The Marrying Game
“The pianist Radu Lupu was giving a recital at Sheringham House, in aid of the Rheumatoid Arthritis Fellowship. Sheringham House, in Kensington, was the London residence of the Earls Sheringham. The tickets were prohibitively expensive, and had been sold out for months, to friends and relations of the committee. Roshan had managed to wangle himself a rare press pass.
‘Fortunately, I knew the PR from college,’ he said gleefully. To Max, he added, ‘It was Hermione Porter, of all the useful people....’ Max nodded. ‘Rich and thick. It figures.’ ‘She’s thick, all right. She believed me when I said I was a music critic. I’m taking her out to lunch the day before the concert. I pray to heaven she doesn’t check up on me and find out I’m a hack from the Style pages – just the type of riff-raff she’s employed to keep out.’ Roshan darted out of the room, to place his valuable coat carefully on a padded hanger. He darted back in again, and exclaimed, ‘Oh God, what’s this?MoreLess
‘Fortunately, I knew the PR from college,’ he said gleefully. To Max, he added, ‘It was Hermione Porter, of all the useful people....’ Max nodded. ‘Rich and thick. It figures.’ ‘She’s thick, all right. She believed me when I said I was a music critic. I’m taking her out to lunch the day before the concert. I pray to heaven she doesn’t check up on me and find out I’m a hack from the Style pages – just the type of riff-raff she’s employed to keep out.’ Roshan darted out of the room, to place his valuable coat carefully on a padded hanger. He darted back in again, and exclaimed, ‘Oh God, what’s this?MoreLess
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