The waitress weaved her way to the far side of the gallery and bent over a table to speak to the group of kids that sat around it. They glanced over towards Yongli, then shrugged and reluctantly moved away, taking their drinks with them, in search of standing room somewhere else. The waitress beckoned Yongli across, and Li followed him to the table. She gave him a big smile, wiped their table clean and placed a fresh ashtray in the centre. “You give me a shout when you need a refill,” she said.

“You bet.” Yongli grinned and winked again, and she flushed with pleasure, hurrying away through the tables. He flicked a cigarette across at Li. “Helps when they know you,” he said.

Li laughed. “It’s got nothing to do with knowing you. All you’ve got to do is smile and you’ve got half the women in Beijing fawning at your feet.” He lit both their cigarettes.

“True,” Yongli said modestly. “But it doesn’t do any harm that Lotus is a regular on-stage here.”

The music stopped then, and the sense of relief Li felt was enormous, like stopping banging his head against a wall. They no longer had to shout at each other to make themselves heard.

“So, when is she on?” Li asked.

Yongli checked the time. “About half an hour. There’s a guy plays keyboard, and another on guitar. And they’ve got one of these computerised drum things. They sound like a fifty-piece orchestra. They’re good.”