I said.

‘Ah, so you know it?’

‘I know of its reputation,’ I said, which seemed to satisfy him. I wasn’t sure how far I could push things. The Russian probably had an introductory phrase to feed his contact - without it, I was lost. I didn’t even know if this man was the contact. But it was moot: before I could think of anything else to say, he abruptly announced that it was time to go back on stage, and everyone began shuffling out of the room.

‘Did you get your story?’ Isabelle asked me as we moved back through the crowd.

‘Not really. I might try to talk to him again after the show. Do you mind staying on?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t danced in a long time.’