“After that we were in a lockup that Max blagged off Transport for London,” said James. “It was drafty but a lot more relaxed.”

“Though terribly cold,” said Daniel.

“Then suddenly we’re all back at Cy’s place,” said James. “Only it’s not Melinda serving the coffee and biscuits anymore, it’s the gorgeous Simone.”

“When did this happen?”

“April, May, around that time,” said Max. “Spring.”

“How did Melinda take it?” I asked.

“We don’t know,” said James. “We never saw that much of her even when she was around.”

“I met her a couple of times,” said Daniel.

The others stared at him. “You never said,” said James.

“She called me, said she wanted to talk—she was upset.”

“What did she say?” asked Max.

“I don’t like to say,” said Daniel. “It was private.”

And so it stayed. I managed to steer the conversation back around to Melinda Abbot’s “mystical” hobbies but the band hadn’t really been paying attention. The French House began to get seriously crowded and despite the prohibition on piped music I was having to shout to make myself heard. I suggested food.

“Is the Met going to be picking up the bill?” asked James.

“I think we could stretch to some expenses,” I said. “As long as we don’t go mad.”

The band all nodded their heads. Of course they did, when you’re a musician free is a magic number.

We ended up in Wong Kei on Wardour Street where the food is reliable, the service is brusque, and you can get a table at eleven thirty on a Saturday night—if you don’t mind sharing. I showed four fingers to the guy at the door and he waved us upstairs where a stern-looking young woman in a red T-shirt directed us to one of the big round tables.

A pair of pale American students, who up till then had had the table to themselves, visibly cowered as we plonked ourselves down.

“Good evening,” said Daniel. “Don’t worry, we’re perfectly harmless.”

Both American students were wearing neat red Adidas sweatshirts with MNU PIONEERS embroidered across the chest. They nodded nervously. “Hi,” one of them said. “We’re from Kansas.”

We waited politely for them to elaborate but neither said another word to us for the ten minutes it took to finish their food, pay, and bolt for the door.

“What’s an MNU anyway?” asked Max.

“Now he asks,” said James.

The waitress arrived and started slapping down the main course. I had shredded duck with fried ho fun, Daniel and Max split egg fried rice, chicken with cashews, and sweet-and-sour pork, James had beef noodles. The band ordered another round of Tsingtao beers but I stuck to the free green tea, which came in a simple white ceramic teapot. I asked the band whether they played the Spice of Life often, which made them laugh.