“Another thing. Don’t talk shop unless they raise the subject. And don’t be surprised if they ask you . . . well, personal questions.”

She frowned her consternation. “What kind of personal questions?”

“Oh, about how much you earn, how much you paid for your apartment in Chicago.”

“None of their damned business!”

“Jesus, Margaret, don’t tell them that. If you really don’t want to answer something, try and make a joke of it. Say something like . . . ‘I’ve promised my father to keep it a secret.’”

“Well, that’ll have them rolling in the aisles.” She had a peculiar sense of floating now. There was a strange air of unreality about everything.

“We’d better go up.”

As he led her to the stairs, Margaret noticed a group of seven or eight young men sitting around a table with large half-litre glasses of beer and two ducks being carved simultaneously. There was a great deal of raucous laughter rising with clouds of cigarette smoke from the table. Oddly, Margaret thought she recognised one of the faces. An ugly square-jawed face with a flat-top crew cut. She caught the man’s eye and then remembered. It was the bad-tempered cyclist they’d had the collision with that afternoon. To her astonishment, he smiled and waved. Bob waved back, and she realised the wave hadn’t been meant for her. “You know him?” she asked as they climbed the stairs.

“Sure. He’s a graduate of the university. Way before my time. But he comes back to give occasional lectures. Li Yan. One of the bright upcoming detectives in Section One.”

“Section One? What is that?”

“Oh, it’s a kind of serious crime squad. Part of the Municipal Police, but it deals with the big stuff—homicides, armed robberies, that kind of thing.” He paused. “Why, do you know him?”

“No. Not really. We sort of bumped into him when we were picking you up earlier.” She glanced back from the top of the stairs, but Li Yan was engrossed in a story being recounted loudly by a big, round-faced young man sitting next to him. There was an eruption of laughter from the table.

The upstairs of the restaurant formed a gallery overlooking the dining area below. Long green lamps dripped like tears from a high ceiling. At the far side their hosts awaited them by a large circular table. Professors Jiang, Tian and Bai, Dr. Mu, Mr. Cao and their respective partners, as well as Veronica, wearing the same dress she had worn in the afternoon. They went through the formal and tedious process of introduction and reintroduction. Dr. Mu’s husband had long hair swept back over his collar and a wispy beard trained to a point, and seemed out of place in this gathering of clean-cut, clean-shaven faces. He gave Margaret a warm smile and produced a pack of cigarettes. He offered her one.

“I don’t, thanks,” she told him.