Isabelle slowed the car at the same moment, trying to gain control, and the shot went wide, but as a result both cars drew ahead of us and they immediately started turning to block off the road. I leaned over Isabelle and, shoving her away, grabbed hold of the wheel and spun it towards with me with as much force as I could manage, one hand over the other. The next few seconds were a havoc of screeched tyres and broken headlights and gunfire as we bumped across open ground, until finally, by some miracle, we hit tarmac again, and Isabelle put her foot down and I fell back into my seat. Through the rear-view mirror I could see that the police were busy trying to disentangle themselves from their roadblock, so I shouted at her to take a quick turn, then another, then another, until eventually I couldn’t see any headlights behind us and my breathing slowed and I put away the gun and told her to keep driving.

They couldn’t have been after me: they wouldn’t have cared enough about a couple of dead Russians to shoot to kill. They must have been looking for something else.

‘Do you know the Victoria Palace Hotel?’ I asked Isabelle.

She nodded, and we headed for it.

The street was dark but for a shimmering yellow pool where the moonlight struck the rain-soaked macadam. I stepped back from the curtain and looked at Isabelle. She was sitting in the easy chair by the bed, her chin resting on one hand.

‘Strip,’ I said.

She looked at me from out of the darkness, but didn’t move.

‘Are all Englishmen this romantic?’ she said, tilting her head.

‘It’s not a come-on,’ I said. ‘Strip now, or I’ll do it for you.’

‘Do you enjoy the rough stuff, is that it?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘That’s not it. It’s that I don’t like being taken for a fool.’ I took the pistol from my holster and pointed it at her.

Her eyes widened. Then she stood up, shrugged, and started to unlace her boots.

‘How did you know I was in the green room?’ I asked. ‘At the club.’

She looked surprised. ‘I saw you slip away. I guessed you had seen something backstage and wished to return for another look.’

‘And the police?’

‘Yes?’

‘I don’t believe, even in wild and woolly Lagos, that the police fire on people just for fleeing a raid. There were five cars chasing us, and they were shooting to kill.’

‘So were you, non?’ Her boots off, she started unbuttoning her tunic.

‘How long have you been with French intelligence?’ I said.

She stretched out her arms so the dress fell to the floor, leaving her in her bathing suit. ‘How long have you been with British intelligence?’