She started moving my hand across her cheek, making me caress her, and I didn’t resist, just stood there as she did it. One of my fingers brushed against her mouth, and she grabbed it with her lip, and then her hands were in my hair and she was leading me over to the bed, where she kissed me. I could taste the sweat on her, from the club, from the car. She moved her hands across my sodden shirt and lifted it, touching my stomach, and there was a fluttering there that I hadn’t felt in years, and I let myself be transported back, let myself drift away in her skilful arms. As she unhooked her bra and I bit into her flesh, we fell into the cool grey sheets and she cried out to me - ‘Robert! Oh, Robert!’ - but I wasn’t there. I was in another place, many years ago, and so I couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but lie there as she rubbed her body against mine, two animals in the dirt and the heat, and my mind cried back, shouting out in its little cell, again and again, despite everything: ‘Anna! Anna! Anna!’

XI

XI

Tuesday, 25 March 1969, Lagos

I woke with a start and reached for the gun. The room was pitch black and my chest was soaked in sweat. There was a sound, and it took me a moment to locate and identify it. It was coming from the woman lying next to me: her body was rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, and a low whistling was emanating from her nostrils.

The previous night’s events flooded back. I flicked the bedside light switch, but nothing happened. Taking care not to wake Isabelle, I climbed out of bed and walked over to the door. The main light wasn’t working either. That explained why I was drenched - there’d been a power cut, so there was no air conditioning.

I looked at the luminous dial of my watch. Twenty past five. Pritchard’s plane would be here in just over two hours. I had to get dressed and get outside. But to where, and to do what, exactly? It was too early for Anna to be starting work at the embassy, and I would be too conspicuous hanging round there at this time of night. There was nothing more to do until dawn.

The wind was shooting volleys of rain against the window, making an eerie fluttering noise every few seconds. I went over, parted the curtains by a finger’s breadth and peered through the mosquito net. I couldn’t detect any movement, either in the street or in the cars parked by the entrance. The rain was beating furiously against the surface of the swimming pool - no diplomats sipping cocktails now. Across the dark water, the lights of the trawlers pulsed softly.