Li stifled a smile. He could imagine the conversations that must have taken place between Liu Xinxin and Mr. Dai and other members of the committee, about the comings and goings at Chao’s flat in the night. But they would have been afraid of his privileged position in Party and state. Perhaps they had reported him to the Public Security Bureau and been told to mind their own business. The scientific adviser to a minister of state would have been a powerful and influential man, a modern-day mandarin. One would have had to have trodden carefully. Li finished his tea and stood up. “Well, thank you very much, Old Liu. You have been very helpful.” Qian took his boss’s cue and got to his feet.

“Won’t you stay and have another cup?” She seemed reluctant now to let them go.

“We don’t want to keep you back, with your family due home soon.”

“Oh . . .” She waved her hand dismissively. “They won’t be back for ages yet. Would you like me to play you one of my songs?”

Not wanting to hurt her feelings, Li said, “We really don’t have the time.”

“Just one, then,” she said, and she headed for the piano and drew up a stool. “You must know ‘Our Country.’ They sang it in all the schools.”

Li and Qian exchanged looks. There was no escaping it. “Just the one, then,” Li said.

She beamed. “And you must sing it with me.” And as she played a brief introduction, “I’ll sing the verses and you join in the choruses.”

As they stood round the piano singing the words and melody written by this old lady more than thirty years before, Li was glad that there were no witnesses to his embarrassment. He could imagine what comments would be passed in the office. At least he could rely on Qian, who seemed equally ill at ease, to keep silence. Then he noticed Liu Xinxin’s two small grandsons standing in the doorway looking at them in astonishment, and, a moment later, their equally astonished parents fresh home from work. Li closed his eyes.

They left the apartment, colour high on their cheeks, thoughts held close, and got into the Jeep. They sat for a long minute in silence before the first sign of a crack appeared in Li’s façade. A small explosion of air escaped his nostrils. Qian looked at him in time to see the façade crumble. It was infectious. His face cracked, too. Within moments, both were laughing almost uncontrollably, tears streaming, stomachs aching, like a couple of small boys hearing their first dirty joke. All embarrassment was dissipated. As Li gasped to catch his breath, he wondered for a moment what they were laughing at, before realising it was themselves.

A sharp rap at the driver’s window made them turn. It was a young uniformed constable. Qian rolled down the window. “Yes?”