She went late, in case they had some sort of formal receiving line set up at the start. The journalist had a bad cold and left before she had time to do more than exchange pleasantries and check he wasn't there with anybody else. She almost went then, but didn't.

She wandered a little, sampled the buffet, was talked to variously. She decided to go home and read a book as soon as the first bore even approached.

Mr Okamoto bowed to her as she turned away from the buffet table holding a little paper plate. Sanae Naritomi stood at his side, beaming at her, dressed, she thought, rather in the style of a Mississippi gambler. He stuck one long, white hand out to her as Okamoto said, 'Naritomi-san asked to be introduced to you…

She shifted the plate from one hand to the other. He shook her hand, bowed as well. 'Thank you, Mr Okamoto. Ms Onoda; I've wanted to meet you for years. I have all your recordings. He flashed white teeth, tossed his hair quite naturally and with a 'May I? took a roll of salmon from her plate and popped it in his mouth. Okamoto had gone; she hadn't noticed. 'Delicious, Naritomi said. 'Mmm. I hope we can work together; I'd count that a privilege.

'Well, she said, unsettled, putting the plate down behind her on the table, then taking it back up again in case he thought she was being rude and had only done it to stop him taking any more food. She felt warm. 'Well, she said again, feeling foolish and tongue-tied, as he probably expected all women to be with him. 'I do play with the orchestra. As you're going to guest, we're bound to work together.

'Ah, he snapped his fingers, shook his head quickly. 'I mean more closely than that. I'd be honoured to accompany you sometime; and I have some pieces… probably not very good, probably not much better than my barely competent piano playing- She'd heard his barely competent piano playing; he could probably have had a career as a concert pianist if he hadn't chosen conducting. - but I'd be just, he shook his head, clapped his hands together softly. She wondered if the scent she could smell was the same cologne he advertised, delighted if you'd play them. I've always loved the cello, and your playing especially. I'm serious; I really hope you'll do this for me. But hey, he slapped one hand gently off his forehead, mocking the theatricality of the gesture with a grin. 'I shouldn't be coming on like this, should I? What happened to small talk first, huh? I should soften you up with more embarrassing praise and tell you how much I love being back in Japan, and yes it was a good flight and yes I do wear the stuff I advertise on television and no the gaijin don't really — but now I'm rambling, yes? I'm just nervous. These salmon things taste really good you know; do you mind if I…?

He stood smiling, eating.

She realised she was smiling too, even more broadly; and wondered how long she'd looked like that. She nodded, bit down on her lips a little to help control herself. 'I'm sure we can arrange something, she said.

They talked. Eventually he was dragged away to meet the Sony top brass who were sponsoring some of the concerts. 'Don't try to escape without saying goodbye! he called back to her. She nodded, throat dry; face hot, eyes wide, and looked for a cooling, calming drink.

He begged her to stay an extra half-hour, to the end, when she tried to leave. There was a party in his suite in the New Otani; he insisted, pleaded.

More talk at the party; then the last half-dozen of them went to a gaijin club in Roppongi in the small hours. San played lightning-fast backgammon with a one-armed Australian (yes, he had fished for shark; no, a car accident), exchanged jokes with a mountainous Yakuza gangster with tattooed eyelids, and then played piano in the bar; he borrowed a waitress's little leather bag and stuck it on his head to do an impression of Chico Marx, plinking the keyboard with one flicked, pistol-like finger.

At dawn, he took the hired Mercedes down to the docks at Yokohama; in the back seat, the other two survivors — an early-balding television producer and a glamorous, long-legged advertising exec — had fallen asleep during the drive, and sat slumped on the brown leather, his shining head on her padded, sequined shoulder.

San looked vaguely disappointed they'd given up the fight for fun. He shrugged. They got out. San breathed in the dawn, then stood looking at the sleeping couple in the back of the Merc with a great grin on his face. It was the smile people normally wore when gazing at tiny babies. 'Don't they look sweet? he said, then turned and walked down to the edge of the dock, and stood looking out over the misty lengths of ships and warehouses to where the dim red sun rose above the masts, cranes and derricks of the port. Horns sounded, the air was cool, and the breeze smelled of the ocean.

He put his jacket over a bollard for her, and sat at her feet, legs dangling over the edge of the empty dock, looking down at the sluggish water, where half-waterlogged planks and wind-skittery grey lumps of polystyrene foam bobbed together on a film of oil.

He took out a silver cigarette case. She hadn't seen him smoke. Then she smelled the hash. 'Do you? he asked, offering her the joint after a couple of tokes. She took it.

He said, 'I've kept you up.

'That's OK.

'Had fun?

'Uh-huh. She passed the joint back.

'Think we can get on?

'I think we are.

'Didn't want to like me at first, did you? He looked up at her.

'No, she agreed, surprised. 'But I didn't hold out for long. Does everybody give in so quickly?

'Oh no, he said. 'Some people never get to like me. There was silence for a moment; she heard the water lap, watched steam plume from the funnel of a freighter — half a mile away, and heading for the sea — and then heard its horn, echoing off the warehouses and hulls around them, announcing its farewell. He handed her back the spliff. 'Did you sleep with all those film stars? she asked him.

He laughed. 'One or two. He looked up at her. 'I'm a man of easy virtue, Hisako.

'Easily led astray. She nodded through the smoke, feeling dizzy.

'I'm afraid so, he said, stretching his arms up behind his back, as though in a gesture of surrender, then reaching in and scratching the back of his neck vigorously.

'Yeah, she said, studying the end of the joint, 'same here.

He gave a sort of coughing laugh, looked at her. 'Really?

'Really. Dangerous these days, but… She gave him the joint back.

'Yes, of course, but… He nodded, looked out to the departing ship in the distance. He took a deep breath. 'Umm…

'Yes?

'Do you think…

'Yes?

'I might be able to tempt…

'Yes.

'… you back to… His voice slowed as he looked round at her.

'Yes.

'… my hotel? He grinned.

'Yes.

She rounded the stern of the Nadia, struck out for Le Cercle. The water stayed warm, and the waves small. She swam steadily, trying to find a rhythm that suited her body and the water, and felt half-hypnotised. She thought she heard thunder a few times. The wind did stiffen eventually, and the water became more choppy. The Nadia fell slowly behind her. The ship leaving for the open sea that misty dawn at Yokohama, years ago, an ocean away, had been a general cargo freighter.

She wondered vaguely what the chances were it had been the Nadia.

Le Cercle's pontoon was brightly lit; the rest of the ship looked dark in comparison. There was a man on the pontoon, scanning the waters with a nightscope. She angled away, towards the tanker's bows. Lightning flashed beyond the hills to the north-west, and thunder rolled across the dark lake, vague and long after. Rain was starting to patter down around her as she swam under the dark-on-dark cliff of the ship's port bow.