A Shameful Concert

Madame X gave a recital at the theatre last night. Papa was moved to turn to me between arias and say, ‘Why?’ with all the passion of a scale in a storm. ‘BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.’

‘Shush Papa,’ I whispered back, ‘X-actly,’ and stifled my laughter by biting the lace of my handkerchief. Her husband, poor man, was afraid to be seen at the end of the concert. It had been his particular misfortune to accompany her on a beautiful, Stein fortepiano and he kept hiding behind the curtain as she took her bows. I felt such relief his wife had not mangled a single note by Wolfie and that her programme was entirely devoted to obscure, dead composers. At least, they will never know she made a loud bellow out of a cat’s purr. N.